Friday, December 16, 2005
So I turned 30. It was a good day and I felt loved by my friends. I'm glad to have it over and done with.
Today I did a website for Yana Liia, an accomplished painter and the star of my thesis movie Nothing Exceptional.
And tonight I just came back from the world premiere screening of Terrence Malick's new film The New World. It's an impressively plausible evocation of the early 17th century and I admire its aims and methods immensely, but I have to say ultimately I couldn't get involved.
I'm writing this because about half an hour I met Terry Malick himself just as I was about to leave the after party at the Beverly Wilshire. His wife told me that he sometimes likes to sneak into the end of these things, and he especially likes to talk to students. Talk about a rare, starstruck moment. And I was able to throw a screwball at him and say that his 1988 Great Balls of Fire screenplay about Jerry Lee Lewis was the best unproduced script I've ever read and a true inspiration. He seemed mystified by my interest and wondered how I'd gotten a hold of it -- I told him it was because I'm buddies with Jim McBride (who eventually directed an underrated Jerry Lee Lewis biopic of the same name in 1989), and he told me say hello for him. Excuse me for gushing but holy moley, what a night.
Thursday, December 8, 2005
This is Daniel Emmanuel (aka JD Emmanuel) in 1982, whose records Rain Forest Music and Wizards I discovered in Dallas on my road trip earlier this year. We became pen pals and he's now completing his project of making all of his excellent electronic music available in high-resolution mp3 for free download on his site at jdemmanuel.com. If you have been wondering what all the fuss about "private press new age" is, go here to find out. Your mind shall be subtly blown...
This week I've been doing websites for other people and DJing at the Bigfoot and at Aaron and Sara's crazy holiday party. I'm starting to get the hang of this stuff.
Thursday, December 1, 2005
Well it has come to this. I'm turning 30 in 11 days. If you've ever wanted to get me anything, now's the time. I'm really trying to get copies of Neighb'rhood Childr'n's album, Flashes by Ill Wind, Suddenly Last Summer by JK and Co... I also need a good 2.4 megahertz phone with answering machine, nice vintage lawn chairs, a brown backrest for reading up in bed, new pillows, a modern digital camera, a dope vintage bike... Sayin'.
I got another gig going, this one the last Wednesday of every month at the Air Conditioned bar in Santa Monica.
I was really, really sick this week and I lost a couple days to feverish delirium.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
I got
a weekly DJing gig at the Bigfoot
Lodge every Sunday and it started last night. It was fun & even
though I don't fit in there100% I got a lot of compliments and "what
is this?" I also have didn't get a big party gig at Equator
Books coming up on December 2.
Although I bummed a couple of late night puffs last night, I haven't had a cigarette for nearly three months now.
I recently drew, traded in one card, and had a straight flush, which is a one in 81,218 sort of thing.
The herbmoves phenomenon continues to grow.
Thursday, November 3, 2005
I realize this site mostly comes off as a front for someone who takes themselves too seriously, so to balance that with the help of my housemates we started herbmoves.com, a photographic shrine to "herbed out moves," where we shall walk the endless trail that wends between the ridiculous and the sublime; and hopefully not just the sublime.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Yesterday Kris Thompson and I launched bobbtrimble.com, a long-overdue tribute to possibly the most remarkable musician of the 1980s, Bobb Trimble. Tonight I'm going to San Diego to meet one of my best friends who I've never actually met, Mark Y., and to check out the record show down there.
The set at the Little Joy went for two hours and was very well received, I think. It feels good to storm a room full of Echo Park hipsters with a bunch of records they've never heard before but which they know are the truth. Like when Annette Peacock comes on, even if just subconsciously, they stop and recognize for a second, and that's deeply gratifying. Little Joy needs some new turntables though.
Sunday, October 9, 2005
Just got back from ten days in Berkeley with my Nature of the Beast cowriter buddy Adam Mansbach. We did a through rewrite on Adam Bhala Lough's adaptation of Mansbach's novel Angry Black White Boy. It was a gnarly experience mostly because I was trapped at Casa Mansbach in the hills, without a car, and the only release came from buying records (Adam's only fun vice) and the feeling of accomplishment that came from finishing the damn thing. I'm proud to be part of the project.
Tonight I'm filling in for Don Bolles for an hour or two while he goes and checks out a show during his regularly scheduled Dream-House ov International Klein Bottle-neck Blues or Something... at my favorite bar, the Little Joy. The night before I went up to Berkeley I set up my two tables (Stanton T.60 -- no 1200s but chicks prefer the design) and mixer for the very first time and did my friend Presston McBrownn's birthday, and realized I've waited too long and I'm ready to take some responsibility for other people's good times and just DJ already.
Here's a couple recent pictures:
Another retarded self-portrait, this one with records going to all corners of the earth.
This is a thrift store painting I was sweating during my visit to Spokane, but chickened out on trying to transport.
This is my brother from another mother Justin, who keeps it real and actually makes movies in Spokane. (Note the lapel mic on my collar; he was shooting me going around buying records that day.)
Strange shit in the sky outside my house.
Friday, September 9, 2005
As with most horrific disasters, it's been hard for me to detach from the coverage and, especially, punditry surrounding the wake of Katrina. Never has the idiocy, arrogance, and wickedness of the Bush administration been more obvious, and anyone who still approves of our leadership is absolutely hopeless. It will be real interesting to see how they weasel out of this one. The good record nerds of Soulstrut, a website I'm at way too much, put together a scheme to auction off "raers" to raise money for the Red Cross, or something like that... One member secured a matching fund that quadruples what we contribute, so by that standard I already raised nearly $2,800 by selling a Poetry Out Loud set, a just-purchased Upchurch, and my cherished copy of Ghetto Reality.
Finished the second of three stories for the screenplay for my friend Todd Levin. I feel like this is the best work I've done. I also was surprised to learn this week that Father's Day LA, a script I helped on for Marko Polo Films, was a semi-finalist for the Slamdance screenwriting competition, at least until this morning, when the finalists were announced and we weren't one of them. Whatever; I didn't even know it had been entered. And despite my apparent lack of qualifications, I signed on to help my friend Adam Mansbach work on an adaptation of his novel Angry Black White Boy.
I haven't had a cigarette for more than 11 days now, something I haven't done since I started in late 2000. Saturday night I had my first piece of nicorette gum, a slightly surreal chewing experience that goes, chew chew chew and wait for a minute, chew chew... It was like having a toxic little worm periodically shitting in my throat, and liking it; it seemed like it could be highly addictive.
In other news I traded ten copies of The Mystery of Love by Marr'Del to Volcanic Tongue in Scotland and they listed it in their catalogue with a glowing review. Marr'Del was overjoyed by this and I feel like I've accomplished something.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Adam came to town last week and we did a new draft for Nature of the Beast, which may finally be going out to be seen by the world.
Been renting from Mondo Video and trying to fall in love with the movies again. It's hard. Although I know it's probably not true it feels like cinema has never been more irrelevant, or at least has never failed to engage audiences in a meaningful way as miserably as it does right now. And don't talk to me about movies from Taiwan, or Iran, or Afghanistan, or wherever; I just don't buy it. It seems like the energy has shifted to documentaries, but if that's the case it's unfortunate because the real power will always be in good fiction. Here is my ultra-negative rant on the future of the movies:
It seems highly unlikely that the movie business will continue much longer as it has for the last 50 years or so, since the end of the studio system. Quite likely the effect of DVDs, piracy, and a lack of audience interest will be more catastrophic than anything the music business is experiencing. What will happen, at least for a while, will be similar to what happened with the network TV addiction to "reality" programming -- the major studios will become more and more craven in an attempt to maintain their status quo as majors. Horror movies and remakes will continue to be the focus. Although the whole Passion of the Christ thing seems like a flash in the pan now, I'm going to say there will be more and more red state movies, the way there were in the Smokey and the Bandit days -- although of course the movies won't be as much fun this time around.
The one thing that never seems to happen in these crises is a concerted effort to improve the quality, originality, or value of the product. Technology is another story. I boldly predict that in 2007 James Cameron's movie Battle Angel Attila, a $200,000,000 production being made in 3-D Imax, plus the 3-D Imax reissues of the Star Wars series, are going to permanently shift moviegoing in that direction, and that the 35mm standard of projection, be it film or digital, will finally be on its way out. People are gonna decide that if they can't get something like Imax, they're gonna stay at home and watch it on their HD TVs. This will be a pretty huge change. I know this seems a little weird to say but I still believe that something minorly magical happens between people, even at a mall multiplex showing Wedding Crashers. You've probably been to Imax -- would you argue that the audience plays the same role there? When the experience becomes too large and loud, people are going to cease to matter in the event. The difference is both intangible and massive.
I've been reading Force Majeure by Bruce Wagner. It's pretty trashy, way too reliant on chance encounters and coincidences, and frequently cringe-inducing as far as what it says about the mind of a smart-but-not-too-smart screenwriter. I wish I had known to put it down when the main character began his 250 page slide into madness. I also subjected myself to several summer items -- War of the Worlds, Bad News Bears, The Island, and I'd rate them in that order. Met superduper TV commercial director Joe Pitka in front of the Arclight, which I loathe. Most of the world would say Joe Who? but in Hollywood he is the most hated, feared, and respected (in that order) person in the commercial business, a true dark lord of the Sith.
Thursday, July 7, 2005
I am horrified by the bombs going off in London a day after the 2012 Olympics went to that city. I can't imagine how fucked up this world will be by then.
Stuck in a deep creative rut. Redid the "about" section of the site. Nothing to paper over writer's block like rewriting your bio. My car finally died. Last night I watched Love Story; it's amazing how a movie can be so great and so awful at the same time. My auctions are going good. I'm visiting Tucson next week, New York and Boston next month, and maybe going to Berkeley and/or Spokane later this month. I realized I'm addicted to adventures and it is a little like an unhealthy addiction.
Possibly there's some good news.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
I think I might never go to the Brite Spot again. For about six months in 1999, when I lived in Echo Park, I ate the same veggieburger with fries there, literally every day, as part of a writing ritual experiment. This wonderful, quintessential diner at Sunset and Glendale apparently did business the same way for over 50 years, providing a stable environment for a truly diverse set of locals, including some fairly colorful characters, etc etc. But when the original owner passed away five years ago, refurbishing began almost immediately. Ever since then I've tried to maintain a philosophical attitude and overlook the ongoing Swingersization, but as of last night anyway, it's become a sinister, West Hollywood style pit manned by actor waiters, unwelcoming to anyone living over the age of 40 or under the poverty line. The new decor can only be described as hellish, everything flaming red and orange with satanic details everywhere -- the leering devil mask greeting you upon entry, the puzzling Chinese checkers boards posted where the old wall of fame used to be. Change is inevitable and I try not to be one to rail against gentrification and hipsterization too much since no matter what I do I'm basically part of the problem, but I'm saying, fuck. Talk about zero respect for the past, hipster kitsch, inane negative energy. Even though I try to keep it positive the experience was just a little too overwhelming to keep to myself. Hopefully all Echo Park isn't going to become the new WeHo, but at this point I'm not so sure.
Wednesday, June 16, 2005
I've been doing little else than sitting at the computer and listing records on ebay.
A couple of weeks ago my friend Aaron asked me for a list of books I thought he should read. It was flattering, but it also reminded me of the fact that reading's something I basically don't do anymore. Nowadays I read 20 books a year, tops, and that's counting bathroom titles like Edie: An American Biography and Lost in the Grooves, Scram's Capricious Guide to the Music You Missed. So I have to crawl back through my fucked up memory to high school, mostly, when I read most the books that have stuck with me. Here is a disorganized list of a couple of things I can remember.
Blue Movie by Terry Southern -- Just the illest, dirtiest book by my favorite writer ever. I actually missed out on an opportunity to meet Southern when my friend Adam was going into Columbia and got into his graduate-level screenwriting class on the the strength of a script we wrote together called Payback. I put off visiting throughout the entire first semester, and then in the spring Terry didn't come to class, and then he passed away. I will always regret that.
The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon -- Man, I liked this book so much I convinced myself Pynchon was to literature what Kubrick is to cinema, ie the definition. I even attempted in my high school television production class to make a little movie out of the scene where Doctor Hilarius flips out. Truthfully most of his books are bloated, stoned prattle, but this lean, focused mystery novel is about as engrossing as a story could be, and dude can write. More than once being able to identify the muted bugle has gotten me what I wanted.
The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles -- Read it when I was 15. Blew my mind with how evocative the written word can really be.
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov -- I actually recommend the annotated version, which goes way beyond illuminating the ephemera and reveals layers of meaning and nuance beyond imagining -- one of the most humbling experiences of my life.
Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson -- Such a tight, perfect little book; as much as I like Fear and Loathing this is really the highlight of his career.
Collected Stories by Tennessee Williams -- Easily my favorite playwright, dude also wrote some of the most insane short stories ever.
Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski -- An adolescence so brutal and humiliating it gave me solace in my own. It's interesting to consider how hard it was for me to imagine (at least back in my teenage years when I read this) that anything Bukowski wrote might not actually be true.
Lizard Music by Daniel Pinkwater -- Pinkwater is a total asshole. Sorry if you're a fan and you googled this and whatever, but it's true. Listen close to one of his NPR stories and if you have any empathy at all you'll be able to suss out what a dick he is in real life. I'm not going to tell the whole story of how I tried with a producer to option the rights to this amazing little children's book (from 1975, a long time ago) about being home alone, eating TV dinners and watching late night television, and peeking into a hidden world, but trust me, the guy is a greedy fuck. But hey, how many people can say their favorite childhood author called them "the scum of the earth" because they didn't want to cough up "the price of a new Volkswagen Beetle"?
Travels With Lisbeth by Lars Eigner -- A lesser-known book, I think; a memoir from around 1993 about a fiendishly brilliant writer and iconoclast and his descent into homelessness. I don't even remember this book that well except that it captures the minor details of injustice that seem to be the least-remarked on main ingredients of existence. I think it must be to this age what Down and Out in Paris and London by Orwell was to the 30s.
Mr. T: The Man With the Gold by Mr. T -- This autobiography, written without anyone else's help, is rugged and no joke. Between all the priceless expressions ("It got so quiet you could hear a mosquito piss on cotton") and thugged out stories (at one point he -strongly- implies that he killed some people who fucked with his mom), there's a lot of deep wisdom in this book.
Hot Line: The Letters I Get... And Write! by Burt Reynolds -- While we're talking about ridiculous celebrities, let me give a big thumbs up to this amazing little paperback from 1973 or so. Burt takes his most ludicrous, oversexed fan mail and makes fun of it in a way that is simultaneously hilarious and just... so magnanimous and cool. Burt really flipped the script on stardom in general, and did the things people say they'd like to do if they ever got famous. Respect.
Lynch on Lynch by David Lynch -- This is the creative textbook. Whether or not you have any interest in the movies, this is like my "Chicken Soup For the Soul" or whatever for artistic inspiration. Basically Lynch outlines how ideas exist in the ether and a good artist is nothing more than a good antenna. It's a comforting thought, but it's true.
Saturday, June 4, 2005
I'm back in LA for a while. It's time to start selling all the records I picked up over the past three months so I can make some money to buy some more.
I guess I have to say something about Revenge of the Sith, considering that up until it finally came out two weeks ago it was my #1 reason to not kill myself. Now that I've seen it three times, I have to say I'm disappointed. The movie is all digital, and all story. It feels very utilitarian. There is too much happening and no real sense of pacing. The new editor on this one did a disservice to the franchise; whereas Star Wars used to conjure up a certain old school feeling through formal restraint -- rules, a code of aesthetic honor -- this movie often feels like one long montage sequence. The lack of real world environments, and of any real interest in or sense of wonder about the new planets, aliens, etc, is a huge departure from the other five movies. Yes, the major confrontations in this movie are intense, and Ian McDiarmid proves what some of us have known for a long time -- that he is a master actor, a genius for perverse details. There aren't any truly embarrassing moments like Jar-Jar stepping in "icky, icky goo," or C-3P0 taking cg pratfalls and trading heads with a battle droid. I would still rather watch this for a fourth time than to go see any other movie out there simply because of how beautiful it is to look at, but ultimately it leaves me a little cold, and I consider it the weakest movie in either series. If anyone has any suggestions on other reasons to live, I'm all ears.
The most exciting thing that happened in May was that met Bobb Trimble during my trip back to Boston. He is a true hero of mine, the sort of musician I would get into a fist fight to defend. He was surprisingly down to earth, upbeat, and fun to talk to considering his eccentric reputation, but he was also in bad shape physically and financially. I hope that any fans able to casually shell out hundreds of dollars for his records (the last of which he sold off 15 years ago) would be willing to consider helping him out. Anyone interested please write to me.
Tuesday, May 3, 2005
A big what's up to all the people from the past who keep tabs and sometimes even say hello.
Early tomorrow morning I'm going to Chicago to be the wingman on my friend and collaborator Adam Mansbach's book tour for Angry Black White Boy. Yes that is the name the publisher wanted. Nice one, guys, way to market to the... I don't know who. Anyway we will be going to Ann Arbor, Iowa City, Minneapolis, Madison, places like that. Then on the 19th, the day a certain Star Wars movie comes out, I'm going to Boston for ten days to do the biannual visit with the family. Work continues on the secret screenplay, hopefully Adam and I will have some ideas, and apparently I am to go to Ibiza in July to research another script, he he.
Clarification: They are not tearing down our house. They are tearing down the buildings on the other side of our block, and this will probably not start for another year. Hopefully I will not be around to take part in the environmental impact study.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
I've
been back in LA for a week now and I can still faintly remember the road
trip, sort of like Jenny Agutter looking up from her dishes at the end
of Walkabout. To summarize I left Los Angeles on March 2 and
went to Berkeley for about 12 days and housesit Adam's place while he
launched his new
novel. Then I proceeded to Reno, where I immediately located the one
cool bar in town, The Satellite, and where I DJed 24 hours later. Then
I went to Salt Lake City and stayed with two very nice mormon relatives
of a close friend. From there to Cheyenne via an 8800 foot pass and the
scariest snowstorm I have ever driven in, then down to Denver where my
radiator hoses exploded for the first time. I stayed with my cousin and
his girlfriend and their five kids, and as with every other place, shopped
for records. This was the first place I visited that that I could possibly
conceive of living in for more than a week or two. Then an afternoon in
Colorado Springs, which I am about to read about in Fast Food Nation,
and Pueblo, possibly the worst vibe on the trip -- where every third car
was a cop car and a beautiful, historic town seemed to have been completely
abandoned by humans. From there the existentially endless road through
Kansas, where I was finally felt the need to break out the tripod and
preserve my now quickly-unraveling mindset:
Then I went 400 miles off course to visit a single acclaimed record store in Lawrence, Kansas, where I ended up spending just $18 -- sorry midwest but your record store is no good and please, please consider getting rid of the four cats. Then to visit with distant relatives in Oklahoma City, where I saw the bombing memorial and listened to strange theories about who was responsible (Bill Clinton and "the Arabs"?). I went to Dallas with the excessively wealthy and successful brother of my AFI classmate Monte. Spent an afternoon in Waco, which is good for vinyl. Then to Austin for the record convention, where I stayed with the fiancee of a friend of a friend, Brian of The Shim Shams. The convention was very good to me and I ended up not spending too much money and still got out with some killer items, including a private gem by someone named Alexandro Bravo (more information please) and original copies of Golden Dawn and Bubble Puppy. Every night was spent at the Extended Stay Hotel in the "psych room" with some of the most hardcore dudes in the record world; vaportronics and beer and noise complaints and a friendly game of who can play the most ____ record? I'll be a regular at this show from now on.
From there I went way off the beaten path, Dagobah style, to a border town called Lajitas to meet a woman named Collie Ryan, to talk with her about leaving society, the coming apocalypse of 2012, and the three albums she recorded for a juice company in 1973. The truly extraordinary Ms. Ryan and town where she lives deserve a full essay and the story is still developing as I am now at work on trying to reissue her records, so I will save it for now. I did get to drink with the mayor of Lajitas, a goat named Clay Henry.
My radiator
hoses exploded again in El Paso, a bad place to be stranded, but I found
the greatest repair deal in history -- the radiator removed and cleaned
and patched, two replacement hoses obtained from across the border, and
a ride to a hotel when it became apparent it couldn't all be done in a
day, all for $70
.
Mathias convinced me I needed to take advantage of the moment and go over
to Juarez, and I'm glad I did, but that place makes Tijuana look like
Beverly Hills. For reasons that will never be known, a pack of cops arrested
my "tour guide" (a rare English speaker named Danny who showed
me around even after I explained I wasn't looking for cocaine or whores),
and they tried unsuccessfully to steal my money. Even the dude who sold
me a bottle of coke at the minimart tried to rip me off. Excuse me for
saying but fuck Mexico and fuck the deranged Americans obsessed with hating
the folks trying to get out of there and find a better life in America.
After that I met the crazy girls Amy and Jessica in Tucson and had some of the best record scores of my life, and it was probably the most inviting place I visited on the whole trip, but by then I was so tired of the road that it was time to get home, and I did the whole 500 miles back to LA in seven quick hours. I arrived at 3am to a nasty, dirty house that has somewhat since recovered, but yesterday we received notice that the entire neighborhood is to be razed soon to make way for a new high school, so it's going to be difficult to get upset if someone freaks out and sets a room or two on fire.
There are many lessons to be gained from this trip. One is that people don't do this sort of thing anymore, and that is very sad, but if it makes me special I guess that's ok. Another is that Americans who voted for Bush are largely decent and generous people, but their kindness stems in large part from a fear of conflict rather than Christian principles. Most of the time I felt like I was deep undercover, posing as a regular guy who does not swear or harbor any cynicism about humanity, and as you can see from the pictures I shaved my beard off to avoid attracting attention. I also learned from bringing my portable record player to thrift stores to audition records that there is no shortage of people who will look at an easily identifiable thing and ask "what is that?"
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Today was a slight bummer because George Lucas spoke at AFI, and the theater was completely full and I had to watch it on closed circuit with a handful of other people in the basement screening room. I could have snuck into the seminar, but I would have been taking some current student's seat, and that's not right. I sat near a student who said he has "every" Star Wars figure, and I'm certain he meant it. What was most disappointing was that the few questions asked by the students would have been better served with a google search. It was an exasperatingly rare opportunity to get frank talk from perhaps the most guarded man in show business, and people squandered it by asking about episodes 7, 8, and 9 and shit like that. I find it extremely frustrating to simply have no way of talking to George man to man. This only sounds like stalker talk; he just happens to be hopelessly rich and famous. I have always tried to seek out the people I feel a kinship with, regardless of my nobody status. Just making the connection is its own justification.
While this was going on my car was getting a tuneup because I'm about to go on a six week record digging trip that will start with two weeks in Berkeley, then down to Austin for the convention there, the biggest in North America. Then I'm making a pilgrimage to the Big Bend, for an unannounced (except here) visit to a woman named Collie Ryan, who recorded three remarkable albums in 1973. Apparently she is the tribal mother of a town of about 300 societal dropouts. She lives in a 1930s schoolbus and makes her living painting mandalas on hubcaps. I've been wanting to meet her ever since I found her album in a Utah thrift store on my way to the Telluride film festival in 2002. My good friend Justin might do a little documentary of this trip if he can raise some money from his people.
In the last two weeks I wrote a 30 page script for Marko Polo Films that is to be one chapter in a trio of shorts centered around the theme of fatherhood. I'm continuing to write a top secret feature and hope to get a good chunk of it done while I'm housesitting in Berkeley.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
The people at Fran Magazine were all over the web refer logs and saw the last entry right away and gave me credit. And it seems I will be writing an article about the Star Wars prequel trilogy for their next issue. So you see, it always pays to complain.
Tonight I added the rare records section to this site.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Fran Magazine published one of the aforementioned photos I did of my roommates' band -- and didn't credit me! You can see the picture and read the interview here. The very same issue has an entertaining interview with my good friend Andrew.
I'm continuing to slowly hash out the new script, but mostly I fret over my ebay auctions and the financial fallout of a recent car accident, my first in 11 years, and definitely one of the stupidest things I've done in a long time. (And no, no drugs or alcohol were involved, just a lack of sleep and a lot of Los Angeles rain.)
Friday, January 7, 2005
The first time I've typed or written 2005 I think...
Started a new script, lowest paycheck ever, but it's fun and exciting, can't talk about it right now. Moved this site to its own server, which means lots of music and video stuff coming up. (Thanks Hernan.) Been on a screener binge. My only new year's resolution is to buy a nicer car.
The last record I found in 2004 was one of the best, a very atmospheric and quietly intense spirit of Christ trip called The Living Light by Dale Hardeman, 1977. Almost in the Marr'del vein. Keep your eyes open -- it's around. I talked to him and he has no more copies left. Really awesome and cool dude though, is a fighter on the side of good; hopefully I will be able to put it on the site if he sends me his copy to be transferred to CD (mine is a little scratched up).
Best myspace profile, by ScHyLeR:
About
me:
AbouT ME.. wut can i say bout' me.. i'm a very INTO BLACK PERSON.. actually
i am close to fairness skin so i like BLACK a lot.. I am so Adventurous
person.. I like exploring anything and everything especially the UNKNOWN
ONES.. i am talking about the paranormaL psychology.. I am a CUTIE WEIRDO...
my fave song is SUNSHINE by GABBRIELLE.. i am 5'3 and a half.. i am chinky-eyed
person.. I am an Internet Pet.. I do like to see GOD, the witches, all
forces of nature.. " it'sthe gods".. and the KIng of DEath..
I am weird.. haha^_^ it's so very Obvious..= D
Who I'd like to meet:
YOU.. The Linkin Park.. GOD.. Mermaids.. Witches.. WEird People.. King
Of DEath.. VAmpires.. A person who accepts PURE BLACK.. Future Friends..
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Xmas in LA. Tortured my roommates with my mostly straight selection of holiday records. A Charlie Brown Christmas by The Vince Guaraldi Trio towers above everything else in the genre so thoroughly; no amount of hearing that music at the mall can ever kill it.
The most interesting thing I did this week was to help Niels take pictures at the Braille Institute, which was mostly closed for the holidays. The tactile art on the walls is better than most of that stuff you see in the museums and the entire place is full of interesting details as you might imagine. You can view some of his earlier shots for them here, and I recommend that you do; they're quite powerful. It was very laid back and easy and we had time to take pictures between the serious stuff.
And finally, after six months of waiting for a human fact checker of some sort to take 30 seconds to confirm its existence, Nothing Exceptional finally got a listing on the IMDB.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Turned 29 on Sunday. Uneventful. Took some pictures of ill lit, who are home from their tour...
Thursday, December 2, 2004
I'm finally home from the holidays. The night I got in I met the author of the source novel for my Special Secret Project. His niece called me "Hollywood." The meeting was brief but went well and I handed him a copy of the adaptation; he's since responded positively.
I went to my ten year high school reunion and felt like the youngest person in the room. It was fascinating to see the occasional transformations, particularly one bookworm-to-butterfly, but mostly people just seemed older, and for perhaps the first time I saw the connection between my present marginal place in the world and my marginal place in high school. Most everyone was a now productive member of society -- one of them even works in the treasury department, protecting us from God knows what terrorist threat! (Most embarrassing drunken conversation -- trying to explain to this guy about building 7 -- good luck!) A distressing number of people said they "work for the man now." Folks, even if it's true, it's a conversation killer. Overall I was very glad to only have spent two years at my school and therefore feel a rather limited emotional investment in the night. I stuck with the people who are still my friends and felt like we creative types will always fare best. Abrams, Lazarus, Mansbach. Bujalski, Cohen, Eugene, et al.
But the highlight of the trip was finding Iron Curtain Innocence by Bobb Trimble.
Now I have a cold, and Los Angeles is freezing. But it's a relief to be home.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
I just looked out the window and saw one of the stray cats who live in our backyard sneak up on a pigeon and nearly catch it in its murderous little paws. It would not have been the first time; we find piles of feathers all the time.
Since the last update I'm off of Losing Light due to creative differences (yes, really), and trying to come up with ideas for a different writing job offer.
Rest in Peace, Ol' Dirty Bastard.
Monday, November 8, 2004
From Niels: www.fuckthesouth.com
Friday, November 5, 2004
Today I signed on with Marko Polo Films to help produce a script I found called Losing Light, an excellent R-rated feature script by Rodger Jacobs inspired by his adventures in the porn business. Rodger was the highest paid screenwriter in porno history and won three AVN best screenplay awards. I also watched the just-released teaser trailer for Revenge of the Sith several times.
Thursday, November 4, 2004
"Black Wednesday" is what Mark called it. I spent most of the day with Will shopping for records in the lower 310 area, and found the much sought-after sloppy folk psych gem Fraser and Debolt for six dollars. Came home and spent the evening editing a commercial for ReMax of Glendale with Warren, sort of a multi-frame documentary on the work routine of a top agent. It looks really nice I think it's a small miracle of humanism as smart, attractive commerce, but I never thought I'd make a TV commercial; the only time I watch TV is when the Yankees get pounded by the Red Sox or when the America's last hopes get pounded by 50 million irredeemable fools. At my inner core I am peaceful and whatevs, but I couldn't help moping around in a stunned stupor today, rarely looking up from the ground and mostly dreading whatever's next. I feel sorry for the rest of the world; we may have the president we deserve, but what about the other six billion folks?
Monday, November 1, 2004
