Filed under: l.a.
“…i like how, when i don’t write in a while, my blog site doesn’t even offer me the option of writing a new post, preferring instead to treat me as if this is not my blog, and i am just some stranger browsing it. it feels like the cold shoulder. or maybe it’s the silent treatment. either way, it’s like an angry girlfriend…”
“…standing in the middle of the desert, listening to the director shout ‘no no, it looks like the jumper cables are hurting the bunny!’ and watching the ILM guys manipulate their RC controls, i heard one p.a. ask another, “who needed a walkie talkie?” to which the other shrugged and replied, ‘dunno. some guy with a moustache.’ and he was talking about ME. i have been the tall guy before. the blond guy. the obnoxious guy. the funny guy. the tall blond guy. but i have never been ‘the guy with the moustace…’”
“…awakened from a deep sleep that only two hours can get you into, esp. after two 12 hour nights in the desert, to the ringing phone in my hotel room. it was not a pleasant hotel operator letting me know this was my wakeup call. it was b. she said my name quietly, a question mark in her voice. after ascertaining that it was indeed me, she let me have it. as i deserved. i did, after all, still have a two hour drive to get home, the moving truck was due at any moment, and i was supposed to be arriving. the words coming out of her mouth were loud and high-pitched, and not at all an ideal way to be awakened…”
“the trailer is as big as four cars and blocks out the sun in front of my apartment building. the boxes that have fought me for all the space in my apartment are out there in it now. i have so much more to do, so little time in which to do it, and all i want to do is watch “rescue me…”
“when you get a new car, you expect a few things. i don’t know, just basic things. expecially when they promise you. i know you can’t trust car salesmen and everything, but i mean, come ON. verifiable things like a full tank of gas, detailing (not just a car wash and a shot of air freshener, but a detailing)…”
Filed under: historical
i was living in a small apartment in hell’s kitchen. i hadn’t been living there more than a few months, and was finally finding a little work as a camera assistant. i was nowhere near making a living yet, or anything, but i had hope.
the night before i was to start a feature, the fire alarm went off. a loud, piercing, screaming, siren-shriek wailed through the building. it wasn’t that late–like, midnight–but we were starting early in the morning, and i had gone to bed early. i was in the midst of a deep sleep, and it took a while to bring me out of it. when i finally awoke, all i could think was, “what the hell are they doing a fire drill tonight of all nights? i gotta get up in the morning!”
our apartment was at the end of the floor by the staircase, and the alarm was just outside our apartment, so i stumbled to the door in my underwear, grumbling to myself. i opened the door and looked out into the hallway just in time to see a firefighter go running (and i mean running) down the stairs from the floor above. i don’t know if he even saw me, he just kept on going.
i stood in the hallway a few more seconds. then i slammed the door and walked back to bed.
and that’s my only encounter with the fdny.
–is about the best thing overheard while working all day on the universal studios tram tour all day.
last time i got my hair cut, it was at rudy’s on sunset. it’s a cool joint, a converted garage run by rockers and goths that do hair. naked pictures of models all over the wall. indie rock bands i never heard playing. guitar straps with lightning bolts on them for sale.
the first time i got my hair cut there, this is the story i got:
“it’s not busy this time of year, so i have another job. i’m a dancer [stripper]. my parents know. they’re cool with it. i came out to l.a. to do hair and makeup in movies. i did a porn once [pretty graphic story omitted]. that’s why i don’t do that anymore…”
this last time, i got this:
“you’re leaving l.a.? i could never. i love it here. i’m from pennsylvania. i was raised amish. yeah. my parents decided not to do it anymore when i was fifteen. they moved us to missouri and then they became meth heads. there’s not much else to do out there. they burned our house down, so i had them both committed. [me:"you can do that?" her:"oh yeah. you can have anyone comitted."] they went through forcible rehab, and now they’re born-again christians. i moved out here cause i had to get away. also my son’s father is out here…”
you thinking what i’m thinking?
these girls are full of shit, right?
they’re bored with their jobs, bored with telling the same stories all the time, so they’re making up much more interesting ones. cause “i started cutting hair at the rudy’s in seattle, wanted to be an actress, so i transferred to the one in l.a.” just doesn’t cut it (oops; sorry).
i’m sure it’s part of their orientation.
“rule number one girls–be interesting! be entertaining! this is hollywood, and you’re the stars! so let’s hear some tall tales!”
i generally cut my own hair. but maybe i’ll go back one more time before i leave, just to see if i can get a new tale.
maybe even from the same girl.
Filed under: Uncategorized
here’s what happens with tivo.
say that i have a movie saved. it’s two hours long. (just say.) i load it up into the tivo, and i’m about to hit play, and then i go–
“eh. maybe not. it’s 11:30. i don’t want to start a movie now.”
so i go back to the menu, and i watch the office. and then my name is earl. and then jon stewart. and of course colbert. and then david spade…
and before you know it, it’s three in the morning.
stupid, right? not wanting to watch one two hour hting but then staying upa dn watching ten half hour things? and yet i do it all the time.
that’s how the damn internet is, i think. don’t want to write a blog, that will take too long, i want to write something good, i don’t know what to write, forhet it, i’ll do it later, let’s just peruse other peoples’. and then hours pass.
so maybe i should throw out the art-school pretention and just write words. about me and my life. a lot going on, and i ain’t tellin’, cause it ain’t arty enough.
gotta work on that…
a long time ago, i worked on a movie that starred a dog.
this amazing golden retreiver could do anything you wanted. as long as the trainer could be standing nearby doing little hand guestures and making little noises. you want the dog to sit, then walk across the room, lick a kid on the face, then walk to the witness stand, get up in the chair, and when the deputy swears him in, he puts his paw on the bible and barks? sure, no problem. as long as no one says any important lines, and you don’t mind that the dog is always looking just a little bit off camera. you know, where the trainer is doing their thing.
it pretty much ruined all dog movies for me. i see the dog looking offscreen, see him waiting for his trainer’s next command or a treat. i know how it works. that dog ain’t acting. it’s just follwing orders.
we saw “the omen” tonight, this sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year. wooooo. spooky.
well, it kinda was…a little. but mostly i just looked at that kid and thought, “what did the director say to that kid three seconds before they rolled to get him to make that specific face?”
“tomorrow is 6/6/06,” quoth raf. “bad things can happen. who knows. you know, london burned down in 1666.”
“on june sixth?” inquired i.
“no,” came his reply. “that would be too many sixes.”
Filed under: mood
it’s happening. the move. is on.
moving trailers are booked. the new house is all but purchased. first of the next month will be spent either on the road or in the new house. or in my furniture-less apartment (and only then to load into a car and drive away).
there’s a lot to do. i can feel that every minute of the day. even when i don’t know what it is, i know there is much to do. the stress weighs on me every minute.
dogs look at me and want to go outside. i know it’s time. one more thing i need to do. they represent all the things i have waiting for me. staring at me. time is all of a sudden of the essence.
pacing like a caged tiger around my house. wish there was just one thing to do a lot of in order to get this thing done rather than many different, unrelated things. that i can’t always remember to do or keep track of.
the phone should ring soon. but i can’t remember who it will be or why i am waiting for it. i am expecting emails, scanning my junk mail folder looking for emails that got held up. but i can’t remember who they would be from.
a lot to do.
why are those damn dogs always staring at me?!?
