What does the WGA stand for?

What does the WGA stand for? “We’re Greedy Assholes,” that’s what it stands for.

First, let me say that I’m not a big fan of the union. Its usefulness ended about 40 years ago. Seriously, do we really need them now? I mean, aren’t there enough laws on the books to protect the worker from the big bad employer? The one paying your wages for those 40 hours you put in each week? The one that has to follow rules established because of unions?

So what about the WGA? Most unions represent only those that actually work. The WGA, like the SAG, represents not only those that are working, but non-working as well. And what they’re fighting for currently is to get their fair share of revenue made by showing their wares on “new media,” like the internet, multi-media cell phones etc, etc, etc. Sure, being a “creative” is a little different than being, say, a GM car builder. With a manufacturer, the builder builds the car and is done with it. It goes out and pollutes the air, kills a few cats and, maybe, kills a few kids in a drunk-driving accident (heaven forbid this happening, but, let’s be precocious). Once the car is sold to the dealership, the people who built the car do not see any money from the sale of the car, let alone would they ever see any money from the resale of the car. And, if it goes to a rental agency, they wouldn’t even get a slice of the rental income, either. Now, let’s take a look at Mr. Screenwriter. He writes a script. They, (being the studios) make it into a hit television show. He is paid for the script. And then, he is paid each time it airs. What a gig! To be paid multiple times on something he wrote once. That’s gotta be nice.

So whom is this little strike affecting? Well, let’s see. EVERYONE?! You, me, the gaffer, the errand boy, craft services, the electricians, actors, directors, set photographers, etc, etc. This little strike is affecting everyone. How you ask? Let’s break it down. Let’s start with the obvious. The actors and crew of each television show. While the writers walk in circles creating their wonderful little picket chants (they’re creative, I’m sure they’re coming up with doozies as we read), the actors, directors, producers and all that are associated with those shows are sitting on their thumbs waiting for the strike to end. Sure, they (being the actors) probably don’t need the money but what about the people, who actually don’t make the big bucks, like the secretaries, interns, cue card holders, etc? This is a job for them. Some of them are probably even aspiring actors just trying to break into the business. So, now they’re out of work until this nonsense ends.

Next, we have the consumer. Who are these writers ultimately writing for? They’re writing to entertain the masses. And who are the masses? Yep, that’s us. And we’re sick and tired of watching the episode that aired two weeks ago. We don’t care that Letterman struck a deal with the WGA. And we certainly don’t care that Leno and the rest didn’t. Shit, we hardly care about late night talk shows anyway! Sure, the numbers are up but when you put water in the mouths of the thirsty, they’re gonna drink. And, new films are shitcanned because the writers can’t write until this strike ends. Don’t expect too many films this year, unless they’re indies that were written by non-WGA members. On a side note; as consumers, we should boycott television, period. Go out, read a book, take a bicycle ride, go camping. Ignore your television. And, don’t go see any movies, either (unless it’s that indie we just talked about).

Who else is this affecting? Those writers who don’t actually write (for pay, that is), that’s who. Like I had mentioned earlier, the WGA reps both working and non-working writers. Those that are working are still getting paid – reruns of their shows still generate income. But what about those who don’t write for some television show or are writing some spec or screenplay? Until this strike ends, they can’t find work or can’t finish their work, unless they want to be branded a scab, of course. So, the question they’re probably asking at the moment is – “would you like to see the dessert menu tonight?”

Anyone notice that the Golden Globes have been canned? The WGA won’t even allow an awards event to happen. Shit, this is an AWARDS EVENT, honoring those in the business for their talented work. And their selfish bullshit has caused The Hollywood Foreign Press Association to cancel the event and simply have NBC News cover a PRESS CONFERENCE (holy shit, a press conference??) whilst they read off the names of the winners. How fucked up is that? Well, guess what? We’re the ones who pay their ginormous salaries (through purchasing advertised products and box office receipts). We deserve to see that shit.

So, please forgive me if I think the WGA is a bunch of selfish, greedy bastards who don’t look at the big picture. They’re fighting for a 2.5 percent cut for Christ’s sake. Two and a half percent? And for what? A technology we don’t fully know the numbers on yet. For fuck’s sake, get over yourselves. Your selfish act is affecting a lot more than your paychecks and principles. It’s affecting others who work in the entertainment industry. It’s affecting the American population (to say the least). It’s even affecting crappy-ass writers who say they write even if it’s only between server gigs at the Cheesecake Factory.

Let’s do what people did when Major League Baseball striked. Everyone stopped going to the games afterwards. Their attention was elsewhere. How about we just stop watching television? Even you Nielsen families (ESPECIALLY you Nielsen families); turn off your tv’s. Go read a book or something.

Day 1

I've been going to the gym off and on for years. Here would be the equation in mathematical terms:

( ( loss of weight ) + ( put weight back on ) ) / (way too many years) == no results


So.. I've decided to enlist the help of a personal trainer. It's one of my goals this year to lose a substantial amount of weight. I came to the conclusion that I couldn't do it by myself - I needed motivation that was beyond me. This is normal, I think, for many people - I can't do it by myself as I've proven by my mediocre mathematical equation. Don't get me wrong, in the last 3 months I've probably lost about 25 pounds. It is noticeable and people have told me they see a difference. Unfortunately, it isn't good enough for me. I want substantial weight loss and I want it quickly. I don't have the patience for this 'one year/50 pounds' bullshit. I have a goal in mind which, at the end of the first phase, I'll divulge. But, right now, just know that I'm determined and nothing will stop me.

I've decided to stop my intake of alcohol for the first phase. I want to see how it will affect me. I know that my being a vegetarian has greatly helped my weight loss. I will be going to the gym 5-6 days a week for at least a half-hour a day. Two days a week will be with my trainer; those days, 1 hour.

Meals will consist of mainly salads and fish (in the form of sushi, yum!). For snacks - nuts, fruit and whey protein. I currently take supplements so that's taken care of. Lots of water to fill me up and lots of chocolate.. okay, not a lot of chocolate. Just a little. :-)

So, the workouts I can already say will kick my ass. My first workout was only 25 minutes long and I know I'll be walking tomorrow as though there was a stick up my ass. I could barely drive my car home with a stiff clutch. I thought I was going to crash into the parked cars in the lot.

I used to watch others training and I thought - 'how easy is that!?' Well, it's not. I thought the weights I used were congruent to what a pussy would use. Well, new found respect to those whom I thought were pussies. I could barely finish the high reps with low weights. I was dying! My trainer assured me that endurance will increase along with the muscle mass. I hope so. More muscle means more calories burned.

Anyway, my determination is high. There are things outside of the trainer that motivate me. And, by putting it out in the open here, I have to continue. Otherwise, I will be ridiculed. And, honestly, if I don't succeed, the punishment will be great. So, I can't fail.

End: Day 1

A Time for Comfort

Tonight a friend called me to wish me a Happy New Year and all of that. I could tell there was something wrong but she asked and I immediately went into how great my New Year's was and how I thought '08 was going to be this fucking awesome year and what I had planned and what my goals and aspirations were. But, I realized I was talking about myself too much and that I knew there was something wrong with her so I asked her.. what's wrong?

Her grandfather died this morning.

I felt so bad that it was all about me for the first 5 minutes of the conversation. Everything became about her and her feelings; I wanted to console and comfort, I wanted to make sure she was okay. I told her that he was in a better place and that he is no longer suffering. It was okay to be selfish in that she missed him terribly and that she couldn't let go. It was okay. We all need to be selfish once in awhile. Just grieve and be happy that you had spent those years with him. Be happy that you have those fond memories. Be happy you got to see him before he passed. We all lose someone we love. And, we'll never see them again. It's a part of life. Be thankful you had that time to spend together.

I'm really glad that she could call and get comfort from me. It feels good to be there for your friends. It reinforces the importance of friendship and that she will be my friend for life, even though she is hundreds of miles away. I am there for her as she is for me and that's just a special thing. Especially in times of loss.

Feel privileged if you have a friend like that.

OK..

Phew.. that was a long break..

Anyway.. I wanted to say one thing - NEVER, EVER forget to take your cherry Chapstick out of your pocket before doing laundry.

EVER.

A bit of advice to you all.

The new year

With the new year, I'll be taking a little break.

Check back periodically, maybe I'll put something up. But my time is going to be spent on other, more positive activities.

Happy 08.

Craptastic Films of 2007 - my "Top-10"

Everyone has a list of their Top-10 favorite films. So, instead of boring you with my trivial list of good-to-go-for-the-year films, I thought I'd compile a list of not-so-fav's. It was rather difficult because, really, there were over 300 films released this year and a lot of them were just fucking crap. Fortunately, I didn't get to partake in all of this year's bad films but... I did see a few.
So here are my picks for Worst Movies of the Year 2007. They are in alphabetical order as to not embarrass anyone or make any of them seem worse than the others because, honestly, they all sucked pretty bad.

Blood and Chocolate
Who needs another werewolf film, and one with a love story with a.. human? We already saw it in a much better film called UNDERWORLD, which had a better leading lady, too (Kate Beckensale rocks my fucking world), not that I would kick Agnes Bruckner out of bed. I will have to hand it to the SFX people here; the transformations from human into werewolves were much more elegant than in other films. None of that painful, gut-wrenching, bone-snapping stuff here.. just a simple slip from human to canine. It was pretty. Lame.

Bratz
When I was dragged to this film, I thought, “Goody! A story based on slutty adolescent girls' dolls. This'll rock!” Of course, I was wrong. It didn't rock. It made me shutter. If it weren't made for 10-year old fashion-conscious girls, maybe I would have enjoyed the film more. Who am I kidding? No, I wouldn't have. Take MEAN GIRLS, strip it of any wit, talent and plot, add a bunch of clique-loving “BFF's” and a terrible sense of fashion and you get.. well, you get shit.

Delta Farce
Larry the Cable is funny, not so much. Maybe I'm a little snooty when it comes to fart jokes, but I prefer my humor with a little bit more intelligence and a little bit less 4th grade playground banter. The premise of the film is simply idiotic. How ANY American soldier can mistake a Mexican village for one in Iraq is beyond me. It was like someone wrote this in 20 minutes and hoped it would be carried by the “wit” and “chemistry” of the leads. Whoever green lighted this film should be taken to Iraq and shot. In the scheme of buddy films and things of that nature, this film makes ISHTAR and THREE AMIGOS look like masterpieces.

Epic Movie
The guys that brought you DATE MOVIE should have learned their lesson after that craptastic bomb. EPIC MOVIE is one of those lazy-ass films that parodies more popular ones and uses adolescent humor to get a laugh. Sorry, it didn't work. It's sad because Kal Penn is usually so fucking funny. He was brilliant in VAN WILDER (not so much in the second, though) but he was just a bore here. The WILLY WONKA parody, the SNAKES ON A (mother-fucking!) PLANE parody... It made little baby Jesus cry, I'm sure. It's no wonder Fox didn't even screen this film for critics prior to release.

Eragon
Seriously, a movie based on a book written by a 15 year old? If you didn't know that, you could certainly ascertain it from the poor dialogue in the film. You have to wonder if they did any re-writing at all of the script to make it more interesting. As a dragon film, it's okay for the kiddies but I just couldn't swallow the plot, the performances (that's the director's fault) and the fact that you could fly those dragons through the plot holes all over this film. Jeremy Irons, what were you thinking?! After seeing this on screen, we all know what Fox will do with the the rest of this trilogy - nothing, because the first installment sucked ass!

Kickin' It Old Skool
Jamie Kennedy is a pretty talented dude. He's a great musician, he's a funny comedian and he has actually made a few decent films (I won't say because I don't want to risk being made fun of for the lack of taste I may possess). What's most rad about Kennedy is that he rolls with Bob Saget. Props to that, yo! Unfortunately, he had to go and make a movie about a boy who lands in a coma after a breakdancing accident and wakes up 20 years later to find that cassette tapes have been replaced with iPods and that breakdancing has long passed its prime. So what does he do? He gets his sorry ass crew back together for one last showdown. Borrring. Stick to stand-up, dude.

Lions for Lambs
Did this movie actually come out? Even the squabbles between Redford, Streep and Cruise didn't generate enough hype to bring this film to the box office top-10. In fact, it didn't even gross enough in the box office to cover any of their commanding salaries. Sure, I'm against the war and terrorism like the next guy but I don't need Hollywood liberals to step up on their soapbox and preach to me on the big screen. Way too boring, way too preachy and way too long.

Norbit
If Eddie Murphy straps on one more fat suit, I'm going to become bulimic. He couldn't leave well enough alone after THE NUTTY PROFESSOR and he had to just fuck up his career post DREAMGIRLS. I'm not PC but fat jokes are just not funny. And watching a bitter, fat black “woman” who is married to a dimwitted orphaned wussy black man who pines after his childhood sweetheart is just fucking lame.

Rush Hour 3
If there's anything worse than water boarding, it would be watching RUSH HOUR 3. Having to sit through this film was like being subjected to torture that is banned in the Geneva Convention. Chris Tucker's amazingly annoying voice is somewhat to blame along with his lack of comedic talent. Jackie Chan is getting too old for his stunt routines and he should just retire. Expect a Rush Hour 4. I guess people like pain. Just a note - Michael Jackson dancing is so 1983.


Southland Tales
Oh. My. God. If ever there was a film that could stop careers in their tracks, it would be this one. I wonder if Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Mandy Moore, et al, got together one day, had a pow-wow and decided to do something that would quickly do just that. SOUTHLAND TALES is sooo bad, even the premise of Gellar being a pornstar doesn't save it. I don't know how any of the talent in this film became attached to it. Did they throw darts at bad scripts and land one on this? It's so sad because I loved DONNIE DARKO; it's one of my Top-10 favorite films of all time and Richard Kelly just completely dropped the ball on this one. Even Jon Lovitz as a bad-ass cop couldn't keep me interested. Seriously, someone's agent needs to be fired.

There you have it - my 10 craptastic films of 2007. I can't wait for what's in store for '08. What with the writer's strike and all, maybe we'll see some decently written films for once (suck it WGA).

Merry Christmas

I wish upon you all a very Merry Christmas.

I hope at this time of year you and yours are happy, safe and cheerful.





I'll put on the mask of cheer once again this year. But, really, it's just another fucking day.

Phllip K. Dick

Somewhere in the interweb world there will come along an article about Ridley Scott's Blade Runner (it's out there, just not released yet. It's ready to go but technology can be such a bitch sometimes). In this article, there is an interview with Phillip K. Dick's daughter, Isa.

I am a huge sci-fi fan, yet I HATE Isaac Asimov; oh, the irony (how can you not like the man who wrote the Three Laws of Robotics?). I love Orson Scott Card. My favorite novel is Double Exposure. I really do like William Gibson, though he can be very dry. I've read novels that totally bite on Gibson's work and I've loved them, too. So many different authors that I cannot remember. I thank my dad for his indirect influence (I just wish he would have helped me become more of a voracious reader like he was).

One author that I've never read is PKD. Getting back to the first paragraph, the reason why I mention the Blade Runner article is because, after reading that, I went and read Dick's brief autobiography and wow.. this man was brilliant. He wrote so much in such a short time. His ideas were off the wall and he wrote a fucking journal that's huge. Like, 8,000 pages-huge.

His ideas about reality and what shapes it are rather interesting. Why is it that people who are almost off their rocker (ie: John Forbes Nash - mathematician) are the most brilliant? It's one thing to wish for better articulation but to be so brilliant that you're crazy. Well, I wish to be brilliant, but not crazy. Anyway, I've become fascinated with the man and now I want to read his work.

I don't want to seem like I'm jumping on the PKD bandwagon. If my father'd had any of his novels, I'm sure I would have read them (after all, my favorite author is Dean Koontz.. again, thanks dad.. and he didn't even really like Koontz). But Dick is becoming more and more popular these days. We have seen a resurgence of him due to the popularity of Blade Runner (adapted from the novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?). We've seen A Scanner Darkly, Total Recall (adapted poorly from a short story, I understand), Paycheck (John Woo, bless his heart.. but Ben Affleck? What a nutter!) and a host of other films. We will see other films adapted from his stories and novels come to fruition soon. The man, who no one thought would ever be of any interest to mainstream society, is now one of the most influential science fiction writers of all time. It's what happens when you die prematurely.

Anyway, I will make it a mission to read the writings of PKD. His philosophy, his work, everything.. it interests me. I've got so much to read as it is. I need more time in the day! And more focus.

It is at these times I wish I were better read, more articulate and, simply, smarter. Though I'm not stupid, I wish I were just a little bit more intelligent.

Out with the old.. in with the new..

As the end of the year approaches, I just wanted to say what an interesting ride it has been. From amazing highs to some really fucked up lows, this year has been quite amazing.

Each year, I always tell myself that it will be a good one. And, every year, it turns out below expectations. This year was different.

I continued to grow my web assets. Though I didn't achieve what I thought I would this year, it was still pretty good. Next year should be much better. Also, I plan to build a few new assets for the coming year. I'm in the design phases right now.

I met this amazing woman. I can say she is one of but a handful of beautiful women I've come to know or recognize in my life. My concept of 'beautiful' is different than most. It was in high school that I decided that being 'beautiful' was not only about looks but about the overall package. And, one had to excel in so many attributes that being beautiful to me was a very hard thing to attain. I don't use the description lightly. Though we are just friends now, I view her to be an important part of my life and I cherish her immensely (I can just see her cringing as I type this). But what's really important -- she's an amazing person.

I've gained some wonderful insight on myself. The last 4 or 5 months have been some of the most brilliant I've ever experienced. I've learned to deal with personal issues in a more positive manner. I can't say everything's perfect (I still get depressed from time to time, but I think that's normal), and they never will be (perfection doesn't exist, sorry), but they're pretty damn good.

I have found employment, which is good. It's not what I want to do but.. hey.. I'm employed, right? It makes me money and I can do the things I want. When those things that I really want to do start to fruition, I'll be in a good place.

For the coming year, I have new plans. New ambitions. I need to get off of my procrastinating, lazy ass. Though we can start at any time to renew ourselves, it's just easier at the beginning of a new year. It's like passing Go, collecting $200 and just going round the board again. I have plans. I have goals. I have aspirations. I've forgotten what it's like to work my ass off. I've been complacent, but not really satisfied. I'm feeling excited again.

It's time to make a plan and stick with it, ya know? I want to be something more. I want to be bigger than who I am now.

2008 is going to be a fucking stellar year. And I plan to make it happen, Cap'n!

Sometimes..

..it's okay to wallow in self-pity.

Sometimes it's okay to be depressed. One cannot be happy all of the time.

That's creepy. And unnatural.

So, I'm taking the time right now to wallow. To examine what it is that depresses me so I can move on and center myself. It happens less frequently but it still happens. And I enjoy a good depression once in awhile. It's almost comforting.

What is it now, you may be wondering?

None of your concern.

Glenlivet with a Coke Back

"Glenlivet with a Coke back."

That's what I said to the bartender as I sank into the leather chair. I had searched for over a half-hour for a parking spot that wasn't over ten dollars an hour and now I just needed a drink. The city was cruel that way. There was a cute blond sitting next to me, yapping away to the two guys next to her. It was just one of those nights.

I couldn't be bothered with the formalities. I just wanted to crawl into a rocks glass. The brown liquid soothed.

Something was eating at me, something I couldn't place my finger on. Things were going well but, in an unfamiliar place, sometimes one can be thrown for a loop. I had gotten a tip from one of the guests at the hotel that the Lounge on 4th Street was the place to be. It was a cozy place. The clientele a mixture of the college crowd and the 50 something. I was focused on the in-between.

The girl was sipping on something green, probably something made of Midori. It was mild, I'm sure; she probably didn't want to get blitzed. After all, it was a school night. Upon inquiring, she said her name was Joan. 'Joan,' I thought. What a fucked up name. I hated that name. It was the name of the woman whom my father thought was his soul mate. She wasn't. But, I wasn't looking for what my father thought he'd found. I was looking for one night. And Joan was as good as any.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"I design buildings for a living," she said.

"Oh, you're an architect." I stirred my scotch with the white straw the bartender was nice enough to supply.

"Yeah. What do you do?"

"I do a lot of things." I made it a point to be vague. I'm not about being specific, especially to someone I knew I would never see again after the morning rolled around.

"Oh. How mysterious." She twirled her jet black hair in her finger. Her blue eyes piercing me.

"I try," was all I could manage.

"Do you live here?"

"No, I'm in town on business."

"Really?" She leaned in, her eyes engaging. There was something about her that screamed 'Fuck me. FUCK ME NOW!" I refused the the blatant invitation. I was going to play for a bit.

"Yeah. Advertising." It was a lie, but I didn't think she cared. As long as she thought I was important, it didn't matter.

"Advertising? What kind of advertising?"

"Internet. I'm meeting with a few people who want to advertise with me." This was true. I wasn't going to tell her I was the owner of a growing Internet company. The boom was over a long time ago. And this wasn't Silicone Valley. Again, I don't think she cared.

"Oh yeah? What kind of site do you have?" Her leg brushed up against mine. She was invading my space. It looked promising.

"Just something in entertainment. It pays the bills." Her eyes widened. God, they were inviting.

She sipped her drink. She was definitely interested. And that was a good thing. I knew I could close this deal and it was time to do just that.

"Are you here with anyone?" I asked.

"Why?" She smiled coyly.

"I thought, maybe, you'd want to join me for a night cap."

"What do you have in mind?" Her smile grew.

I paid the check and gave her directions to my hotel.

It was a good night.

Blah Blah Fuckity Blah

Armistead Maupin. Tales of the City.

Read it.



I have nothing today except gay people, big cities and bullshit.

Tequila??

Yeah, so I'm sitting at the hotel bar cos I needed food (who goes to the hotel bar for food??!) and there's a guy sitting there talking to the bartender and I knew he was gay just by listening to him and we strike up a conversation. Next thing you know, we're doing tequila shots and talking about life and relationships.

Doesn't matter if one's gay -- get two guys who are sensitive, hopeless romantics together talking and things get a little weird. But what a nice fella.. Twenty-five years with the same partner. He knows how to make a guy jealous.

Cheers to Ken!

Here I am Seattle!

I must say, it's pretty damn cold up here. I should have brought a jacket but.. meh, I couldn't fit it in my luggage.

Being up at 3:30am to catch a flight at 6:45am is not fun, either. I'm glad I was the only one on the Super Shuttle to the airport. It's amazing how little traffic there is on the freeway at that time.. not that I was surprised.

The flight was nice. Sitting in the emergency exit row gave me some room to stretch. And, not a lot of people onboard. Very nice, indeed.

The 2 hour flight gave me time to read - I finally got to get through most of my Buddhism book.

Anyway, the day was uneventful. The weather was nice, though. And let me tell ya.. LOTS of trees. LOTS. It's like the city planners built it in the middle of a forest. And the skyline is really neat, with downtown being right next to the Sound. It looks like LA or San Francisco but it's right next to the water. It's the best of two worlds.. nature AND the big city. I should have brought my camera.

I like it here.

But it's damn cold!

Off to the hotel gym. There's only so much one can do without transportation. I think I'll shell out for a rental sometime this week and go looking for Meredith Grey and maybe McDreamy.

My world's been hijacked!

Have you noticed AT&T Wireless' slogan? "Your World. Delivered."

Let's break that slogan down.

Your World.

My World? So, AT&T has my world. It knows my friends, family, co-workers. It has my interests, my likes and dislikes. It has my reality! So, in essence AT&T possesses my interests, surroundings and my way of life. All in my phone. Next.

Delivered.

It's like they're saying, "here you go! Have Your World." They are bringing it right to me. I don't have to go anywhere, do anything, strain or otherwise lift a finger. Here you go, your world and it's delivered right to ya.

I don't know about you but I do not want to be a complacent, lazy automaton thank you very much. I do not want to grant my mobile phone company control over my world and hand it to me on a platter when I need it. The slogan is almost subversive. It's saying, hey.. let us do your work for you. You just need to sit there and let us do it for you. Become lazy. Become stupid. Become a friggin' idiot. Because when you do, you'll become our little money bucket.

Your World. Delivered. Now if they could deliver pizza.. oh wait.. they can do that, too. Damn it.

Travel time

I'm going to Seattle next week. I haven't been in a few years but each time I go it's always a new experience. I really like Seattle, it's such a great town. There's a charm about the place that you won't find in LA. Los Angeles is so stale. It's just... there. I mean, I do get a sense of something with Los Angeles. That something says 'old' (a lot of history). Seattle conveys quirkiness, fun, fresh.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter except that I haven't traveled in a while and I really need to be somewhere else for a bit... get my mind on something different. I'm thankful for this time away.

Be good kids. I'm sure no one will miss me. Just make sure you turn the lights out when you're done.

Favorites...

I was thinking about something I read in a concert program booklet not too long ago. The band members were asked what their favorite things were. Kind of like the following...

Favorite Smell: This may sound strange but diesel exhaust. It brings back memories of my childhood in Japan.

Favorite Taste: Cherry Tomatoes

Favorite Memory: The quiet morning with the mountains on one side and the stream on the other and no one made a sound.

Favorite Wine: Any good Pinot Noir

Favorite Past Time: Learning/Exploring/Discovering

Favorite Feeling: Being loved

Favorite Place: Hakodate, Hokkaido, Japan

Favorite Time: Childhood

Favorite Color: Green

Favorite Book: Double Exposure by Piers Anthony

Favorite Artist: Mondrian

Favorite Song: Charlotte Sometimes by the Cure

Favorite Music Genre: Electronic/Techno/Ambient

Favorite Band: None.

Favorite favorite: Ghirardelli Hot Chocolate in San Francisco in December

A work of fiction ongoing

Here is something I've been working on. I really wanted to experiment with the first person narrative, telling the story from the main character's point of view. I really enjoyed the way Dean Koontz wrote, in first person, in his Odd Thomas trilogy. The following is an idea I had been playing with for a bit and it simply flowed out of me. I know it needs work and I will be updating periodically, revising, editing and adding to it. It will be an ongoing project on this blog page and I hope you enjoy it, or at least enjoy the concept. Please add comments as you see fit. The dashes in between some paragraphs indicate a possible new chapter. They are, at the very least, breaks. Thank you for reading! -S-

---

I often wondered what the universe had in store for me. One day, not too long ago, I was thinking about getting into the world of acting and not too long after that I bumped into some talent agent at the coffee shop. He said I had a great look and a vibe. What era were we in again? This doesn’t happen now; maybe in the 40’s but not now. And a vibe? What the fuck does that mean? Anyway, he asked me if I had a headshot and I told him I wasn’t an actor. He gave me his card and told me to send him a headshot when I decided to become one. Strange, but true.

I told my best friend Dave the other day that the universe wants me to be an actor. He just laughed and said that I certainly had a lot of drama in my life.

I threw a bagel at him.

It’s not drama. It’s just entertainment, I say. It’s what keeps us on our toes. But, Dave was right; I do have a lot of drama in my life. See, I attract attention. If drama were water, I’d be the lowest point. I’m a magnet to this shit. I don’t know why.

I slept on that business card for four straight days, wondering if the guy was full of shit or something. Maybe he does this to unsuspecting people each week just to deflate their egos. Or, he likes to get their headshots to make fun of the obviously fake poses and cheesy smiles that oblivious actor-wannabe’s have. Who knows, but whatever it was I was taking the bait.

The headshots came back two days later. My obviously fake pose and cheesy smile were more apparent than the ones in the family photos or in the snapshots posted on Match.com. The photographer said I was great to work with, that I did exceptionally well. Of course he’d say that after I paid him the money. I have to say though that he did make me look pretty snappy otherwise.

I drafted a letter of intent (more a letter saying that we bumped into each other at the coffee shop last week and that I should send a headshot) and mailed it off with my photographs.

His name was Drew Allen. One should never trust a guy that has two first names, I always said. He was your typical hotshot Hollywood agent (not that I knew what your typical hotshot Hollywood agent looked like). He wore Armani sunglasses, Canali and Armani suits (if he didn’t have them tailor-made), shoes “handcrafted” by Berluti and he probably paid more for each tie than I did for my monthly car note. He was a class act, if you were into shallow shit like that. But his clients loved him (so he says, anyway).

I visited his office in Beverly Hills where he worked for a prestigious talent agency. He had given me a call asking me to come down to discuss his plans for my future. His plans? My future? It all sounded odd to me but I was game. It’s not like being a barista at Starbucks was a superb career goal. But neither was acting. In any case, I was young and I had time to waste some of my youth. Why not give it a try? It’s not like I’d become a famous actor over night or anything. So when I sat down with Drew, we had a serious heart to heart.

“So, kid.. you wanna be an actor, huh? I can see it in you. I don’t do this all the time but I’ve found a few good ones here and there. Some have done well and the others, not so well. But who cares, right?” Drew laughed at his own funny.

Kid? Who the fuck was he calling a kid? He was probably, what, 3 or 4 years older than me? Talk about a blowhard.

“I don’t know if I want to be an actor but I was thinking about it before I bumped into you. It’s something different. I don’t have a lot of experience at it. A high school play here, a weekend with the friends in the backyard there… I dunno, it was just a thought.”

“I’m not worried about talent, son. You have a look. This is how it was done in the 30’s and 40’s…”

Yes, the 30’s and 40’s… Maybe it was a new marketing ploy or a way to use tactics so archaic that it would be laughable in any other profession. And there he went with that ‘son’ comment. Who did he think he was? George Burns? Shit!

“…Anyway, your look and my guidance and we can get you somewhere.”

“So, it doesn’t matter if I have no talent?” I just wanted to make sure I had this straight before I asked any other questions.

“Does Paris Hilton have any talent? Sure, she can suck a tennis ball through a garden hose really well, but she has the talent of a brick. You don’t need talent, kid. Talent’s for thespians and starving artists.”

Great. I'd be excited if I could muster it. Try picturing the jerk-off hand motion.

“So, how do I start? What can you do for me? Is this gonna cost me anything? Is this… a scam?”

“A scam?” he laughed. “No, kid, this isn’t a scam. Scam artists don’t work in one of the biggest talent agencies in the world. Did you see all the hot chicks working outside my office? If this were a scam, they’d be sitting in this office, not you. And, believe me; they’re all wet in the panties hoping for that chance.” His eyes gleamed with the idea that those girls, working for close to minimum wage and doing his dirty work, would do almost anything to just sit on this chair hoping he’d give them a mindfuck and a chance to suck his cock or something. What a prick. “So what’s it gonna cost you?” he asked. “I’ll have a contract drawn up. I know that, with my work and your good looks, I can get you far fast. Standard rate for an agent is forty percent but for you, I’ll take thirty-five, plus expenses and all of that other crap.”

Thirty-five percent. Yeah, like that wasn’t excessive. I later found out that the standard rate was around 10 to 15 percent. Talk about taking advantage.

“Cool, cos I don’t want to get screwed in the end, you know?” I was trying to play coy but I think he knew it.

“Sure, kid. If anyone’s gonna get screwed it’s me. I’m taking a chance in making you a star. Remember that there’s something more important than money. And that’s image and people’s perception of you. If they think you’re full of shit, you’re not gonna get shit. Remember that.”

---

I was sitting in front of the TV playing Halo 3 on the Xbox. I don’t know but there’s something totally Zen about blowing shit up on a video game. It’s even more Zen that you’re blowing other people’s shit up all over the world. I thought it was meditative and enlightening, though most would certainly disagree. Dave let himself in through the front door and sat beside me on the couch. Taking the second controller, he joined in on the fragging that was currently in progress.

“This game so rocks.” Dave was a master of the English language. “If it weren’t for your Xbox, I’d probably never come over.”

“I’ll be sure to get rid of it straight away then.”

“Fuck off.” He slapped me upside my head and proceeded to frag my ass off the map. Afterwards, he brought his character over mine and did multiple crouches over my face. Gamers would call this teabagging. I called it a display of childish domination.

“When are you going to stop doing that? It’s fucking stupid.”

“When you stop dying like a little pussy bitch. You know I’ll always own you. You’re such a newb!”

I’m such a newb? I’m the one that taught him how to play the fucking game. Just because I don’t sleep with my game console doesn’t mean I’m a newb. He might as well change his home address to mine, he’s here so much.

As Dave tapped the controller, his face seemed concentrated on the fast-paced action on the screen. I threw my controller onto the table in front of me and watched for a second. Then I told him about my day with my new agent.

“So you think you’re gonna be a movie star?” he asked.

“I dunno. I mean, he seemed like he knew what he was talking about, though he was talking out of his ass. He said the chicks in his office were wet with wanting him to make them stars. And he kept calling me 'kid'. The dude’s probably 26 and he thinks he knows everything. Whatever. I just want to see what happens.” I pointed to the screen at the guy who was about to shoot him from the rocks above him. His character jumped from one platform onto another where he picked up a grenade and threw it at his would-be killer.

“Fuck you dickwad! Eat that shit!”

Did I mention he has a great command of the English language?

“So he’s writing up the contracts and says he’s taking thirty-five percent from whatever I make.”

“Is that a lot?”

“I dunno. Maybe. But, if he can get me into the business... It’s not about the money, right?”

“Bullshit it’s not! If you make a million bucks, this guy takes 300 geez. That’s a lot of fucking dough, dude.”

Sometimes, his intelligence amazes me. He was right. That was a lot of money. But who said I was going to make a million bucks? I certainly didn’t expect it.

Dave got up and went to the kitchen. “Hey, tell your mom to buy more beer!” he yelled.

“Tell your mom to buy beer and bring it over. What do you think this place is the fucking pub?”

---

It was a week before I heard from Drew. He had an affinity for making things a bigger deal than what they really were. He had a talent, that’s for sure.

“Hey, Matt! How’s it going?”

Yeah, my name is Matt, by the way. I’m 22 years old, six foot one, 190 pounds. I have brown hair and blue eyes and I think I’m in pretty good shape. I used to surf, play water polo and I like long walks on short piers. Anyway, I’ve been told I could be a model. What kind of model, I don’t know but if I had the choice I’d want to be one of those 1970’s Trans Am’s that Burt Reynolds drove in Smokey and the Bandit.

"Everything's good. I've been promoted to head barista. It's.. well, it's cool." Yeah, I was stoked. Not.

"Sounds wonderful. Hey, I've been in all of these meetings, shopping you around, getting some feedback. Everything's been fucking great, man. You're making a great impression! People like you. Anyway, I sent you your resume. I took the liberty."

He took the liberty? Great. I can't wait to see what talents I possess. It'll probably say that I can speak in several non-essential accents, I'm great with kids, I can ride a mountain bike - down hill - and that I've been trained by some top-notch acting coach. I'll have to wait and see. Of course, it doesn't matter if one has talent or not, right? Right.

"Great, thanks for looking out. I can't wait to see it. So, where do we go from here?

"I'll let you know. But things are looking good for you kid. Things are looking good."

Fucking aye, I need to tell him to stop calling me kid!

It was such a nice day..

In spite of a cold and some dreaded head pains, I decided to go out and enjoy the beautiful day. Since I woke up early and, well, didn't want to go back to sleep, I thought I'd take a drive. To Malibu. With a camera. Well, I actually went a little further than Malibu but not that far. I went to a few beach areas and took a hike up through the trails nearby. It was nice. It wasn't too hot and the walk gave me my cardio for the day. And the quiet. Oh, the quiet. It was nice. I thought it would be a perfect time to test out the black and white mode on the camera. I think these turned out well. The camera can mimick a red filter on the lens, that's why the images are dark and somewhat full of contrast. Please. To enjoy!

Islam + Teddy Bear == Tragic

What the fuck is this noise about a woman getting sentenced to 15 days in a Sudanese jail because her students named a Teddy Bear ‘Muhammad’? Sure, it’s better than the lashings she should have gotten or even death that those backwards fuckwads are calling for but.. seriously? Do we not see how religion completely stunts the mental and intellectual growth of people around the world; especially poor, ignorant folk who are brainwashed by clerics who twist the word of their god into something that spews hate and intolerance?

These backwards motherfuckers are distressed beyond all reason because a British woman allowed a stuffed toy to be given the same name as their beloved religious prophet. It’s also the name of 90% of all male children of the Islamic faith. This woman’s claim is that the bear was named after one of the children in her class.

This would make more sense. It’s more reasonable.

But, NO! These illiterate, ignorant, archaic dumbasses tried her, gave her what the hardliners there call a lenient sentence and will eventually deport her when she gets out of the slammer because they think it was intentionally done to insult their beliefs. Tards.
It’s a sentence of absurdity and intolerance. The only reason why she isn’t being lashed is because the Sudanese government wants to be in the good graces of Britain. Had it not been for that, this woman would have probably been killed without delay by roving bands of intolerant idiots.

Maybe I should name my dick ‘Muhammad’ and shove it in the ass of their brand of Islam. That’s much more offensive and is much more deserving of death. To all you who are offended by me even suggesting that -- go fuck yourselves. These Islamic fundamentalist twats (and all other religious fundamentalists for that matter) should be blown off the face of the earth and I relish in offending people like that because their complete and utter ignorance offends me.