Turn Up the Lights in Here, Baby

Ashes to ashes, 2010. You've been good to so few people I know.

Which is a shame because I like the number 2010. There's something so clean about it. So spare and slate-cleaning.

Two new original scripts—that's something accomplished. Some second-drafting to do on both of them, to be sure, but I'm cautiously optimistic with these. They're going to turn things around in 2011. They have to. Or else there will be Hell to pay.

(I told one of my friends that I was changing the name of one of my scripts from CADAVERS to WORLD OF CADAVERS. His only response: "That's what you're changing it to?" I have the most supportive friends in the universe.)

All right, you assholes, perhaps I'll see you in the future.

Tron Christmas Special

The 1982 Tron Holiday Special from Rip Taylor

(((Misanthropy Central Christmas Entry)))

Wow. Christmas has arrived. Can't you hear the screaming of a million children?

What am I doing for Christmas this year? I'm staying home—alone in The Tomb—and writing. Because I need to get this script done by the end of the year.

Last year's Christmas entry was so much more engaging!

I'm honestly not a Scrooge. Somewhere deep, deep down in the blackest hole where a heart used to be, I do have a fondness for the holiday. And I hope that one day, I'll be able to just relax and enjoy this time of year.

But this year, as it's been for the past number of years, I'm just out here fighting to make my dream an organic, sustainable reality.

Here are some fun things to read/see today:

Saddest Christmas in the World! (This is the MUST read.)

A single bowl of noodles is NOT worth $324... but here's what's in it.
Science Makes Singing Mouse
Lost ALF footage.
Jon Stewart, Louis CK and Colin Quinn... together in 1990.

Let's be careful out there.

Christmas Eve with Malice in your heart

Oh, look at you. You keep checking back here to see if this once-regular blog has got a new entry up. You know that I'm writing. You know that I'm trying to make a self-imposed deadline, don't you?

I'm looking forward to getting back to you. There are some entries I've been meaning to write that I will probably still write, even though they will be old subjects. You will skim them out of boredom at work.

Here's some odds and ends I've been meaning to share, if you haven't already read them ages ago:

An interview with Berkley Breathed, creator of one of Malice's favorite childhood comic strips, "BLOOM COUNTY".

A curious Esquire interview with Christian Bale.

The influence of THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER.

[Quick laugh.]

Spider-Man Musical Mayhem

I was supposed to see the Julie Taymor/Bono+Edge SPIDER-MAN musical stunt-show spectacular this past spring. Then it got pushed back. More recently, the show went into previews amidst many bad accidents... and coinciding with some old friends being in town, I was going to see the Wednesday matinee...

... which has now been cancelled...

This show does not want to be seen. This could be the Macbeth curse for musicals. Theater people will not want to utter the name "Spider-Man"...

Last of the Holiday Party Crashers

Writers Guild of America East. Holiday Party.

You pay your quarterly dues. You give them a cut of every dime you make in the entertainment industry. And once a year, you get a few hours of an open bar and a little bit of food.

This year, I wasn't sent an invitation. Despite the fact that my dues are all paid up and I'm in "good standing". I wouldn't have even known about it had I not checked the website and did a last minute RSVP.

Let me tell you, O My Brothers, I was ready to fight the old lady manning the guest list if my name wasn't on there. I was going to this fucking thing and getting my free goddamn drinks no matter what.

No fight necessary, alas. My name was on there with my +1.

These WGAE holiday parties have gone way downhill since I started going to them. First two years, they were held at the Friar's Club, which is just dripping with history. Third year, the ballroom of some hotel. Fourth year, some space up in Columbia. This year, a generic loft space in Gramercy. (Next year, I think they're gonna just reserve a few tables at a Boston Market.)

The Menu:
As you stepped in, wait staff walked around with little chicken pot pie hors d'œuvres.

Main course— mini roast beef sandwich bites, salmon with mango salsa, wild rice, radicchio salad. (Appears they were trying to be more healthy this year.)

For dessert— little brownie things, a bread pudding dish with accompanying sauces.

Well, it's hard to complain when it's free. Of course, I pay a shitload of money to be a member of this union.

That's the last company holiday party of the season for me. Prolific, Spurlock's production company and WGAE. Now, we race toward the end of this year.

Hey Nelly

Holiday Party Crashers

Prolific—my new NYC-based management company—had a holiday party Wednesday night. Naturally, I'll go anywhere for some free booze and food.

They dressed up the place nicely for the evening. A lot more welcoming than my first visit. I got to talk with my guy Will a bit more—who I guess is essentially my NYC manager. (I have 3 managers now??) I thought there was a good spread of food there, but Will apologized for it: he'd set up a whole different catering spread but had to change it at the last minute because the head of the company wanted it to be entirely kosher. Chicken fingers, potato croquettes, veggie eggroll things... whatever it all was, it was good enough for me.



[head of the company's gun collection]
I ended up doing some mild mingling. My stomach was bothering me that night so it was hard to get into it. Though it was all laid back, it was more of a networking affair than the Writer's Guild holiday parties. There were more producers and directors there and it was kinda nice not to be in a roomful of bloody writers. Struck up conversations with an indie movie producer for a spell; he said he'd made 30 movies. At one point, this director woman sat next to me on a couch and started chatting me up; when I told her that I was working on a horror script, she began casting it for me with all the people she's friends with. "I know Michelle Rodriguez. Lisa Edelstein—I was just hanging out with her last night. Gerard Butler... but I don't know if he'd do horror. Hugh Grant..." Me telling her that I was writing a horror screenplay turned into an opportunity for her to rip into this huge name-dropping scat session! Skibbity-bibbity-Johnny-Depp!

Will told me there was this other holiday party happening that night that he wished he were going to—Morgan Spurlock's company, Warrior Poets. He had to stay at the Prolific party but he insisted that I should totally check it out. My stomach was still a wee bit messed up... but if there's a party happening that I can get into, I have a hard time saying no... because you just never know what could happen, do you? (I believe the Mormons call it "FOMO"—fear of missing out.)

He tried to get me the information but the guy who had the information was high as a kite that night. He knew it was at Spurlock's SOHO office, though, so my buddy just looked that up and got the address for me. Unfortunately, my friend had to take off to run some errands, so I called up a replacement buddy to meet me at the SOHO space...

There was actually a GUEST LIST at the Spurlock party—I told the doorman my name and said I wasn't sure it'd be on there because it was a last-minute thing. (A last minute thing for me to crash the fucking party!) After searching for my name in vain for a few seconds, the guy just waved us through.




It was a lot more lively at the Spurlock party. I saw the name-dropper woman from the Prolific party arrive a little later. I was just going to have one drink and run because my stomach was still fucked up... but a few drinks in and it started to settle...

Spurlock himself arrived toward the end of the party. My friend Bobby shook hands with him and inexplicably told him what a big fan he was. A few hours of fun and then we stole off into the night.

Circles of Confusion

I continue to be on Circle of Confusion's buddy list—probably because holiday e-cards are cheap. As evidenced by the artwork, they must be riding high on the surprise success of THE WALKING DEAD tv series.

(As I may have mentioned, I'm under the management of Prolific Entertainment now.)

Yogi Bear Ending

SPOILERS if you were planning on seeing the Yogi Bear feature film. I'm surprised this got leaked onto the internet so early. The marketing of this film is extraordinarily misleading...

All the Girls Standing in the Line for the Bathroom

On Monday they started renovating the men's locker room at the gym I go to. From now until the 26th(?), only the women's locker room will be operational.

No, it isn't going to turn into some sexy, European co-ed locker room: they're alternating days in which the men and women can use the locker room.

It was the men's turn to use the locker room on Monday. Now, I've been going to this gym for over a year now. (Been living in The Tomb for over a year now.) I *know* this gym. And it was just fucking surreal to step into this new space that's designed and built for women. Row of stalls instead of urinals, a tampon machine, the works. (I dutifully installed spy cameras.) Seriously, it's such a bizarre experience to invade a space that is normally the exclusive domain of women. It's not even just the superficial differences—though it was filled with guys on this day, the air felt different... as if estrogen permeated the oxygen here. I actually got a little lost trying to exit the locker room because it's built more like a maze than the men's locker room.

On days when men are using the locker room, there is no alternative space for the women (and vice versa). The only option is a single, one-person bathroom on the ground floor.

As I did my obligatory cardio, I watched a queue of women begin to grow at this bathroom. I was listening to the new GIRL TALK album and a clip of this song starts up:



And I started to laugh.

Murder Suicide Christmas Spectacular [UPDATES]

BREAKING NEWS!!!

This morning, a young man slashed his parents then committed suicide by jumping in front of the G train at the 15th Street/Prospect Park station.

Learned of this via eyewitness friend on GMAIL CHAT this morn. 24 hour TV news (CNN, NY1) not picking this up yet, but it's on the internets (Twitter and such).

[UPDATES!]

[UPDATES 2!!!]

[UPDATE 3: *Attempted* to commit suicide. His mother perished. Father and son are in critical condition. That promises to be an awkward Christmas dinner...]

This is This

What's in the Box?!!!

Worf is Not Enough

Bitter cold this week, wudnit?

Some good progress on the script. Need to pick up the pace but I know where I am. I know where this is going.

How great is it going to feel when I finish this draft? I just need to get there, man.

Too tired to share here. Have a lovely weekend, World. More stories soon.

Where Is Everybody?

Hi, blog.

You've probably been wondering where I've been.

I have to finish a script by the end of the month and that's what I am attempting to do.

Here's a story about wrestler Mick Foley and how Tori Amos changed his life.

BRB.

Aaron Doesn't Get It

Now you listen to me, Aaron, you don't blow all your money on the comic books you understand? They don't do you any good, and the nudie mags, they're going to be inherited when you're 16, anyways.

Now look, the junk food and the candy, just rots your teeth gives you bad breathe and the girls run like hell.

Stay the hell away from buying any rock tv shirts or hip hop gear or anything like that, now arcade games—pick out ONE that you can do, okay?, ONE that you can do as opposed to a whole bunch you don't know what the hell you're doing, techno music just puts a hole in your brain—are you listening to me?!

Look at me when I'm talking to you!

Happy Hanukkah

Lost Survivor

SPOILERS :-(

Last exit for SURVIVOR apologists: "Survivor: Nicaragua" blows. There's just no way around that fact.

Brenda Lowe may be the most preternaturally pretty cast member I've ever seen on the show, but there is no one to really get behind in this season. The show lives and dies with casting. Not just good players but interesting players with compelling chemistry amidst them. I'm sure if you'd shuffled some of this cast in with some other seasons, or just with other people, they could be more engaging. But the elusive element of chemistry in this season is completely non-existent.

NaOnka Mixon (can't even bear to post a picture of her) is probably the WORST player ever. In every sense. A lot of people may have hated Russell Hantz, but I don't see how anyone can deny that NaOnka is the single most loathsome character that the show has ever filmed. A stupid, shitty player. The worst of humanity. When the apocalypse hits, she'll be the first person killing children for their candy. There is nothing redeeming about her. They better have a good tape-delay for the live finale because I'm sure she'll be cursing up a nonsensical storm when the audience boos her to death.

Alas, I've got to see this through because it's fucking Survivor. Maybe it'll be better now that Nay's quit. I've never seen a character exit the game in such a spectacularly shitty manner, either.

The Trap is Set

Following the directions I was given, I headed up to the 24th floor of the building located by the South Ferry stop... and found vacated office spaces.

It was supposed to be the offices of Prolific Entertainment, my new management company. But as I walked around the empty floor, all I could see were cleared-out cubicles, stripped corner offices, white rectangles on walls where company names were once hung.

I walked around the floor and took in the majestic views that were once enjoyed by highly paid executives. Was I in the right building? Was this all an elaborate trap? I expected a SAW puppet to roll in on a tricycle and deliver some life-or-death ultimatum...

As I wandered through the office wasteland, I heard voices. Was it coming through the air vents from another floor? Because there was clearly no one on this floor. Either this place was haunted or I was about to get whacked.

I took the elevator back downstairs and talked to the security guy in the lobby. I told him that I was looking for the Prolific offices. I told him that there was nothing on the 24th floor. He laughed and insisted, somewhat ominously, "They're up there, sir."

Back on 24, I made another lap around the empty floor... and discovered a closed, unmarked door. I heard voices and tentatively opened the door...

PROLIFIC ENTERTAINMENT. Hidden away like some underground rebel operation in this swing space.

Both my managers were hanging out with a Prolific head in one of the office spaces. My managers were in town from California, sizing up the new NYC HQ. They all laughed at the expression of horror on my face and hugged it out with me.

It was a good, informal State of the Union meeting. They'd shot some of WALL STREET 2 in this space and they pointed out the floor plans framed on the wall. There are going to be a lot more resources available to me from here.

Big things ahead. I've got a lot of work to do before the end of the year...

The Best of Our Knowledge

I've got to wake up early and head downtown to meet my new management team Thursday morn. Both of my L.A.-based managers have flown out here for the meeting—I've never actually seen them both in the same room before. It is essentially a meet-and-greet, How are you doing?, What have you been working on?, What can we do for you?, but I'm still a bit dazed about it all. I'm pleased at the idea of having a NYC-based management company behind me, one that should open up more opportunities here... and yet I've no idea what to expect from this meeting. Thanksgiving generally marks the gradual descent into hibernation of the entertainment industry wherein you can't expect much new business to take place, so my best guess is that this will be a meeting to plot the way of the future for Team Malice.

This is all going to come together soon, I can feel it...

Hal Sparks Kinda Sucks

All right, a few years ago I got sucked into those VH1 I Love the 80s/90s nostalgia shows that featured a bunch of talking heads riffing on old pop culture. That's how I first became familiar with Hal Sparks. I thought he was kinda funny on those shows. (Not a particularly high bar for being funny on those shows, but still...) I never watched Queer as Folk, but I knew he was on that show which seemed to separate him from the collection of comedians on the VH1 programs—this was a dramatic actor who happened to be funny.

The next time he appeared on my radar, he was competing in this thing called "Celebrity Duets", which was a celebrity singing competition. I didn't really watch that show, but it seemed he was taking it pretty seriously. Not so funny.

Thing is, I'd never really seen his stand-up routine... until this past weekend. It was a cable special and I was too weak from illness to change the channel.

I had no idea that Hal Sparks went to the Dane Cook school for comedy.

Maybe that's too harsh. But like Dane Cook, Hal Sparks has never had a drink of alcohol, never smoked once, never tried any drugs. I've met Mormons who party harder than this douche-nozzle. And a good portion of his comedy routine involves him ridiculing people who smoke, drink, do drugs.

It was with great horror that I realized that this guy who I once thought was kinda funny—parceled out in little clips of VH1 nostalgia shows—was actually not funny at all. He was, in fact, fairly obnoxious. I can imagine how his routine might be popular amidst some Jesus-freak college circuit, but he just comes across as a fucking asshole who treats his body as a sacred temple of worship and who can't understand why other people would possibly want to actually experience life.

Is it common knowledge that Hal Sparks is completely lame? Am I the last one to realize this fact?