{{{misanthropy central}}}

A Bad Time to Be in Love

2012-01-27T00:00:00.064-05:00

Sooo, I'm out having drinks with my (girlfriend?) Wednesday night and at a certain point she says, "Can you make us spaghetti and meatballs?"

If you know me, Constant Lurker, I can cook. Rather, I enjoy cooking but I don't cook regularly for myself because single-serving meals are so exceedingly dreary to prepare. But I enjoy the opportunity to cook for other people and I tend to feel pressure to make it *good*... a pressure which is heightened when dealing with a new romantic partner. First impressions count. First meals count.

Wednesday night, a few drinks in me, three sheets to the wind, I promptly dragged my (girlfriend??) from a bar to a local supermarket and had her follow me as I dashed about acquiring ingredients for "spaghetti and meatballs"... a dish that I can't say that I'd ever actually made before. A dish I was determined to make from scratch. Nothing jarred or prepackaged. It takes a while to develop flavors for a decent gravy, not to mention what it takes to create a semi-serviceable meatball... and yet, I was determined to make this for her Wednesday night. From scratch. Without looking up recipes.

I'm not entirely sure how long it took. It was a blur of fiery pots and pans with my (girlfriend???) playfully distracting me as I endeavored to make a competent iteration of a classic. Wasn't my ideal "spaghetti and meatballs" creation. If I'd had more time to prepare, I would have put so much more thought into it. As it was, I was making certain compromises so that we wouldn't be spending half the night in the kitchen.

All that said....... she liked it.

She was genuinely impressed. She is not easily impressed. She is a pain-in-the-neck to impress, truth be told. Somehow, I managed to crank out a version of the dish that sated her. At the same time, she got to see how I get when I'm in TOP CHEF quickfire challenge mode.

And now, I've got more leftover spaghetti and meatballs than I know what to do with. Anybody want some, PM me.

I really would like a cigarette right about now. I am a non-smoker. I do not smoke.

Perfect Little Dream

2012-01-25T01:01:00.000-05:00

You know what I'd really like right about now?

A fucking smoke.

Yes, it's true. I've gone back and forth with the little coffin nails over the years. It has been a unique struggle that I've rarely written about openly here. A bad habit I've personally used as a reward, a punishment, a coping method, a time-killer and as a passive form of suicide. It's a bad obsession I've let linger on for far too long now.

I'm not doing this smartly. I've gone cold turkey without a plan. I'm not replacing the habit with food. (No way in hell do I intend to gain weight because of this.) Thing is, I haven't replaced the habit with anything really. An occasional stick of gum. A stiff drink when the nerves call for it.

Some parts of the day, I can see the big picture and it all makes sense.

Other parts of the day... I'm thinking how sweet it would be to take a long, slow drag of something filthy. And what does any of it really matter, in the end...?

I am a non-smoker. I do not smoke. This will all get easier.

You have suffered enough; And warred with yourself; It's time that you won

2012-01-24T00:24:00.000-05:00

You know what sucks about trying to get incrementally healthier...?

Everything.

Monday... not the most productive day. Dammit, Chloe, this isn't rocket science, but there are certain scenes that are enjoyable to write and certain scenes that are more... WORK. So yes, you've got to get some of the WORK done before you can get to the fun stuff. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?!

Goddammit to Jesus-titty-fucking-Christ-ridden HELL, I can and WILL finish this draft this week. It's so close and manageable, I can taste it.

Blinders. Blinders. Blinders.

Make War

2012-01-23T00:53:00.001-05:00

Yes, the recent weeks have been filled with distractions. There is never a shortage of distractions. Even without being in the beginning stages of a relationship that comes with its own unique complications.

But none of that matters when you've got a job to do. I have to finish up a script draft that is entirely manageable. It would behoove me to finish this sooner rather than later. In fact, getting this done by the end of this week would not be an unreasonable goal.

This is the whip. I need to get this done. This is really happening.

No One Likes Dane Cook

2012-01-20T00:00:00.001-05:00

The other night, MySpace account-holder Dane Cook did a surprise set at the Laugh Factory in L.A. and bombed.

Apparently, he bombed so badly that people wrote about it on the internet.

Sure, he was just working out some new material. And I'm positive that his story about how he "chainsaw-fucked a dirty whore's cunt" is going to be top shelf material when it's polished.

An excerpt from T.J. Miller's account:

... he got on stage and was vicious, misogynistic, cruel, and arrogant. He talked about not paying for an abortion. He talked about finding some whore to fuck to take out his anger at his ex-girlfriend. He talked about how girls would do anything for him ‘because I'm me.’ He got mad when people were texting. ‘Dane Cook is onstage,’ he said. ‘Have some fucking respect.’

Seriously, why did anyone ever find this douche-nozzle funny...? I really want to know. Was it his delivery? Was his delivery really that good? Really?

Louis C.K., America. He's the guy you should have been watching all this time.

Let's Open Up This Pit!!!

2012-01-19T16:57:00.003-05:00

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Stop-Motion

2012-01-19T08:15:00.000-05:00

MORAL OREL was a stop-motion animated 15 minute show that aired on the Cartoon Network during their "Adult Swim" blocks. If you happened on an episode of the first two seasons, you'd think it was just a parody of the old "Davey and Goliath" Christian claymation show which taught Christian morals with each episode. And certainly, MORAL OREL takes a lot of its initial cues from D&G. The titular Orel being a young, devout Christian boy looking for answers to his questions about life in the town of Moralton.

But something happened in the third and final season. A season that aired in 2008 but I've only just discovered.

The show went from being a dark comedy to being... STAGGERINGLY DARK.

I know that most of you won't actually seek this out so here's the plot of one of the Season 3 shows...

A description of "Passing", Episode 8 of 13, from Wiki:

This episode... is a flashback which explores [Orel's father] Clay's relationship with his mother and father. The episode begins with Clay giving Orel "Ol' Gunny" before flashing back to Clay as a child.

It is revealed that when Clay was around Orel's age, his mother doted on him endlessly, much to the chagrin of his uninterested father. Clay's father seems completely unaffected by the religious extremism of his wife and the other people of Moralton, often expressing doubts and taking the name of God in vain (at one point even claiming "there are no miracles").

While looking through old photo albums with his mother, Clay discovers pictures of his mother, presumably pregnant with him. It is revealed that Mrs. Puppington actually miscarried ten times before successfully bearing Clay and it is hinted this is due to her smoking, drinking, and engaging in strenuous activities such as jumping on a trampoline or riding roller-coasters during her other pregnancies; she says she was too busy praying while pregnant with Clay to do any of these things.

After being devastated by the news that he is not indeed his mother's "precious only-ever" child, Clay pretends to shoot himself with "Ol' Gunny". Clay's father eventually discovers the ruse, and when he forces Clay to cease the charade, his mother has a heart attack due to the stress and dies, crying out to God to take her life instead of her son's.

Clay's father blames him for the death of his wife, frequently hitting him to express his frustration. Clay actively seeks his father's punishment, finding it the only source of attention he can get from his emotionally distant parent. At the end of the episode, Clay's father gives "Ol' Gunny" to Clay, insisting that he can no longer bear to have it since it is "tainted with blood." Clay attempts to defend himself from his father's blame, but when he looks up, his father is gone.

The final shot of the episode comes in the form of Clay staring into his drink. The song that plays throughout the episode and during the closing sequence is "Love Love Love" by The Mountain Goats.

There is a great interview with Scott Adsit from 30 ROCK, who also served as a writer, co-executive producer, director and voice talent on MORAL OREL. His thoughts for where the show would have gone if it had survived beyond the third season:

"I wanted to evolve Orel from the innocent guy who wants to believe his authority figures are right about everything they say into a fully evolved human being. We would take him on a journey from what he is in season one, essentially: just kind of informed, self-aware, and skeptical, but happy. But then it would be his journey. And also, I guess that journey would then have an effect on his parents and his brother and his grandfather. And hopefully watch everybody change because that's dynamic and more interesting."

You can watch some clips and a scattering of episodes online at the Adult Swim site. Seasons 2 and 3 are currently not available on DVD in the USA. Pity because this show needs to be seen.

Try to Keep My Hands from Shaking

2012-01-18T00:00:00.029-05:00

I know this has read like the rantings of a lunatic for a while now. I am attempting to reform my ways.

This past weekend, Friday through Monday, was a blur. Heavier than heaven and hell. Highs and lows and misunderstandings and... maybe the hope for some better times ahead. It's early yet. Victory, for me, is remaining in the moment.

I know, this is all so terribly oblique.

Trying to be better to myself. Two consecutive days of heavy drinking can really wreak havoc on my internals. Some of this rough lifestyle has started to catch up with me. Several of my key internal organs are holding union meetings, discussing whether or not they should strike. Can't afford for this machine to break down.

I need to sleep better and part of that is living more proper. At least for most of the week.

Against the Grain of Dystopic Claims

2012-01-16T00:00:00.003-05:00

I won. For tonight. For now. For however long something like this can last...

... I've won.

Liminality

2012-01-14T17:48:00.000-05:00

I am tired. I should eat something. I dislike this feeling I've been having lately. Hunger without appetite. It is Saturday evening and I've been a recluse all day because of the thrilling/stormy day/night I had yesterday. I am trying to write. I am trying to keep my emotions in check. I am trying to have some faith in the universe. I am trying not to make myself sick. I need to treat myself better. I need to calm down. I need to let go.

Nobody Likes the YouTube Entries

2012-01-09T01:40:00.002-05:00

In Limbo

2012-01-06T00:00:00.012-05:00

Some days you win. Some days you don't.

It's getting pretty tedious around here, don't you think, Constant Lurker?

So, we're pretty much back in limbo. I'd like to think we gained some ground, at least. I'm certainly not the only one who's in pain right now. Sometimes, you've got to let something go for a while and just hope it comes back around.

Going to Vermont to snowboard this weekend, with friends. It's been almost two years since I've gone snowboarding. Small chance I may die. That's something isn't it?

Yesterday I Woke Up Sucking a Lemon

2012-01-05T00:43:00.001-05:00

Post-traumatic Stress

2012-01-04T00:00:00.023-05:00

Okay. I've been less than well. I wish I could sleep through the night. I have been sleeping poorly and dreaming unpleasantly.

Dusted off a book about abandonment that helped me a few years ago. Has it really been that long since these feelings have hit me this hard?

I'm on the up and down. If you see me, chances are you'll find me on the up. But this is more of a struggle than I thought it would be. I won't lie: this, in fact, sucks. There are times in the day when this hurts like hell. Physically hurts like hell.

This opened up a lot of pain that I've probably been harboring for a while. About a range of things. I miss caring about someone who is not myself. I would like to get over this soon. I would at least like to get to a point where the pain is a quieter ache.

I hate where my head goes at certain hours. I'm always in such a hurry to get over the hurt. And then there's that old nagging fear that tugs at my spine... that I'm going to be alone forever. Maybe this one wouldn't have stood the test of time... but I still wish she could have stayed a little longer, so that we could have seen where it could have gone.

Perfect on Paper

2012-01-03T00:00:00.000-05:00

You know, it's not just The Girl. It's the reopening of old wounds that goes along with this routine. The compounding sensation of loneliness after you've gotten a taste of what it would be to NOT be alone. That feeling that I'm the one who always has to end up alone. There goes Malice the Martyr.

Other people do this without breaking a sweat. Fall into long-term relationships, couple-up. People far, far more mundane than me. I've ended relationships abruptly when I've known my heart wasn't really in them. I don't need to be in a relationship just for the sake of being in a relationship. Just to have a lab partner for class.

The thing I can't get rid of completely is the idea that she was... almost perfect. Perfect on paper, at least. Arguably, more perfect than the one I ended up marrying that one time, even. Which might be damning with faint praise, given how that one ended, but still. The whole affair was exceptionally brief and it hasn't been long since it ended... and I'm still surprised at how difficult it is to shake this one. I don't want to get over this one. Not completely. There is a part of me that wants to keep it fresh. That wants to preserve it under glass.

Withdrawal

2012-01-02T00:00:00.026-05:00

1 2 1 2

After all these years, after all I've worked on trying to better myself, you would think I'd be stronger.

Lazy new year's day Sunday spent trying to distract myself with the Twilight Zone marathon. And finishing up the Angry Birds "Wreck the Halls" advent calendar game. Letting random things set me into jags of tears. Cold sweats. Shivers. Panic attacks. Breathing exercises. You'd think I was trying to kick heroin instead of the memory of a girl.

Mindless diversions can help distract from thoughts. Found this great website that features old electronic handheld games. Some I remember from childhood, some really obscure ones. All lovingly rendered and mind-numbing.

All I did on Sunday was sleep and dream about her, all day long.

What's so happy about it?

2012-01-01T12:33:00.000-05:00

I know we're supposed to be optimistic and upbeat and hopeful and thesaurus. I just can't conjure it up today. I don't want to phony it up. I want to dwell on a moment a little longer. Play it back in my head, like a song you just need to keep hearing a few more times.

I will get myself together. I will stop thinking about her. Recovery happens in waves. Good days. Bleak days. Lapses. But sometimes... not very often at all, if ever... you find someone you don't want to get over completely. Like a dream you don't want to forget.

Better things for me this year. Last year was heartbreaking at every turn.

You Don't Know What It's Like

2011-12-31T10:50:00.000-05:00

I Can Dream About You

2011-12-31T00:19:00.000-05:00

Only in Dreams

2011-12-30T08:23:00.001-05:00

Act 4: Fell in Love with a Girl

2011-12-29T03:35:00.001-05:00

Fell in love with a girl on the last day of doing extra work on a movie shoot.

Completely improbable that I would have ever met her. Or that she would contact me based on a few minutes of small talk and me handing her one of my business cards. Or that she ended up being more amazing than I could do justice to with my infantile command of words. Or that we ended up connecting as much as we did and it escalated despite the fact that she was in a long-term relationship...

More probable: that it ended abruptly.

You might find this hard to believe if you read this space regularly, Constant Lurkers, but I have not felt this emotionally wrecked in years. My bedroom is usually overly warm and tonight, sleepless, I am shivering. I suppose it might be seen as a gift that I'm still capable of feeling this level of emotion about someone. An awful, awful gift.

It should be some small measure of solace that it wasn't explicitly ME that was rejected but the timing. It is not. Tonight, I take solace in nothing. I'd take solace in the sleep I'm failing to acquire. I haven't had a decent night of sleep in days. I'd like nothing more than to close my eyes and never wake up.

Oh, boo hoo. Malice is bellyaching because he cared about someone. And now he's writing a fucking blog entry about his feelings. What a solipsistic piece of shit. Ladies and gentlemen, watch as this hapless wonder mourns over all that was and all that could have been.

Wow. I am simply spectacular at failing at life. So much potential. Or so they used to say.

Look away now.

Doom Hearted

2011-12-24T04:01:00.000-05:00

Avoiding failure is not the same thing as achieving success.

So last night, I achieved failure.

Now I'm sleepless.

I am rotten.

I am not a good person.

Please take this and run far away from me. I am tainted. And happiness and peace of mind were never meant for me.

And All That Could Have Been

2011-12-23T07:57:00.000-05:00

Missed a few days. Apologies. The holidays. I've been preoccupied.

Don't read this. Don't read into this. What I mean to say is, this is an inadequate source of information. Oh, now it's awkward. (As opposed to before when it wasn't awkward.) This is what happens when you try to address an invisible audience.

I am trying hard to shake this feeling...

Christmas. Christmas weekend. That should be fun, right? You've all probably been too busy to read this blog -- which is good because I've been too busy to write it.

Do you know how sometimes --

Nevermind.

I like spending holidays with other people's families. It's so much less complicated.

Have a safe weekend, world.

Distraction Industrial Complex

2011-12-20T01:01:00.000-05:00

I was listening to The Nerdist podcast recently and Chris Hardwicke was sharing this theory he has about the popularity of these little gaming apps. The idea being that so many people are unhappy lately, these mindless games offer a way to distract people from their own thoughts.

This is exactly how I've been using these apps.

Puzzle games. Word games. Tower defense games. You can get all sorts of free games for your smart phone. Games you can play while half-paying attention to the television. It is comfortably numbing and an obscene waste of a lot of time. But sometimes you need something like that get you through a rough patch of living.

We are lost.

Dehumanizing Malice

2011-12-19T00:00:00.000-05:00

My mind is clearer now.

Over the years, I've grown colder. I don't bleed the same way. I'm better at concealing emotion. Or killing it outright. I can be heartless.

So when something happens that reminds me I'm a human being... it fucking hurts.

Letting go is something I've been working on for a long time. I've improved but it's not always easy. Something hurts, I still have the instinct to hold onto it. Transfix on the wound.

I should have had a great time this weekend. Which is to say, element for element, this should have added up to a great weekend. Saw some good movies, hung out with some good friends, did some impromptu potluck cooking and won a flip-cup tournament at a holiday party. I enjoyed these things... and still, I was haunted.

By what? By something that seemed to go well. By something that, at least, didn't seem to go badly. But it is my unique gift that I can take something that went well and turned it over and dissect it moment by moment until it becomes something tragic.

Jesus, lately this has become Self-Flagellation Central.

Avoiding failure is not the same thing as achieving success. At a certain point, success involves risk. At a certain point, avoiding risk becomes the same thing as avoiding success. But all of it takes such a toll...

This doesn't have to be this difficult. Maybe something just touched a nerve this past week. Reminded me that I'm capable of caring about something that's not career-related.

Lest We Forget

2011-12-17T16:04:00.000-05:00

(See MI4 IMAX, it is so good.)

Christopher Hitchens Has a Posse

2011-12-16T09:13:00.000-05:00

Christopher Eric Hitchens
April 13, 1949 – December 15, 2011

Christopher Hitchens has a posse.

Watch This Guy Eat a Chalupa

2011-12-16T00:00:00.000-05:00

Uxorious

2011-12-15T00:00:00.001-05:00

I'm the last person who should be consulted in matters of marriage—or what's needed in a healthy relationship—but it occurs to me that uxoriousness is not the best trait.

I suppose that the right set of dysfunctions might complement each other to the point of creating some kind of blissful, long-term equilibrium. No doubt there are certain women who would enjoy or even prefer the uxorious man. That aside, I think that any relationship needs a proper balance of give-and-take. In most cases, I think that uxoriousness leads to resentment. Resentment leads to fear. Fear leads to the Dark Side...

I've got a lot of married friends at this point—but I don't know any guys I'd describe as legitimately uxorious. Sure, jokingly perhaps, when permissions need to be granted for staying out late or doing some activity, but I don't think of any of my (current) friends as uxorious. Nor should they be.

I think the uxorious man is more commonly found early on a (first) marriage. Or on the arm of some insane GOP candidate. It either fades or it becomes a mental condition.

Superiority Complex

2011-12-14T00:00:00.043-05:00

Currently, I am in no state to feel superior to anyone. But honestly, some people are just born losers.

Okay, that sounds judgmental. And the definition and parameters of the term "loser" is going to be subjective. I'm not suggesting I'm the most socially adept person but I can get along with a wide range of people. I can carry on a conversation and, in even some of the most awkward situations, convey the illusion of making a connection. In many cases, I can perform an uncanny impression of being a human being.

So it can annoy me when some people utterly fail in social settings.

Failing is human. I've failed spectacularly in many social scenarios. But I'm always trying to learn from those mistakes. I'm always trying to be better.

But there are some people who are tragically charmless. They may have friends but their friends are mostly losers, too. And they will be doomed to live out the remainder of their lives in that narrow little world of loserdom where lonely people go to die. Because they suck and nobody enjoys talking to them. I only deign to talk to them and feign interest because I possess empathy and I am such a fucking nice guy.

All right, preemptive damage-control: if you're reading this and you KNOW me, THIS BLOG ENTRY IS NOT ABOUT YOU. I am most likely talking about people you don't even know.

Everything's All Right

2011-12-13T00:04:00.003-05:00

Pew-Pew Girl (Jihye Yuk) says, "EVERYBODY CALM DOWN."

The problem with using this blog as a means to keep track of what's going on in my head is that it is not a precise measurement. People who've known me for a long period of time understand this. People who haven't known me as long or who aren't as familiar with how the blog works can get a little concerned.

People have been GETTING concerned lately and contacting me about it—and I appreciate it but stop!

It takes some effort for me to write a blog entry. Sometimes I've got to dig deeper to make it happen. Vent things that are troubling me for whatever reason. So I guess if your only image of me is developed through reading this blog, then I must seem like I'm on the verge of snuffing it. All you're getting is me purging.

This blog isn't a cry for help. It's a tool for blowing off steam. I'm sorry if it makes you excessively anxious. You don't have to read it. I appreciate everyone's concern. If I need your help, I'll ask directly. Aside from that, I'm fine. Pew-Pew Girl is fine. These are hard times for a lot of people.

Weekend in the Hamptons

2011-12-12T03:34:00.003-05:00

When you don't have any storage space, it's easy to look like a hoarder. That's not an excuse either because I could better utilize what space I possess. My failure at this results in obnoxious things like not being able to find the book of stamps I purchased months ago, on a night when I need one goddamn stamp, which means I'll need to actually stand in line at the post office tomorrow just to mail a fucking envelope to the IRS. Or I could just stay up a few more hours, pulling my hair out as I turn my room upside down.

I had a vision of my future that seems to drift further and further away each year. It is increasingly difficult to live on promises and potential. The past few months/weeks, it feels like I've been wandering the wilderness trying to come up with a new way to make this work. "This". This life. This lifestyle. This alignment of things I need in order to remain functional and sane.

There is a parallel universe where the past 5 years worked out differently for me. Where everything fell into place when it needed to. Where I'm writing an entirely different blog entry from the Hamptons right now. I would like to borrow some money from that universe.

This week, December murders forth. I'll waste money on more stamps because I guess keeping track of a book of stamps was too much responsibility for me.

Watch This Guy Eat Fried Chicken

2011-12-10T00:34:00.002-05:00

Year of Champions

2011-12-09T00:00:00.025-05:00

Bleak week of entries here on Misanthropy Central, I know, I know. Thirty-something crisis. Go tell it to the marines. Something therapeutic about creating morbid animated gifs out of beloved childhood icons. Be thankful I couldn't find an appropriate picture of Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Daffy Duck or Bugs Bunny—one of them would be in the bathtub committing suicide above.

December can be a trying month. Taking stock of everything I needed to accomplish in the year. Everything that didn't materialize. I was on the phone with my accountant and the IRS this week, setting up an installment plan for the taxes I owe. Apparently, "freelance" is a code-word for "unemployed".

2011 was supposed to be better. 2012 needs to be better immediately. I need to turn this around. I will turn this around. I will make this work.

Face in the Crowd

2011-12-08T00:00:00.052-05:00

It sucks to network when you are powerless. Yes, this is the week of Misanthropy Central where we wallow in failure. When I am sucking at life, I do not feel like meeting new people. Or old people. Or people. I've a hard time conjuring up the energy to reframe my struggles in a positive light. I don't want to be seen. I'd rather remove myself from the population until I can get my affairs in order.

I want someone to be familiar with my work without having to look it up online.

This is not an ego thing. For my career to function on a basic level, my work needs to achieve a certain level of visibility. Sure, there are a lot of screenwriters who've been paid very handsomely without any of their scripts actually getting greenlit. I'm not even there. In my 5 years doing this professionally, I've failed to land any Open Writing Assignments. Which is the big reason I shifted focus to creating new original work.

And still, it always turns into this interminable waiting game.

What's worse: in my head, I always thought, "It's all just a matter of time..." Recently, the thought has turned into, "What if it *isn't* a matter of time...?" That's one thought I cannot entertain. To me, that would be death. Life would be nothing without this dream.

Guns N' Roses to be Inducted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2012

2011-12-07T14:27:00.000-05:00

Guns N' Roses, The BEATSIE Boys and Red Hot Chili Peppers! That's a show I'd like to see.

It's all over the wires but I like the Rolling Stone coverage. While they're a band that's become popular to ridicule, Rolling Stone still recognizes GNR's impact.

Question: Is there a chance in hell that Axl and Slash can get it together and reunite for this show...?

2012 *is* the end of the world, after all.

The Success of Others

2011-12-07T00:00:00.073-05:00

Bitter. Yes, I can easily succumb to being bitter. It doesn't help, it doesn't feed, it doesn't inspire... but it's honest. It's an honest feeling that I can own up to — and in a way, feel better that I'm not spitting lies about it. I won't pretend that I'm above being fucking bitter.

When you're down and out, it's hard to look up and see other people enjoy success.

Facebook is filled with bragging. Come see my new show! Check out the great job I just landed! Look at my amazing kids! Pictures from my incredible vacation are up!

Oh, but if the reminders were only relegated to Facebook...

Seeing people I know in TV shows, or commercials, or magazines. Catching up with people over the holidays and hearing about all the brilliant promise in their careers and lives; people with kids younger than me who are more successful.

Of course, I'm talking about people I used to know, or faintly know. Former friends who have been demoted to acquaintances or frenemies or exes. I would not begrudge their successes if I knew I were on the right track. If I had my shit together and my career were on schedule. There is nothing worse than comparing the progress of your life/career with other people. It can drive you crazy.

Other people's successes can serve to highlight your own failures. They can be an indictment of your life and your dearth of accomplishments. It's not their fault... and yet somehow it is. And then it's time to take a bath in self-loathing.

Not exactly the most fruitful year of my life. Ultimately, the poorest year. But again, maybe it's too early to judge. The things that were started this year could pay off yet. Over a longer arc of time, could this year still be redeemed...?

The Use of Hanging

2011-12-06T00:00:00.000-05:00

English lesson for today: HANGING

The past tense of hang is typically "hung" when talking about an object on the wall.

Last night, he hung a picture on the wall.

When talking about a person being killed, however, the past tense is "hanged".

Last night, he hanged himself with a belt while staring at the picture on his wall.

Everyone knows this already, right? So, we don't have to go over this again? Cool. Now you're prepared to talk about my death when I'm gone.

Whatever happened to the man of tomorrow?

2011-12-05T01:39:00.000-05:00

Saturday I was at a special screening of Steven Spielberg's WAR HORSE, flipping through a copy of TIMEOUT before the show started... and I damn near had a nervous breakdown. Paging through a copy of TIMEOUT is a fantastic way to remind yourself how much other people are doing and how little you've accomplished.

How much work have I created in the past 5 years that no one will ever see? Does it matter how brilliant some of that material might be? Does it matter how much I've grown as a writer? It's all trees falling in the woods with no one around to hear them. I've got a whole forest of trees that have fallen without a sound.

What I've got to prove is a burden that grows greater every year. Every month. Every minute.

Comparison is a terrible motivator. It's the worst form of violence against yourself. It encourages abject impotence when it's fuck time. But even without comparison, that nagging voice whispers

What have you been doing? What have you done? What are you going to do?

It's demoralizing.

That critical voice in my head is the cruelest. No one is meaner than the voice that echoes in my skull.

The persistent thought is that I want to hide from the world. I don't want to be seen. Profoundly ashamed of the lack of any evidence of what I've worked on in the past 5 years. I used to think this was all part of "paying my dues" to the universe, but it's so much worse than that. This is Sisyphus rolling a boulder up a hill for eternity.

I *envy* people with regular jobs and regular careers. People without a deep, burning dream they're driven to pursue beyond reason. People with 9-5s who look forward to holiday bonuses and vacations to nice places. People who worry over the future of their growing children more than themselves.

And still. Despite the past 5 years collecting some of the darkest days of my life. I can't give up the dream. I'm past the point of no return. I'm in too deep. Like fucking Chumbawamba, I can't stop getting back up again, even though it gets harder and harder.

O, December, Where Did We Go Wrong?

2011-12-02T03:25:00.000-05:00

Here we are. The final month of 2011. Really ending on a high note, aren't we? (The royal we.)

I don't really feel like venting about all that was and all that could-have-been with this year. The only question that matters -- the one that keeps banging on the door -- is, "Where do we go now?"

Sort of makes me miss last December. Whatever dramas I was dealing with back then seem almost a luxury now. And there was so much hope for what THIS year would yield...!

The promises you held, 2011. How you said we'd make it through. Didn't quite. Fell apart. Where the fuck were you?

Tonight I was brushing my teeth with a new tube of toothpaste and it occurred to me, strangely, that the last time I used this particular brand of toothpaste was when I was dating some girl a few years ago. I remembered the peculiar twist of the cap and the peculiar way the paste froths. This fucking tube of toothpaste took me back to memories of living on the Upper West Side, and the fleeting excitement of dating this new girl, and the general feeling of promise in the world and with my blossoming career.

Funny.

Over a longer arc of time, this particular period of my life will make more sense. I will look back upon this period and laugh at where my head was at. I will think, "If I could only send him a note from the future, just to let him know how much better it all gets..."

I'm not really venting. I'm just admitting that I don't really know what I'm doing. I am trying hard to correct this.

Kids Aren't All Right

2011-11-30T21:04:00.000-05:00

Some of these "test responses" are funny, a bunch of them are totally fake. Enjoy.

Patrice O'Neal Has a Posse

2011-11-29T13:56:00.000-05:00

Patrice O'Neal
December 7, 1969 - November 28, 2011
Patrice O'Neal has a posse.

The Importance of Being Hungry

2011-11-28T01:43:00.000-05:00

The popular notion is that it's good to be hungry. In life, in careers. When you're hungry, you really want it. You really need it. Being hungry means you're determined to do whatever you need to do to eat.

I would humbly suggest that the danger is when hunger crosses over to famine and resignation. Desperation doesn't always yield the best work or results. Sometimes, hunger is just another obstacle to overcome.

The old man called on Thanksgiving, wanted me to come visit him in Maine for Christmas. Some of you know, I haven't seen him since 2003. And he's invited me up there just about every year and I have not taken him up on it. I've done the trip maybe twice before and it's just completely fucking unpleasant. It's crazy awkward. I don't enjoy it. I guess he enjoys it on some father level but even he has got to understand that it is super fucking awkward... but no, he doesn't. He doesn't get it in the slightest. He doesn't get that we don't have a relationship. He doesn't get how different I am from the person he failed to raise. I've become what I am in spite of him.

People will say, "Oh, but it's your father..." These people don't get it. And I feel pity for him now but I feel less pity when I reflect upon all the shit I dealt with growing up in that household. With those people. And yes, I'll include the lot of them. The entire dysfunctional family circus.

If the career were on a firmer stretch of road right now, I might consider seeing the old man again. That's the thing: I don't want to see him if I haven't got my shit together. He does not offer comfort. If you've got problems, he will make you feel worse. If you're doing well, he will still make you feel worse. What is the fucking point aside from some guilty sense of filial duty?

Sometimes I feel completely cold-blooded. I've become what I've needed to become. This did not happen overnight.

Magnificent Stanley Kubrick Interview

2011-11-25T04:45:00.000-05:00

I find Kubrick utterly fascinating. These videos feature random picture slideshows from his entire career but this is all about listening to Kubrick talk.

On November 27, 1966, two years before the release of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Jeremy Bernstein of Look Magazine interviews Stanley Kubrick as he talks about how he started and how he works.

Turkey Burster Day

2011-11-24T00:00:00.022-05:00

Hope your cooking goes smoothly today. Incidentally, my product's 99% pure but I'm *certain* that your 96% batch will be good enough. (I'm being sarcastic: it won't.)

HAPPY TURKEY DAY, BITCHES!

Turkey Burster Eve

2011-11-23T03:00:00.001-05:00

Oh, the day before Thanksgiving. You office-workers getting out early today? The simple joys of the 9-5, I do miss these. Seriously.

Meeting with the indie film production exec went well Tuesday eve. Folks behind THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT. People want to work with me, it's all about *matching* with the right project. I had zero expectations going in because it was a general meeting, but it was actually pretty cool.

Some ingredients-gathering and cooking prep to do in anticipation of t-day...

It's a holiday week. Nobody is reading this. I spent way too much time making this stupid animated gif. Maybe I'll repost it tomorrow just to be cheap.

Death Prone

2011-11-22T01:18:00.000-05:00

What's 'great' is waking up sick and feeling that *impact* -- the full impact of your body's betrayal.

I Am Malice's Mucus-Filled Lungs. I exist primarily to offer Malice a preview of death.

And then there's the arduous process of trying to pull yourself together so that you can step out the door and get on with your day.

Could be the drugs I'm taking (crack and crystal meth) but I'm really starting to lose it. Hope that I'm feeling a bit more myself by ~~Halloween~~ Thanksgiving. I get to do a little cooking for the holiday. I've missed cooking for other people. There's something... comforting there.

If I die this week... avenge me.

Postcards from the Far Side

2011-11-21T08:59:00.000-05:00

After a few days of denial, I am officially, legitimately under the weather. Entering extreme detox mode a few days before Thanksgiving. Not cool.

Sorry I've been away from all this. I've been tied up and preoccupied.

Some randomness. I had a strange dream last night, which is to say that all I ever have are strange dreams lately. Can't remember most of it anymore. Just fragments. In one bit, I met up with my college buddy Nick Gaffney in the city. He made some joke about how he was in the city because his old Washington Square News editor called him up and wanted him to cover the Occupy Wall Street protests. (That wasn't even the joke; it wasn't about Occupy Wall Street, I can't recall what he said he was asked to cover... I think it probably involved whatever the hell the dream concerned.)

I'm supposed to have a "general meet" with a producer at a film production company tomorrow night. I might have to load up on over-the-counter drugs. General Meets are a bit of a drag ("Hi, how are you doing?, what's your deal?, nice to meet you, bye!) , but at least this one's in person. Not that I'm currently in the best state to meet in person but you know... it's better than the phone thing.

You ever notice, people generally feel more open about talking about their hard times when it's in the past tense. Celebrities will talk about addictions and arrests and infidelities when all those things are behind them. Once they've bounced back from far side and are on the rise again. Along those lines, one day I will write about everything I've been dealing with right now. One day, when the world's a little more sorted out.

I hate that it's already Thanksgiving this week...

Hey, movie-fans. An interesting profile of adult film star James Deen. (On what it's like to be one of the handful of guys working in modern heterosexual pornography; basically, the men are referred to as "props".)

More soon.

Damn Skippy I'm With It!

2011-11-14T01:41:00.000-05:00

All Elevens: Part 2

2011-11-11T23:11:00.005-05:00

11/11/11
11:11:11 PM

All Elevens: Part 1

2011-11-11T11:11:00.018-05:00

11/11/11
11:11:11 AM

"The Lo Mein Incident?"

2011-11-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

I have an obsession with things I loved from childhood. Part of it is wanting to remember what excited me as a child. Before I became tired and old and jaded. Remembering things I was passionate about as a child helps to inform what I do as an adult.

Do you have a favorite dish from childhood that you haven't been able to find or replicate in the years since? For one reason or another, I had this discussion with a few different friends over the past few weeks.

For me, it's this very specific Chinese fast-food Lo Mein. Yes, NYC has an embarrassment of quickie Chinese joints, and high end Chinese joints, and everything in between... but there was a unique balance to this version of the Chinese fast-food staple that I have not been able to find everywhere. The egg noodles weren't too thick. The sauce wasn't too overbearing. All the other usual components—pork, cabbage, onions, carrots—fell in line just right. Words fail me slightly in trying to describe this dish but it was simply perfect to my child palate. It introduced me to Lo Mein and all other versions I've had since—no matter how technically "superior"—have paled in comparison.

In the early 80s, when my family lived in the boondocks of Brooklyn ("Starrett City"), we used to go to the Kings Plaza Mall...

Back then, they had little moving window displays beneath the escalators—whimsical scenes, like the kind people line up to see at the 34th Street MACY*S around the holidays. There was an Orange Julius and a little place that served sweet crepes. And an arcade where Kung-Fu Master became an instant sensation. This was before malls became completely homogenized. No food court. Eateries were scattershot all over the place. This is where my sister and I were introduced to "Chinese food". At this cheap little joint right next to the arcade.

It was always the same. My sis ordered the Egg Foo Young (a monstrous-looking abomination that I steered clear of) and I ordered the Lo Mein. It was always just the way I wanted it be.

We moved up to Rockland eventually. A few years passed and I ended up finding that specific Lo Mein again in the food court of the Paramus Park Mall. Again, hard to put into words, but I just knew that it was the same dish that I remembered fondly from the Kings Plaza Mall.

Then I went to college. My family broke up and moved as far away from each other as possible. Rarely went to Rockland anymore, or Paramus, and forget about Kings Plaza.

What was it about that dish, though? It was a mystery.

Since I got to thinking about it again recently, I figured that nothing solves a mystery like the internet.

I did a GOOGLE search on the Kings Plaza Mall and the Paramus Park Mall...

According to YELP, the Kings Plaza Mall has seriously gone to pot in the years since my childhood. And there's no easy way to reach it via public transportation. On the other hand, the Paramus Park Mall is accessible via NJ Transit Bus. But what were the odds that they'd still be serving the same Lo Mein dish I remembered from childhood...?

The other thing I found through the searches was that both places had a Chinese fast-food joint. And they were both called the same thing:

"Master Wok"

They had to be connected.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011. After the morning routine at the gym, I hopped a bus at Port Authority...

An hour and a half later, I had returned to childhood.

Unlike some other malls that have gone downhill over the years, Paramus Park seemed remarkably well-preserved. Filled with some new chains and attractions, of course, but the dimensions and look and layout reminded me of all the times I'd gone there as a kid.

Even the restrooms were immaculate. Can't speak for the women's room, but the men's room at least. They even had these separate "Family Restrooms" set aside—I assume for the Mormons.

Anticipation built as I approached the crappy looking "Master Wok" in the food court. I was shocked that there weren't long, snaking lines like you'd find at SHAKE SHACK. Were people not aware that this was my Chinese fast-food mecca? How I'd suffered the circuitous bus route from New York City to get to this pile of dirt in New Jersey, with the dim hope of recapturing some elusive sense-memory from my sad, sad childhood...??

I waited behind a mall security guard as he ordered his meal. There was no sense of excitement as he placed his order of fried rice and BBQ chicken. For him, this was not an event. He had certainly not traveled out of his way to visit this shitty Chinese food outfit. This was merely the cheapest, least offensive alternative that was available to him on his lunch break.

Unaffected by approximately EVERYONE'S APATHY, I placed my order for the Lo Mein...

A plain vegetable Lo Mein. In my memory, this was a traditional pork Lo Mein. And the noodles didn't look the same. Oh, but petty details...

I had the woman throw some chicken on top of it. An eggroll for good measure.

As I paid for the meal and carried my tray to one of many vacant tables in the food court, the smell of the dish was already bringing me back like a time machine. This was it. This had to be it. The thing from my childhood that I hadn't been able to find for years. The thing your aunt gave you which you don't know what it is.

I dove into it...

And it was...

...

...

...

... close.

Christ, it was so close. It just wasn't quite *it*. Certainly wasn't a dish I would hop another bus to Jersey for in the future.

How could this be? If it had been something else entirely I might understand it, but it was more peculiar because it was close. As if they had gradually, incrementally altered and cheapened the recipe in the intervening years.

It was close but not it. Goodbye, childhood memory. Goodbye to that thing that you may never find again.

The bus back to Manhattan arrived late and traffic turned the trip home into a 2+ hour odyssey. I caught up on some THIS AMERICAN LIFE podcasts and reflected on how profoundly unproductive the day had been. What a long way to go for so little payoff. Seems like a theme for me.

At least I'd get a blog entry out of it.

UNFORGIVEN

2011-11-09T00:01:00.151-05:00

I made this animated gif a while back, as a goof on a friend I had at the time. Funny how prescient it was.

An updated version:

We tried. We gave up.

Bobby Boblick has a new posse. Because his old one officially got fed up with him.

Some might think it's harsh to sever a friendship so dispassionately. People will pat poor Bobby on the back and commiserate with things such as, "You were all such good friends, why can't they just forgive you?"

For those in the know, or half in the know, or for the Constant Readers who know nothing about Bobby Boblick except for the silly jabs I've posted here...

... if I were to graphically detail all the shitty things he's actually done in the past year, you'd be amazed the guy has ANY friends left. Amazed that the ones who've just cut him off stayed with him as long as they did. Amazed that the girl who's currently dating him is still dating him.

Why can't we just forgive him?

Because he's done nothing to earn forgiveness.

In fact, it seems like he's spent just about all of 2011 proving that he SHOULD NOT BE FORGIVEN.

He will spin the truth, bend the truth, flat out lie. He will make a thousand excuses for not responding to you. (Work's busy! My phone's fucked up! My head's fucked up!) If and when he does respond to you, he will respond... *poorly*... defensively... rationalizing away his reprehensible actions, blaming SOMEONE ELSE for creating some vast, imaginary anti-Bobby conspiracy.

Or he'll just ignore you because he knows you've got him nailed to the wall. He knows, deep down inside, that you're right and he's wrong. More and more people dislike him NOT because SOMEONE ELSE is talking trash about him in another language—but because HE HAS DONE BAD THINGS. And he doesn't want to face that.

At the beginning of the year, I kicked Bobby Boblick out of my life for being a world-class dick-hole.

A few months later—and not so cavalierly—I tentatively started hanging out with him again. The friendship was downgraded. There were trust issues that were never resolved and I remained guarded. My newly realized disrespect for his character meant that I was meaner toward him than I was before. He never completely regained my trust, though I had a better sense of when he was lying or trying to hide something. Still, hanging out with him again made it easier to hang out with other friends who were part of the same circle. He was a drinking buddy. I didn't expect a lot out of him.

And in the end, he still managed to disappoint me.

A new circle of friends has offered him sanctuary. (For the time being.) It's a good deal for him because he doesn't actually have to deal with the fallout from his other ruined relationships. His new friends and remaining friends are doing him no favors because they are just enabling him to hide.

I'm not even angry. I'm just sick of it all.

This past year, more people started to learn the true nature of Bobby Boblick. All the shady things he's done have come back to haunt him. Watching other friends get angry made me realize that I never really forgave him for what he did to me. I just sort of accepted that he was incapable of being a better human being. Eventually, I had to question how low I could set the bar for a friend. Even just a drinking buddy.

If someone disrespects you and then disrespects good friends of yours, and does NOTHING to make amends... then how can you, in good conscience, remain friends with that person?

Actions have consequences.

I feel cold about the whole affair.

I have more important things to worry about.

How to End a Friendship

2011-11-08T01:03:00.000-05:00

Did I say that I was going back to updating this blog regularly? Is it too soon to take that back?

I've been busy writing and trying to catch up with things I've let fall by the wayside.

I've acquired a few good friends in the past month.

I've watched another friend turn into a completely unreliable asshole.

This has turned into a really difficult year for me and time is too precious to squander on toxic idiots. I could get a lot meaner and more truthful here... and I am reserving that option... but for right now, I don't feel like tapping into that venom. I know it makes for good blog entries. I know that some of you Constant Readers are fans of the bloodshed. It's just not happening today.

I'd like to focus on the new friends. And the old friends who remain true. Not the shady lying liars with absolutely zero respect for other people.

Okay. I'm not going to get into it. This is me not wanting to get into it, here and now.

Maybe later this week? Or before the year is out? We'll see what happens and how I feel. Lest we forget the brutal levels of cruelty I'm capable of doling out.

Here are a bunch of random links I've been holding onto, worth clicking through in case you've missed them:

Incredibly depressing picture of Kirk Cameron celebrating his birthday.

Horrific Disney Cosplay from the 1930s.

10 Spooky (Real?) Ghost Stories.

Ye Animated Git.

The Horrors of Harrowgate Academy for Boys

2011-11-07T04:36:00.000-05:00

Hello, Constant Readers. I am endeavoring to return to this. This oddly kept writing exercise to satisfy your morbid curiosity.

The new script clocks in at a whopping 78 pages. Yes, it's anorexic. That's a scant 12 pages from being a full-length feature film, for those keeping score. The producer's giving it a look-over now, so I'm expecting the feedback should help me take it past the 90 page mark. I'm just glad the main thrust of the story is out of my brain and on the page. The hardest part is getting it out. And then making it better... well, that's hard, too. None of it is particularly easy. I wish my first drafts could be perfect. Then it would be an easier case of, "On to the next one..."

Daylight savings happened on Sunday and I missed it. Oh, it's not that I forgot to set my clocks back -- I didn't have to set my clocks back. We've reached a technological point where ALL my clocks adjust themselves. Except the one on the microwave. If I'd glanced at that, I would have realized the gift of an extra hour. As it is, the transition happened without my knowledge or participation.

It's fucking November.

I have such mixed emotions about it being November right now.

Tim Burton's THE JAR

2011-11-06T01:03:00.000-04:00

For a short slice of time in the 1980s, they resurrected ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS. Inserting colorized intros and outros of Hitchcock that he filmed for the original anthology series, the show featured a number of updates of old AHP episodes. (Much like newer iterations of THE TWILIGHT ZONE remade old stories.)

THE JAR was one of those remakes. When I saw it as a kid, I didn't know that. All I knew was that there was something deeply unsettling about it.

The basic story involves a man who finds a mysterious jar filled with some unknown curiosity. People become fascinated with the jar, each projecting their own desires, fears, revulsion onto it.

It's the ending that really struck me. It's never entirely clear what's in the jar -- but at the end, there's something more grisly that's implied.

Did not know that Tim Burton directed this episode.

Seeing it again... it's clearly a Tim Burton piece. Not as unsettling as I remembered. But really, what ever is...?

67 pages.

2011-11-04T01:55:00.001-04:00

Let's get this straight. 67 pages is NOT a full-length screenplay.

Oh sure, I have a few scenes left. Pad some of that dialogue and where will that land me? 75 pages?

This isn't a fucking animated movie, goddammit.

Jesus titty-fucking Christ.

It's Friday. I had a feeling this one was going to run short. It was heading in that direction weeks ago. I mean, there's plenty of room to flesh out and refine and build up along the way. It's just that the story's fucking short.

Okay, back up. Put my thing down, flip it and reverse it.

NOTE TO SELF: Finish up those final scenes. Go through the whole thing again from page 1, fixing and fleshing out as well as you can in one day.

Then. Perhaps as a sign of faith. Share it with the producer with a preface/disclaimer/explanation email cover. Then it becomes a discussion about what to focus on instead of just, "Where the hell is this script...??"

You can do this, Malice.

Anatomy of Fear

2011-10-30T12:09:00.000-04:00

Lucy Knisley investigates why we enjoy scary things in her comic essay, Scaredcited. It's good. And it's Halloween weekend so you should click through and enjoy it.

You know what I'm most afraid of?

You.

Revenge of Steve Jobs

2011-10-28T08:12:00.001-04:00

Like the killer from the SAW movies, Steve Jobs will continue his important work from beyond the grave. He has set up a series of elaborate traps in his hardware that will make you appreciate life better if they don't kill you painfully.

Okay not exactly. (Although I trust his ultimate Master Plan may yet prove to be more insidious.) Actually, he just had this idea for changing the way you watch TV. Honestly, I don't want to have to talk to my television. Can we not do this one?

If you haven't read this, I encourage you to read about the latest changes to Netflix. (It's a joke, btw.)

DirecTV may be dropping FX and the National Geographic Channel on November 1. (In addition to a bunch of other Fox stations, though those are the only two I care about.) If you watch any shows on FX, showrunners have recorded special announcements warning about how many new episodes you will miss if this happens. I've only had DirecTV for a few months and the channel lineup has been volatile. I had to watch the first half of the most recent season of BREAKING BAD in Standard Def before they reinstated AMC HD. G4 is still off the lineup. Now this. (Although I arguably have bigger problems to face right now beyond missing a few tee-vee shows.)

Last night, I hit a red carpet kick-off party for some little film festival. Tonight, I gotta hit a birthday party. Tomorrow night, some big Halloween bash I bought into. Sunday night, a going away party for a friend. That is a lot of consecutive nights of drinking. There is such a thing as too much. I wish I could break this up into two weeks' worth of activities.

Play dangerously this weekend, folks.

Everybody Wants Some

2011-10-26T08:55:00.001-04:00

Doesn't matter if I talk about the nature of my career being feast-and-famine. Doesn't matter when I point out that I'm suffering a particularly harsh lean stretch. I get into a networking situation, people hear some of what I've done, and they think I'm in a position to help them.

Sometimes it'll be put forth in a half-joking manner. Sometimes it'll be a more direct pitch. Suggestions of collaborations, without even being familiar with my work.

I want to help people. It's in my nature. But what a lot of folks don't seem to get is that I am NOT in a career position where I can help others right now. If I'm not eating, how am I supposed to help you find a meal? I've got a team of people hustling for me and I'm still struggling.

It's a drag. And I'm nobody right now. What happens when I actually get to a place of some recognition?

I've Been Shockingly Nice

2011-10-25T03:28:00.000-04:00

Let's get this out of the way, since I wrote about it openly here: MENAGERIE is dead. My take on the found-footage open writing assignment at Paramount. Apparently, they really liked the short story I wrote but will probably go with a bigger-name writer and a more "middle of the road" concept. But a few more people are now fans of my work, which could theoretically pay off down the line, so bust out the fireworks. Guess I'll just pay rent with I.O.U.s until then!

Some people say a career in the entertainment industry is like riding a rollercoaster. Because there are highs and lows, I assume. But really, it's a poor comparison because a good rollercoaster is FUN ALL THE WAY THROUGH. When you're barreling down a hill on a rollercoaster, it is exhilarating. When your career is barreling down a hill, it is fucking depressing.

Still. My team of reps has been reshuffled. We've got a few things waiting to go and we're about to make a serious go at television for the first time. Last week, I was talking to my new agent (former manager) about it and he suggested that I watch some television to familiarize myself with the medium.

Done.

I watch a truly despicable amount of television so I feel ahead of the game for the first time.

The past couple of weeks have been jarring with highs and lows, from almost every aspect of my world. I'm trying to reconfigure my life. Reevaluating the things I need and don't need in my life right now. I am capable of some remarkable cruelty when I'm properly motivated...

Everything's about to change.

You Broke My Heart and Killed Me

2011-10-22T08:45:00.000-04:00

Gifford Children's Choir of Racine, WI

Elmo Costello

2011-10-21T10:31:00.000-04:00

out of the sky, into the dirt

2011-10-21T05:10:00.000-04:00

I love it when my instincts are completely wrong.

Brutality of Now

2011-10-20T00:00:00.061-04:00

When I'm suffering a lean stretch, I tend to wait longer before getting a haircut. My hair can get really out of control. I'll tame it with hats or gel, for as long as I can.

I'll wait a little longer to do laundry, too. And I'll skimp on the dryer time. Instead of 34 minutes, maybe 18. That's the difference of a few quarters. Clear sign I'm suffering a lean patch is when I'm carrying wet clothes home from the laundromat.

When I'm facing so much uncertainty, it's difficult to maintain optimism. Hope. A sense that the hard times are a temporary affair. Confidence that a reversal of my fortune is not just in the vaguely defined future but imminent. Within grasp. A right at the next corner. You need optimism to get through it, to deal with people, to get any work done. It fuels you. It tempers the panic.

If you knew that you were going to win a million dollars next week, what would you do this week? I think most people would probably live a little better.

Got a new agent yesterday. My new agent is my former manager. I know, it's a little confusing, and the question becomes, "What's the difference between an agent and a manager?" It's a little hard to explain. Even though I have a better understanding of it than I used to. Bottom line is, I never really connected with my original agent. (Truthfully, I've had buyer's remorse about selecting him at many stages.) Now, I've got a great agent and a great manager and I feel the sense that the Team is stronger.

I'm managed by Prolific Entertainment. Repped by APA.

In other news, Rosie O'Donnell was voted the worst talkshow host ever.

Bourne Background, Act 3: Girl, Interrupted

2011-10-19T09:18:00.003-04:00

Wednesday morning, 12th of October, 3:00am. Last day of the shoot.

I sat with Londin inside the holding tent. Her stalker Ahmed was nowhere in sight. Londin and I both felt bad about freezing him out at the end of the previous day. When you stripped away the stalkerish reading of some of his actions, he seemed to be a nice guy. Awful thoughts flitted through my head. Of Ahmed hanging from an improvised noose in his closet. The guy had been doing background work exclusively for two years: he wouldn't just flake on the last day. What had we driven him to do...?

I had my costume on while Londin was off getting her hair done up. I wasn't eating again today. Instead of a 5-Hour Energy Drink, I'd brought a Sugar-Free RED BULL. My body's more familiar with the effect of RED BULLS, I imagined it might give me an easier time. Instead of chugging it at the very beginning, today I would wait until we were called onto the set. Which happened a lot sooner than I expected.

"I need 25 people who are ready to go to the set!" hollered the AD. Another portly man who'd been hitting on Londin.

Throughout the holding tent, people were still grazing on their breakfast buffet plates. I didn't feel like volunteering first thing in the morning -- but when you don't eat, you're essentially ever-ready. I dutifully put on my gloves and stepped outside the tent with the gathering 25.

That's where I met her.

Truth be told, I'd met her briefly on a line the previous day. She'd made a comment and I responded and I thought maybe we'd have a conversation -- but then I made the assessment that she probably didn't want to be chatted up. And I wasn't here to chat girls up. So nothing happened.

But today, she was among the 25, ready to hit the set. She had this adorable pixie haircut that made me think of Mia Farrow in ROSEMARY'S BABY. She made a comment to me:

"That P.A. just referred to us all as 'ladies'."

"They've got us in this sexless uniform," I suggested. "Covered head to toe. It's an honest mistake. I choose not to be offended."

She ran her thin fingers through her tousled, black hair. A little self-consciously. "I've got a boy's haircut," she said. "I'm surprised they haven't confused me for a boy."

I studied her for a moment longer. She was inviting a conversation. "Have you done anything like this before...?" I asked.

And we were off...

We kept talking as we were led to the set. She'd never done anything like this before. She was a book editor. She'd heard about this "Marcher" shoot from someone who'd incorrectly guessed it was some kind of low-budget horror movie. And she'd signed up for it.

We were positioned next to each other on the production line and I was getting excited at the prospect of spending the day with her. She extended her hand. "My name is [blank], by the way," she said.

I shook her hand and smiled. "Malice."

Then, cruelly, we were interrupted. I was unceremoniously pulled away from her. Repositioned elsewhere in the factory.

That's when the last day of this arduous shoot turned into a personal mission. I had to find my way back to this girl. Back to [blank].

The hopelessly teenage romantic in me posited that perhaps this was the larger significance of me doing this shoot. Of me enduring all three days. Maybe the Universe was compelling me to do this, had conspired to get me to this place under all these desperate circumstances so that I would meet this one girl.

If I hadn't been so hard up for the cash, I might not have done the shoot.

If I'd bailed out with Sherwin after Day One, I wouldn't have met her.

If I'd been eating, I wouldn't have been part of that 25 and I wouldn't have had that conversation with her.

It all made perfect sense now. Pieces of a puzzle fell into place. I needed to find [blank]. I needed to get her information before the clock ran out on the day. Exhausted and vaguely delirious on a hastily chugged RED BULL, I was suddenly convinced that my entire year had been leading me to this one day.

Day Three was all about waiting for the sound of gunfire. And running.

They took a few minutes to record some screaming/yelling reactions of the workers so that they might layer it into the sound mix later. I was supposed to be a part of this but I backed off and took a picture instead. I wasn't about to have my voice recorded, even as part of a cacophony.

Lunch break, I wasn't eating. Londin was giving me the business when we were interrupted by the miraculous return of Ahmed. We hadn't pushed him to suicide. Apparently, he'd overslept and had to take a car to the set this morn. His Londin-fawning was curbed by his worry over being blacklisted from the extras casting calls. He depended on this work.

The lunch hour wore on. An obese Chinese guy arrived at our table: DJ. He pressed Londin for her phone number. It was a last day move. Do or die. If you wanted information, you had to gun for it.

Londin gave DJ her number with the warning, "... but no booty-calls because I have a fiancé!"

Ahmed heard this and, after DJ departed, clarified, "Wait... you have a fiancé...?"

When Londin confirmed this, the effect was instant. The magic spell shattered. Ahmed immediately turned his chair around and started talking to another group of extras. He was done making an effort with her.

Meanwhile, I stole glances at a spot a few tables over. There was [blank]. At a corner of a crowded table, eating her lunch. I would have gone over there but there was no room at that table. Yes, it was the last day, but I didn't want to pull an Ahmed or a DJ. Didn't want to be That Guy. I needed to find a better opportunity.

Back at the shoot, we filmed variations on the Running of the Filipinos. From the cover of machinery, I made the day more interesting by trying to get a picture of the stars. Extra cautious to not ruin any takes by having my camera's flash go off during filming.

From the extras perspective, the stars were the background artists of the shoot. Their names rarely came up. Their celebrity lives less vital than the networking taking place among the lot of us. Our interaction with them was minimal. At one point, Rachel Weisz awkwardly, reluctantly bleated out a "Hi..." to some of us as we waited to shoot. It was half-hearted and unnecessary.

Which is not to suggest there was any negative sentiment toward the stars. There were just sort of there. Doing their job like we were doing ours. (Albeit, at a slightly better pay-rate.)

They had their makeup and wardrobe people tailing them as we had our separate team of makeup and wardrobe people keeping us in check throughout the day. Everything in its right place.

One of the final shots of the day was a wideshot of all of us running toward the exit. We all had to run a ways down a hallway to clear the shot. I was positioned toward the front of the crowd and was looking forward to the physical activity. Anything to jolt some life into me.

We were reacting to gunfire. Fleeing for our lives. When they called action, I was ready to sprint out of there. But I couldn't because some of the people around me actually wanted to be SEEN in the shot -- they were doing this slow-motion jog that did nothing to suggest "running for your life from random gunfire".

Throughout the shots, were were constantly reminded to keep our face masks up. The grand escape shot at the end was the one exception. "If you're Filipino, you can have your mask down while you run." I considered it for a moment but ignored the offer. I wasn't looking to be easily identified in this movie.

As the shoot was winding down, an extra I'd befriended who'd been playing a supervisor called me over to hang out in his area. Efren. He wasn't an actor, either. Just a guy looking for a job on Craigslist who stumbled on this curious opportunity. A week later, he was a supervisor in a pharmaceutical factory in Manila.

I could see [blank] standing one station over from me. This was good. I needed to make this happen.

The director of the movie -- Tony Gilroy -- quieted us down to make an announcement. He was a screenwriter with a long list of produced movies and this was his third as a director. I'd met him briefly in college, after a screening of a movie he'd written called "Dolores Claiborne". Back then, he had long, curly brown hair. 16 years later, his hair's gray and close-cropped. An A-list screenwriter who's leveling up as a director. A career trajectory worth coveting.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "We are done shooting."

Cheers, applause. People tearing off their pink and blue costumes as they walked back to the holding tent.

I timed my walk so that I'd be casually striding next to [blank], who I hadn't talked to since we were torn apart early in the day.

"So, do you go back to playing a book editor tomorrow?" I asked her. It acknowledged that I remembered the conversation we were having this morning.

She smiled. "Tonight, actually. But it's good that we wrapped early. I'll have a little time to get myself together before getting back to it."

As we walked back to the tent, I peeled off my pink smock and she admired my ink addiction.

I wanted to get her information. There was time enough to get her information. With all the lines, checking out at the end of the day was a big ordeal. But I didn't take this extras gig to meet people. Certainly not a girl. I was off my game. I had no game. But I couldn't let her go without making SOME effort.

Back at the tent, I gave her my card. I hoped that maybe SHE had a card and would automatically offer me hers. She didn't have one but seemed sincere about her promise to contact me and keep in touch. In the days afterward, I would kick myself for not getting her number. A fucking business card was never going to work. In the end, we had barely talked.

The rest of the time seemed to go in slow motion. Londin let the word get out that I was a screenwriter and all these Filipino filmmakers dogpiled on me with business cards and invitations to festivals. I kinda like when Filipino people come up to me and start talking in Tagalog. It's like an immediate sense of kinship. Even though I don't understand a word of what they're saying.

Ahmed came up to me and shook my hand. "Say goodbye to Londin for me if you see her," he said as he walked away. Londin had been right behind me, in plain sight.

Londin and I played the Lottery Game on the ride back to the city. "What would you do if you won the lottery tomorrow?" It's a great conversation generator. Reveals character. Hopes and dreams. The ultimate question being, "What would you do if you didn't have to worry about money? If you took money entirely out of the equation, what would make you happy?"

Londin screwed it up, though. She talked about investments she would make. I was only partially present anyway. [Blank] was sitting on her own toward the front of the bus. I wasn't going to ditch Londin so I could awkwardly hit on a girl who was probably as exhausted as I was.

Bus arrived at 36th and 3rd. Everybody shuffled out and scattered to the wind. I walked Londin a few blocks before parting ways. Three days and she seemed to have accomplished a lot of productive networking. Networking I might borrow on at a later date. She was like the kid sister I never had.

I had a drink. Alone at a bar. A few drinks. It felt like I'd just stepped into someone else's life for three days. It was a drag but you also meet these people who become your best friends for a really compressed period of time. The high of production. At the end of it, I don't know how much I really accomplished. Didn't make a significant sum of money. Didn't get the girl's number.

Maybe it was one of those experiences that would make more sense over a longer arc of time...

Bourne Background, Act 2: The Stalker

2011-10-18T00:02:00.001-04:00

[Note: Some names have been changed, just in case.]

Tuesday morning, 11th of October, 3:00am. Traversing the avenues alone in the dead hours of the morning makes you see the world differently. I often walk the streets during these hours but I'm usually headed home from a bar. Walking to work at this hour, stone cold sober, made the quiet streets seem more jarring.

One of the hazards of walking NYC during the dead hours are the Rat Streets. They're not always easy to spot from a distance. They're not necessarily marred by an inordinate stack of garbage bags, or cartoonish rows of gothic arches carved into the sides of buildings. But you start walking down a Rat Street during the dead hours and the rats come out to greet you. They seem to follow horror movie rules of engagement, perilously darting across your path when you're just a few strides away. When you're half-dead from exhaustion, it causes a startle.

No Sherwin today. No security friend to help me be antisocial during the downtimes of the shoot. Would Miss "Londin" be back? No idea. Returning for the second day of shooting background was less about "the experience" and more about earning just a little more of a pittance of a paycheck. My expectations were ground underfoot.

The bus was moving out toward College Point, Queens by about 3:16am. I plugged my earbuds in and listened to an episode of This American Life. Something soothing about This American Life episodes. They help calm my nerves during long, dark journeys. Riding the bus through the black of night, zoning out with my ipod, it felt like I was headed to the airport for a flight. In a movie sense, I was. I was heading to a pharmaceutical factory in Manila.

Day Two would not be as much of a trial as Day One, I promised myself.

Check-in for papers. Check-in for wardrobe. Londin appears and I break the news that Sherwin has bailed. She is the portrait of shock.

"I must really want to do this for a living because there was no doubt that I'd be back here today," she says. "After 26 years of doing what my parents wanted me to do, I'm finally doing something I'm passionate about. And I love it." She did. After one day, she was friendly with most of the production staff and half the extras. Her first gig and she was making it count.

Sherwin wasn't the only one who bailed for Day Two. I hear a number of production assistants quit because Day One was so disorganized. And the number of extras had noticeably thinned. This being my first big movie shoot, I had nothing to compare it to in terms of order... but the lines continued to be a blueprint for chaos.

Planted my flag at a corner table in the holding tent. Londin joined me, along with a guy I hadn't met before. Ahmed. A portly South Asian fellow with a blemish on the slope of his nose that was impossible to avoid staring at. Londin pulled me aside and told me that Ahmed had been stalking her since the shoot yesterday. I thought, "This is the price you pay for being so friendly with people..."

She told me that Ahmed had invited her to sit next to him on the courtesy bus back to Manhattan yesterday. When they arrived in the city, he went out of his way to walk her back toward Penn Station; went in for a hug and kissed her on the cheek to say goodbye.

At the start of Day Two, he was trailing her like a puppy. Making cursory acknowledgement of my presence as he tried to tend to her needs. He fetched a plate of food from the breakfast buffet and offered it to her. She declined. Reluctantly, he offered me some of the food he'd collected. I declined. I declared that I was not going to eat today. To avoid the indignities of the public bathrooms available at the shoot (made more cumbersome to use by the awkward smock/apron costumes they had us wearing). A lone 5-Hour Energy Drink would be my main source of fuel to get me through the next 12 hours. I'd never had a 5-Hour Energy Drink before and was hoping I'd get better mileage than the name suggested.

The focus of the conversation immediately shifted to me and how fucked up it was for me to avoid eating for the next 12 hours. For me, avoiding eating meant avoiding the long lunch line and avoiding any potential digestive issues that might result from the crappy buffet. I didn't feel particularly compelled to discuss my self-torture but the ensuing debate helped to distract Ahmed from fawning over Londin. For a little while, at least.

Earlier than Day One, we were back on the set, pretending to work. The whole reason for the super-early call-times was that we were shooting at the New York Times facility, where they print the newspapers, and the production had to be cleared out by 4:30pm every day.

They switched me to a different station on this day. The 5-Hour Energy Drink had me way too jittery for five hours before it dumped me in a ditch of despair. I'd gotten less sleep than the night before and I was just pacing about, trying to remain conscious.

Fortunately, Day Two was when the action began. This was a "BOURNE" movie, after all. (Called "The Bourne Legacy", "Bourne 4" on the paperwork, even though Matt Damon wasn't in this and the new star, Jeremy Renner, wasn't even playing the character of "Bourne".)

The scene: Jeremy Renner's character shoots some gunfire in the factory, busting a few pipes. The Filipino factory workers freak out and run toward the exit, offering Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz cover as they coolly exit the facility.

[Fake bullet holes]
Strangely, this required a modicum of acting. Everyone couldn't just start running as soon as the gun went off. They made us wait by the gunshots. 1st gunshot: What was that? 2nd gunshot: Oh shit, someone's firing a gun in here! 3rd gunshot: Do we leave our stations or do we run?! And so forth. They directed us in sections, to avoid a bottleneck. Women were to start running before men. Elderly extras were to shuffle forward as younger extras were allowed to sprint. Above all, they wanted us to be careful. We weren't stunt people, we weren't being paid as stunt people. While it might be more visceral to have people falling all over each other, the production didn't want to invite lawsuits.

Some of the extras were hamming it up. Over-indicating shock and fear as they jogged out, throwing their hands up in the air as if they were trying to remove an invisible cat from their heads. This meant more takes. More directing the extras.

At the breaks, I rejoined Londin and her extras-boyfriend Ahmed. She was NOT showing him signs of interest. Her body language and responses were clearly saying "No". And he kept failing to read any of it. For my part, I tried to make casual conversation with him. Tried to feign interest while I was exhausted, famished and decidedly uninterested in getting to know him better. Ahmed had been living exclusively off of background work like this for the past TWO YEARS. How anyone could suffer these hours and conditions for an extended period of time was beyond me. It's like living as cattle. Being herded about, talked down to, fed shitty food; existing as something less than human. I was fighting to make it through three days of this and Ahmed had been doing it for TWO YEARS, on some productions that had worse conditions. I was quietly judging his failure to read social cues but he was making a LIVING off of something he was passionate about. Which was more than I was currently accomplishing.

The day dragged on. My fatigue set in as I seriously questioned what I was doing with my life. Some people were doing this as a lark. Some people were doing it to advance their careers, network, maybe shift into production assistant work. I was doing it for the small amount of cash it would earn me. Slightly above minimum wage. With all the screenwriting projects I'd been working on this past year, the past TWO years... this is what I'd been reduced to. Unskilled work. A job I landed by emailing a cell phone picture to an office.

Londin stuck close by me as we negotiated the winding queues to check-in wardrobe and drop off our vouchers at the end of the day. Ahmed kept a watchful eye on us. Saved a spot in line and encouraged us to cut in front of him. We declined. Opting to wait for the very ends of the lines to come to us.

Ahmed was done at least 20 minutes before us... but he waited. He waited for Londin. But waiting for Londin meant waiting for me with her.

We boarded the last courtesy bus back to Manhattan. Ahmed stepped on ahead of us. I jumped into a free seat and Londin jammed in next to me.

"You know, he's going to kill us both now," I warned her. "He's probably got a hunting knife in his bag."

He was two seats behind us for the trip home. Sitting alone.

When the bus stopped, Londin and I leaped for the exit. We walked briskly down the sidewalks, continuing to joke about how he was probably right behind us. We were joking but we were also a little afraid. A few blocks away, I dared to steal a glance back:

Ahmed was nowhere in sight.

We both felt bad.

It had been a long day. And we only had a few hours before we had to be back for our last day. We'd do our best to smooth things over with Ahmed at the breakfast buffet.

[continue to ACT 3...]

Bourne Background, Act 1: Cult Orientation

2011-10-17T05:20:00.009-04:00

This week on Misanthropy Central, "Bourne Background". Malice Highload spends three days working as a background extra in the new BOURNE movie.

ACT 1: Cult Orientation.
ACT 2: The Stalker.
ACT 3: Girl, Interrupted.

Monday morning, 10th of October, 3:30am. Headed to Penn Station to meet up with my friend Sherwin so we could walk together to East 36th and 3rd where a courtesy bus would shuttle us and a full cargo of assorted Filipinos to College Point, Queens. Over the next three days, the New York Times Facility there would double as a pharmaceutical factory in Manila for the new BOURNE LEGACY movie, shooting under the production name "Marcher".

I'd never done extra work in a big budget movie before. When I was a star-struck kid, I would have loved the opportunity to do something like this. BE IN A MOVIE!!! As an adult, I was doing it for the cash. Not a grand sum of cash, either. But when you're suffering a lean patch as I've been, anything helps. I'd heard about the casting call for Filipino extras from another friend the previous week; sent the casting people a cell phone pic of myself and got the confirmation call the next day. My first movie role and I was looking to stay as far in the background as possible. When I'm facing hard times with my career, the last thing I feel up to doing is meeting new people. But I also have a history of pushing myself out of my comfort zone. I had to do this, both for the pittance of money and the sheer experience.

I texted with Sherwin as I walked down to Penn. On the train into Manhattan, he'd met another person who was going to be in the shoot. We weren't even at the bus and we were meeting new people. It was a girl. The last thing I felt like doing was meeting a girl, at 3:30am, on barely any sleep, looking and feeling like hell. I barely made eye-contact as I shook her hand. Her name was Joanne or Joanna. Didn't really matter because on the walk over to 36th and 3rd, she told us that her stage name was "Londin Knight". She had been a stock broker and a road manager for Wyclef Jean and a month ago she decided that she wanted to become an actor. She already had a manager who had helped her pick her stage name, which she admitted sounded absurd. (I suggested she change her name to "Stage Name TBD".) This extras shoot was her first gig ever. This was her paying her dues. She was tired and loopy -- and her delirious enthusiasm helped keep us conscious during those early hours.

The general dress code for the day was a white crew-neck t-shirt, "light" pants, white shoes. We all showed up looking like we were about to join a cult.

As expected, the 12 hour days were an endurance test of waiting. There were maybe 150 extras. Filipino, Chinese, a scattering of South Asians and others. Some were aspiring actors. Some were full-time background artists. Some were older folks with endless free time, just out for a few free meals. There were long lines to check-in in the morning, collect your wardrobe, get your stab at the mediocre buffet lunch, drop off your wardrobe at the end of the day and finally drop off your daily vouchers. The lines snaked about like amusement park rides. Extras with SAG cards got to cut the lines, enjoyed a slightly fancier buffet and a separate holding tent during breaks. (Not to mention a better pay rate.) But in the end, everyone had to wait.

Aside from SAG and non-SAG, there was a hierarchy of extras. The majority of us were in these Pepto Bismol pink scrubs with pink hair caps, blue aprons, blue gloves and white face masks. Essentially scrubbing us of as much identity as possible. (I was fine with this, wishing to remain as invisible as possible to the cameras.) We looked like surgeons in a Keebler Elves factory. We were the lowly workers. Above us were the supervisors, in yellow shirts and khakis. They got prop cell phones and fake name tags. I envied their costumes because it looked like it was easier for them to use the bathroom. There were engineers in blue jumpsuits filling out the corners of the frames. The top tier extras were the security guards. They got fake guns.

These different groups of extras tended to stick together during breaks. SAG, supervisors, engineers, security guards. The hierarchy seemed to affect people's personalities off-camera, too. Nothing like a fake gun to prop up your ego as you cut the lunch lines. And then there was the rest of us non-SAG, pink-and-blue cloaked worker drones.

Sherwin, Londin and I stayed together through those long, dead stretches of that first day. I fought hard to remain standing during those early hours. Getting up at 2:30am meant that I had to go to sleep a lot earlier than I'm accustomed to. To help myself along, I'd had a few drinks in the late afternoon. Did the trick. I fell asleep all right but as I began the work day, I was vaguely hungover AND exhausted. Londin -- tired and loopy -- pranced about the New York Times factory. I flailed my arms back and forth like a robot, trying to keep my blood flowing and stave off a coma. The three of us joked about what exaggerated movements we could do to make ourselves more identifiable in the final film. Londin sauntered up to an old crew electrician and asked him for advice on how to make it in the industry. All the other half-dead extras quietly, curiously gawked at us.

It was a long wait before we were split up and gradually placed in positions throughout the factory.

We were given plastic bins and various pill bottles filled with dry beans.

Yellow packing slips were in the bins and we were told to pretend to read them as we pretended to work on these production lines. "Work" in this factory mainly consisted of shuffling pill bottles from one bin to another and back again. It didn't really matter much as long as the effect of hard work was sold through wide shots. "HIGH ENERGY!" was the prevailing direction given to us throughout. We were sweat shop workers: we had to look like we depended on these jobs.

During one of the breaks, I caught up with Sherwin and asked him if he had a backstory for his character. "What character?"

"Factory sweatshop worker in Manila. I've got a whole backstory for us. You and I have been working at this factory for ten years, trying to save up enough money to open up our own G.R.O. club."

This is what you do. Anything to help kill the seemingly endless hours.

I originally thought I'd get some writing done while I was working this gig but it wasn't the best writing environment. You had to leave all your possessions in the holding tent when you were called onto the set. Beneath our aprons, the costumers pinned large Ziplock bags where we could store items like our gloves and caps but nothing much more significant than that. I kept my cell phone in my pants pocket beneath all the layers of pink and blue. I took pictures. A lot of people took pictures, and more blatantly. With all the forms we had to sign, they never made us sign any non-disclosure forms. As long as you weren't taking flash pictures on set (as one poor girl accidentally did), everyone cast a blind eye on all the picture-taking.

The stars of the movie, Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz, floated in and out without much fanfare. I don't think a lot of the extras knew who they were. Their stand-ins blocked the shots and were in the fray a lot longer. The extras, in general, seemed to regard the stars and their stand-ins about the same way: film equipment you were to avoid.

By the end of the day, Sherwin and I lost touch with Londin (without getting her contact info) as we weathered the long lines to return our wardrobe and turn in our papers. He and I had a drink and some food when we landed back in Manhattan, sharing appraisals of the experience. We both agreed -- the hours and the waiting took a unique physical toll.

When I got home, I checked the production website for the next day's call-time. It was half an hour earlier. I texted this fact to Sherwin and he immediately backed out of the whole affair.

Suddenly, I was questioning whether I really wanted to do this for two more days. Yes, I'd agreed to do three days and I was making a (small) paycheck, but I wasn't getting any writing done -- which made this entire thing seem more frivolous and wasteful. I weighed the pros and cons for a short spell before setting my alarm clock for 2:00am.

I'd signed up for three days, I wasn't going to bail after one just because I didn't have a friend with me. And who knows what could happen in those two extra days. The universe told me I had to see this through.

[continue to ACT 2...]
[continue to ACT 3...]

The Laws of Other Worlds

2011-10-14T08:39:00.000-04:00

I'd like to generate a proper post about my experiences over the past week. Three days shooting background for The Bourne Legacy. Thing about an experience like that, there are a lot of ways to tell the story. There are the fragments of anecdotes I've already shared with people over drinks. There's the David Sedaris THIS AMERICAN LIFE version. And then there's this blog.

It's approaching two days since I finished shooting and it already feels like I dreamed the whole ordeal. It was exhausting and humbling and even a little exciting in unexpected ways. Going through it, I couldn't wait until it was over. Since it ended, I kind of miss the pain of it all. It's been surprisingly jarring to reacclimate to the unique indignities of my regular life. It's like, for three days I swapped my everyday troubles for the troubles of another person's life. Now that I'm back, I'm left wondering... did that change anything?

I'll post properly about the experience soon. Just to purge it from my system.

Smurf Exterminator Needed

2011-10-12T00:00:00.001-04:00

For the record, if I ever saw one of these real smurfs in the wild, I would run like hell.

And, you know, the thing about a smurf... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be living... until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched singin'. The forest turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin', they all come in and they... rip you to pieces.

Tricks are for Chairy

2011-10-10T00:00:00.005-04:00

"Hey, papi, you wanna sit on my face...?"
I'm performing as a background artist in a major motion picture Monday through Wednesday. So, you know... this is what you get.

I've got to wake up around 2:30am Monday morning. Be at a bus stop on the East Side by 4am.

Work's work.

Dope Dog Afternoon

2011-10-07T01:54:00.000-04:00

I was listening to the latest "Breaking Bad Insider" podcast and Vince Gilligan was talking about how dope dogs work. Apparently, their handlers have to be carrying a little dope with them because if the dogs go a few hours without finding any dope, they start to get disheartened. Planting a little dope for them to find throughout the day keeps them motivated.

This is me. I'm the dope dog who hasn't found an ounce of dope in ages. It's demoralizing. I desperately need to find some dope. Even if someone has to plant it somewhere easy for me to discover.

I need the bump. I'm losing it.

Steve Jobs Has a Posse

2011-10-05T20:12:00.000-04:00

Steve Jobs
February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011
Steve Jobs has a posse.

Bourne in the Background

2011-10-05T00:00:00.026-04:00

Hey, I just got cast in the new BOURNE movie. Starring Jeremy Renner (who's not playing Bourne because Bourne isn't in this one but it's still got "Bourne" in the title). I'll be playing Julia Stiles. Joking! I'm playing Franka Potente. Ha, I did it again.

No, I'm a background extra. They were casting "Filipino Travelers". I sent a cell phone pic through email and got a call the next day. I don't know how much it pays exactly but it pays something and it's three days of work next week. I need the money.

Appearing in a movie is one of the last things I want to do right now. I'd rather hide under a rock until the world looks more promising. But a paycheck is a paycheck.

WTF AMC

2011-10-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

Though he usually interviews comedians on his podcast, Marc Maron's interviewed MAD MEN's Jon Hamm and BREAKING BAD's Bryan Cranston for this week's WTF. The Hamm interview's up now and the Cranston interview is something you can look forward to on Thursday. I recommend.

Unrelated, last week I was getting some notes on a new script I started writing. One of the notes was: "Nick Gaffney... do you think he's necessary?"

What a loaded question.

Here's something the IRL Nick Gaffney forwarded me, for you to play with--animated gifs of 16-bit game title screens:

!!! Title Scream !!!

Guns N' Roses; Rock in Rio 2011

2011-10-03T03:40:00.000-04:00

It's the wee hours of Monday morning and I'm at a Guns N' Roses concert in Rio.

This is the wonder of the internet.

There's a live feed of the Guns N' Roses ROCK IN RIO show on YOUTUBE right now and I'm enjoying it here in New York City without having to suffer the rain, crowds or the costs of plane/concert tickets.

They're playing a cover of U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday right now. Regardless of what the shit-talkers whine about, the band sounds brilliant. Axl doesn't look so great and his voice has seen better days (said the biggest Axl-defender you'll ever know) -- but those songs are hard to sing and he's had to learn different ways to sing them over the years.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt was on Jimmy Fallon last week and apparently JGL likes to sing karaoke with an Axl voice. He performed a bit of his impersonation on the show. JGL is a great actor but his Axl does not compare favorably next to mine. This, you should know. I will prove it in person if you need me to.

Hey look: Guns N' Roses are my band. I don't care what you say, I stand by the current incarnation. It'd be nice if the original band could be the get-along gang but if you hear the new band, you can't say they aren't a cohesive rock outfit. They kick serious ass live. Though it may not be consistent, Axl's voice can still sound brilliant. Right now, he's singing the fuck out of "Knockin on Heaven's Door". On an icon level, I wish he looked as well-preserved as David Bowie, Mick Jagger or Slash... but hey, genetics.

If you don't have your heroes... well then, what do you have?

Angelika Film Center Popcorn

2011-10-03T00:00:00.006-04:00

The best movie theater popcorn in NYC is at the Angelika Film Center. Not too greasy or salty or bland. It's just right.

When I got to college in the early 90s, I loved the Angelika. It showed all these movies that I didn't have access to in the suburbs. Went to the Angelika often through college and years after. And at a certain point, I kinda stopped. They employ a poor queue technique, only allowing people in about 5 minutes before showtimes, creating awkward snaking lines. The theater screens aren't that big and you're periodically treated to the rumbling sound of subway trains.

All that given, I stopped by there Friday afternoon and, on impulse, caught a showing of Take Shelter. Just to take a trip down memory lane. The whole experience, complete with the sounds of trains bleeding through the walls, was sort of charming. I liked the movie. And the popcorn was perfect.

Requiem for the UWS

2011-09-30T00:01:00.037-04:00

Thursday night, I took my magic Metrocard and treated myself to a late dinner on the Upper West Side. It was a cool, autumn evening that only made me more wistful for the times I lived on the UWS, near other friends who've since moved on to parts of Crooklyn. The cleaner streets, the quieter neighborhoods. I chose Artie's Deli, near the movie theater. Ordered the pastrami on rye, which was delightful. Made me miss that expensive little studio I lived in on my own, for four years. I loved that place. When I could afford it comfortably, it was some of the best years of my adult life.

This is starting to sound like a suicide note.

Finished what might be the final draft of a short story on Thursday. ("Menagerie".) Sent it to my managers. Fielded a conference call for the current script-in-progress "Harrowgate" in the afternoon. Altogether, it felt like a productive day. With this career, I feel like I've been living on prayers and faith. Something has got to pay off soon.

This has been a difficult September. I've worked hard and fought demons. These difficult times are when you really earn the path you've chosen.

Have a safe weekend, Constant Reader.

Malice and the Magic Metrocard

2011-09-29T00:00:00.021-04:00

So, I was trudging through Port Authority Wednesday morning, making my anonymous trek toward the gym, when this lady approached me. I thought she was going to ask for directions to somewhere but instead... she had a gift.

"Do you want this...?"

She held up a Metrocard. What I assumed was the remainder of an unlimited 7-day Metrocard.

"I am leaving," she continued, in a vaguely Spanish(?) accent. "It is good until... Friday, Saturday."

Usually when strangers approach me, I have an automatic NO that I'm waiting to dole out. And when I'm making my trek toward the gym, I generally don't want to talk to ANYBODY. But the remainder of an unlimited 7-day Metrocard... since I've walked away from the regular 9-5 day-job, I don't remember the last time I possessed an unlimited Metrocard.

I smiled at her. What was clearly an abomination of an attempt at a human smile. And I thanked her profusely for her random act of kindness.

So basically... I'm taking this to mean a good sign... a sign for better things to come in the near future... SO SAY WE ALL.

Excerpt from the Phone Conversation

2011-09-28T13:23:00.000-04:00

{Long, Awkward Silence}

MALICE:
Okay, dad, well, travel safely, hope your flights go smoothly and your dental operation goes smoothly and you enjoy your trip there.

DAD:
Yah, okeh, anudder ting...

World of Noodles

2011-09-23T20:18:00.000-04:00

Looks like I'll be helping out at Noodle Lane at the Brooklyn Flea this Sunday. Rain or shine.

Noodle Lane @ Brooklyn Flea
Williamsburg
Sunday, 10am-5pm
East River Waterfront (btw. North 6 + 7 St.)

I'm hoping the L-train is running.

Masked Malice

2011-09-22T03:31:00.000-04:00

Hi there. Remember me? I used to blog here regularly. It's not an abandoned lot, it's just more sporadically kept. There are more pressing issues to worry over.

My hair's out of control. A clear indication that I'm suffering a lean financial period is that I tend to wait longer stretches before getting a haircut. I don't like the look or feel of the overgrown hair. More hair means more maintenance. I used to cut it myself with electric clippers, but I was younger then. Now I'm old and weary.

Used FreeCycle again on Wednesday night, to get rid of a redundant vacuum cleaner. It was an artifact from the old married life so it was somewhat cathartic to be rid of it. This one went to another cute black chick -- do they make up the majority of the FreeCycle users?

Should I be writing novels? I should definitely be writing more plays. Trying to think about the future and how much of a shame it would be to just leave behind a big pile of unproduced screenplays. An unproduced screenplay is the saddest written form: it doesn't exist on its own, there's very little chance it'll get produced posthumously. A book can live on. A play can live on. A screenplay, on its own, is just dead weight that sinks to the bottom of the ocean.

I want things to get better soon.

R.E.M. Has a Posse

2011-09-21T14:33:00.000-04:00

R.E.M.
1980 - 2011

R.E.M. has a posse.

Jimmy Kimmel's Tribute to Uncle Frank

2011-09-19T02:57:00.000-04:00

I don't know why I watched the Emmy's Sunday night. I don't typically watch the Emmy's. But it was on and it's background noise and it happened. It was through the show that I found out that Jimmy Kimmel's Uncle Frank had died this past year.

Did I not know this? It's been a blur of a year. But I quickly went online to see if Kimmel had done something special on his show the mark the passing.

Above is the very emotional monologue that Kimmel delivered on his show. In case you missed it.

I don't know why but I find it really cathartic to watch people openly emoting like this. Sometimes it seems like I need to see human emotions modeled in order to have them. That's how empty I am inside!

This is Why You're Ugly

2011-09-18T17:40:00.000-04:00

What Makes a Person Ugly?

It's a world of hopes and a world of fears

2011-09-16T10:05:00.000-04:00

Over the course of a day, the temperature dropped and we skipped a few pages to October. It's so strange how cold it got so suddenly. The different seasons bring on different memories. I've been through autumns where the whole world seemed brimming with promise. I've been through autumns where the world came apart at the seams.

What's it going to be this time?

My manager emailed me last night with some news that lifted my spirits. It's not even a guarantee of anything. It's still on me to make this happen. But I feel more optimistic. Don't want to jinx anything here. If I get this one gig or I don't, I'll feel better about the work I put into it.

Paid a bill this morning. I'm in the red but it's not nearly as bad as I'd feared. These are the real testing times. Weathering these difficult patches without losing your mind. I lost my mind a little this week but I'm getting it together.

I can do this.

E S C A P E B Y M I D N I G H T O R D I E

2011-09-14T03:08:00.000-04:00

This is a low week. A lot to get done.

A quiet week, in some ways. But if I don't get enough done this week, next week will be unpleasantly noisier.

I'm not writing as regularly here though there are volumes I could write. Over the weekend, I had my longest lucid dreaming session ever. Everything fodder for the work.

I am going through a crisis period right now. I need all my hard work to start paying off soon.

Noodle Lane

2011-09-12T00:01:00.114-04:00

By chance, or perhaps as part of some larger message from the Universe, I spent the 10th Anniversary of 9/11 witnessing other people begin new chapters.

Upon finishing culinary school, my friend Lane had been plotting to get into the food business for years. From trying to find a small store front to auditioning for food TV competitions to applying for a food truck license (a notoriously difficult task in NYC).

On Sunday, she made her auspicious debut at the Brooklyn Flea in Williamsburg. She had applied for a food vendor spot, successfully auditioned with a live cooking demonstration, and was approved to open her fledgling Sichuan noodle stand called "Noodle Lane".

Sunday, September 11, 2011. On the East River Waterfront, between North 6th and North 7th in Williamsburg. 10am to 5pm. The nearby L-train was jacked up, so I had to take the J train to Marcy Ave and make a longer pilgrimage to her debut.

Suffice it to say, the noodles were/are superb and sold out before 5pm. I personally found the "extra hot" to be completely manageable, although there is a chance she calibrated the heat to go easy on me and other hipsters. NOODLE LANE will be at the Brooklyn Flea in Williamsburg every Sunday, so I encourage you to try it yourself (if you're not vegetarian). You might even see me there if you're unlucky.

I'd intended to stay to the end to help them pack up but I had to deal with something else back at the apartment...

There's a big black reclining chair that had been taking up space in the apartment. The idea was to just chuck it out onto the sidewalk but my friend (Lane's worser half) had just told me about FREECYCLE: a website that aims to reduce waste by creating a forum where people can give away stuff for free.

I posted an advert for the chair on Saturday and got a response shortly thereafter. A mother of two who'd just moved to Queens. She thought her daughters would adore the reclining chair.

I emailed her back to emphasize that I lived on the top floor of a 4-story walk-up and she'd need to be able to get it down and transport it. Essentially trying to talk her out of it. She responded that she and her daughter were "moving machines" and would be ready for the task.

I ended up feeling a little bad about the idea of making this young mother and daughter duo carry this bulky chair down four flights, so I ended up carrying it down myself. (Which was less difficult than I'd imagined.) I even lifted it into the back of their SUV for them, where I saw they had two ACs (another Freecycle score). The daughter, who reminded me of Willow Smith, smiled at me and said, "You live in a cool neighborhood!"

I thanked them both and wished them good luck as they drove away with the bulky recliner that wasn't even mine. Maybe it was the beginning of something good for them.

Ten Years

2011-09-11T10:57:00.002-04:00

Picnic on Dagobah

2011-09-10T00:00:00.018-04:00

Lucky British kid gets to share a creepy picnic with "Luke Skywalker" on the planet Dagobah (set) in the early 80s.

Watch Mark Hamill try to stay in character while simultaneously talking about shooting the movie the character's in. Are you saying the stuff in the movie didn't really happen? Was it supposed to be a documentary about your life, "Luke"?

What's curious is that everyone in this video, including R2D2, has a child-molester vibe.

Please enjoy.

No Visible Means of Support

2011-09-09T07:46:00.000-04:00

Attended a screening of Steven Soderbergh's CONTAGION last night at the DGA Theatre. Looks like it was a BAFTA thing. I think Howard Stern was there. Or someone who looked a lot like Howard Stern.

I was really impressed by the movie and score. Good for Steven Soderbergh. Good times for other people and their accomplishments.

Me? I'm trying really hard to stay alive.

Ten Year Anniversary of the 9/11 attack on Sunday. 10 years ago, I had a job and a fiancee. What have I got now? Promise? Fuck.

Everything is quite difficult right now. September.

The Treason of Images

2011-09-08T00:00:00.038-04:00

Wednesday was gym and laundry in the rain.

Found a dead mouse on the carpet in the living room. Looked like it was just sleeping. Not sure if the cat was responsible. The cat is an awful mouse-hunter. She pounces and lets go. Maybe this one just had a heart attack.

Working on the new script that I keep getting interrupted on. HARROWGATE. I'm supposed to touch base with the producer sometime on Friday, but that's not confirmed. I just need to fucking rip through this script. I can do this. I can crank this one out.

Supposed to see a screening of Soderbergh's CONTAGION Thursday night. It's at the DGA Theatre. A friend invited me. Don't know if it's a special screening with a Q&A or just a regular screening. I shouldn't go, I should stay home and write, but a free screening is the right price for me at the moment. My managers are supposed to call me sometime during the day -- hopefully well before showtime but you never know.

My brain is falling out. I need to maintain some manner of inner peace in order to move forward. To move beyond all today's worries.

It gets better. It gets better. It gets better.

Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

2011-09-07T00:32:00.000-04:00

You know what takes a toll? Locking yourself up in your room for the better part of a long weekend and forcing yourself to finish writing a horror story. You'd figure a 14-page short story wouldn't be the most difficult thing in the world but there is a craft to it. I will slave over sentences, second-guess the use of specific words or the layout of a description. Read and reread and rework and reread. 14 pages can be Mount Everest.

Well, when it needs to be perfect, it needs to be dead solid perfect.

Sent the revised draft to my managers Tuesday morning. They volleyed back a few small notes almost immediately. I worked on the final (?) revisions into the evening and emailed the new copy to my managers.

And now... it ought to be out of my hands. Once more, my fate rests upon the whims of a few executives.

My friend was released from the hospital on Monday, without any answers for what caused his ailment. Then he had to be checked back into the hospital on Tuesday because his problems returned. He's already endured a barrage of tests which have brought no enlightenment. My faith in modern medicine diminishes accordingly.

Your Coffee Sucks Shit

2011-09-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

Scott Nemes Fan Club, Vol. 2

2011-09-03T00:02:00.051-04:00

I posted this entry on child actor sensation Scott Nemes back in the glory days of 2007, which is perhaps overdue for a follow-up. He may be frozen in time as an actor but the kid's been busy.

Apparently, as a producer. Most recently, he produced the 2011 hit Saoirse Ronan vehicle Hanna.

Currently, he's a development executive for Cinemax, which has begun to produce original programming like STRIKE BACK!

Growing up he was in D.C. Cab, Twilight Zone: The Movie, St. Elmo's Fire, Punky Brewster, Mr. Belvedere (aka, Brocktoon!), The Wonder Years, It's Garry Shandling's Show., Out of This World. And now he's a big time suit in the entertainment industry.

There is officially no way for anyone to best Scott Nemes. So say we all.

All Good Things

2011-09-02T00:01:00.000-04:00

Labor Day weekend stretches out before us. A small patch of real estate to hold a funeral party for the summer. I realize this is all about me but how was *your* summer? Mine ended like a bomb.

I'm alternating between writing-lockdowns and waiting periods. It takes forever to get anything done. And as the clock starts clicking toward the end of the year, there is a greater urgency to get something done. And the end of the year, for me, is essentially November because nothing seems to get done in the entertainment industry once December hits.

Okay. You might find this surprising but I sometimes find it difficult to harness the power of positive thinking.

I've got a friend in the hospital and immediate career concerns.

A year ago, I was having fish-out-of-water adventures in Los Angeles. This year, I'll be huddled over a netbook in my Tomb, desperately trying to write my way into a better situation.

Have a safe Labor Day Weekend, True Believers.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

2011-09-01T14:48:00.002-04:00

Went to visit my friend again in the ICU this mourn. They're set to transfer him to another room. Possibly another hospital with better resources to figure out what's malfunctioning inside his body. He's been in hospital for 5 days thus far and we're still waiting on answers. Feels like the Dark Ages. Is the modern state of medicine really still reduced to educated guesses...? Shots in the dark. And you're too late.

Keeping bizarre hours trying to revise writing and generate new material. Some of these may go on to be something larger. Some may die preemptively. But I cannot afford to piss away opportunities. It is goddamn September already. This is destroying me. I cannot let this destroy me.

August Company

2011-08-31T00:01:00.052-04:00

I know the summer's not technically over—but as far as I'm concerned the summer's over as soon as the curtains fall on August.

Went to visit a good friend at an intensive care unit down in Secaucus on Tuesday. Last time I was in an ICU was... 8 years ago. It's never a good time. And this incident happened so abruptly, out of nowhere, to a guy who seemed to be the portrait of good health. The cover-boy of Men's Health. I won't get into details here. The friends who know the score know the score. Just hoping he can get back on his feet soon.

I do not care for how August is ending. Too many things unresolved. Too many threads without payoff. Updates here have been more sporadic because I am trying like hell to get some work done. I mean, I'm getting work done all the time... but then you get a call with more feedback and suddenly you've got more revisions to make and that dangling carrot of a payday, ANY payday, keeps jutting just out of reach...

Alas, this has been August 2011. Duane Reade already has the Halloween candy aisle up. The end of the year comes on furiously from here on out, which means I'm racing against time once more. I am revising my estimates for 2011. I don't need to rule the world. I just need a modest, affordable plot of earth to live on without getting beaten up.

Incident at a Pet Store

2011-08-29T11:09:00.000-04:00

I was looking at these salamanders at this pet store. (I'm sure I had a reason for looking at the salamanders but I can't remember it now.) I had little newts as pets when I was a kid and perhaps it was some sense of nostalgia that made me consider buying a salamander or two.

But money's extremely tight and I'm on a spending lockdown—and buying a new pet would seem to be one of the most frivolous things I could do right now. These salamanders were relatively inexpensive, though. And they looked pretty cool. And however I managed to fudge the logic in my head, I confess that I seriously started to consider buying some salamanders.

They had aquariums with salamanders... but they also had these special salamanders set aside. In boxes that made them look like action figures. Live salamanders in these boxes, with unique pop culture themes. The one I was looking at was a "Batman" salamander. All black with yellow highlights. Couldn't quite figure out how they could remain alive in these packages and it certainly didn't seem humane, but for what it's worth they looked completely content in there.

On the back of the box were some basic instructions. One of the notes was that salamanders would live longer if they had a mate. The Batman salamander was listed as "Male". I chose another box with a salamander listed as "Female": this one was more colorful, almost with a clown pattern. It was themed as Batman's nemesis, The Joker.

Batman and The Joker as salamanders. As life-mates in an aquarium. How could I *not* get this?

I needed to ask a salesperson some questions about the tank requirements, but there was also something strange about these specially themed salamanders in these action figure packages. I'd set aside Batman and The Joker... but the themes kept changing. Suddenly, The Joker salamander became a "Mrs. Doubtfire" salamander. I asked the sales associate why the packages kept changing. The old woman smiled and didn't respond. As if she were just waiting for me to realize that I was dreaming.

Things spontaneously changing into other things is usually a dead-giveaway that you're in a dream and not in reality. Once you realize this, you can have a lucid dream and really do some interesting things.

And yet, I still didn't realize I was dreaming.

My dream life and waking life have been so strange lately, it's hard to see the dividing line sometimes. There was an earthquake and a tropical storm (downgraded from a category-1 hurricane) recently, wasn't there? And I didn't blog about either? And now I'm blogging about a salamander dream...?

Well, what's it all mean, then?

Dreams are always up for interpretation. I don't believe they forecast the future. I believe they represent your deeper fears and desires; things that are weighing upon you, that you're trying to work through in some way. Sometimes they represent something you're struggling with that you might not feel like talking about. That said, I thought this interpretation made some sense to me:

To see a salamander in your dream, represents your ability to survive through shame, misfortune, and/or embarrassment.

I really hope my fortune changes for the better soon. This week would be good.

Live Action Portal

2011-08-26T23:13:00.000-04:00