Blog a Little Blog...

The apartment search continues, as today, I finally signed up to join Westside Rentals. Sixty bucks. Now, if that doesn't bag me a nice place to stay... umm... witty hyperbole...

Apologies if I seem a little slow tonight. It was a long day today, good, but taxing nonetheless. The best part was the beginning. We had a tech meeting this morning at 10:00am (which allowed me to catch some extra Zzzz) in CBS Television City.

Pulling in through those gates: magic.

Then, regular office stuff set in. I made some calls, did some research, watched some edits, and now, I'm home. Finally.

Speaking of homes, I'll be house/cat sitting at one of my old Production Coordinators home 'til Saturday... So, if you need me, I'll be there.

In closing, I would like to alert you to this website, which just about sums everything up: When Parents Text


[You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am, I'll come runnin']

A Belated Christmas Present For You!

...is a new post.

I'm cheap.

Anyways, what has happened since my last post? Oh, that's right. Everything.

Devoted readers of my blog (of which, there are two(ish)) are familiar with this sort of routine. The routine I'm referring to is, of course, the substantial week or two of posting, followed by a long, boring drought. I hope to curb this, I really do, and, in fact, just today I've decided to implement a new system for getting in my hour of writing per day, so, if all goes accordingly, new posts will once again be the fashion of the day... if all goes accordingly.

This blogging thing was much easier in the bygone days of Xanga, no?

The thing is: I bought khakis. Yes, khakis. Granted, they're cool khakis, the kind that say, "I'm vaguely professional, but if there were an impromptu Arcade Fire concert, I still fit the dress code." Still, it concerns me a bit. Though, it is nice to have brown pants instead of always wearing blue pants. Finally, I can wear blue shirts again.

I went to Disneyland whilst on blogging vacation. It was pretty fun. Did all the Disneyland stuff, which, if you've ever been there, you know it's all standard fare. There are rides and sights and whatnot. Hardly worth describing in blog form. Instead, I'll just post pictures.

That's the kind of guy I am.

Two Jeff Bridges movies I have seen in the past week: Tron 2 and True Grit.

The Former: Music, hero's journey, glowing, fights, glowing, Olivia, glowing, Daft Punk, glowing, light jets!!1!, glowing... glowing... gone. Grades --> Story: B- Glowing: A+

The Latter: Violence, subtle humor, humorous violence, Matt Damon, regular violence, funny talking, shocking violence, arguments, kidnapping, snakes... violence --> Story: A Violence: A


Needless to say, I highly recommend both films.


[Poets often use many words to say a simple thing]

Well...

TGIF... That's all I can say.

UPDATE: Also, I'm adding this:

see more Memebase


[do you feel like we do?]

Little Things Fall Into Place...

...and remind me that this is where I'm meant to be. Whether it's for the rest of my life, I don't know for sure, but as for now, I think this was the right move.

Granted, I saw some pictures today on facebook of the first snowfall in Grand Rapids, and I wanted to get on the first flight home. I never thought I'd miss snow... but I do. It's been a part of my Winters since I was five, and now... Well, how am I supposed to drink hot chocolate now?

Apartment hunting trudges on via internet. Now, however, there may be a roommate in the mix.

I miss you Michigan people. I really do. It's lovely out here, and oh so interesting, but it'd me much better if you were here too. Exploring the city, getting caught in traffic, paying too much for gas, and eating mexican food.

It'd be great!

Alas. Forsooth. I met Paula Abdul today.


[Way out in the water -- see it swimmin']

Reality TV

I work for a reality TV show. Today's work made that fact stunningly clear.

cinema verite' with a twist.

I met some very nice people today, however, and it was a nice change of pace from sitting at a desk all day.


Here's a ballsy quote from Joe Scarborough that has nothing to do with my day today. Nonetheless, Scarborough earns some points:

"This is one Republican who would prefer that the former half-term governor promote her reality shows and hawk her books without demeaning the reputations of Presidents Reagan and Bush. These great men dedicated their lives to public service and are too good to be fodder for her gaudy circus sideshow. If Republicans want to embrace Palin as a cultural icon whose anti-intellectualism fulfills a base political need, then have at it. I suppose it’s cheaper than therapy. But if the party of Ronald Reagan, Paul Ryan and Marco Rubio wants to return to the White House anytime soon, it’s time that Republican leaders started standing up and speaking the truth to Palin,"

kaboom.

So, this post is a little fragmented.



Art imitates life.



[So now this is the point where the radio comes on, and we compare our lives to the lyrics of a song]

I Found A Little Bit of Groove Today

And I feel great.

Tomorrow, I'm switching mah tracks and playing set PA for the day. Twist!

Also, the traffic in LA is not an exaggeration. Today's trip in to work lasted an hour and a half. No joke... no joke...


[I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul]

Churchy Church Church

That title is supposed to be in a sing-song fashion, but I've yet to figure out how to convey that in text form.

So, I went to church today at a lovely place called Ecclesia. To be fair, I had visited once before during the Compass industry trip in May of '09, and yes, the service is still as good as I remember it. Plus, it's in an old movie theater on Hollywood Blvd., how cool is that?

Very cool.

Especially since they just got a new screen that they'll be able to show films (movies) on. Next Sunday they're showing It's A Wonderful Life.

It's only the best Christmas movie ever (Yes, Elf is good too. A close second)

And, my Jimmy Stewart impression is getting pretty good, so maybe I'll bust that out... good way to make friends... if they're into impersonations... and dead Hollywood icons....


Work starts up again tomorrow. Grrr, I'm nervous. Mainly because I haven't really "dived in" just yet. I'm not acclimated.

Let's hope this week changes that.



[Fences in a row]

I'm Trying to Find a Place to Live...

Something that shall protect me from the hot, Los Angeles sun.

So far, it's not going great. Granted, I only officially started my search today, not much was accomplished other than finding out where I don't want to live (which is Wilshire).

However, in my random explorations today, I drove through Echo Park and Silver Lake, two neighborhoods I'd pondered living in before I moved out here. I think I'll refine my search in these areas to see what I can see. After all, it couldn't hurt, plus, the vibe of those neighborhoods really resonate with me.

Though, the vibe I'm really diggin' is in Marina Del Rey. It's so relaxed out there. Everyone's got a dog. Every cute girl's got a cute bike. And every jeep's got a surfboard on top. It's a bit of a hike from Hollywood, which is a bummer, but then again, it's closer than the valley.

Ultimately, it's East vs. West (as always). Silver Lake and it's adjacent "hipster" neighborhoods on the East side, or the beach bum lifestyle of Marina Del Rey/Venice Beach of the West side.

Decisions, decisions...



[He's as wise as a prize fighter]

Apparently, I Live Near the Ocean Now.

but it's a bit of a walk.

Today, I hopped on over to Marina Del Rey to hang out with my friend Eric (who also went to Compass, also wants to be a writer, and is also from the Midwest). We proceeded to visit the ocean, then drive up the PCH, all the while pointing out different things that we find "weird" about this place.

It was a long conversation.

Hanging out was nice, and it also helped to cure the "New City Blues" which is a mental condition/song title that I just invented. I also may have stumbled over an important discovery: Having friends and making new friends reduces the feeling that you're a complete stranger, utterly alone in a sprawling metropolis.

It's just a hypothesis, I know, but it's crazy enough to work.



Also, I met a Siberian Husky named Sasha. We are friends now.



[And he shifts in his sleep and the Earth begins to quake]

Um, thanks?

It's Thanksgiving. Hope yours was a happy one.

Mine was pretty good. Though, it was my first Thanksgiving away from home.

Got to have dinner at my old boss' house though, which was nice. It felt good to reconnect with him and to meet the rest of his family.

Now, some random thoughts that I may elaborate on later:

"Vesuvius" by Sufjan Stevens is my jam right now. I'm finding a lot to identify in the lyrics, even though I'm not 100% solid on what the lyrics are trying to say. I feel the emotions and connotations behind them, and in a way, that's enough. Something in there resonates.

I'm not a huge fan of censorship, that is, bleeping out curse words with asterisks or some other symbol. I feel that I should either have the cajones -- the integrity -- to type the actual word, or leave it out altogether.

I'm trying to coax a relationship with this city. Therefore, I might take a drive up The PCH (they tell me that's the proper slang for "Pacific Coast Highway") in hopes of finding a spark... I'm worried I might be taking things a little too fast. I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy.



[Follow me now or follow your death]

Sleepy Times

I'm wiped out. The past seven days have been nothing but crazy, especially the last three.

I realize that I've been "on my own" for most of it, that is, I've been with people I don't know too well, or, complete strangers altogether. I've learned a lot, but I've also been left with a yearning to return to some familiarity.

But that's 3,000 miles away from me now.

I think I just need to connect with some of the people I know out here this weekend. Explore a little bit. Just "hang out", which is something I haven't been able to do in a while.

Still, I miss Grand Rapids, and everyone in it -- well, except for that one guy... and that weird old lady, I mean, what's her deal?

Now, it's time for bed. I can't wait.



[I don't do too much talkin' these days]

Not Bad for Day Two

Remember that interview I had yesterday? It panned out.

I started my job today (less than 48 hours after arriving in the city).

I work on Sunset Blvd.

And I have business cards that read "Stephen Pell: Executive Assistant"



If my life had a face, I'd punch it.



[We used to wait for it.]

Not Bad for Day One

I had an interview today. For a job. A pretty good job.

We'll see how that pans out.

Interviews give me trouble sometimes. After they're over, I spend the rest of the day dissecting the whole ordeal, criticizing and nitpicking until I believe myself to be a complete idiot incapable of stringing together coherent sentences. Whenever anyone asks me to explain myself, I get a little flustered. Am I supposed to have a detailed outline with bullet points and segues and whatnot? That's more of a question that's answered easier over a beer or two... more interviews should take place in bars. Let's work on making that the norm.

So, we'll see how that pans out.

It would certainly be a boon for me to land a job so quickly. After all, the trip out here came with some unexpected costs, and I'm gonna be needing to find a place soon -- which is another subject altogether -- but, overall, I could go either way, to be honest with you. If I get the job, great, but if I don't, then that just gives me some more time to take the city in, which isn't a bad thing at all.

In fact, I'm gonna do some of that tomorrow as my friend Jen and I explore East LA. I'm sure it'll be a riot.

I probably shouldn't use the term "riot" anymore, being in Los Angeles and all.

It's too soon... too soon.


[Sittin' in a bar -- pickle in a jar -- in Jackson]

I Have Arrived

And I have sensory overload.

Everything is wonderful and new and odd and scary.

My new home.



[Let your love grow tall]

Who's Afraid of West Texas?

Still me.

However, I'm less afraid than I was. In fact, today's drive was a pleasant surprise. There were enough unexpected sights along the long road through Texas that it shook things up ever so slightly and produced many "oh, wow" moments.

Like this windfarm (which stretched on for miles and miles. Literally, for about a half hour, this is what I saw on every side of me.)



Can we just agree that Texas is awesome? I mean, come on. What's not to love?

I'll tell you what I love: Dallas. It's awesome. For a second there, I considered just unpacking my car right there and settling in -- maybe see if I can get a job as the new Cowboy's coach or something.

I'm in El Paso now, and I'm a little melancholy to be leaving this great state tomorrow. Think maybe I'll slip over into Juarez and see if I can't get some good tequila to perk me up... or just get kidnapped/murdered.

This time tomorrow, I should be in LA. It's finally here.


[The highway's jammed with broken heros on a last-chance power drive]

Roots

So, at the moment, I'm only a block away from the house I was originally brought home to as a newborn -- Mesquite, Texas.

And it feels good. It really does. Feels familiar, like it just "fits".

But I digress.

With my brand new alternator, I rolled out of West Memphis at 2pm with M. Ward blastin'. (That is, I was playing M. Ward loudly on my stereo. He was not, in fact, in my passenger seat carrying out the "shooting" part of a drive-by shooting.)

That last paragraph came to me at the very beginning of the day, and I've been waiting to write it down ever since. I'm not sure it plays, and consequently, I was too busy thinking about that all day to take in much else.

Not much else to say. It was an uneventful leg of the trip, which was most welcomed.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow, I go through West Texas. I don't need to tell you that West Texas is not only boring, but also terrifying.

So, I won't tell you. I'll let Anton tell you instead:

Needless to say, if anyone asks me to get out of my car, I will not. Not at all.

[Lord, I'm a fool for a lonesome train]

I Did A Song

Hope you like it.

"Graceland, Graceland [West] Memphis Tennessee" or "Stuck Inside of Memphis with the Texas Blues Again"

That car alarm has been going non-stop for five minutes.

I'm at the Ramada in West Memphis, Arkansas. If you're keeping score at home, West Memphis is almost Memphis... almost.

So, why am I in West Memphis? A questioned pondered by the great thinkers of every generation, and now, I ponder it myself. Luckily, I don't have to look too deep inside my soul to discover the answer. I just have to pop the hood on my car.

The alternator, as alternators do, has gone kaput, rather unexpectedly, in a state that I actually don't have a song lyric for. It's a shame. However, when I was trying to fix the electrical problem, which was initially incorrectly diagnosed as "bad connections" on the battery, I stopped at an Autozone in Osceola, AR. While the sales rep was fixing the loose ends, I though "Osceola, Arkansas with a broken connection" sounded like a pretty sweet song title, or at least a decent lyric.

So, I stuck with it and imagined someone like Jack White belting it out over a lo-fi piano recording, then, it was clear that my "broken connection" was something much worse.

All electrical systems failed. It was like I was being hit with an ion cannon. (If you're a girl and you understand that last part, I would like to propose, or at least get coffee). I pulled over to the side of the road and waited for a tow truck.

For three hours.

Apparently, when you're on the Tennessee/Arkansas border, things get confused, and it's impossible to explain to anyone over the phone exactly where you are.

And so, now, I sit in my hotel room, belly full of Waffle House fare, and I stick it out. Hoping against hope that the alternator can be replaced before Noon tomorrow, and I can be back out on that highway.

Headed towards the Lone Star State.

Yah!

[What do you do with the pieces of a broken heart?]

Michigan Seems Like a Dream to Me Now

I'm in Illinois at perhaps one of my favorite places in the world. Unfortunately, it's dark here, and chilly, which prevents me from running around fields of tall grass with no shoes and a sharpened stick. But I digress.

Today was a tough day emotionally. Lots of highs and lows. Lots of tears and mucus.

The music was classic travel music. A wonderful mix by my friend Amy took me out of Traverse City, and the Elizabethtown soundtrack brought me into GR.

Then, I said goodbye to two of my best friends. I don't know when I'll see them again, but I know I'll carry a piece of them with me in my heart for the rest of my life. They have meant so much to me these past few years. I can only hope to find friends half as good in LA.

After departing GR, the music switched to Arcade Fire, "Suburbs". That album was meant for the night, I think.

Driving through farmlands at night is a real treat. A large black expanse pockmarked with twinkling radio towers and family farms. It's like driving on the night sky.

Tomorrow is a long day. Fifteen hours, approximately.

And that's if I don't stop in Memphis for barbecue... If I don't stop...

[Graceland, Graceland...]

The Last Night in the Ol' Bailey Boarding House

Tomorrow, I set sail (metaphorically) for Los Angeles.

I'm packing now. Sorting through my possessions and deciding what to take, and what to cast off.

Chaff and the grain.

It's a strange feeling to pack your life into the back of a red Izuzu. It's surreal and a bit frightening, but sharpening as well.

The minimizing prevents me from getting too stressed. With less stuff, I feel there's less to worry about, and therefore, I'm left to focus on just the vital bits. It's a very streamlined way of living. Let's see how long that lasts in LA.

I realize that I haven't been the best warden of this blog in recent months. Chalk that up to a busy work schedule and a feeling of boredom and monotony in my environment. Hopefully, that wont be a problem in LA. I can't imagine feeling uninspired in a city so rich with new experiences and culture.

The blog will thrive again, oh yes. It will thrive.

The End of an Era?

My car died today.

I'm taking it pretty well, I'd say.

It was a teal Ford Escort, which served me well for the two years I drove it, but I never felt like it was "my car". I never felt I could love it, and care for it, and roll it into my identity. In fact, it was just the opposite. Often, I found myself apologizing for it, neglecting it, and feeling as if it was simply just a transport from point A to point B, as bland as white bread and water. Ultimately, that's what a car is for, I suppose; it just needs to get you from one place to the other -- that's bare minimum.

Now, I realize that I've been extremely lucky with cars, and that there's plenty of people out there that don't have vehicles and get along fine without them. Well, I'm not those people.

For me, a car is essential, I need it for my job, for my social life, and for my sanity. There's nothing more lyrical to me than an open road and a full tank of gas -- ten times a day, I'd trade anything to be in that situation. Maybe that says something about our culture, and I could spend hours dissecting the love affair between America and its cars, but I wont go into that, I'll just say this: "If the shoe fits: wear it."

The bottom line is that I want a car I can care about, something that I've bought with my hard-earned cash, something that I choose, not something that was handed down to me. Really, it's a rite of passage. It's about growing up.

And that's why I'm not too upset about it at this point. Yes, maybe I'm only looking at the sunny side of this and haven't fully grasped the consequences and financial impact this will have on me, but I do know this:

It's the end of the Escort era...

[I will survive]

Half the fun is getting there.

I'm just going to go ahead and term the entire trip as "the unintentional exploration of parts of Illinois and Indiana".

Such was my journey to the Farm.

I embarked from the fair Grand Rapids at around 6:30 in the evening, for, that is when I had finished with my work for the day.

The sun was high and golden, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. It was a beautiful time to be on the road.

The weather continued like this for the duration of the Michigan leg as I traveled South down the I-196 corridor. It was slow and calm and peaceful. My music of choice was the Elizabethtown soundtrack (specifically designed for such a trip) and I believe there was some Arcade fire in there as well.

Rounding the tail-end of Lake Michigan, I now found myself in Indiana, and a bladder full of raspberry tea, and so, a quick stop in Porter was in order to take care of the problem.

The pumps were packed, as was the giant warehouse of illegal fireworks across the street (let's think about that for moment). I parked my car and, while walking inside, spied one of those creepy, idiotic motorcyclists that still thinks Easy Rider is "liek teh best movie evar!1!!" Yeah, those guys. I wish I carried more random weapons in my car to appear more intimidating, but, I suppose that's what the New York accent is for.

My point is that you havent' really stared danger int he face until you've pulled over for gas at a truck stop in Indiana.

Moving along now, having missed my exit, I find myself in the thick of construction, and searching for a way out. Enter the iPhone, my trusty little electronic map (that requires batteries to use it. more on that later...) I use the iPhone to fine myself an alternate route.

Indiana 394 as it was just drifting into twilight. Ah, beauty. Rolling stones compelemented the setting sun perfectly, and a smoky-voiced Norah Jones took me through the maroon and deep purple of the dusk. This combination mixed with the country breezes wafting through the open windows and you have perfection, magic, enchantment, so much so, that I missed my road... again.... while I was taking this picture... like an idiot...

To be fair, this being the Illinois countryside and all, the road wasn't exactly labeled.

It was, however, only a few minutes after I passed these towers that I realized I was lost for that was when I saw the sign welcoming back to Indiana. Curses.

I looked down at my traitorous phone, trying to parse the necessary information to right my course, and when I looked up, all had gone dark, and I entered the woods. For just a moment, I was tempted to run my car into the ditch, fearing I'd just entered a waking nightmare and Freddy Kreuger would be showing up at any moment.

But I suppressed that, and promptly turned around (cursing, of course) and drove back. Then, I took the picture on the left, and made my proper turn. Then, my phone died.

So, I had to pull out the ol' sextant and chart my way home using the stars.

I made it to my destination, of course, but now, I have scurvy.

I can only hope my trip back is as eventful.

Cheers,

[Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long]

The Findings of the Day - 6/28

Just one noteworthy finding today, it is, however, of utmost importance.

#1

Seashells are the ultimate way to tell someone, "I'm sorry for your loss."

According to 50% of the bereavement cards at Rite Aid.

I don't really get it. "Sorry about your friend's passing -- here's some things I dug up at the beach!"

Perhaps seashells are made of pure sympathy. Though, I couldn't find any information to back that up on seashellafficianado.com...

Weird. Just weird.

[But my eyes: they don't see. They don't see the way they used to.]

The Findings of the Day or Stephen Slowly Discovers the World

#1

Refried beans are quickly becoming my new tomato soup, that is, my go-to bachelor food of choice. I do put a little taco cheese and Newman's salsa in there to make it gourmet.

Look at the bachelor. See how he makes food from a can. He is a man. A single man.

#2

Mexican coke is the tops. Granted, I found this out a long time ago, I just picked now to share it with you. It's also the recommend complement to a refried bean/tortilla chip entree. I looked it up on refriedbeanafficianodo.com.

#3

In the event of an explosion, diving underwater at the right moment can save your life. Thanks, Mythbusters.

#4

"The protagonist is the character who suffers the most"... Thanks, Michael.

Via : John August

#5

When I apply myself and stretch my creativity, I can accomplish anything. Conversely, when I DON'T apply myself, I sit on the couch, eating refried beans, drinking Mexican Coke, and watching Mythbusters re-runs.

Oh, discovery.

[I have never envied folks with money -- millionaires don't get along so well]

Crawling back

Ok, my original twitter account, you've got me. You keep bringing me back to you....

I wish I knew how to quit you.


[Allow me to reintroduce myself]

New Splash Site

Stephen Pell: "Greatest Hits Vol. 1"

Oh, the wonders of social networking.

Actually, this turned out pretty spiffy. A very easy to use site with a nice, crisp flair to it. It's also a great way to keep all of your sites on one page for easy navigation.


It's also a great way to streamline your shameless self-promotion.

errrrgh...


[swim to reach the end]

Run

Tomorrow morning, I will run.

Oh yes, a run, shall I take. I have my music, and my shorts, and my shoes, and my will.

And so, tomorrow morning, when I wake up, I will turn off my alarm, put on my shoes, and run.

For twenty (20) minutes, if necessary!

And the next morning, I will run again. Body aching, body hating me, body broken (that's a little dramatic), I will run again.

And the next next morning, when my mind just isn't feeling it, and my legs burn, I will run again, because, it's what I will do.

Tomorrow morning, I will run.


[Sooner or later, God'll cut ya down]

Han F. Solo

"If I could be anyone else besides me, I would be Han Solo".

You know it.

Han Solo is a badass, let's get that out in the open right now, because it's essential to the rest of the argument.

(granted, with the previous statement alone, I could parry any counter-argument leveled at me, but I'd prefer to expound upon my aforementioned original hypothetical identity swap.)



When I was just a young boy, I wanted to be Luke Skywalker. Can you blame me? After all, Luke is the protagonist, and yes, he was whiney, but so was I at the age of three -- I could identify. Don't get me wrong, Luke is an all-around nice guy, certainly someone you'd want to be friends with (Han was his friend), even family (Han marries Leia), and besides, Luke blows up the friggin' Death Star, so he's got to get some points there.

Then, he becomes a Jedi, and fights a bunch of people and becomes a wise old Jedi Master and blah, blah, blah.... The Jedi parts of the books always bored me, (there's much less lightsaber-fighting than you'd think) and by the time I actually started reading the books, I was over Luke anyways.

But, he'll always hold a place in my heart...



Then along came Boba Fett.

All throughout my formative High school years, I was enamored with Mr. Fett. His armor, the fact that he's a bounty hunter, he's popular with the ladies... It all seems to add up to the perfect life to covet, but is it really?....

I came to find out, as we all did, that Boba was wearing two suits of armor, one for his body, and one for his heart. You see, Boba, as a lad, watched as his father was cut down by the powerful Jedi, Mace Windu (never wanted to be him) and for the rest of his days, he lived with that weight upon his shoulders. What an awful burden to live with. That's probably what drove him to become a cold, heartless bounty hunter (plus, he already had the armor, and the weapons, and the ship, and the... same DNA), and yeah, it would be cool to be Boba for a moment, as he swoops through the air with a jet pack, blowing away a bunch of lowlifes for money, but at the end of the day, who does Boba go home to? Who makes him his favorite Salmon dish and listens while he tells them about his day? Who stays up late with him to watch Seinfeld reruns on the couch?

No one.

So, for all those wishing they were Boba Fett: Even lone wolves get lonely sometimes...



This brings us to Han.

Han is a badass (as previously stated), he shot (first) Greedo, he helped blow up the Death Star (twice), and he makes out with the hottest girl in a gold bikini this side of Alderaan (which has no sides... since it's gone). He's lived a wonderful life, full of many daring exploits, friendship, love, and happiness.

He's also a scoundrel, and that's the best unintentional compliment you can ever get when you're a bit of a self-involved asshole at times. I mean, who doesn't want to be known to his friends as, "kind of a scoundrel"?

I know I do, which is why:


"If I could be anyone else besides me, I would be Han Solo".


[Jolene, I ain't 'bout to go straight; it's too late.]

Rawesome... a brand new word

The definition is as follows:.

(Do yourself a favor and watch it full-screen)



Somebody get Webster on the phone...



[Last night, I had a dream about you]

And so...

I didn't get the job I was hoping for.

And, I found out this information over a week ago. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I was planning the many ways to compose this post, and I feel that I'm best prepared to write it now, this far afterwards.

For, you see, though I did not get the job of Director's Assistant, I still got a job as an Office PA, which is still loads of cool, after all, I've got paid work until the end of September, and, I'm makin' a freakin' movie! I'd be an absolute fool to complain.

Yeah, when I found out the news, there was that part of me that felt bitter and jealous, and the part that felt depressed because "this was my one big shot, and it will never come again!", but then I punched that part in the face. After all, this PA gig is an amazing opportunity in itself. Everyone in the state wants to get on this show, and I'm one of the lucky few who's been honored to be among the chosen.

This is going to be a great (work filled) summer, I can taste it.

And none of this would've even happened if it weren't for my friend, Paula, who's the main reason I was even considered -- in any aspect -- for a job on this film, but what do you expect?She is the coolest person in the industry today, if you haven't heard.

Bottom line. I'm very happy, and I'm glad things worked out this way. Now, I'm going to go fix mah bike.

cheers,

[All you ever wanted was someone to treat you nice and kind]

Gleanings: 20 Worst Drinks in America

This is an article taken from Eat This, Not That, a website dedicated to educating its readers about eating properly and living a healthy lifestyle. One thing's for sure, "healthy" would not be a word chosed to describe your lifestyle if you indulge in one of these drinks everyday, then again, you'd be lucky to be alive for much longer if you consumed these on a regular basis.

Take a look at the 20 Worst Drinks in America.

[I want it all, and I want it now]

Things Fall Apart

Hey, I just finished working on this movie as Mario Van Peebles' assistant.

Check out the new article in Variety (apparently, they've just cast Ray Liotta)

Neato... Neato...

[If you shoot my dog, I'm gonna kill your cat]

New Blog!

I'm moving to Japan in June, 2011 for a year.

Did I not tell you that? Sorry, must of slipped my mind.

Anyways, you can read all about it here --->http://stephensinjapan.blogspot.com/

Read. Subscribe. Mock our foolish notions.


cheers,


[farewell, well, well, well, well, well, well, 'til you know me well]

They must have spent a fortune at Walgreens...

Below, is a truly astounding feat of stop-motion mixed media.

Very charming. Very French.

50th Anniversary (Time Lapse) from Ed Zerati on Vimeo.

cheers,


[No one, I think, is in my tree]

A Triumph

This is everything an advertisement should be.

Watch. Be amazed. Buy a soccer ball. Resolve to practice everyday. Join an intramural league. Become a legend.

Or don't....

Either way, watch this:




cheers,


[if you want to be free, be free.]

A Picture is worth 100 words

This one might be worth 2000.



NOTE: This sculpture was created by Kris Kuksi. This image, and others can be found here on the ever-cool sci-fi blog, i09.


Leave some of your words in the comments section. And don't forget to subscribe!


cheers,


[love is the thing, this time, I'm sure.]

Stephen Hawking is Wrong

According to Mr. Hawking, life does exist on other planets... but we should do our best to avoid contact. He makes the claim that the landing of an alien presence on Earth would be akin to Columbus' landing in the new world, "which didn't turn out well for the Native[s]". Essentially, Hawking fears "aliens might simply raid Earth for resources, then move on."

Well, Mr. Stephen "Rainycloud", what if the aliens really aren't the Cold War Era monsters that dominated the silver screen of the 1950s? What if they're more like the aliens that started showing up in the late 70s? What if they're super-cool and we become best friends? Why you so negative?

"Surely you jest," you may say, "How can Man ever be friends with extra-terrestrial beings?". You laugh. Then, my alien wingman comes in from the other room. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and snarls something in his native tongue, something like, "This chap bothering you, Captain?"

You pale, and extend your hand to me. A shocked expression splashed across your face. "I was so wrong," you say as you glance at my intergalactic friend, then, back to me, "please, forgive me."

And I'll say, "no".

Then, the last thing you see would probably look like this.


[he sees angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity, he says, "Hey, hallelujah"]

An Ode to Springtime and bicycles

Oh, you ladies of Spring that ride your bikes about the town, how I adore thee. You are Grace. Elegance. Hair floating in the air, catching the breeze and the bright golden beams of the sun in such a perfect way -- you put the moon to shame.

Do you realize it's you that keeps this crazy world turning? The birds singing? The trees budding?

And like the multitude of angels from long ago, you bring glad tidings of great joy: Spring is here, finally, and Summer is right on its coattails. Dear ladies, may God bless you, and may you forever ride.


cheers,
Stephen


[The sky could be blue, I don't mind, without you, it's a waste of time]

SHATNER!

If you have any interest in the man, the legend, William Shatner, I recommend you read this article from GQ magazine. You won't be sorry you did.


[And I think it's gonna be a long, long time]

The Perfect Road Trip Songs, pt. 2

Indiana is "Let it Bleed" country.

It was Sunday afternoon that my Brother and I decided on an impromptu Road Trip to Hersher, IL to spend Easter with family. Of course, to get to Illinois from Michigan, a stretch through Indiana is inevitable (Unless you're a stupid and you decide to go through Wisconsin, but that doesn't make sense, bimbo).

As we made our way through the tiny towns of Indiana, each with a charming, one-stoplight main streets and signs comprised of chain-link proudly displaying the emblems of local churches, the vintage country twang of 'Let it Bleed' just seemed to fit like a glove, specifically the title track.

I used to hold the misconception that the Rolling Stones were just 'Gimme Shelter' and 'Jumpin' Jack Flash', that is, until someone bought me Let It Bleed. Very dusty, very country, in fact, 'Gimme Shelter' sounds too produced and rock 'n' roll for the rest of the album. I guess that's ok, but just remember, if you're driving through Indiana, you'd be better off starting on 'Country Honk', then just put the cruise control on and let the album spool out.


cheers


[She said "this one will bring you love", and I don't know if it's true, but I keep it for good luck]

Herscher

I walk in the dark.

The air is crisp.

The storm has passed now.

The fresh grass sings.

Windmills on the horizon pierce the night.

pulsating in red unison.

A heartbeat.

'We're out here'.



Coyotes cackle in the distance.

Danger looms.

Still, I walk in the dark.



[They spun a web for me]

The Perfect Road Trip Songs

Yesterday, I was making my way home from a show in Ravenna, MI, which is essentially in the middle of nowhere. Mind you, I use the phrase "middle of nowhere" not as a sleight against the fine town of Ravenna, but merely as means of description. In fact, it's almost a complement. Many times, I find myself driving to work or a friend's house, staring down the highway, lusting for the "Nowhere" it leads to. Too often, I'm tempted to neglect all of my responsibilities for the day in order to serve my desires to explore the unknown that lies just over the next hill, but I digress...

The point of the story is this: The trip from Ravenna to Grand Rapids is decent enough, about 45 minutes. Not enough to be considered a "Road Trip" per se, but at a certain state of drowsiness, the crooked country roads wrapped on all sides by the furrowed cornfields of Spring create the illusion that I'm really very far away from home. On my own. A pioneer.

So, I started the trip out with "Golden Age" by Beck, which appears as the first track on the album Sea Change. It matched the situation perfectly, and I'll go so far as to say, if you're setting off during the afternoon or early evening (when the sun is not yet orange), and you're in the farmlands of the Midwest, you want "Golden Age" to be that first track of the journey.

It's a perfect Road Trip song.

In fact, the entire Sea Change album is excellent, especially in the car.

But we're not talking about albums, are we? We're talking about songs, and my pick for this week is "Golden Age".

What's your pick?



[Put your hands on the wheel. Let the Golden Age begin]

Straighforward Writing advice from David Mamet

Want to be a screenwriter? Here's a memo from David Mamet laying out a no-nonsense guide to writing good dramatic television.

It is totally kick-ass.

My favorite passages:

IF THE SCENE BORES YOU WHEN YOU READ IT, REST ASSURED IT *WILL* BORE THE ACTORS, AND WILL, THEN, BORE THE AUDIENCE, AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE BACK IN THE BREADLINE.

ANY SCENE, THUS, WHICH DOES NOT BOTH ADVANCE THE PLOT, AND STANDALONE (THAT IS, DRAMATICALLY, BY ITSELF, ON ITS OWN MERITS) IS EITHER SUPERFLUOUS, OR INCORRECTLY WRITTEN.

ANY TIME ANY CHARACTER IS SAYING TO ANOTHER “AS YOU KNOW”, THAT IS, TELLING ANOTHER CHARACTER WHAT YOU, THE WRITER, NEED THE AUDIENCE TO KNOW, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.




And there's plenty more where that came from. Please read, and enjoy.

THE MEMO


cheers,



[Let's fly away. If you could use some exotic booze there's a bar in far bombay]

Whoring Out your Art pt. 2

Going back to the whole George Lucas post from last week:

I suppose it's easy for us to heap all the blame on him. After all, he's the "mastermind" behind it all. He's the one selling out the galaxy for some extra green.

But who's putting all that green in his pockets?

It's us.

I went to see all the prequels in theaters, several times, knowing full well that they weren't great films. Then I bought the subsequent video games, and those weren't great either, but I played them 'till I beat them. Then there's the books, some of them are great, some are decent, and some a re just plain terrible, but I don't apply the same judgement to SW related things that I do with everything else. Because the original Star Wars holds such a place in my heart, I'm willing to accept a lot of mediocre crap just because it carries the SW banner.

I'm guessing I'm not the only one out there who feels the same way, and as much as I hate to admit it, we're part of the problem...



[Wild horses couldn't drag me away]

Site Updates

Lend me your ears....

So, you may have noticed a few changes around here. Let me give you the nickel tour.

1.) The url has officially changed from stephenpellmell.blogspot.com to the new, streamlined pellmellblog.blogspot.com. Why the change? I just like it better, and since I'm the master of this domain, I can do whatever I feel like. Well, maybe I'm more of a benevolent dictator.

2.) I've started a twitter account (this was covered in an earlier post), and if you've got a twitter account as well, you can sign up. Just click on the little twitter widget over there in the right column, and it's easy as that!

**UPDATE**
3.) Lastly, YOU CAN NOW SUBSCRIBE TO GET BLOG UPDATES VIA EMAIL. This is also easy as that. See that little silver box over there near the top right corner? Yeah, just type in your email address there and hit "submit", and every day, if there's a new post or two, they'll be sent straight to your email account. Convenient, no?


That's about it. Sorry for this little business related post, I've never been a fan of posts like these (They're like "clip show" episodes), but they are necessary to keep you up to date on all the new happenings 'round the blog. So, I thank you for your time and hope these new features will help you in your attempts to stay better connected with the site.


Keep reading, there's more non-boring posts. I promise.


[I heard your record on the telephone. It was my cousin, Joan, she picked it up on the top 40 rack and then...]

Of Writing and Boxing

Whenever I'm writing up a new story, script, essay, or blog, it's often a constant fight just to get it from brain to page. It's a boxing match taking place in my head. I feel like this is probably true for any creative or problem solving process, but since I know writing, I'll just stick to that.


First, I'll come in, gloves up, feeling out my opponent. Should I work him clockwise, or counterclockwise? There's a lot of studying there for a moment, then, I throw the first punch: right jab. I score a hit, so I go in for another, and another, but it's countered, and I'm hit hard with a left uppercut.

I'm dazed now. I back away. Gloves up. Watching every move. I switch up my stance to counter his own. Then I get in close and work him with some left jabs. they land harmlessly behind his head. I'm getting nowhere, and he makes me pay for it with a strong jab, jab, hook combo. I'm sent reeling. Back to the ropes.

I spit. That one drew some blood. No matter. I come back in, gloves up.

He's getting confident now, and he's turning into more of a puncher, so I let him land a few, just to feel out his techniques. After a few combos that really take their toll, I notice his right hook is a little slow. Slow enough for me to counter with a quick left jab. I wait for him to get into his rhythm. I can feel the hook coming, and I'm ready. There it is, and there I am.

My left hand knocks him out of his cadence. He coils back, I've got the momentum now. I come in with another couple right hands, then a left., then a right. He's cracked wide open now, and I'm letting him have it. I'm Terry Malloy at the end of On The Waterfront. I finish with a big right uppercut that puts him down.

I raise my gloves in victory. Drink in the cheers from the crowd. Flashbulbs burst. It's bliss.

But now, he stirring on the mat, and he's getting to his knees, and then to his feet.

He taps his gloves together and starts bouncing. Looking meaner than he ever did before.



Here comes draft two.


[Even in his heart, the devil has to know the water level]

Whoring out your Art

Oh, George Lucas, you leave me speechless at times....

It was released today that there is a new animated Star Wars series in the works, but this time, it will be aimed at a much younger demographic. How much younger? Try Kindergarten and preschool.

This makes me sad for many reasons.

First: Why do preschoolers and Kindergartners need a Star Wars cartoon aimed specifically at them when the movies themselves (4-6, mind you) are widely appealing to all age groups?

I remember watching "A New Hope" before I could tie my shoes. There's nothing really lost in translation there; it's a very simple "Hero's Journey" story which every human innately understands regardless of age, and there's no doubt that young kids would prefer the original movies to this "Jedi Babies" cartoon, which cheapens the original movies and sullies the entire SW canon.

I return the the question: Why do young kids need a Star Wars television show aimed specifically at them? They don't.

George Lucas does.

I'm finding it harder and harder to defend this man, I don't think I can anymore. I'll simply thank the 1977 version of Lucas, shake his hand, tell him how much I appreciate his contribution to my love of Sci-Fi, Filmmaking, and Princess Leia, and be on my merry way. Fast forward to Lucas 1999-Present: Green screens, contrived storylines, terrible dialogue ... Jar Jar... and now this.

Oh, George, why must you put Star Wars out on the corner? Whoring herself out so you can make a couple (million) extra bucks.

Though, I suppose we should have seen it coming.


Final thought: Parents and future parents, I urge you to show your kids the original Star Wars trilogy before they are exposed to anything else SW related. After viewing the originals, they'll be better able to decipher what aspects of the ever-exapanding Star Wars galaxy are True, and what are just wanton attempts to acquire cash.



[I drove to New York, in a van, with my friend]

Up... is Down?

Yesterday, I tweeted a promise that I would expound upon a preposterous idea; An insane notion; A crazy hypothesis.

What if gravity suddenly, and without warning, reversed itself? Instead of pulling us towards the ground, it would propel us with as much force towards the heavens.

Apocalypse, right? I know, it totally would be.

Here's the sitch: I've been mulling this scenario over in my head for years now (I'm not a paranoid, I just get bored a lot during class) and I figure the key to survival is a simple matter of right place, right time (and backflips, more on that later). For instance, if you're anywhere outside, you're in for quite the ride with the end most likely occurring due to hypothermia or asphyxiation caused by being propelled straight into the ionosphere.

So, that brings us to tip #1: Stay indoors.

But even the great indoors can be hazardous to your survival chances. Say you're in some grand building, the Mall, for instance, well, look up at the ceiling. Imagine climbing up a ladder to change one of those light bulbs, or squeegie one of those beautiful skylights. Pretty scary, right? That's a long way up. It would also be a very long way down if the gravity were to suddenly flip-flop.

So, tip #2: When indoors, make sure the ceilings do not exceed 10 feet.

Granted, that may be a hard tip to follow, after all, the Mall can be a pretty happenin' place, but you'll just have to do without it if you want to survive. You just have to decide how important your safety is to you. Besides, the shut-in lifestyle can be very rewarding. Think of all the facebooking you can accomplish!

However, even a 10 foot fall onto your head is enough to paralyze, if not kill you. You may want to go ahead and layer your ceilings with a thick foam so as to reduce then impact to your skull. In fact, it may even be a good idea to pad the walls and the floors too. You never know what could happen.

Tip #3: Don't trust anything that isn't bolted down.

And I mean bolted down. When the gravitational reversal strikes, you have to remember that it wont be just you rocketing towards the sky, but all your stuff as well. My advice would be to make sure that your heaviest items are strapped down good and tight, and you may even want to go so far as to strap some essential items to the ceiling right now for easy access post-apocalypse. It's not weird... It's just being prepared.

So now that you've locked yourself in your house, unable to hear anything happening outside because of the heavy layers of padding, with an oven and refrigerator strapped to the ceiling, you can rest comfortably knowing that you're safe.


And that's what it's all about.

Tip #4: Sit back and enjoy your life, free of danger.


You're welcome


[Instincts are misleading. You shouldn't think what you're feeling]

Well... I guess I'll join...

Good news everyone! The pellmellblog now has its own twitter account! Isn't that great!

Yes, I have sold out.

It's more of an experiment, really. I've been looking for ways to expand my readership seeing as how I started this blog to reach a wide audience. I know what you're thinking, "Well, Stephen, how 'bout you post on a more consistent and frequent basis, oh, and you should cover topics that are actually relevant as well. Don't you have any helpful advice for me or light to shed on a tricky subject? Hey, blog about politics, that's always popular."

Shut up.

That's too hard. It's far easier to boil large, existential subject matter into 140 characters.

All joking aside, I'm going to still maintain this blog and provide the strange, meandering posts that you're used to, but I think that reaching out to the "twitterverse" is the next logical step if I'm to get serious with this blogging business.

So check it out, if you please. On Twitter as ---> pellmellblog

**Update** - I've just added a handy little twitter widget, or "twidget" if you will (you shouldn't), that can be found on the right hand side of this page, just below the blog archive. Just give it a click. It's easy as pie... is pie easy? Sure, Sara Lee pies are pretty easy, but you really shouldn't sacrifice quality for convenience, that is, pie shouldn't be easy, but rather, a labor of love... flaky, golden love filled with ripe fruits and sugar....

cheers,


[No sleep 'till brooklyn]

So Insane

It might be a little to early to tell, but this song is an early finalist for song of the Summer, 2010.

Discovery -- So Insane


[Oh, have I been too discreet? How long am I supposed to wait?]

When This Song Comes On The Radio, I Will Listen To It In Its Entirety... No Matter What.

"Born To Run" is a masterpiece. It cannot be denied. It must not.

Whilst driving to my writing session this afternoon, it came on the radio, and it suddenly hit me: "I would literally not turn this song off for anything. Even if I arrive at my destination in the next five seconds, I will sit in my car until the song finishes."

I don't care what you think about The Boss, "Born To Run" is a modern Epic. It's our Iliad. Pure poetry. American lyricism at its finest. (Too much?)

So, I turn the question to you. What song would you sit in your car for? What song so captures your driving self that it becomes more important than getting to that meeting on time?

Let me know.

"Together, Wendy, we'll live with the sadness

I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday, girl I don't know when, we're gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go and we'll walk in the sun
But 'till then tramps like us, baby, we were born to run"

Discoveries on a day home sick.

Say what you want about NPR's news coverage (I'm not saying anything, but if you were to, you could), you can't fault their ongoing efforts to put good music and ground-breaking artists in the spotlight. For real, if you're an appreciator of fine music, there are few pages more addicting than that NPR Music homepage. It's digital crack, I swear.

Perhaps the best feature is that you're actually able to listen to big upcoming releases in their entirety BEFORE THE ABLUM HAS BEEN RELEASED. That's too good to pass up, am I right? I am. Here's some samples:

You may know that there's a new one coming out for Gorillaz, Plastic Beach, which features such artists as Snoop Dogg, Mos Def, and Lou Reed, just to name a few. It's decent, but not as good as there sophomore release, 2005's Demon Days, which was produced by Danger Mouse, of Gnarles Barkely fame (and Grey Album infamy) who is perhaps the best producer in the game today...

Speaking of: maybe you've always wondered what you'd get if you combined Danger Mouse with James Mercer of The Shins... Wish granted. May I introduce you to Broken Bells? May I also add that it sounds great? Peppy beats and Infectious synth work mix with Mercer's homegrown vocals to produce a record that, despite the electronic layers, feels very organic. An album worthy of a road trips and dance parties alike.

And finally, here's another mashup of sorts. Do you like Peter Gabriel? How about Bon Iver? What's that -- both, you say? Well, what if I told you Peter Gabriel recently covered "Flume" by Bon Iver? You'd be ecstatic.... Be ecstatic.


Wow... Lot's of links on this one. Hope you click on them all. Nothing wrong with a little exploration, after all.



[Have I found you, flightless bird?]

Off our axis.

Did yesterday feel about a millionth of a second shorter than it usually is at this time of year?

Blame the Chilean Earthquake.

...maybe.



[just last night I woke with some unconscionable dream]

May the best film win?

I was going to write a post about the movement towards an "Everybody Wins" society and how it's effect could, in fact, lessen the overall quality of culture ... but then I found this brilliant article by Neal Gabler (written for the LA Times) which scores the points of the argument far better than I could have ever hoped to.

It's about the Academy's decision to nominate ten films for "Best Picture" instead of just five.

Below are some of the highlights of the article, of which the full version can be found here.

Read. Digest. Feedback. Cheers.

By letting more films compete for the top trophy, the academy is merely following where others have led. Call it "cultural inflation": a growing number of opportunities for the less deserving to get a taste of ultimate victory, as part of a growing aversion to disappointing anyone.

It wouldn't be the first time that the pursuit of money trumped the pursuit of quality, even in a contest purportedly designed expressly to reward quality. Indeed, one of the defects of capitalism is that it has only one standard of worth: monetary value. Money and excellence are certainly not mutually exclusive, but neither do they necessarily travel hand in hand. When excellence isn't profitable, it usually is usurped by something that is.

...cultural inflation is not only a function of money. It is equally a function of modern democracy. Put simply, people in a democratic society such as ours don't understand why they can't always get what they want. The culture obliges by pandering, which is what the Oscars are doing by expanding the field. It is a form of cultural demagoguery that doesn't dare disappoint people -- the adult equivalent of those children's soccer trophies. In effect, we live in a "panderocracy."

Just as printing more money depreciates its actual worth, cultural inflation depreciates the value of the honor, in the case of the Oscars, or the victory, in the case of sports. In effect, the NCAA and professional leagues have cheapened the championships by expanding the field, though they are savvy enough to realize that so long as the fans are satisfied, no one really cares. Similarly, the motion picture academy may risk tarnishing the Oscar, especially if votes are split and an outlier wins.

What cultural inflation fails to appreciate is that excellence is a moral quality. It isn't, in the end, subject to popularity or money or a sense of personal entitlement. Rather, it is endangered by all three. It is entirely possible that a great film will win the Oscar this year, just as it is entirely possible that the best team will win the Super Bowl, but cultural inflation lengthens the odds, just as it lengthens the odds of our recognizing which is best.

And if the best film or the best team doesn't win, we have no one but ourselves and our desperate need for gratification to blame, should anyone still care enough to assess blame.

[He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody]

Snippets

Lots of things on the agenda today.

First off, I hate Sydney Crosby, the reasons are wide and varied, and chances are, if you're not Canadian, or from Pittsburgh, or Gary Bettman, you hate him too. Grrrr...

Second off, I'm in the office all day, burnin' DVDs and representin', though, I left my laptop power supply in Traverse, so I'm forced to borrow a friend's for the day.

Third off, I saw Fantastic Mr. Fox last night at the cheap theaters. It's brilliant. Honestly, I'd heard mixed reviews on it, so I didn't know what to expect, and yes, the animation of the fur took some getting used to, but overall, I would recommend this to any of my friends. Smart, funny, undeniably Andersonian, yet, accessible and still a "Kid's movie", but without sacrificing story or a compelling plot to fart jokes and the other ADD tendencies of similar Kids' faire (Pixar excluded). Refreshing. Enjoyable. Definitely worth a purchase.

Fourth off, I was the Production Designer for a short-film, The Lost and Found Shop, which can be viewed here.

Fifth off, last week, I finished up my work on a feature starring 50 Cent... Never thought I'd write that... Lot's of stories from that experience... Most of them surreal....

Sixth off, I love Motown and Soul music. I'm talking 'bout the good stuff -- James Brown, Al Green, Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, The Four Tops, etc. -- and it's sad to see that this incredible genre has devolved to a bunch of auto-tuned idiots blathering on about clubs, sexual conquests, alchohol, cars, money, themselves, repeat, repeat, repeat.... But this is mostly true of any music genre. Once the record labels get their hands on something genuine and novel, it's only a matter of time before complete commercialization/ bastardization. But Truth, Beauty, and Music are resilient, and like tiny sprouts, they find their way through the cracks in the pavement to usher in a new life and a new generation. Keep plumbing the depths of the sounds, you're bound to find something you like. I guarantee it.

Seventh off, there is nothing more. Have a jolly good day.


[I was a fiend, before I became a teen/ I melted microphones instead of cones of ice cream]

"What Is A Conservative?"

Stumbled across this on Andrew Sullivan's Blog, which was taken from this blog by Tony Woodlief.

Read. Digest. Give feedback.


"A real American conservative, to me, is someone who understands that markets are the best means of allocating resources, that liberty is essential to human thriving, and that man is sinful and in desperate need of checking and elevating institutions like the Church and marriage and childrearing. A real American conservative believes in aspiring, at the very least, to truthfulness and humility and thoughtfulness, which means he can’t help but cringe when he hears the likes of an Ann Coulter bellowing about her enemies being traitors. A real American conservative understands that the ills of mankind will not go away if we could only just have a lower tax rate and less regulation."

"A real American conservative is not, I’ll submit to you, at home in the maneuvering and manipulation of state capitols, and certainly not in Washington, D.C. A real American conservative does not trust large government or mass democracy or even himself, certainly not himself, which is why he wants to keep undivided power out of any man’s hands, including his own."



[I sat on the roof and kicked up the moss]

The Improv

I'm not sure how I could even begin to explain to you how busy I've been lately. I mean, it's great, but extreme business can cut into the time allotted for other things (like maintaining a blog) and any free time you do have will be spent completely tuning out, zenning out, or sleeping out (hmm, that last one doesn't fit). This has been my life for the last four weeks, hence the naked blog.

Rest assured, over the weeks, I've had a ton of great ideas for posts... I just wish I could remember them all (maybe it's time to invest in a pocket notebook).

I do remember one idea, however, and shall now write an abbreviated version of it. After all, brevity is extremely important in blogging, no one wants to read your ten page thesis paper.

My car broke down last Saturday. I don't know when it will be repaired. I had it towed to a local garage, and of course, they wanted to charge me a less-than-sane amount just to look at the poor gal, so I refused, and they responded with a polite, "Get it the hell off our lot".

"Cool", I thought, "Lemme just call up my peeps at the Triple A. They got mah back."

They didn't. Not in this case, at least. Yo see, when I explained to them that my car was stalled in the parking lot of a service garage, they seemed to think it wasn't so much of an emergency, and that I could only have the car towed for free if they shop couldn't make the necessary repairs or if they were dragging their feet.

It's looking grim now. I've got a ticking clock now. The car has to be out of the lot by the end of the business day, but I don't really have the 120 dollars to have it towed to my desired destination: the house of a friend whose Dad is a dynamite mechanic.

Oh man... here come them storm clouds....

Why must we live through the bad times? Why must the dark clouds appear overhead and shadows stalk our doorstep? Quite simply: Because life would be incomplete without them.

I operate under the philosophy that life is an epic poem (think "The Odyssey"). Everyone is the hero to their own story (and the Villain to someone else's, but that's another post) and are therefore subject to the myriad trials and test any other hero must face along the Journey.

It's important, I think, to not view the bad things in life as the horrible crushing blackness that seeks to envelop your soul until it is crushed into smithereens. Instead, it's just the thickening of the plot. It's just the crossing of the next Threshold. It's just the bitter that will make the victory all the sweeter.

I guess I probably said it better with my last post, which was a shining example of brevity, unlike this post which is already wearing out its welcome, basically, there are very few situations that are truly "life or death", maybe "life-altering", but it's not as if losing my car for a few weeks, or an unexpected cable bill spells GAME OVER for my life as I know it.

It's all cyclical. You take the bad with the good, learn to adapt, and if your back is really up against the wall... improvise.

So, I call my friend about my predicament with the car and the towing and the what not and comes to my aid. We sand in the snow-covered parking lot for a moment, staring at my disable car when an idea strikes. Before I know it, I've popped my car into neutral and my friend and I proceed to push that sucker out of the lot, into Fulton St. (Grand Rapids people, you know what Fulton's like) and about a quarter mile down the road to a safe resting place.

Eventually, I had my car towed (at a fair rate) to a friend’s house (who’s father is a mechanic) and it looks like the old girl might be done for.

Meh. I keep rolling, keep fighting, keep working.

I’ll find a new car eventually, ‘til then, I’m in uncharted territory, uncertain times, so I’ll have to just drink it all in while it’s here.




[Die and succeed. I say it out loud, but you just don’t care.]

Listen...

There are no walls in life.... just obstacles.... and they are made of glass....

Break them and carry on.


That is all.


[Well I saw her today at the reception, a glass of wine in her hand]

Tide you over.

I've been super, super, super, super, super, super busy.... So, I haven't had time to do up a decent blog. To my readers, I offer my deepest apologies.

When I have time on my hands, rest assured, I will fill the page with thoughts and musings and opinions that will make your head spin... and it won't have anything to do with the State of the Union address.

I didn't watch it. Part of me doesn't care.

Ho-hum.

Actually, I might blog about Kirk Gibson. Don't know who he is? Better do some research.



cheers.


[Do you know where I was at your age? Any idea where I was at your age? I was workin' downtown for the minimum wage -- not gonna let you just throw it all away]

Polyester Resin is the Devil's Saliva

I've been working with the stuff for the past week, and let me tell you, It's awful. The smell fills your nose, dizzies your head, and lives in your carpets. It sticks your fingers together and finds every little cut on your hands. Oh, did I mention it can burn you as it dries? It makes the carving process all the more fun, I suppose... Such an unpredictable material.

Oh, the joys of making props for movies. (I'm making fake quartz crystals. It's a long story)

Movies, movies, movies... you separate the men from the boys.

Luckily, Seu Jorge's work on the Life Aquatic Sessions helps to mellow me out.


Expect a full post when I have more than five minutes of free time. As for now, it's finally time for bed, and it's just as well, tomorrow starts at 5:30am.



Rest well and take heart, because if life seems tough right now, at least you're not choking down noxious fumes while carving a gelatinous skin irritant with a sharpened kitchen knife at one o'clock in the morning.


[We can be heroes, just for one day]

Humble pie... not as good as it looked on the menu

Art’s a funny thing, you really shouldn’t take it too seriously.

You see, you can’t just pour your heart and soul into a serious project and not expect a few people to laugh at it. It comes with the territory. After all, there are 6 billion people in the world, so you have to take into account that there’s gonna be 6 billion different interpretations of something you’ve done or said.

Well, for a brief moment last week, I forgot that, and it made me very upset to find that someone didn’t understand the deep, complex, emotional point that I was trying to get across, and instead, laughed. I felt disgraced, embarrassed, incensed. “How dare they?”, I thought, pretending that I was the all-powerful creator of everything good, clever, and true, “How dare they think differently about something!”

I had become what I’d hoped never to become, an “Arteest”. Yes, it’s just as it sounds: An outrageous French pronunciation of the word “Artist”.

Now, I’ve been taught to think of myself as an artist in the sense that I create things, and through those things, I try my best to express Truth and Beauty and Goodness to the world, but never forgetting that it’s about the people. This, I believe, is what it means to be called an “Artist”, a noble title, no doubt.

An “Arteest”, on the other hand, has no regard for other people, only themselves. Their art is the only thing that matters in the world, and if they ever face the threat of being brought back to reality, they hide behind the veil of their art saying, “You just don’t understand me”, or if your interpretation differs from their own: “You just don’t get it.”

Shut up.

How did I get to that point? How did I let myself behave in such a way? I’d forgotten the most important thing: never make the art more important than the people you’ve created it for.

Once I realized this, it became clear that my “detractors” we not, in fact, laughing AT me, but WITH me. Though it was not what I intended, I had brought joy into other people’s lives through a story of my own, and if that isn’t a good enough reason to do what I do, then I have no business doing it.

I’ll leave you with a quote: “...for in this business of show, you must have the heart of an angel, and the hide, of an elephant”

Yes indeed... yes indeed.



[Life is a beautiful thing, as long as I hold a string. I’d be a silly so-and-so if I should ever let it go]

Welcome Back Kotter

Do you know what happens to all the mice in your apartment when you go on vacation for two weeks?

They die.

They starve in your sink because your dirty dishes, their main source of nourishment, aren’t piling up anymore, and they’ve already licked the old ones clean. So they bury themselves among the wooden spoons and pint glasses and dirty plates and wait patiently for the leftovers that will never come.

This exact scene is what I found when I returned home the other night, and I’ll be honest with you, after I got past the “oh, that’s disgusting” phase, I felt sorry for the poor guys. My heart broke for them, whereas before, when I knew of their existence, but never saw them, I would walk around the house with my baseball bat, taunting them and joking about the things I would do if ever they dared show themselves.

I was cocky then, just trying to show off for my friends and make them laugh, but now, it was reality slapping me cold in the face. One by one, I took them out of the sink and deposited them in the trash (Not the most dignified final resting place, I know, but I wasn’t about to go out and dig through two feet of snow to bury them), as I did this, I discovered one poor fellow, trapped at the bottom of a drinking glass, was not quite dead yet.

It was clear that he didn’t have much time left to live -- almost completely paralyzed from starvation. I knew what I had to do, but it sickened me. I didn’t think I had it in me, but after a long conversation with myself, laced with many profanities flung out of fear, I finally worked up the nerve to do it.

I made it quick. I made it painless. After all my jokes of “splatting” the mice in my kitchen I had now followed through on my threat, and I felt terrible.

In my own roundabout way, I am getting to my point, and it is this: This is growing up.

After two weeks of spending the Holidays with my parents -- eating their food, watching their TV, spending the night in a house filled with people whom I cared about and who cared about me -- I now returned to face the harsh reality that there was no one waiting for me at my apartment. There were no fresh cookies cooling on the stove. The groceries in the fridge were bought with my own money, and half of them needed to be thrown out. And on top of all this lay the dead mice in the sink filled with dirty dishes that I should have taken care of before I left, and the awful realization that no one is going to take care of this for me anymore.

I have to make the hard decisions. I have to pay the bills. I have to clean up the mess. I have to kill the mouse.

The break is over, and it’s time to be an adult again.

And you know what? It kinda sucks.

But this is growing up. This is what it means to be alive, and in this world, you’re either living, or you’re dying, there is no third option.


So I’ll take the former. I’ll “Cowboy up” if you will (or even if you wont).



[When things start splitting at the seams and now the whole thing's tumbling down]

Why We're Safe from an Alien Invasion...

I’ll tell you why the aliens have never invaded...

Because, it’s not really much of an accomplishment to conquer a society that chooses to watch a program like MTV’s “Jersey Shore”. There's no pride there, they'd be the laughingstock of the galaxy:

"Hey man, we just conquered Earth!"
"Isn't that the planet with "Jersey Shore?"
"Err... yeah... But, we enslaved all their people and quelled all resistance and --"
"Yeah? Well I filed my taxes today -- four months before the deadline... So, you tell me who had the bigger day."

You see what I mean?

It’s like walking through a forest, turning over a log, and finding a bunch of worms. The reaction is, “Cool, some living things! I’ll capture them and take them as pets-- oh, wait. They’re slimy and they subsist on a mainly “rotting wood” diet. I think I’ll just flip the log back over and let them wallow in their awful existence.”

So, it looks like we’re safe for now. We just have to make sure that MTV continues to provide a steady stream of deplorable, mindless, base programming to throw the aliens off the trail and disgust them enough to leave us alone.

Of course, the danger is that we’ll end up ingesting too much of these shows and become a vapid, vain, and vulgar society intent on getting everything we want instantly and with no consequences.

What a terrible existence that would be...



Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to max out a credit card to buy some fashionable electronic that I don’t really need and will become obsolete in a month. Ta!




[pack and get dressed before your father hears us, before all hell breaks loose]

The Biggest Story of the Year! (So far...)

So there I was, sitting in an airplane on the tarmac, 2010 just seconds away. Around me, I see couples puckering up, ready to ring in the New Year with a kiss for luck. Everyone, it seemed, had someone to share the special moment with.

Ten.... Nine.... Eight....

Well, I wanted to kick off the New Year with some class myself. Alas, I had no woman of my own with which to lock the lips.

Seven.... Six.... Five....

I being to flap my arms wildly, scanning up and down the aisle, not a single lady in sight. I fear the whole plane would have thought me a nutcase if they weren’t too busy gazing lovingly into their partners’ eyes.

Four.... Three.... Two....

There! A lady -- a single lady!!! I’m in a fever pitch now. My “fight or flight” instincts kick in. I jump out of my seat, lips extended, ready for the kill.

One....

I sweep her up in my arms. We are the cover of a Harlequin romance novel. I look her dead in the eye and plant one on her supple, pouting lips (too graphic? I’m sorry.).

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

My head is buzzing like a corn field in July. Everything’s spinning. I still hold the kiss, imagining, for a moment, the entire aircraft applauding my accomplishment and breaking into a rousing chorus of “Auld Lang Syne”.

Unfortunately, this is the world that exists only in my head.

The woman I’m kissing tears away and slaps me hard, cold, harsh reality comes rushing back. As I rub my wound, I get my first, good look at the woman, and I make a startling discovery: I’ve just kissed the pilot. ( A female airline pilot? What are the odds?)

Within moments, I’m escorted off the plane. It’s a disaster, and it’s a blur. It’s all happening too fast to simply explain the mixup. Down the skyway and into the terminal, I’m thrust to the ground. No luggage. No tickets. No way home.

Well, what was I to do? I had to find some way home, so I wandered the terminal and found myself a flight to Toronto that had a few seats available. Seeing as how I didn’t have a passport and was now considered a “security risk”, I had no trouble at all in boarding the flight. I was even upgraded to First Class.

Twelve free glasses of champagne later, and I was home, safe and sound in Grand Rapids.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before the story hit the major news outlets.
Upon hearing the news, Dick Cheney once again criticized the Obama administration’s poor response in dealing with the “threat”, then promptly shot his best friend in the face, adding, “See that? THAT’S how you do homeland security.”



Too soon?


[You look so defeated lying there in your new twin sized bed]