Dammit, Jim

Just one of those days when everything is getting to me. Just one of those days I feel nothing but fucking ANGRY and UPSET.

I'm getting sick. And on top of that, I think I have pinkeye. Noticed it this morning when I woke up and couldn't open my right eye due to what felt like crusty snot covering it. Not real pleasant to start your day thinking that your fucking right eye has gonorrhea.

Poor. Poor, poor, poor. In the words of Sinbad, sometimes you get so poor that you can't even afford the "o" and the "r" anymore, and you just become "po." That's us. We be po'.

At work, I'm being forced to fill out a craptacular questionnaire about what I feel I have done to help the company. It's part of a review process that usually results in something laughably referred to as "a raise." The fact that I haven't recently jumped up on my bosses desk, pulled out my pockets and wang and performed the elephant dance should be reason enough to give me a goddamn raise, I figure. The fact that I have not gone stone cold loco from the drudgery of my duties should be commended as well.

"Self Assessment:
In the space provided below, briefly assess your strengths and accomplishments within your position and within --. You may list your accomplishments or write a brief synopsis of your development since your last review or since hire date, whichever is most recent. This will allow us to understand exactly what you feel you have learned or the areas you feel you need development in. Feel free to take as much space as necessary."

1. I always pee sitting down. Always.
2. I always clock out before my daily 15 minute, "wasting my life" sobbing fit.
3. I added a fourth wall and low ceiling to my cubicle to fully realize the concept of "No View + Claustrophobic Space = Productive Employee."
4. I no longer refer to the boss as "El Diablo Comandante."
5. I have accepted the fact that I could be easily replaced with a non-union Mexican equivalent, or, failing that, a trained monkey.
6. I have learned to operate a forklift. Even though it was totally unnecessary.
7. I no longer take time off for Passover.
8. If I bring the adobo to work, I eat it outside.
9. I no longer keep the bong on my desk.
10. I have ceased from calling our clients "filthy whores."

Gimme my raise.

Cynthia McKinney Beat Me Up

An LB update...

I recently got invited to the IFP (Independent Features Project, formerly IFFM) in NY in September to present my screenplay and footage from Local Bruisers as a "work in progress." Getting an invitation basically meant getting my registration and presentation space fee waived due to my films' current non-profit status...which will change if the film gets any completion and/or distribution contracts with a studio.

New Horizons will probably have about 6 different productions that they're looking to get joint financing on....I'm not quite sure at this time what Ken is planning to present in regards to LB. What he and I have recently been discussing is the possibility of redoing the entire film with fresh financing and a more complete production effort.

This includes:
A much larger budget.
Larger production services and ability to screen dailies.
Paid DP and production crew.
2-3 month shooting schedule.
Complete recasting (SAG/AFTRA), with all current LB actors given preferential auditions.

Ken seems to think that very few investors would be interested in handing out finishing funds on LB in its current state, unless they retained full ownership of the film after post. Of course, that is out of the question. I also realize that the bigger the budget, the less control I have of the product.

At any rate, I guess we'll still wait and see what happens....

Zach and Zoey. Easter Candy. The Onset Of Sugar Sweats.

Candy is spring loaded in the toy. Watch it almost take out an eye on both kids.

Love And Marriage Go Together Like A...something, something...

Laura and Tim. Rehearsal dinner. Thank God Tim got out of that Guadalajara prison in time. Whew.

Becky and I. Rehearsal dinner. In which I suddenly realize that I really do look like a gap-toothed freak.

Becky was in the wedding....I was looking like the only Asian Mafia hitman in Santa Clarita.

Jenn. Becky. Patron Tequila. Deep philosophical discussion ensues.

Jenn. Becky. Jenn's underwear. Too much Patron. Me looking like the only Asian Mafia hitman pimp in Santa Clarita.

Me and the bride. Apparently, I broke her bustle. I'm not quite sure what a bustle is. Nor do I remember breaking anything except wind. So if a bustle has anything to do with flatulence, guilty as charged.

April and Brent. April is nice. Drunken discussion with Brent ranges easily between aerospace technology, world politics, and anal sex.

Ladies. Patron. Annabella, Becky, Karla, Heather, Jenn. Karla is underage. Don't tell anyone.

Zoey Is Cuter Than Me

Apparently, I have some good lookin' kids. I have no idea how that happened. Must be mommie's genes. Does anyone know how to flip video in WMV?

I Shot Proof

I have to attend a wedding this weekend, which is (for me) about as much fun as a colonoscopy. I enjoyed my own, no doubt, but the happiness of other people generally sickens me. I feel the same way about small children. Love my own, but probably don't like yours (except Adrien).

Last wedding I went to was for a bowling friend of my wife, who I have often described to people as having the sort of personality that "makes you want to vomit." It's true, I swear. After a few vodka tonics at the open bar, I finally relented on my position and admitted to my good friend Jenn that I was open to possibly...maybe...changing my hardline opinion about the bride. Just as I proclaimed this, the bride's characteristically shrill voice cut through the air like a knife, "Everyone come take pictures of me by the fireplace. I look totally HOT."

I looked back at Jenn and smiled. "Well, poop all over that idea," I said.

I Had Some Enriched Uranium For Breakfast

I somehow stumbled across an article on CNN that reported on a group of S&M enthusiasts in South Carolina who were performing castrations and testicle removal on willing (willing!) participants in their homemade dungeon cellar. Immediately after reading this, I think I may have crawled under my desk and sat there shuddering for a few hours with a cold compress over my eyes.

I've always been very accepting of most deviant behavior between willing parties, hell, I encourage it for most (other) people. However, there is just something too disturbing about this practice for me to dismiss as mere sexual gratification. You want to dress up like a baby and get spanked by a midget while a monkey throws Spam at you? Hey, whatever floats your boat. You want to put a broom handle in your anus and have clowns play ring toss? Knock yourself out. But holy bejeeeeezus, why would you want that (THAT) body part removed forever? Do people actually get sexual pleasure from something like that? Or does some ordinary guy just one day think "These damn testicles! Always flippin' and floppin' and sticking to the inside of my thigh! There must be a solution, I say!"

It also disturbs me that it is predominately white middle-aged males who practice these freaky-ass behaviors so much. Like that poor bastard in Oregon who decided that 5 feet of rock-hard horse lovin' wouldn't hurt him in the least. From what I know, I haven't heard of any instances of adult women whispering to each other "You know what makes me really horny? A double mastectomy. Totally hot." Good Lord.

Course, if women really did do that, then I guess they would never be able to say the line that I will now use to close my rant of the day, without giggling:

Just had to get that off my chest.

Bad Hair. Crushed Velvet. Frilly Lace Cravat. Pretty Song, Nevertheless.

Procol Harum, "Whiter Shade of Pale." Used in the new trailer I've been putting together recently. Alternative title for this song: "Lyle's Naked Ass On Beach In Springtime."

A Message From Adrien

I read the blog religiously - okay, that's a lie, sometimes I get online every three days or so, but the Bruiser blog IS one of my favorite online "dailies" ...were you a writer in a past life?

Anyway, the last blog touched me because I too was touched by the story. It grew on me the more we worked on it. I originally was attracted to the story because of the references to the military; growing up in Hawaii meant I made alot of friends from military families as a child, and, they always moved away. That was just a part of life. This turned into boyfriends who were children in these military families... they always moved away, and eerily enough, sometimes lived in the same neighborhoods, but at different times. I've run around on the roof of Tripler Hospital... As a child of a single parent, I was eligible to have a Big Sis of Big Brothers Big Sisters of Honolulu, and two of them were military, and moved away. My father came to the islands as a nineteen year old in the army. Anyway, boyfriends who were children of military families evolved into... me, a college age student dating sweet but stupid military guys I met at clubs, and of course, them moving away, promising sweet things if I moved with them. And I made a decision to never date a military guy because I knew I could never live the lifestyle if I married one. One of my sisters married a WestPoint Officer. She and her four babes are moved all over this earth and she often feels like a single parent for six months at a time. I see this also with one of my best friends, and she is actually homeschooling her three kids when her husband is gone for six months at a time, and she has to deal with bureaucratic crap all the time with Tripler (Cripler!) because of health problems.

I know the military is not the main focus of the story but I don't think enough Americans know that there is a military presence in Hawaii. And they think we run around barefoot, don't have American currency or running water, that girls wear coconut bras and that we have a king or something.

The other thing that drew me to the story was the love story part. I once cold turkey left my (now ex) husband on the island of Kauai where we lived to come home, because he did stuff like grab me by the head and try to smash my head into glass sliding doors or car windows... so I could understand part of someone wanting happiness and taking it, even in the form of an "old flame," against what anyone and everyone deemed appropriate. And I think to this day that some of the most effective love stories in film are the ones that don't resort to graphic physical intimacy to get the idea across. Something I saw as able to be accomplished when I read your script.

Seeing the stills gave me chills. Those lucky board directors who got to see a rough cut! While I just get to get goosebumps clicking on fotki. Visually, my favorite is where Jeff has Adrien's hair across his face after the secret... I like Leah dressed in black at the fence, too.

I could go on and on. There are so many things about this story I think could really speak to alot of people. Just thought I'd share a few of mine.

I was gonna post this on the blog but didn't know how much references to the story you are allowed online. You can share it if you want.

I just wanted to say we believe in you. I say we because I know I'm not the only one.

My First Audio Post. So Stupid, It Might Make You Cry.

I Beat Up Paula Abdul

These are stills from LB, and they represent those moments of sublime beauty that we were able to capture. If this movie never gets done, images like these will haunt me for the rest of my life.

LB in its current state is just that: A series of profound moments and images. Adrien cradling her child and drinking out of a vodka bottle, Lyle sitting in silhouette with his daughter, Mike being left behind in the garden and walking up a desolate road, Leah collapsing while watering the garden, Young Adrien walking next to the canal and weeping, Jeff's shellshocked expression when the secret is revealed, and it goes on and on...

Ken once mentioned to me that he thought this story was different from any other movie he had ever seen, and that's why he wanted to be involved. The way ideas, faces, political/social concepts, and location were used were actually unique, and beyond any preconceived notions people had about the material.

When the board viewed pivotal scenes from the initial production, comments ranged from "This could be the next Big Chill," to "sheer brilliance tempered by moments of agonizing amateurishness." Hence, the reshoots.

I have finally accepted the fact that this film means as much to me as anything else in life, and that disturbs me. I never gave any credence to the idea of myself as an "artist," and made it a point throughout my career to never take the precepts of art culture seriously. But I guess this is what it means to be an artist. When you do it even when it could signal your emotional/personal/financial destruction. When you do it not because you want to, but because you have no choice. When you do it because you are compelled.

Conversations With Ken

K: "Hey, man."
G: "What's up?"
K: "What did you do wrong in a previous life?"
G: "eh?"
K: "Seriously, man, you're cursed."
G: "Why?"
K: "Got a reply from --. He won't be available til late June."
G: "Are you serious?"
K: "Unfortunately. You realize that we can't have that downtime."
G: "Ah crap."
K: (laughing) "If you think you have continuity problems now..."
G: "So what's next?"
K: "I sit on this project, or it goes into turnaround. Simple as that."

Note: "turnaround" is basically the kiss of death for anything in production. It means that a project (due to unforseen circumstances) will be shuffled around and given a low priority.

G: "Shit."
K: "Yes. Shit. Definitely shit. You realize I don't have much choice. I have to finish up the other series."
G: "Of course. I totally understand."
K: "I'm not saying that we won't come back to it, but you know that things are not looking so good right now."
G: "Yeah, man. Sorry. Do what you need to. Nothing fazes me anymore."
K: "You ever thought about redoing it?"
G: "What?"
K: "Redo the entire film. Keep the kids and recast the rest. Just reshoot the movie. It has a future, you know. You can learn from the mistakes you made, and really get the movie you want. I could finance the post, but we'd have to find investors for the raw production costs."
G: "Sorry, not an option."
K: "You are too fucking stubborn."
G: "Yeah, I know."
K: "Whatever. Did you finish the treatment yet?"
G: "Not quite. Almost there."
K: "Are you fucking with me?"
G: "No, seriously, I'm almost done."
K: "Grant, you are a goddamn train wreck to be around, you know that?"
G: "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry."
K: "Do you want anything to work out?"
G: "Of course."
K: "Then finish the treatment, and get your friend on board again. Not two months from now, not one month from now, but goddamn NOW."
G: "You so sexy when you talk like that."
K: (laughs) "And don't put this shit on your blog. That's a breach of confidentiality."
G: "I won't, I know. Don't worry."
K: "Yeah, right. I expect to see this up 5 minutes after you get off the phone."
G: "No, no."
K: "Alright, I'll talk to you later."
G: "Thanks."

Honestly, nothing fazes me anymore. So now we're in turnaround. That's just great. Life is great. Har de har.

I Heard Basic Instinct 2 Was Fan-Tastic

I had a tea party with Zoey over the weekend. A long, neverending, dictatorial tea party. If living under a fascist regime means cowering in fear while a small girl demands you drink imaginary tea the CORRECT way, goddammit (one hand, pinky out, sitting straight up with legs crossed like a lady), then I am ready to light up a stogie with Fidel.

Don't get me wrong, it was the cutest thing in the world, in a Springtime For Hitler kind of way. It was so funny to see her patiently offer Zach a plate of tea (lost the cups) over and over again, until he finally got frustrated enough to fling the pastel-colored plate halfway across the room. Then he gave me a look that said "Christ Almighty, dad, can't you see I'm trying to organize these freakin' Hot Wheels? It's not gonna get done by itself, and I sure as shit don't see anyone else doing it."

I picked up the plate (once again, no cups), and said "Hey Zoey, I'd like some tea." Her eyes lit up, and she came over and poured me a generous helping, judging by the liquid "whoosh" sound she made with her mouth. And there we sat, me with my plate, her with her bowl and spoon, enjoying our tea. Chamomile, of course. Real ladies drink chamomile.

Fatherhood is the greatest thing, ever.

Becky and I spent the entire weekend packing most of our house into the garage. We finally settled on a realtor, and now have to do the "make the house look bigger" thing. As much as I talk about how we're moving to a better place, I will miss this house dearly. It was a symbol of pride, more than anything. Becky and I bought this place ourselves, with no help from anyone. We found the house ourselves, we got the financing ourselves, we lived and laughed and loved and had our children here. And now we're moving. So endeth that chapter. Time to go to chapter two. I hear there are more car chases, explosions, and ninjas in that chapter.

Cornered, the boy kicked out at the world,
The world kicked back, and that fuckin' hurt!
- The Libertines