06.28.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 11:42 pm by G
I wrote a lot this week-end, but it’s funny: Of the two posts I wrote for this online journal thingie, both are unlikely to appear. One would be relatively easy to reconstruct (from its computer-ate-it-ness) and the other is saved — but both of them, it occurs to me now (one personal/observational; one entertainment-oriented), would probably elicit bad behaviour or at least feed the fires of those who vaguely know me but don’t actually communicate in a fair and pleasant way with me. (Why do you read this if you’re not willing to be friendly?) Neither post was particularly provocative — but detailing my recent days and nights, and perspective upon some popular items, seems to me unnecessary here. That’s all.
This really isn’t the old “blog.”
I also took a long and otherwise enjoyable walk this evening, during part of which I reflected upon some rotten-hearted individuals it has been my great displeasure to have experienced. I’m definitely not going to repeat those mistakes again. While I do not believe that there are “bad” people, I do acknowledge (from experience) that there are people who are much, much more interested in hurting you than in letting you help them. No more of that for me.
Otherwise, things are cool.
Some new pieces for the Huffington Post are coming very soon…and life rolls along peculiarly but mostly pleasantly.
And speaking of rolling, this week involves much travel. Gotta go.
Luv,
~G
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06.27.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 2:22 pm by G
I wrote a rather amusing post this morning — and then a borrowed computer ate it; not a trace remains. Maybe I’ll rewrite it over le week-end, but it was one of those spontaneous things which are surely better the first go-round. In lieu of it presently, I bid you good day and evening.
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06.25.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 6:10 pm by G
I was sleeping when Michael Jackson died today; had a screwup in the day’s plans and decided to nap it off; awoke to call from relative, in midst of which news was shared.
When I was a budding adolescent (do boys “bud”?), there were two kinds of girls: The ones who loved Michael Jackson; and the ones who didn’t. My favour always fell to the latter group.
It wasn’t that I hated the guy — but as I am generally averse to media overkill, he already had a massive strike against him in my book; and the main issue was that girls who loved Michael Jackson tended, generally, to be the ones severely challenged in the area of thinking for themselves. Believe it or not, I actually employed females’ addiction to the Thriller album as a sort of attraction barometer! (Thanks, Jacko!)
From my perspective, Michael Jackson died with the Bad album, and although he popped up (pun intended?) occasionally (in weirder and weirder ways), I didn’t pay any attention to him anymore after that. A casual friend of mine in college had Bad blasting in his car when he drove us to a screening of Robocop — and I really couldn’t believe it: You’re listening to this on purpose?
Which is not to say that I didn’t admire the man’s talent — because I did. Although I didn’t inherently like “him” (I never met him, so the “him” I mean is the media icon), in later years, when I would hear one of his songs or see a dance clip or video, I would think: “Hey, that guy is from Indiana. Check that out. Good for him.” A few years ago, I put my opinion on the matter to rest by deciding that — his personal life very far aside — I was generally okay with Michael Jackson.
My fave of his is probably “Human Nature” — although of course there’s no resisting the evil of the “Thriller.”
It’s been a weird day.
I’ll save the wisecracks for the wiseacres (believe me, I have plenty) — and in a show of semi-respect, I shall refrain from viewing the South Park episode called “The Jeffersons” (which I sincerely believe puts a lot of Jackson’s controversies into a healthy — or at least appropriate and surprisingly intelligent — perspective) for at least a week.
Speaking of Controversy, I was always a Prince lad myself.
Blessings to the mourners and — said without the slightest tinge of maudlin obviousness — to the children.
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Posted in Life at 12:00 am by G
So I’m doing my laundry tonight, and I’d had a two-hour script conference by mobile communication device (generally headachy), and spoke with Mom on same device — woe that she really is all about Avoiding Discussing Anything Remotely Real At All Costs, and I hadn’t eaten properly or skipped the tea or not enough chocolate or something, and I wish I were at Glastonbury, and getting back to the laundry, the selfsame mobile communication device rings, and it’s this very nice fellow who asks me if I’d like to run camera on Agnès Varda during the Q&A of her current retrospective’s opening night.
And, you know, there’s the leaf-blowers, and the sirens, and the dumb people, and more dumb people, and actually a whole lot more dumb people, and the trees are being destroyed, and the Governator, and nutcase “friends,” and I’m feeling down, and I have a lot of weird responsibilities fast approaching, and this is the week of the TWO-HUNDRED-MILLION-DOLLAR-SHIT-FIESTA which somehow makes all of Cinéma seem a rude joke . . . and instantaneously we’re back at the laundry scene, and I’m all, like, “Yeah, sure, of course.”
Soon enough, I’m sitting a few feet away from legendary filmmaker Agnès Varda, and she’s talking, and (technically-speaking) I am lensing the great director — and the depth and breadth of the experience . . .
. . . well . . .
. . . it’s nice, actually:
Suddenly surrounded by a lot of smart people, some of them speaking French (which I love), and I’m practically in the lap of a living legend who makes very smart films indeed.
Merci, mes amis!
Here’s more of it, if you would like to have your psyche raised rather than lowered.
And I’m off (what else is new) . . .
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06.24.09
Posted in Life at 6:30 pm by G
Does anybody else get up every day, consider this man in office, and feel that we must be inhabiting some sort of collective, insane nightmare?
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Posted in Uncategorized at 12:27 pm by G
Summer is here; it’s hot; we need shade. Of course, this being Southern California where everything is fucking crazy, we get these wandering herds of supergeniuses doing stuff like this:
Note the tree on the left, the one in the process of being raped. That’s a normal-looking tree. Contrast, if you will, with the tree on the right — which the supergeniuses have now stripped of all oxygen- and shade-providing usefulness, not to mention any/all aesthetic appeal.
Motherfuckers.
Yes, I am aware that the world is filled with famine, war, “Lady” Gaga and other atrocities. This just happens to be an atrocity to which I can handily point, and say calmly and clearly, “Check it out: Human beings are fucking stupid.”
Summer…hot…polluted air…thus, of course, let’s noisily and nastily decimate every tree in the region.
The only thing more unpleasant I beheld yesterday was an asshole in an SUV (is there any other sort of driver of an SUV?) very ostentatiously running a stop sign and cutting off a cop — and the asshole blathered some bullshit about being “sorry” (note: as he was lowering his illegally-employed cell-phone below window-level) — and the cop let him off!
I know I shouldn’t care about such things — and, in fact, I don’t — but friends, I need to see more Beauty — and infinitely less rampant motherfucking assholery.
Have A Nice Summer!
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06.22.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 3:42 am by G
Hi. Although I still enjoy that song (not to mention “Up All Night”) — and Bob was the first celeb I encountered upon arriving in L.A. (at Aaardvark’s, scoping vintage shirts) — I’m really just using the line as a placeholder, so you don’t have to start your hideous work-week staring at my previous post, or whatever.
I have a lot of books, many of them stuffed with substance or at least beauty, but let us dive straight for one of the cheesiest — Hipster Haiku, by the truly unfortunately-named Siobhan Adcock — for my generous slathering of entertainment to you (and then — hell, I’m busy — we’ll conclude with a nice image of Han Solo brandishing a large taco):
Why are you dancing?
Just stare gravely at the band
Act appropriate
Like the vintage lamp?
No, it’s not from IKEA.
Drop that catalog.
You know what’s really fun?
Adopt a Cockney accent
And say “Paul Weller”
I’ve just decided
Freelance videography
A bad career choice
I have a trust fund
So what? Tons of artists do–
There’s no shame in it.
Apple martini?
Are you fucking kidding me?
What do I look like?
…and although they’re almost all amusing, here are two of the truer ones for the current generations:
You know you’ve arrived
When you are mentioned in the
Wikipedia
I don’t blog daily
Such foolish consistency
Says “I have no life”
And — okay, bonus! — after years of observing this sort of thing, this one cracks me up:
Growing his sideburns:
Hangs old-school Witness poster
For inspiration
Har!
Han!
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06.21.09
Posted in Life at 3:42 am by G
First off, HAPPY SOLSTICE! I really like the seasonal calendar, as it’s infallible and not based upon belief systems which generally cause people to kill one another. So again: HAPPY SOLSTICE!
Massive amount of information processed over the past few days — a lot of it the terrific MODS & ROCKERS FILM FESTIVAL (If you’re missing the Amnesty benefit concerts and Secret Policeman’s Balls, you are ka-ray-zee!) — and a lot of it Life and Love and Noodles and things like that.
It was also my friend J’s birthday a couple of days ago, so I’d like to wish her well: She’s one of the very, very small handful of women I’ve met during twenty-two years in L.A. who are not psycho bitches. That is very, very accurate — but more to the point: She’s among a scant gaggle of just brilliant people I know who happen to be female. Happy birthday, J!
I’ll also wrap up the previous post as soon as I can, plus I have a bunch of fun pix (many random, on the fly), so I’ll try to get to that. Somewhere between saving Iran and a big guy in a vintage Battlestar Galactica costume. It’s that kind of life, the one I lead.
Speaking of Life, though, since today is American Father’s Day, I’m going to ask my readers for their advice. Seriously. One of the greatest musicians in the entire world ever actually advised me on this matter this week — and I’d tell you who he is except I don’t want him to get bombarded with collateral fandom — and I am already factoring his wise words into my next steps. However…
I need for people who read this thing — people who feel it is worth reading this thing — to let me know what they think…and feel.
I’m slightly over forty Earth-years old, and I have never liked my “dad.” I mean, I’ve had some good times with him on very, very rare occasions, and he has attempted — in an embarrassing, Cro-Magnon-like way — to be “nice” every few years. But I don’t respect the guy, I don’t appreciate the guy, and I really don’t like the guy. Looking back — I never really have liked him.
I know — that puts the negativity on me. But I feel pretty good, actually. I care for people, and I know I’ve done more for people in this world than people in this world have done for me. I show up, I do what I can, I work hard (when I’m working; otherwise, fuck off), I sleep well.
The thing is, my “dad” is not an evil man. A lot of people think he’s essentially okay. But he’s such a damned asshole — he really, really is (listing how and why would take months) — and it’s caused me such pain and unhappiness over the years.
In the tiniest of nutshells: My “dad” was scary-angry when I was little — lots of YELLING and broken things (although, no, he never hit me) — and thereafter he just sort of became this…asshole. He gave up on my icicle of a mother and has slept on a vinyl sofa in the basement for about the past thirty years. He constantly pulls the martyr/mean-ass switcheroo. He HATES when other people are happy. He LOVES to mock and otherwise slam people (particularly anybody having any sort of fun whatsoever to which he does not feel entitled). For almost my entire childhood, he smoked particularly nasty cigars in the house, and although he managed to quit that habit, in almost all other ways, socially-speaking, he is an embarrassment, usually an acutely painful one.
I never knew his father — he was dead before I showed up — so I really don’t know what the fuck is wrong with him; but I know that rather than encouraging me, offering intelligent comments, showing support, or in any way being a respectful and good presence — he’s been…an asshole…a shithead…a walking fart joke.
I never wanted to hate my “father” — or even to put him in quotes like that. But around him, it’s like I might as well be mud, or shit, or dead. He’s always had the lowest possible opinion of me — and voiced it (for hours, days, years — seriously, he’s world-record boring) — even though I never got in any significant trouble, met most of my obligations to a satisfactory degree, and even excelled in many of my interests and pursuits.
My reward? Constant negation and dissolution.
I just don’t get why he’s such a damned nasty asshole. How could I not at least strongly dislike such a long-term willfully unpleasant and destructive person?
Getting to the keenest point (and here’s where I solicit the suggestions of my readers), I’m over forty now — and he’s in his mid-seventies. He’s not the best eater, and he shuns proper exercise. He smoked for decades. Perhaps you can see where this is leading.
WHAT DO YOU THINK I SHOULD DO?
Note, please, before responding, that: NO, I DO NOT CARE HOW OLD I AM OR WHAT YOU THINK OF ME. This is about an ongoing conflict — not a character assassination of me. I’m okay with my life and work thus far. Rather, this is about a guy (my “father”) who has intentionally made most of the people in his life (including himself) miserable — and ENJOYS making them miserable — and not in some witty, funny, intelligent way — just in shitty, horrible, retarded ways — of which he never seems to tire (I was sick of him before I could ride a bicycle). Okay? So this is about: Should I try to mend fences? Should I put forth ALL the effort — toward a guy who doesn’t know anything at all about parenting, fathering or leading?
Ten years ago this Autumn — after a particularly ghastly year — my “father” insulted, attacked and otherwise tried to shove me into the dirt. I had just gotten a new job — finally, one reasonably close to my skills and interests! — and his response — trapped in the confines of a car on a road-trip — was to do everything he could to try to grind me into the dirt. It was very, very ugly. I was devastated. There was a lot of devastation that year — but that incident was the worst. ASSHOLE! It was shocking, truly shocking — and it made me feel more alone, misunderstood, attacked and just generally Who-Cares-Anymore than I had ever felt before.
I wrote him off immediately after that. Literally — wrote him off. A calm, thoughtful goodbye letter to the Asshole. For my entire life up to thirty, I had struggled to get my “parents” to acknowledge the misery of their non-lives “together” — the absolute bullshit which was making all the rest of us miserable as well — and they ignored me, the way they ignore everybody (especially each other). After one bout of questioning (it’s a big world out there; why hide miserably up your own asshole?), I even got my “father” to admit that he did not (in the present, does not) love his wife, my mother.
Thus: Why stay? Why fake it? Why make everybody miserable — INTENTIONALLY?
When his loathing for me finally swum into focus, though — nearly a decade ago — I called it quits. I had written affectionate, supportive, inquisitive, “son”-like letters many times prior. Then I was forced to write a go-fuck-yourself letter. Haven’t seen him since. Haven’t had a single word with him. Nothing.
Now, those parts of my nervous system, they’re mostly dead now. I have zero tolerance for bad fathers, and I will shove them out of my way. Done.
There was a guy, though — and he wasn’t a smart man, or generally a nice man, or even all that often a tolerable man — who once or twice a year took us to an amusement park or campground. He took me to see Star Wars (1977), Superman (1978), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and The Road Warrior (1982). He mostly said unpleasant things to me, and behaved very badly both domestically and publicly, and frankly made me feel hopeless and miserable with his very presence. But he tried — a scant few times — to do nice things. Which is why I petition you for your suggestions. Should I try to salvage…something?
Final note: If he suddenly ceases to be, I’ll survive. Since 99% of the happiness in my life has nothing to do with him, since (apart from going to some movies) he’s been wholly unsupportive of anything that matters to me (and others will tell similar stories), and since I’ve managed for a decade without him already, this is not a desperate plea for Solving Everything And Cuddling. Yuck. Nope. Not at all. I’ve only recently gotten over the part where I’d like to kick his face in and make him beg for forgiveness.
Rather, I don’t have a wife — because most of the young women in my life in that way have been total fucking destructive bitches (maybe even some of you are reading this; my deepest and sincerest apologies to those who do not approach such a definition — but otherwise I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em) — and I don’t have children (I’m sure some of you just crossed yourselves). So really, I could just float along until I fully become some terrible caricature of a man — the way many Southern Californians do. Meaning, there is no impetus to reunite any family — because I do not have a family.
But I refuse to float along.
I just wonder — and this gets to the root of it, and I’ll wrap it up — if there is some practical application to approaching, solo, an unpleasant and highly counterproductive person who is allegedly an elder but who has done NOTHING WHATSOEVER over the course of a decade to summon even the slightest note of paternal or filial harmony. NOTHING.
So why is it all on me?
He started the problem, he exacerbated the problem, he never took one iota of responsibility for the problem, and he thrives on blaming the problem on everybody else but himself.
Should I bother?
Or should I let it fade…and keep fading…until it is almost (to the reach of one’s senses) completely gone?
Thanks for your thoughts.
To those who have good fathers, congratulations.
To those who have lost good fathers, my sincerest condolences and kindnesses. (Bless your good memories.)
And again, HAPPY SOLSTICE.
At least I can believe in that!
~G
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06.17.09
Posted in Life at 12:42 pm by G
This may be a case where I don’t actually want you to read the remainder of the post (although I may attempt to wangle a cool photo in at the end) — mainly because the post, while potentially mildly amusing, has to do with arduousness and discomfort (i.e.: yesterday); thus I present the highly distracting “Bitch” and related link up top:
Putting it very simply, it bothers me that Shia “Le Boof” LaBoeuf is “Spielberg’s Bitch” — for while the former is perhaps a passable actor, I find the way his sensationally talented (and really nice; met him this year) protector is shepherding him into Hollywood glory to be particularly nauseating. It sucks. Steve, we really do not need this kid to be shoved forcibly into Superstardom. First of all, he’s not that good (he’s not a patch on Harrison Ford’s jacket); second, your P.R. scheme for Le Boof is being hit so ridiculously hard (he’s in more promo stills for Indy 4 than Ford himself!) that it’s souring any potential for goodwill toward the ornery little jerk. We know, we know: You’re getting old, but still lust after the youth market, and desire to spin your choice into prominence among kids who should be allowed to choose their own heroes and role models. (Ford took years and years to become famous — and scored via his own skills; remember that?) Now you’re trying to shove Le Boof down our throats. Well, my answer is: No. I won’t accept him.
While I was lonely last year in my position of defending Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull for its considerable merits, the one element I wish I could excise is, indeed, Le Boof. While perhaps he’s not quite a Jar Jar, his unwelcome presence in this series (IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN SHORT ROUND; AUGGGHHH!!!) is in a way more noxious — for we knew that: A. Jar Jar wasn’t real (plus his role diminished significantly over the course of the Star Wars prequels); and B. That other Lucasfilm franchise would not eventually be hijacked by Jar Jar (unlike this one; which seems very likely to be hijacked by “Spielberg’s Bitch”).
Of course, this is all kind of irrelevant, as I feel that the series dropped off sharply in quality after Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (which rules) — and both #3 and #4 are “kind-of” attempts, when contrasted with the astonishments of the first two. #5, surely, will continue this trend. Why get upset? Because I don’t want to see a series I rather enjoy further sullied by cheesy “father-son” themes and expanded intrusions by an actor I don’t like — particularly one who’s getting a great big boost from his “pimp.”
What next, Steve? You gonna go digitally replace Roy Scheider in Jaws with Le Boof? Stop already. Please.
Anyway, here’s the pitch: Indy is summoned to go do a lot of really cool things in exotic locales, and leaves Marion and “the bitch” at home! (Marion shows up for some thrilling scenes in Act Three; whereas “the bitch” is killed in a grease fire at the local burger joint which is the only place that would hire him. The “mourning” scene lasts nine seconds. Then we’re back to the good stuff.)
I’d pay to see that. Twice. At 3D prices, even.
And here’s the unfortunate link.
Now, turning to yesterday…
(to be continued)
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06.15.09
Posted in Uncategorized at 5:13 pm by G
Well, that ought to bring a click or two.
Naw, it’s just — this article.
It astounds me that everybody doesn’t go around saying, “Yeah, Jo Rowling essentially stole everything in her extremely lucrative books — and that isn’t even the point; the point is that she’s really, really good at synthesising all the stolen elements!”
Worst Witch, Roald Dahl, Python, Troll, whatever. Like it’s some mystery.
I enjoy her books, wish to borrow five hundred million dollars from her, and look forward to seeing the latest movie.
I also like Chris Columbus’ movies.
Deal widdit.
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