Monday, September 3, 2007

what annoys me

Writers are by nature anthropologists. We study human behavior in certain places and times.

Today a strange phone number called. I didn't answer. The second time he left a message. I listened. Gathered it was a flower delivery person. Called back immediately -- and the guy was already on the freeway! Wouldn't come back.

Don't send someone flowers on their birthday. Flower delivery is crap. Especially in big cities with apartments. No one ever gets their flowers. And I work, so I don't know when they'll be able to deliver them. A present shouldn't be stressful for the recipient.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Cincotti

It's been a while since I checked in to see what boy wonder Peter Cincotti was up to, but I happened to be talking about jazz with a friend of mine at dinner tonight in Santa Monica, and I think that jarred my memory. Apparently, he has a new album coming out early next year, and one of the tracks "Goodbye Philadelphia" is already blowing up in Paris where, presumably, they can't understand the lyrics. The song is a wonderful showcase for Peter's increasingly awesome vocals, and it demonstrates, as usual, his phenomenal finesse with the piano -- but the lyrics? Um... well, I get what he's trying to do. Or what David Foster was trying to do. But it doesn't... quite... make... any sense at all.

Just pretend you're French. You'll love it.



The lyrics for "East of Angel Town" (which would be Pasadena? the desert? Barstow? Vegas?) and "Cinderella Beautiful" continue the geography theme of the album but make more sense, are more original, and by far more interesting and layered (in parts anyway -- "Cinderella Beautiful" is, in the end, just a little too cheesy for my taste). But the music doesn't quite kick it into the same gear as "Goodbye, Philadelphia."

I do love Peter, though, and he's incredibly talented. If you have the good fortune of being in NYC, Toledo, or Indianapolis this fall, go check him out. He's just a tremendous performer.

good quote from The Simpsons "Homerazzi" ep

How do you like your comeuppance? 8x10, or wallet-size?
- Homer Simpson

cartoon

dream

Thanks to my job and driving through Hollywood all the time, I had this weird dream last night in which I was having dinner with Vince Vaughn and this hot German blonde guy. Everything was going well, dinner ended, and we went to the hospital because me and whatever female friend I was with, Vince said, needed more iron. But then, somehow, I realized Vince wanted to use as drug mules without our consent or knowledge, so I ran away. As I opened the door to the emergency stairwell, who should I see but my most trusted friend and hero, Scott Baio. I embraced him and told him what I suspected Vince of doing, so Scott left to go confront Vince, though I very much doubted if Vince would admit to it. Then I woke up.

So, that's what happens when you see Billboards every day, are working on a drug mule story, and are writing a pilot partly set in a hospital.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

The Nines (cont'd)

To be fair the soundtrack was pretty damned lovely.
I was also a bit distracted. There was a man there, tall, beautiful brown hair, very manly guy, gorgeous, kind of like Jesus meets a cowboy. And the whole time I had The Killers "When You Were Young" lyrics "He doesn't look a thing like Jesus" (though he did) stuck in my head the whole time.

Today I ran some errands. Did my writing task. Went to CityWalk at Universal Studios -- an expensive mistake -- and Bookstar, a screwy sort of Barnes and Noble in Studio City.

Tomorrow I plan on going to Santa Monica, work on the novel when I get back, read some. Maybe go to the Samuel French bookshop and Storyopolis (which I missed today) in Studio City. I'd also like to get my hair cut.

that's like the pot calling the kettle really, really hot

In order to get my new job I have to pass a kind of comedy test. Which means, despite being in my AC-free, sauna of a bedroom with no one around, I am experiencing the most unpleasant ragingly scary level of stage fright.

Saw The Nines last night. Which is. Good. I heard it compared to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which, as dumbass Mancow Mueller would say, is like "comparing apples and grenades." Actually, it's like comparing an apple to a grenade painted to look like an apple. On the surface it looks like an apple, but you bite into it, and you die. I liked The Nines, particularly the bit about the koala bears, but I think the fact that the characters have trouble believing in themselves, which is part of the point of the story, actually makes it difficult for the viewer to do it, too. As a discussion of what a creator owes his creations, it's a little strained. A creator doesn't confuse himself for one of his creations, unless he's mentally ill... I don't know. The movie's worth seeing to take a gander at John's home, see Melissa McCarthy get a chance to lead a film and Ryan Reynolds prove himself to be a bit more worthy of his good fortune in the biz than I suspected, and some of the dialogue is really funny and/or poignant (Elle Fanning is cutely underacting and underwritten role and Hope Davis wigs me out). You won't be able to just yet unless you're in NY or LA. I recommend it over The Ten, but not over waiting until it's out on DVD.
Sorry, John. Still love your blog.

OK, now back to my hell.
In summing up, I wish I had some kind of affirmative message to leave you with. I don't. Would you take two negative messages?
-- Woody Allen