The Walpaper Supplement

Context is Illusion. Detail is key.

2009-11-23T18:18:00.000-08:00

This post is in response to Peter Atencio's "Context is Key"
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First, let’s agree that specific details are key in understanding/ communicating a situation, especially if the alternative is communication through broad generalizations.

However, the original scenarios above, though lacking in detail, do have context: (soup and bagel, child in a Paris park). The context changes as details are added. The frame of context never ends.

Context is generally defined as the conditions in which something exists or occurs. And while conditions can (and do) add specific enlightening details, they are not the key to understanding a situation more truthfully - spoken or unspoken.

Often times, context inhibits truth. Take the contextual examples mentioned above: (German occupation, eating next to a stack of unpaid bills) - Instead of illuminating the truth, the characters or objects are misunderstood through a whole new set of predetermined perceptions. So, you show me a picture and I believe it to be serene. Then you provide a certain context and I find it horrific. Nothing has changed but my own preconceived notions of two separate contexts. The truth of the picture lies in how the characters and objects react to the conditions in which they exist.

“A man eats soup and a bagel for lunch.” - This sentence can be understood in as many different ways as there are people.

“A man eats canned soup and a hard leftover bagel next to unpaid bills.” - This sentence can also be understood in as many different ways as there are people. It absolutely does not promote unspoken truths, but it does reinforce the blissfully ignorant ways in which we stereotype our world.

Context is an illusion. Detail is key.

Much love, Peter. Your post has got me thinking.
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Peter responds to this post here.

Why I'm done chasing...

2009-08-23T14:09:00.000-07:00

A therapist friend gave me the following advice:

There's an arrogance and a righteousness that comes from the best place in us... the place that wants to save our patients and our lovers and our friends.

There will be all of those that give chase and they want us to follow. They may want us to save, but true partnership, friendship, or good therapy isnt about saving - it's about waiting for the person to stop running. It's waiting for them to come to us and ask for help, instead of forcing the chase.

The best of us are brave enough to wait it out.

She has a phone, concerned friends, and a very loving concerned you. She knows in her heart, without any question, that if she really needs you, you will always be there.

She isn't done running and she wants you and everyone else to chase. When she's ready, she'll stop. In the meantime, you cant save her. Just support her. She's gotten this far... she'll be ok. I promise.

I don't know if that makes sense and I agree it really sounds as though she's hurting and struggling right now, but you cant change that or help unless she allows you to. Right now she just wants to play. She needs to feel needed by scaring all of you.

You need to just trust that she has enough support in her life that if she chooses to see and reach out... she'll be brave enough to do that. You can't do it for her.

The Pursuit of Life

2009-08-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

The American opposition toward citizen funded health care confuses me.

What boggles my mind most is that there have been two major issues determining the destination of our taxed dollars since the time our president took office:

1) Allocation of our funds for the bailout of private corporations.

2) Allocation of our funds for the potential care of our citizens.

Where were the screams of opposition when our tax dollars were handed to private entities?

Why are we choosing to fight against the second option? How have we become so brainwashed that we stand up for the preservation of a third party?

We are the people.

After all, the defense and prosperity of the self is what our capitalistic government is all about. Our government is not based on the health of corporations. The smoke and mirrors of private corporation only has power when we believe it's more important than we are for the health of our country.

Let's not forget, the government for which our troops fight is a government we control. There's no need to be afraid of the health services we provide ourselves, but there's much to fear in health services provided by entities we don't control.

When we wage war against a foreign country, we fight for the safety and health of our fellow citizens. A select few, rich and poor, defend our nation against foreign threat.The care of our nation is as important as the defense of our nation. It's a different battle in the same war.

Why are we battling the inalienable right to life? It's ours - front and center.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

We employ our fellow men and women to defend our right to life against factors abroad. Let us employ our fellow men and women to defend our right to life against factors within.

Let us all demand the inalienable right to life, completely.

We decide if we pay a premium for life. We don't directly pay a private company for the defense of our nation, nor should we pay a price, beyond what we tax, for the defense of ourselves.

Bottom Line:
We've yet to be overcome by a department of our government for which we openly supply weaponry at our expense.

How (and why) could we imagine a threat from a department of our government for which we openly supply medicine?

A Federal Hospital Program may not be the correct course of action, but why don't we try? Who loses at the end of the day? Premium services will continue to be available to those of us who want it.

The worst case scenario... We fail at the effort to create a world in which our health is an inalienable right. - but we're Americans. We don't fail.

"Divide and conquer," They believed.

We almost let them win.

My Oscar '09 Ballot

2009-02-20T17:11:00.001-08:00

This is who I think will win, not who I think should win.

Actor, Leading
Sean Penn - "Milk"

Actor, Supporting
Heath Ledger - "The Dark Knight"

Actress, Leading
Kate Winslet - "The Reader"

Actress, Supporting
Penelope Cruz - "Vicky Cristina Barcelona"

Animated Feature
"Wall-E"

Art Direction
"...Benjamin Button"

Cinematography
"...Benjamin Button"

Costume Design
"The Duchess"

Directing
"Milk"

Doc. Feature
"Man On Wire"

Doc. Short
"The Witness..."

Film Editing
"Slumdog Millionaire"

Foreign Language
"Waltz with Bashir"

Makeup
"...Benjamin Button"

Original Score
"Slumdog Millionaire"

Original Song
"Jai Ho" - "Slumdog Millionaire"

Best Picture
"Slumdog Millionaire"

Short Film, Animated
"Presto"

Short Film, Live Action
"Spielzeugland"

Sound Editing
"The Dark Knight"

Visual Effects
"...Benjamin Button"

Screenplay, Adapted
"Slumdog Millionaire"

Screenplay, Original
"Milk"

Incomplete Thoughts on the Human Problem: Humor - Part 1

2009-01-03T03:44:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to believe that our problem as humans is that we have been programmed to enjoy and reinforce (through laughter) two fundamentally opposing directions - Pleasure from new experiences and connections with those we determine are equal or above us & Pleasure from avoiding new experiences and disconnections with those we determine are below us.

Our compass has no north...

Let's start with the established theories on Laughter & Humor:

There's Icongruity Theory,
We laugh and go in the direction of those that surprise us and we admire. We believe they are better than us, or at least as good - Those beings challenge what we expect and give us something completely different. We enjoy and go in the direction of those who challenge and teach us something new - we are inferior, or at the same level. We experience a laugh reward when we bond with a higher being because we are now safe (we've learned something new).

But then there's Superiority Theory,
We laugh and go in the direction of those that don't surprise us and we condescend. We believe we're better than them - These beings confirm what we expect and give us what we've always known: We are safe and strong, as long as another is in danger and weak. We hate and ignore those who we believe are below us - we are superior. We experience a laugh reward when we see someone else hurt.

And still there's Relief Theory,
We laugh when danger is relieved and we become safe. A bear is attacking you? You run away from the bear? You laugh and experience the pleasure that laughter brings, so as to reward and reinforce the preservation of your life.

Further description, one page here: http://people.howstuffworks.com/laughter5.htm

I think that the evolution of our Laugh Function was in this order:

1. tickle laugh (bonding with others = connecting with people creates pleasure)
2. Relief laugh (bonding with experience of safety = disconnecting with bad experiences creates pleasure)
3. Superiority laugh (bonding with others and experiences of being safe due to perceived superiority of something else = discconnecting with people and experiences creates pleasure)
4. Incongruity Laugh (Bonding with others and experiences that teach you that you're not superior to something else, and you can learn = connecting with people and experiences creates pleasure)

The most evolved is #4

I'm posting incomplete thoughts. It's late. Feel free to expand upon these...

I'll continute later.

How I Voted - 11/4/08

2008-11-04T13:23:00.000-08:00

My Residence: Kenmore Ave. & Franklin Ave., Los Angeles, CA, 90027

Pres/Vice Pres: Obama/Biden
US Rep. 33rd District: Watson
State Assembly 42nd District: Feuer
Judicial No.72: Merritt
Judicial No.82: Loo
Judicial No.84: Jones
Judicial No. 94: Mack
Judicial No. 154: Crabb
1A: Yes
2: Yes
3: Yes
4: No
5: Yes
6: No
7: No
8: No
9: No
10: No
11: Yes
12: Yes
R: Yes
J: Yes
Q: Yes
A: Yes
B: Yes

Review: Pinback @ Echoplex 10/20/08

2008-10-29T23:33:00.000-07:00

Hailing from San Diego, Pinback is a band comprised of two principal players: Armistead Burwell Smith IV (Zach) and Rob Crow.

Review written by Scott Perraud:

This was my first time at Echoplex. It's a sweet venue. There's a big bar in back, and then it opens up to a stage that was quite low to the ground. There's a small, small, small area for the audience. We were very close.

The opening band, Mr. Tube and the Flying Objects, was an octet of all kinds of instruments including a keytarish keyboardist who looked like Christian Bale with a beard, 2 drummers (one standing) and a guitarist who looked like a Hispanic Josh Brolin with a mustache and soul patch. We didn't know their names, so Brandon and I shouted, "Brolin, Bale" and "Don't Bale on your Brolin!" all night, excited by the possibility that these guys could be performing live music in front of us. We never confirmed whether or not it was actually them.

Pinback was incredible. They usually stick closely to the recorded versions of their songs, but this time It felt like they were jamming a little bit: Changing pace, mixing the level of noise (the drums would get really quite at parts). It seemed like they were just having fun/changing up the way they normally play songs live.

All of the songs were faster than the record, but not the normal zip-through it pace of their live shows. This time they played a little slower and it was more enjoyable. The exception was Loro, which was sad and slower than the record, but very nice sounding. I wanted to hear B and BBtone, so we yelled out, "BBtone! B!" all night, but they never came.

Rob Crow seemed melancholy throughout the show, due to their keyboardist Terrin Durfey's battle with cancer. Durfey was unable to play, so there was a local replacement who managed to learn the songs in a few days. Rob asked the audience to give to the Terrin Durfey Foundation. And followed the request with, "You live in L.A., so just go one day with out hair product and help someone else" or something like that.*

Rob's sadness and anger seemed to amplify the performance. His vocals and guitar were phenomenal (more phenomenal than the last phenomenal show at the Avalon). During Sender, Rob changed the second verse lyrics to: "I sing this same line every fucking night", which was funny because it sounded right and fit into the tune beautifully. I don't think anyone noticed. Before playing Boo, Rob joked, "Here's another upper from our treasure trove of feel good hits." During Tripoli he scratched his "turntable", which was basically a plastic Fisher Price record player (I think I had one when I was 4). It also put him in a kind of Fuck-It mode. At one point, he dumped half his beer on some dude in the front row, as he tried to pull it from its cup holder, and just said, "Shit. Sorry dude."

A video was projected behind them during the performance. Rob gave a little speech before Off by 50. It talked about how people try to make us fear numbers throughout our lives. His response was that they got the wrong number - they were off by 50. A million different images of 666 were projected behind them during the song. I'm not sure if he was saying we should be scared of 616 or 726? Why are those worse? The video's highlights: A few John Carpenter Dark Star clips & a fan video during Fortress (though they should have played this). Rob said the fan-made Fortress video was better than the one they had paid professionals to make. He offered to show fan videos in concert, so if you want to make a Pinback fan video, get on it and send it to the band.

They also showed a video photo album of their days on this tour. It included their soccer ball that was run over by an 18 wheeler. And their sound guy in a cast, after he tore his ACL trying to kick the replacement soccer ball. During the encore, Zach Smith sat at the keyboard for all four songs.

All in all - It was a phenomenal show.

*Ed. Note: Terrin Durfey has just passed away. He was 36 years old and is survived by his wife and six-year-old son. A fundraiser was set up to offset his medical costs. Contributions can still be made to the Terrin Durfey Foundation and his myspace page.

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View Scott's photos from the show.

View Pinback's setlist.

Setlist: Pinback at Echoplex 10/20/08

2008-10-29T22:40:00.000-07:00

1. Torch

2. Bouqet

3. Non-photo Blue

4. Microtonic Wave

5. Penelope

6. Good to Sea

7. Bloods on Fire

8. Walters

9. Offcell

10. Tripoli

11. Loro

12. Fortress

13. Devil You Know

14. Nothing to Nowhere

15. Off By 50

16. AFK

Encore:

17. Rousseau

18. Sender

19. Manchuria

20. June

My Answers to Klosterman's 23 Questions

2008-10-01T21:52:00.001-07:00

My Answers to Chuck Klosterman's "23 Questions I Ask Everybody I Meet In Order To Decide If I Can Really Love Them"

I’d like to know what Chuck wants to hear in order to really love someone.

1. Let us assume you met a rudimentary magician. Let us assume he can do five simple tricks—he can pull a rabbit out of his hat, he can make a coin disappear, he can turn the ace of spades into the Joker card, and two others in a similar vein. These are his only tricks and he can’t learn any more; he can only do these five. HOWEVER, it turns out he’s doing these five tricks with real magic. It’s not an illusion; he can actually conjure the bunny out of the ether and he can move the coin through space. He’s legitimately magical, but extremely limited in scope and influence.
Would this person be more impressive than Albert Einstein?
No.

2. Let us assume a fully grown, completely healthy Clydesdale horse has his hooves shackled to the ground while his head is held in place with thick rope. He is conscious and standing upright, but completely immobile. And let us assume that—for some reason—every political prisoner on earth (as cited by Amnesty International) will be released from captivity if you can kick this horse to death in less than twenty minutes. You are allowed to wear steel-toed boots.

Would you attempt to do this?
Yes, I’d have to, since a good majority of the prisoners are being held for the “wrong” reasons. It’s hard to think about it though.

3. Let us assume there are two boxes on a table. In one box, there is a relatively normal turtle; in the other, Adolf Hitler’s skull. You have to select one of these items for your home. If you select the turtle, you can’t give it away and you have to keep it alive for two years; if either of these parameters are not met, you will be fined $999 by the state. If you select Hitler’s skull, you are required to display it in a semi-prominent location in your living room for the same amount of time, although you will be paid a stipend of $120 per month for doing so. Display of the skull must be apolitical.
Which option do you select?
Hitler’s Skull.

4. Genetic engineers at Johns Hopkins University announce that they have developed a so-called “super gorilla.” Though the animal cannot speak, it has a sign language lexicon of over twelve thousand words, an I.Q. of almost 85, and—most notably—a vague sense of self-awareness. Oddly, the creature (who weighs seven hundred pounds) becomes fascinated by football. The gorilla aspires to play the game at its highest level and quickly develops the rudimentary skills of a defensive end. ESPN analyst Tom Jackson speculates that this gorilla would be “borderline unblockable” and would likely average six sacks a game (although Jackson concedes the beast might be susceptible to counters and misdirection plays). Meanwhile, the gorilla has made it clear he would never intentionally injure any opponent.
You are commissioner of the NFL: Would you allow this gorilla to sign with the Oakland Raiders?
No, human only league. Unless it made the Gorilla really, really sad.

5. You meet your soul mate. However, there is a catch: Every three years, someone will break both of your soul mate’s collarbones with a Crescent wrench, and there is only one way you can stop this from happening: You must swallow a pill that will make every song you hear—for the rest of your life—sound as if it’s being performed by the band Alice in Chains. When you hear Creedence Clearwater Revival on the radio, it will sound (to your ears) like it’s being played by Alice in Chains. If you see Radiohead live, every one of their tunes will sound like it’s being covered by Alice in Chains. When you hear a commercial jingle on TV, it will sound like Alice in Chains; if you sing to yourself in the shower, your voice will sound like deceased Alice vocalist Layne Staley performing a capella (but it will only sound this way to you).
Would you swallow the pill?
Yes. I LOVE music (more than anything), but I don’t think I could stand both of my soul mate’s collarbones being broken every year with a Crescent wrench.

6. At long last, someone invents “the dream VCR.” This machine allows you to tape an entire evening’s worth of your own dreams, which you can then watch at your leisure. However, the inventor of the dream VCR will only allow you to use this device of you agree to a strange caveat: When you watch your dreams, you must do so with your family and your closest friends in the same room. They get to watch your dreams along with you. And if you don’t agree to this, you can’t use the dream VCR.
Would you still do this?
Of course - no question. My dreams are that good.

7. Defying all expectation, a group of Scottish marine biologists capture a live Loch Ness Monster. In an almost unbelievable coincidence, a bear hunter in the Pacific Northwest shoots a Sasquatch in the thigh, thereby allowing zoologists to take the furry monster into captivity. These events happen on the same afternoon. That evening, the president announces he may have thyroid cancer and will undergo a biopsy later that week.
What do you play as the biggest story?
President has cancer would be the bigger story in my paper. The Loch Ness/ Sasquatch story sells itself.

8. You meet the perfect person. Romantically, this person is ideal: You find them physically attractive, intellectually stimulating, consistently funny, and deeply compassionate. However, they have one quirk: This individual is obsessed with Jim Henson’s gothic puppet fantasy The Dark Crystal. Beyond watching it on DVD at least once a month, he/she peppers casual conversation with Dark Crystal references, uses Dark Crystal analogies to explain everyday events, and occasionally likes to talk intensely about the film’s “deeper philosophy.”
Would this be enough to stop you from marrying this individual?
Nope.

9. A novel titled Interior Mirror is released to mammoth commerical success (despite middling reviews). However, a curious social trend emerges: Though no one can prove a direct scientific link, it appears that almost 30 percent of the people who read this book immediately become homosexual. Many of these newfound homosexuals credit the book for helping them reach this conclusion about their orientation, despite the fact that Interior Mirror is ostensibly a crime novel with no homoerotic content (and was written by a straight man).

Would this phenomenon increase (or decrease) the likliehood of you reading this book?
I guess it would increase it. If I didn’t read it after hearing this, I’d feel like I was afraid.

10. This is the opening line of Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City: “You are not the kind of guy who would be in a place like this at this time of the morning.” Think about that line in the context of the novel (assuming you’ve read it). Now go to your CD collection and find Heart’s Little Queen album (assuming you own it). Listen to the opening riff to “Barracuda.”
Which of these two introductions is a higher form of art?
The McInerney line is a higher form of art - but only because the opening riff to Barracuda is eh.

11. You are watching a movie in a crowded theater. Though the plot is mediocre, you find yourself dazzled by the special effects. But with twenty minutes left in the film, you are struck with an undeniable feeling of doom: You are suddenly certain your mother has just died. There is no logical reason for this to be true, but you are certain of it. You are overtaken with the irrational metaphysical sense that—somewhere—your mom has just perished. But this is only an intuitive, amorphous feeling; there is no evidence for this, and your mother has not been ill.
Would you immediately exit the theater, or would you finish watching the movie?
Exit theater & call mom. (God forbid)

12. You meet a wizard in downtown Chicago. The wizard tells you he can make you more attractive if you pay him money. When you ask how this process works, the wizard points to a random person on the street. You look at this random stranger. The wizard says, “I will now make them a dollar more attractive.” He waves his magic wand. Ostensibly, this person does not change at all; as far as you can tell, nothing is different. But—somehow—this person is suddenly a little more appealing. The tangible difference is invisible to the naked eye, but you can’t deny that this person is vaguely sexier. This wizard has a weird rule, though—you can only pay him once. You can’t keep giving him money until you’re satisfied. You can only pay him one lump sum up front.
How much cash do you give the wizard?
$50,000. If I was $50,000 worth of wizard magic attractive - I’d make my money back in no time.

13. Every person you have ever slept with is invited to a banquet where you are the guest of honor. No one will be in attendance except you, the collection of your former lovers, and the catering service. After the meal, you are asked to give a fifteen-minute speech to the assembly.
What do you talk about?
The benefits of group sex?

14. For reasons that cannot be explained, cats can suddenly read at a twelfth-grade level. They can’t talk and they can’t write, but they can read silently and understand the text. Many cats love this new skill, because they now have something to do all day while they lay around the house; however, a few cats become depressed, because reading forces them to realize the limitations of their existence (not to mention the utter frustration of being unable to express themselves).
This being the case, do you think the average cat would enjoy Garfield, or would cats find this cartoon to be an insulting caricature?
Average cat would enjoy Garfield.

15. You have a brain tumor. Though there is no discomfort at the moment, this tumor would unquestionably kill you in six months. However, your life can (and will) be saved by an operation; the only downside is that there will be a brutal incision to your frontal lobe. After the surgery, you will be significantly less intelligent. You will still be a fully functioning adult, but you will be less logical, you will have a terrible memory, and you will have little ability to understand complex concepts or difficult ideas. The surgery is in two weeks.
How do you spend the next fourteen days?
Write a book, screenplays, plays, shoot film & spend time with friends/ family.

16. Someone builds and optical portal that allows you to see a vision of your own life in the future (it’s essentially a crystal ball that shows a randomly selected image of what your life will be like in twenty years). You can only see into this portal for thirty seconds. When you finally peer into the crystal, you see yourself in a living room, two decades older than you are today. You are watching a Canadian football game, and you are extremely happy. You are wearing a CFL jersey. Your chair is surrounded by books and magazines that promote the Canadian Football League, and there are CFL pennants covering your walls. You are alone in the room, but you are gleefully muttering about historical moments in Canadian football history. It becomes clear that—for some unknown reason—you have become obsessed with Canadian football. And this future is static and absolute; no matter what you do, this future will happen. The optical portal is never wrong. This destiny cannot be changed.
Knowing your inevitable future, do you now watch it?
No, I don’t watch it - that day will come soon enough.

17. You are sitting in an empty bar (in a town you’ve never before visited), drinking Bacardi with a soft-spoken acquaintance you barely know. After an hour, a third individual walks into the tavern and sits by himself, and you ask your acquaintance who the new man is. “Be careful of that guy,” you are told. “He is a man with a past.” A few minutes later, a fourth person enters the bar; he also sits alone. You ask your acquaintance who this new individual is. “Be careful of that guy, too,” he says. “He is a man with no past.”
Which of these two people do you trust less?
The man with no past.

18. You have won a prize. The prize has two options, and you can choose either (but not both). The first option is a year in Europe with a monthly stipend of $2,000. The second option is ten minutes on the moon.
Which option do you select?
Ten minutes on the moon - though I think I’d choose the Europe option with a greater monthly stipend.

19. Your best friend is taking a nap on the floor of your living room. Suddenly, you are faced with a bizarre existential problem: This friend is going to die unless you kick them (as hard as you can) in the rib cage. If you don’t kick them while they slumber, they will never wake up. However, you can never explain this to your friend; if you later inform them that you did this to save their life, they will also die from that. So you have to kick a sleeping friend in the ribs, and you can’t tell them why.
Since you cannot tell your friend the truth, what excuse will you fabricate to explain this (seemingly inexplicable) attack?
I’d say, “I just went nuts for a second - sorry, bestie.”

20. For whatever the reason, two unauthorized movies are made about your life. The first is an independently released documentary, primarily comprised of interviews with people who know you and bootleg footage from your actual life. Critics are describing the documentary as “brutally honest and relentlessly fair.” Meanwhile, Columbia Tri-Star has produced a big-budget biopic of your life, casting major Hollywood stars as you and all your acquaintances; though the movie is based on actual events, screenwriters have taken some liberties with the facts. Critics are split on the artistic merits of this fictionalized account, but audiences love it.
Which film would you be most interested in seeing?
The narrative fictionalized account. (I’d love to see the documentary too)

21. Imagine you could go back to the age of five and relive the rest of your life, knowing everything that you know now. You will reexperience your entire adolescence with both the cognitive ability of an adult and the memories of everything you’ve learned form having lived your life previously.
Would you lose your virginity earlier or later than you did the first time around (and by how many years)?
Earlier - by maybe 3 years?

22. You work in an office. Generally, you are popular with your coworkers. However, you discover that there are currently two rumors circulating the office gossip mill, and both involve you. The first rumor is that you got drunk at the office holiday party and had sex with one of your married coworkers. This rumor is completely true, but most people don’t believe it. The second rumor is that you have been stealing hundreds of dollars of office supplies (and then selling them to cover a gambling debt). This rumor is completely false, but virtually everyone assumes it is factual.
Which of these two rumors is most troubling to you?
Neither are that troubling to me - but I’d feel more uncomfortable around the office if the “drunk sex with a married coworker” rumor was in the air. I mean - who doesn’t steal office supplies or have a gambling problem?

23. Consider this possibility:

a. Think about deceased TV star John Ritter.

b. Now, pretend Ritter had never become famous. Pretend he was never affected by the trappings of fame, and try to imagine what his personality would have been like.

c. Now, imagine that this person—the unfamous John Ritter—is a character in a situation comedy.

d. Now, you are also a character in this sitcom, and the unfamous John Ritter character is your sitcom father.

e. However, this sitcom is actually your real life. In other words, you are living inside a sitcom: Everything about our life is a construction, featuring the unfamous John Ritter playing himself (in the role of your TV father). But this is not a sitcom. This is your real life.
23. How would you feel about this?
Not much differently than I feel like right now.

Sara & Vaughn: On Terrorism.

2006-08-09T23:54:00.000-07:00

Sara and Vaughn hover over a coffee table, just finishing a line of coke.

Sara: Don't! Don't do it!

Vaughn: Hey do you remember last night when you were racist.

Sara: I'm still racist.

Vaughn: You are?

Sara: No. It's not racism Vaughn.

Vaughn: It's not what is it?

Sara: It's Self Pres... Self Preservation.

Vaughn: It is? Why?

Sara: 'Cause I want this country to survive.

Vaughn: And It's not gonna survive if it becomes ethnic? Is that what you mean? And cultured?

Sara: Point is. I. Don't. Like. Terrorists.

Vaughn: Well thats...You were making fun of a Puerto Rican man, he's not terrorist.

Sara: I don't like Mexicans Vaughn.

Vaughn: He's Puerto Rican, he's not Mexican.

Sara: I don't like people who can't speak my language... properly.

Vaughn: And that's...

Sara: I don't like people... who come to this country and try to bring their culture over here, 'cause I would never go to their country and try to bring my culture.

Vaughn:(Laughs).

Sara: Motormouth... MOTOR... (Laughs and screams).

End.

A Gallery. Scene 1.

2006-08-09T09:29:00.000-07:00

A Gallery.

Cassie Hansen. A 34 year old married woman. She's a knock out, always dressed as if she's out for a night on the town. Long legs, bright eyes and a face which hardly conceals her intelligence.

Lt. Forge. A 48 year old man. He's distinguished. Salt and pepper hair, chiseled jaw. He's made a good living for himself as owner of the gallery. He knows fine art, and has had his share of even finer woman. He could charm the spots off a Leopard.

Scene 1.

Cassie admires a larger than life painting. Lt. Forge stands behind her, the same look of longing in his eyes - but for her, not the painting.

Cassie: How much for the De'vangioni?

Lt. Forge: A fine choice. Have you any De'vans of your own?

Cassie: I bought an original while traveling through Moscow.

Lt. Forge: Ah. A Russian De'vangioni. Very rare.

Cassie: I'm very pleased with it. How much is this one? It has such fine lines.

Lt. Forge: Of course it does. You know your art. You have a fine eye.

Cassie: It's rather important that we speak of the cost.

Lt. Forge: The cost of this De'vangioni... I'd like to think it's worth something other than money. Look at it. It screams, "From the Heart!"

Cassie: Other than money?

Lt. Forge: Yes. You see, this De'Vangioni isn't the only object present with fine lines, Ms..?.

Cassie: Ms. Hansen. Cassie Hansen. (She offers her hand)

Lt. Forge: (He takes it, examines it, kisses it) Ms. Hansen, may I trouble you to follow me into my office. We can discuss this matter further.

Cassie: I'm not opposed to a discussion, however, I am a lady.

Lt. Forge: And I a Man. A Man of business, Ms. Hansen. Please - Follow me.

He leads her by the hand towards the back of the Gallery, she follows, her high heels claking on the concrete floor...

The Kid

2006-08-09T08:11:00.000-07:00

The Kid is twelve years old. The Kid solves mysteries. He's got a sidekick and a skateboard. You'd be hard pressed to discover his birth name, he goes by "The Kid". He wears a tiny little sport coat and brown tweed pants. He's got freckles sprinkled across the cheeks and carries around a small black back pack. There's always an antiquated tape recorder, the size of a twinkie, in his palm.

It's the last day of school - the last day of his 6th grade year. He wakes up, wipes the sleep from his eyes, and rises from his bunk bed. He sleeps on the bottom, the top is always empty...

Listen.

2006-08-08T19:13:00.000-07:00

I am tired of working in this office. I want to leave. I have a life outside this office, but it doesn't let me go and experience it - save for a few hours a day. I have no money, even though I am here all day and night long. Help. Help. I am being held captive by this monster of a job. Why won't they let me go? They keep me here with no food (except for powdered donuts and expired string cheese), no hope and very little knowledge of the outside world. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I have a girl to get to. She needs care. She is as tender as a Mel's Diner Pot Roast Sandwich. Let me go and be with her. Please?

Tuesday August 8, 2006

2006-08-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

- I wake up. Move a car, so as to avoid towing. Take a shower. Make my way to the office.

- After arriving at the bungalow, I ReEnter a few misEntered Ebay listings for my boss. Text the cutie. Over and Over. Send a few Snakes On A Plane Samuel Jackson Calls.

- I Book a bunch of contestants for the show, but soon I have to...

- Head to the bank to deposit a check, which covers some overdraft fees.

- For Lunch: Spicy Tuna and Spicy Salmon Sushi and A Tandoori Chicken Salad from the commissary. Half the salad is saved for later.

- Next I'm asked to convert some Quicktimes into a DVD. So I convert some Quicktimes into a DVD.

- I'm back on the phone booking more contestants, but not before having an impromptu baby shower for a co-worker. There is chocolate cake and baby diapers. Yay!

- While working in a spreadsheet, I listen to some
Gish and
Bob.

- After awhile I decide to quickly make a Wal.Paper Daily Update. And here we are. Right. Now.

Baby Ruth

2006-06-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

I was born as a c-section on the beach of Malibu. My mother of course, a surfer, could never keep herself away from a decent swell. And that day, June 27th, the swell was spectacular. Though she had a baby in her womb, moments away from bursting, she looked great in that flower print bikini and on her 10 foot pink and blue Carington Foam board. As she road the 5 foot wave, and cut the board back and forth, her water broke, and I beckoned my life into the world.

There on the sand, with the California sun casting rays onto the moment of my birth, I peeked my funny little hair filled head out and said hello to the planet earth and what I and everyone else around me would call life.

My mother's name is Debra. Her bartender friends called her Ruth, because of her fascination with Baby Ruth Chocolate bars. She'd have her bouts with philosophy, never much delving deeper than wondering if the Earth really was flat, even though it was proven to be round, but one thing she'd always argue was whether that chocolate covered bar of peanuts and nougat was named after the home run hitter or President Grover Cleveland's daughter; Ruth.

Ruth. My Mom. The Surfer.

She lived in Venice, California in a small bungalow atop a garage with a view of the canal. A small studio apartment with a pressure cooker and a tiny little fridge. A mattress flanked the corner next to the only other piece of furniture; a small vanity with large white light bulbs befit for an actress from the early thirties.

Ruth was a beauty, her mouth the shape of Eva Gardner. Her eyes a shade of burnt fire wood. Back in the day she could have any man or material item she desired. But she didn't desire anything more than the spray of the Pacific and the thought of her son to be.

Bipolar: A Play In Two Acts.

2006-05-15T23:03:00.000-07:00

Setting:

Gray interior. Brain like. Intermittent flashes of light pierce the stage and backdrop. Synapses.

2 Chairs are placed on the stage. 1 stage left. 1 stage right.

Players:

An actress playing a combination of elation, excitement, confidence, and optimism. We'll call the character... Hannah.

An actor playing a combination of depression, boredom, insecurity and pessimism. We'll call the character... Bob.

OR

1 actor or actress plays both Hannah and Bob.

ACT 1: Pole Position 1.

Curtain Opens.

Hannah sits in the chair on stage left. Bob sits in the chair on stage right. Synapses fire randomly around them.

OR

Hannah sits in the chair on stage left. The chair on stage right is empty.

Hannah: Maps, DNA and Spam. Gosh! What a feeling! Maps, DNA and Spam! Say it a'loud! Scream it with me! What a perfect sentence. Maps, DNA and Spam! What an amazing thing it is to be able to speak such a sentence! To experience life! Even moments of sorrow are glints of light. It means I'm alive! I vote for life! Who else around me votes for life?! Well then: Rise to vote sir! Rise to Vote Sir! Just today I was thinking how easy it is to accomplish anything. Every dream and goal and idea set forth in this incredible soul of mine, I can conquer it! It's funny, I don't remember a day when I felt I was unable to control my destiny. I've always felt that I was gifted in looks and talent and sexual prowess. Look at me, I'm beautiful. I'm intelligent. The answers to all of mankind problems lie inside of me. And through me they'll be solved. The laughter I hear around me, that's the sound of celebration. For my friends - they laugh with me. When I pass a stranger on the street, I smile and look them in the eye, and when they don't return the gesture, I know they are sad, and insecure, and I hope for better things for them, and I know they will one day have better things, and one day, they will be happy, and confident just like me. OH! Maps, DNA, and Spam! My phone rang non-stop today. There were moments I had to disconnect the line, just so that I could get a moments rest. I was invited to so many wonderful events. And the ones I could attend were magical. People love me. I love people. The universe is a just and simple entity, one in which we are all harmoniously connected. I'm so glad to be alive. I feel so healthy and with every breath I take, I filter the knowledge of peace through my body. I'm like a fish living naturally underwater. Maps, DNA, and SPAM! Shout it with me! Maps, DNA, and SPAM! Who is the most wonderful being as long as I'm alive? Is it I? It is I!

Hannah moves from the chair and makes her way to center stage.

Curtain.

5 Minute Intermission.

ACT 2: Pole Position 2.

Curtain Opens.

Hannah sits in the chair on stage left. Bob sits in the chair on stage right. Synapses fire randomly around them.

OR

Hannah stands center stage, walks to the chair on stage right and becomes Bob.

Bob: Won't I panic in a pit now? Won't I panic in a pit now? I wheeze when I breathe. I am sure I have lung cancer, or some terrible form of a rare disease that hasn't been seen since our ancestors braved the Oregon Trail. Xanax! Xanax! I need a pill. Something to make me feel better. But, doctors, they don't prescribe me pills. Xanax! Where are you?! I'm no good at anything. I'm a failure. I'll continue to fail no matter what I do. I have zero talent. I'm a talentless pitiful fuck who when all is said and done will die a tragic being with no soul, no family, no loved ones, no friends. I've wasted my life. It's too late to turn back. It's too late to move forward. When I look in the mirror, I ask myself, Was it a rat I saw? Was it a rat I saw! I'm ugly. My teeth are crooked. They'll never be straight and I will always be a monster. I'm hideous. Disgusting. To Idiot, You are an ugly, disgusting, fat, crooked toothed pig! To IDIOT! Strangers can't even look at you. Yes! Idiot! That's me. Strangers, they can't even bare to look at me when I walk down the street. They are too good for me. I look up at them, they turn away, I'm not worth their time. I can hear people laughing! At me! At the vile, waste of space that I am. HA! HAHAHA! Their laughter is like a demented clown's hatred! And rightfully so. I deserve to be laughed at, shunned. I'm a phony. Everyone knows it. I know it. I have proof of it when the phone doesn't ring. When nobody answers my desperate calls. I'm lonely and uninvited. Alone. I hate this world. This life. I'd rather be dead than struggle one more moment with this random string of events. What a dark hole we live in. Even when I search for milk it always ends up like this: no trace, not one carton. I don't remember a time when I felt good about anything. For fuck's sake! I couldn't get a girl if my life depended on it. Not with this body. Not with this mind. Not with this soul. I feel like a fish out of water, writhing violently before my pathetic death. What is there as long as I'm alive?... Evil, a sin is alive!

Curtain.

End.

Marshmallow & Me.

2006-03-22T14:23:00.000-08:00

Check out the song and video I made. It's over on YouTube.

Marsmallow & Me by Canals of Venice.

Nite

2006-03-11T15:05:00.000-08:00

Symbols

2006-03-11T15:01:00.000-08:00

My Little Shop - Chapter 1

2006-02-14T23:58:00.000-08:00

"Listen," I whisper, "It won't take longer than we anticipated."

The object in my hand is cool to the touch. It's metal, and has a sharp edge. I notice it's an ice pick. It has a light wood colored handle. In fact, it is wood. The handle is wood. It is a wooden handle. In my hand is a wooden handle attached to a long cold metal spike. It isn't damp. It's not wet. But it is cold. Freezing even. It's hard for me to keep my grasp as tight as I'd like it. But it is tight. My hand is tense around the wooden handle.

Then there is the direction of which the fine, sharp tip of the metal spike is pointed: Directly towards the person in front of me. Directly towards her ear. More exactly: Directly in her ear and a thrust away from poking through her skull. She trembles a bit. It's only natural. Her breath is labored, staccato even. Her eyes are so pretty. A piercing blue which seem to match the temperature of this freezing cold wooden handle in my hands.

Through her lips, "Will it hurt?"

Contacts and Eye Glasses.

2006-02-13T21:11:00.000-08:00

I walked into the bathroom and set the contact solution next to the sink. I opened the bathroom mirror and pulled out the contact case. It was plastic. One side was blue, and the other an opaque clear. With my fingers pinched, I reached into my left eye and gently closed the tips of my thumb and pointer finger around the plastic in my eye. I pulled. My contact came out. I placed it in the blue side of the contact case. Then I repeated this sequence with my right eye, the only difference was that I placed the contact in the opaque clear side of the case. I picked up the solution and gave the bottle a squeeze. At first only air, and a tiny spittling of liquid came out. I tilted the bottle completely over on itself and gave it another try. The solution sprayed into the blue side of the case. Next I sprayed it into the opaque clear side. I set the bottle back down, snapped the cap back on and proceeded to screw the contact case caps on the case. I twisted the blue cap on its rightful side. Then the opaque clear cap on the opaque clear side. I turned the faucet on. I gave both the hot and cold knobs a fair little twist. The water came out warm. I placed my hands underneath the rush of water. I cupped my hands and pulled the water up to my face. I splashed the water on my face. I wanted it to be colder, so I pulled the hot knob back a bit. I placed my hands underneath the water again. This time it was cold. Frigid. I splashed the water on my face and it felt crisp. It was cleansing and refreshing and I did it over and over again. After a long time I stopped. The water continued to rush out of the metal faucet. The water splashed out of the basin and made a mess of the mirror and surrounding sink areas. The water on my face slowly dripped off. I reached for a towel and patted my face dry. I stretched my face and my mouth opened wide. I placed the towel back on the small hook which was on the bathroom door. I turned both of the sink's knobs to off. The sound of water stopped. A small drip remained. I reached inside the sink drawer and pulled out my eye glass case. The case had a backstage pass sticker stuck on the outside. It was from a concert I had went to almost two years ago. I opened the case. It made a familiar popping sound. I scooped my gold metal rimmed glasses from out of the case. I lodged the glasses on my nose and positioned the ear pieces tucked behind my ears. My face looked small through the glasses. My prescription was intense. Negative seven in both eyes. This made for large pieces of glass inside the rims. There was no helping this. I placed the case back in the drawer and shut the drawer. I studied my reflection in the mirror for one last moment. I reached for the light switch and hit it. The overhead heater fan turned on instead. I chose the wrong switch. I corrected my mistake and turned off the fan. Then I flipped the switch next to the fan switch. The room went dark. I exited and closed the door behind me.

Dinner Table: A Short Play

2006-02-07T19:47:00.000-08:00

A small table is set with two plates, two drinking glasses, and utensils. Clementine, 28, sits on one end. Opposite her, on the other end of the small square table, sits Roger, 28. They begin to help themselves to the food in front of them.

Clementine: I so wanted to tell that bitch to f**k off. All day I sat there, practically begging for work to do - It was the most boring day ever - then, at two minutes to six she calls me into her office.

Roger: You need to stick up for yourself.

Clementine: Just wait. I go into her office and she starts asking me about the reports. Where are the reports, she says. You didn't ask me about any reports, I say. You never told me to do the reports.

Roger: And did she?

Clementine: Did she? Of course she didn't! She didn't ask me to do any reports, and here she is, two minutes before six asking me where they are. So, I tell her that she didn't ask for them, but I'd be happy to do them for her in the morning.

Roger: What a bitch.

Clementine: Me?

Roger: You? No, of course not. Her.

Clementine: I know! So, she goes ahead and proceeds to inform me how my performance levels aren't up to speed. How I need to start thinking like a team player. This bitch takes 2 hour lunches and normally leaves an hour before six. At five f**king o' clock she's out the door. And she has the nerve to tell me I need to stay late and do reports that she didn't even ask me for!

Roger: And today she's there 'til six.

Clementine: And... what? What did you say?

Roger: You said she leaves at five. But today, the bitch stays 'til six.

Clementine: At five fifty eight PM she asked me for reports. Haven't you been listening? No, She didn't stay until six. She left at five fifty eight. Twenty seconds after she demanded I stay late and finish her reports. She just loves to f**k with me. I swear to god, that bitch loves to f**k with me. She makes me so angry.

Roger: Why don't you tell her that?!

Clementine: Roger, I can't just tell my boss that.

Roger: Yes. You can. You need to, for crying out loud. You're just going to be pushed around over and over again. And for what? Some stupid f**king meaningless job.

Clementine: Are you f**king kidding me?

Roger: I didn't mean...

Clementine: Some stupid f**king... mean-ing-less job?

Roger: Oh stop it. I'm just saying you need to stick up for yourself.

Clementine: No. You're saying more than that. I hear what you're saying. God damn it, you don't need to fix everything Roger. Sometimes you can just f**king listen to me. I don't need you to be a f**king hero. I sure as hell don't need you to tell me what to do! Most of all I don't need you telling me I'm meaningless. God damn it, you're worse than she is!

Clementine stands up, furiously she storms out of the room.

Roger's mouth hangs open. He drops his fork on the plate in front of him and draws in a deep breath.

Finis.

From There to Here.

2006-01-30T15:04:00.000-08:00

Mark sits on a snow lift, a snowboard strapped to his left foot. A girl he doesn't know, and who is wrapped up in enough gear to barely make out her features, sits next to him. She wears skis. They've been on the lift for about 30 seconds when Mark decides to stop hiding behind taking in the view and say something.

"Hi. I'm Mark," he says through a smile.

The girl turns to him, pushes her scarf away from her mouth with her mittens, and replies:

"Hi Mark. I'm Sarah."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah. Are you from around here?"

"Oh. No. I'm from Michigan. I'm here with my family for the weekend... Are you?"

"Nope. I live in Los Angeles. But, I'm from Chicago. I came out with some friends for the weekend. We're spread out all over the country."

"That's fun."

"Yeah."

Mark looks around. Sarah pushes snow off her ski using her pole.

skiers and boarders swoosh bye underneath. The village behind them seems like a scale model. The mountain in front an almost attainable goal.

Mark looks at her skis, he speaks...

"All my friends ski. I'm the only snowboarder."

"That's cool."

"Yeah, I thought I'd give it a try and I've fallen in love with it."

"I never tried it before."

"You really should. When you get the chance."

"I don't know. I think I'll stick with my skis."

The end of the line can be seen. Seven chairs ahead of them, a first time skier is nervous about getting off the chair. She clumsily stands off the lift. She falls, dragging down the person with her. They stop the lift.

Mark and Sarah sway in the cold. Above glistening snow covered grounds. Pine trees dot the landscape. Mountains and blue skies span forever.

Mark asks, "Are you staying nearby?"

Sarah answers:

"The Grizzly Bear Lodge. It's nice."

"My friends and I are renting a cabin. If you'd like to meet up later..."

"Oh. Thanks. I don't think I can. My family..."

Mark switches gears, "Oh. No worries. That's cool."

Sarah smiles and pulls her scarf over her mouth. The lift begins to move. Mark looks down on the people below. He readies himself to exit the lift. Their chair reaches the end. They push off. Mark heads left. Sarah heads right.

This Place is a Prison.

2006-01-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

Every day I feel more confined to this body I was born into. I'd like to think I could fly, if only I was taught earlier enough. I am no more enlightened than any person on this planet. I too am chained by my ideas, perceptions, and lack of awareness. My own leaps of faith and moments of clarity become flooded by anger, or supreme pleasure. These are my emotions. They stand tall, weilding large batons, always keeping me in place, for fear that I'd escape.

As I sat in my wooden desk, with carved confessions of love in the lower left hand corner, I listened. Wide Eyed. And receptive to the input that would orientate myself to the space around me. My teachers were, and are, varied: Parents, Nannies, School, The Big Screen, TV, Books, Magazines, Friends, Loved Ones, Strangers passing on the street...

Nature is endless. Boundless. Without walls. Human beings build walls. We take the large expanse of never ending opportunities and imagination, and we carve it into understandable pieces. We put up walls. Walls between each other. Walls to keep out harm. Walls to make us feel safe. Never understanding that we'll never feel truly safe. We are fragile. And we will die.

I write to explore the blank page in front of me. Is it possible that my stumbling, clumsy, ill-coordinated foot work can lead me to something worth while?

A continuous effort is the process of deleting the notions of success, beauty, importance, and worth which was taught to me through these teachers. I am in a constant cycle of unlearning.

A Difference 'tween Film & Theater Directing.

2006-01-23T04:54:00.000-08:00

An actor on the stage must believe in the moment. There are human beings in the audience who can feel the difference between truth & lies.

On the screen, an uninformed look, if honest in its appearance, can pass any lie detector test.

Caroline

2006-01-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

It was minutes before midnight. There was a breeze in the night air. It swept passed Caroline as she spied through her neighbors living room window. Through the glass and red curtains, Caroline gazed upon an older man. The man sat, carefully lifting a tea cup to his wrinkled lips.

Caroline edged herself closer to the window. Pushing passed thorny bushes, she slipped and fell. She landed on the hard grass. She froze.

Inside, the older man looked up from a delicate sip. He hesitated, set the ceramic cup on the side table, and rose slowly. He puttered across the living room. Finally, he reached the window and pressed his cold hands upon the glass. It was too dark to make much of anything out of the shapes on the outside. He squinted. He peeled his palms away from the window, smudges left in their wake. He drew in a breath. It was harder these days. He appreciated every taste of air he could. The man turned, already anticipating the rest of his before bed tea.

Caroline wasn't aware, but she was not the only one watching others. Someone was watching Caroline. Someone was watching as she tried her best to remain perfectly still. Her face scraped by thorns. A small trickle of blood ran down her cheek. Someone was watching as the Old Man hobbled back to his chair, and Caroline counted the seconds until it was smart to get up. To get the hell out of there.