I’ve had a tired grey heap parked in my driveway for so long I’ve lost track — at least a year and a half, maybe more. This tired grey heap is my beloved 1985 FJ60 Land Cruiser, which had fallen on some hard times.
I love this truck. It carried me and Steve into the desert on our quest to hang up the Mojave Phone Booth, then brought us back again when we went Back to The Booth. It has carried me and Zoe around our block more times than I can count, because Zoe loves to ride in the back eating Nutter Butters at 10 miles per hour. I’ve used it as a portable offroad light source when shooting a short movie with my brothers. I eschew the driveway when exiting the local Ralph’s parking lot, choosing instead to drive over the parking chocks, across the sidewalk, and off the curb. I love this truck.
But it’s had some problems. I beat the snot out of the transmission on the way back from Back to the Booth by leaving it in 4×4 on the freeway. The timing chain stripped the gears a few years ago, paralyzing it for a few days. The power steering pump spewed fluid all over the engine. It’s had problems that have been expensive to fix, but I’ve fixed them. I love this truck.
But then the State of California and a squeaky wheel laid it low. It failed its smog test and was certified as a gross polluter and I couldn’t register it. And then California started a new policy of impounding unregistered vehicles on the spot. And then I started hearing a scary noise coming from the right front wheel. So I parked it. I didn’t want to run the risk of A) having a wheel bearing go out at 80 mph, and B) getting pulled over for expired registration, and C) having it impounded, and thus D) being screwed. So I parked it in my driveway at least a year and a half ago, and there it has stood ever since.
But now it’s back, back on the road again. Santa Claus brought me a big stack of money for Christmas and I just spent a sizeable chunk of that fortune at my local Land Cruiser specialist bringing it back to life. I could have just about bought a new car for what I spent on my Cruiser, but then I would have just had a crappy car instead of my beloved Cruiser.
I love this truck. It’s big and fugly and noisy and busts kidneys and guzzles a fortune in gas and it’ll drive over every fucking thing on the road and I love it. I’m glad to have her back.
You know, the really sad thing about the whole Janet Jackson Superbowl Boobie debacle is that the very first time Michael sees a real live naked female breast, it’s his sister’s.
Well, I got out of Colorado ahead of the flu, then ran smack into it here in L.A. I’m sick. Wah.
(I know, I know — not much of an entry. But come on, I had to post something to push that Shemales quiz further down the page.)
This movie ROCKED!!! I loved it!
This is the ultimate anti-Christmas movie, so if you’re someone who likes visions of sugarplums and Cindy Lou Who, well this movie ain’t gonna be for you. Billy Bob Thornton is an alcoholic safe-cracking womanizing foul-mouthed bitter Santa, and this is a movie that puts him in bad situations that proceed to get even worse.
My favorite scene, the one that had me gasping for air because I was laughing so hard, had Santa, the latchkey kid he’s taking advantage of, and his dwarf accomplice sparring in a boxing ring, everyone kicking everyone in the nuts, and then writhing in pain on the mat. Fun-ny, let me tell you.
This is a movie where Santa feels he’s experienced personal growth because he beat up a kid. Where, when he’s opened his heart and tries to give the kid the present he’s been asking for, the police gun him down on the kid’s doorstep and the present is soaked with blood. Where Santa’s girlfriend screams “Fuck me, Santa!” while they’re screwing in his car in the mall parking lot and he later introduces her to the kid as “Mrs. Clause’s sister.”
Beyond being funny, what I really liked about this movie was its refusal to compromise. It had a dark, bitter tone that it maintained even as the characters “grew.” I kept waiting for it to get cheesy and schmaltzy but it never did, even when it sort of did.
I may have to see it again.
I just sent my Everybody Loves Raymond spec out into the world, so everybody keep your fingers crossed for me, okay?
Zoe goes to school with the children of one of the producers of Will and Grace, and she (the producer, not Zoe) read an old draft of this script for me awhile back. She said she liked it, it was funny and made her laugh out loud, gave me some notes to punch it up, and said she could use it to introduce me to “the guys.” I’ve finally rewritten it and Beth delivered it to her when she saw her at school this morning. I’ve done all I can, now it’s just a matter of holding my breath and waiting.
This is pretty much my last shot at writing for TV. At 41 I’m “too old” and the whole meshugass with my old agent and various soul-sucking life situations have made me too tired to keep pursuing it. This woman is my last, best shot at breaking in, and it’s going to take more than my talent to make it happen — she’s going to have to want to help me … and then have the clout to make it happen.
It’s a long shot. But it’s a shot, at least.
A month ago I posted an entry looking for my old college pal Derek. Well, I found him, as well as Larry and Dina, two other friends from my college newspaper days, and we all got together Sunday night. Nineteen (!) years melted away in a heartbeat when I walked into the restaurant and saw them, and I was suddenly right back in 1984 and twenty-two years old again.
Derek and Larry were my two best friends in the world and my time with them overshadows any friendships I’ve had since. They were the major players in one of the most intense and fondly-remembered periods of my life and they helped form who I am today.
But things didn’t end well with us. This most fondly-remembered time is also one of my most painful and fractured memories. At the end, I felt betrayed and disrespected and cast aside. The newsroom that had essentially been our clubhouse and my home away from home … suddenly wasn’t home anymore. And the people I loved best had done it to me — and didn’t care. It took me a long time to come back from that. I think there’s a part of me that still hasn’t.
Seeing them, being with them, spending the evening with them was wonderful and weird. It was great to talk and laugh and hang out with them again, but it was also bittersweet because of my conflicting emotions. I was so glad to see them all again, but it woke long-forgotten memories and pain. There are wounds yet unhealed that will never be healed, and that tempered the joy at seeing them.
I’ve missed these guys more than I knew and I’m surprised at the strength of my emotions now that we’re back in touch again. I’m glad and I’m sad, all at the same time. Even now, as I write these words, I’m on the verge of tears and I don’t know why.
People piss me off. My latest anti-humanity bitch is courtesy of the email I just received in response to my craigslist posting looking for tickets to see Seal at the Wiltern next week. It’s Beth’s birthday, she likes Seal; I figured I’d put it out there and see what turned up.
Numbnuts responded: Hello. I have a pair on the 18th location is FLOOR 3 Row J, and a pair on the 19th located FLOOR GA. Please call if interested or for more info at 310-XXX-XXXX. Thanks, Numbnuts.
Great, he has a pair of tickets. They sound like decent seats and they’re for my preferred night. I wonder how much he wants for them? Gosh, I don’t know because he didn’t bother including that minor bit of information. And I’m not gonna call to find out because I already know from his email that he’s going to be too painfully stupid to talk to.
He’s probably the same guy who advertises apartment rentals with square footage, amenities, number of BR and BA, pets allowed and 1st MONTH FREE … but doesn’t bother telling how much the freakin’ rent is. Also, he’s probably selling his car with a sign in the window listing the year, model and maybe even mileage … but, again, no price.
People annoy me. My price for that information? Free.
We’ve got a film crew camped out all around us, shooting a something-or-other at the house behind us. The Notification of Filming the production company sent out describes the action as: “Interior, exterior dialogue. Driving scenes. Domestic fight scene. Police activity. Emergency vehicles with flashing lights. Cameras & equipment on sidewalk, in curblane & across street.” Sounds like, well, half the shows I worked on when I was in the business.
The dressing rooms and honeywagon are parked along the side of the backyard and the grip truck is right outside my bedroom window. Ah, memories. The grip truck. My home away from home in my film crew days. I’ve been out of production for six or seven years now but I still miss it sometimes. It was long, hard, brutal work sometimes, but it was also a lot of fun. If I were single I’d probably still be doing it.
So anyway, we’ve got film crew running around all over the place. I did a slow drive-by a little while ago to scope out the production and see if I knew anyone from back in the day but there were no familiar faces.
I have to admit to a little curiousity about just what they’re shooting, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to ask. That’s the thing about working on the set — there’s always a cordon of looky-loos watching every move, whispering among themselves, jostling for the best viewing positions, flagging down anyone who comes near to ask “What are you filming? Who’s in it? Where’s (star name)’s trailer?” Etc. They never get the truth, at least not from me.
“Diaper commercial” was my stock answer. We’d be resetting for a fight scene where a stuntman had just been thrown through the front window of a tattoo parlor and started brawling on the sidewalk, police cars and fire trucks all around with lights flashing, helicopter circling above, SWAT teams hunkered down behind parked cars … and some doughy tourist from Ohio would ask “Are you making a movie?” Nope, I’d say, diaper commercial. And then I’d get back to flying a mambo-combo, producer, and a 4-by floppy in to the set.
Sigh… I miss gripology.
