Awkwardly Social

I saw Farenheit 9/11 last night. There isn’t really anything to say that hasn’t already been said abou this film. I am a huge fan of Michael Moore, and I think he is an incredible filmmaker. The use of footage, the voice over, the skill with which he draws conclusions, seriously… this man is amazing. During the scenes where he tries to talk to Congressmen about enlisting their children in the Armed Services, I was thinking, “How the fuck does this man have the balls?” He just does. He has no sense of worry about what elected officials might think. It is to be admired and commended.

On an entirely different note, this director, Efram Potelle, lives in my neighborhood. The first time I saw him, I thought, hey, that guy looks familiar he must go to USC. I almost went, “Hey! Are you in 508?” No. He was on tv, with my boyfriend Chris Moore. That’s why I recognized him. Today, I was rushing out of the house to get to work and nearly ran into him. Why can’t someone like Michael Moore or Alfonso Cuaron live on my block? Why?

So I was among the many Americans during the 80 something Olympics (or was it 90-something, whatever) who kind of hated Bryant Gumbel. He was all serious and pretentious and the spots on the athletes were kind of maudlin (he is a great athlete because his sister has cancer, his father is dead and his mother beat him). But watching “Real Sports with Bryant Gumbel” today made me kind of miss him announcing and sports punditing (I know, that’s not a word, blah, blah, blah). There is something familiar and soothing about his voice, probably because it reminds me of the days in Minneapolis in our 7 Corners apartment watching the Today Show and eating cinnamon and sugar toast. And Real Sports is a really great show. Every time I watch it I cry. Today they were talking about the Iraqi soccer team and how the team and coaches were tortured when they made mistakes or didn’t win, and now they’ve qualified for the Olympics and I was just a fountain of tears. So anyway, I guess I’m pretty excited about the Olympics, my favorite summer sports are always women’s gymnastics, track and field (how do they jump so high?) and diving, in that order. I love watching men’s swimming, but that’s mostly because the men all look so damn good in their speedos, shaking their legs and swinging their arms in strange rituals of warming up. Have a lazy Sunday!

Yeah. I’m at the beach. We’re sitting on the porch watching the dophins swim around. The pelicans are dive bombing fish. And script work is being done. It’s, as my old friend Marth would say, “A good thing.”

The kids next door are smoking weed, and probably thinking, “What squares.”

I do not miss LA on days like this.

In lieu of an ugly tie, I have written this to my dad for Father’s Day.

To my dad:

You taught me how to read, giving me the ability to go anywhere and see anything just by opening the pages of a book.

You encouraged me to pursue my dreams even though you never understood what a girl like me was doing in 4-H.

You paid my ‘for emergencies only’ credit card bills when I was in college, because you know what an emergency a great top at Express and a pizza at midnight really are.

You bought me a pony. After having me ask only 4 billion times.

You moved me back from Minnesota, when I had no good reason to leave, except it was cold and I missed the desert.

You have answered my tearful phone calls every time and didn’t tell me I was over-reacting.

You taught me how to jump a car.

You survived the ‘difficult’ phase that lasted longer than any teenager/20 year old has had.

You made me the woman I am today, just by being a good dad.

Thanks.

Woo boy, hangover this morning. I passed out on the couch last night after eating Del Taco. Yeah. It was good. Then I stumbled to bed at 6am, still drunk. Mm-hmmm. Head spinning, mouth tasting like garbage. Not a good morning for little old Miss Let’s Tie One On Tonight. I don’t think those words will be uttered again any time soon.

The best part was me on Vodka Cranberry number one saying, I don’t think there’s vodka in this. I’ll tell the bartender to make the next one stronger. Smart. Really smart. Here’s another thing, giving out your phone number to the ugliest man in the bar because he called you beautiful, will only make your friends laugh at you hysterically. Laugh in your drunk, but pretty, face. Oh and how about getting groped by the only person in the bar drunker than you, and not having male friend take care of it. The DP is way too nice. I tried to summon angry drunk girl (she’s a drunk girl that lives inside of me, only comes out every so often now, she used to be the lead drunk girl, now she’s been replaced), but it came out as sort of a laughy ha-ha, get away from me kind of yelling that no one took seriously. Until the cursing started then I was gently guided away to the waiting car. Ah yes. Gently guided away.

Then last night I had a dream that Margaret Cho and my mom were housesitting for me up in the mountains, and I was going up to relieve them, but they had like trashed the house, let the dogs run wild and were all, oh, oh well. Irresponsilbe Margaret Cho influencing my mother like that. Shame on you.

There are pictures. I’m not sure I can share any of them. I’m pretty hammered in all of them. Dear lord, it’s not pretty. Has anyone seen my shame? I seem to have lost it. Let me know if you catch it running around out there, it would be nice to get it back.

And corrections: Cry for help blogging is a concept created by Cats not Ands. Ands clearly stole it and didn’t give her credit. Sorry Cats!

So, I had my first interview today with a tiny production company. It started off poorly with me being late. My clock said I was right on time. Oops. Then it went sort of down hill from there. It was fine, I gave answers to questions that if I had thought about more, would have tailored more for their company. They are focused on horror, thriller, and drama. Me, I’m a romantic comedy, sci-fi, action kind of girl. I did score points for having an insatiable love of Real World/Road Rules Challenge. He is a junkie as well.

Now I know better how to prepare for these things. It’s going to be a lot easier next time.

UPDATE:
He e-mailed me and wants me to cover a script to see more of my ’sensibility’. He likes that word and I don’t blame him. It’s a great word. So is gauche (I have no idea how to spell it, but Elliot used it at dinner last night when I wanted ketchup for my fancy onion rings. We had a short debate on whether or not the restaurant would even have ketchup. I thought they must, but we were so drunk we never remembered to ask for it. I like having restaurants in walking distance. It fits my gauche sensibility.)

Everyone in LA is in the ‘business’. There is no way around it. If they aren’t in the business, they have written a screenplay, been in a play, tried stand up, or went to film school only to find out that they can never be in the business. This includes firemen, paramedics, doctors, and lawyers. (On set in Compton two summers ago, we shamelessly flirted with a hot Hot HOT paramedic who was trying to get his acting career going. My television screenwriting professor was an M.D. who wrote the Emmy award winning episode where Dr. Green kills the mother but saves the baby. Firemen are hot and on calendars. I don’t know any lawyers.)

Everyone I met in NYC were funny talented interesting people who have no desire to work in the business. This makes them all the more interesting and attractive to me. After introducing myself to one hot Hot HOT man in a bar he asked where I was from and what I did. I told him I was unemployed from LA. He said he was in advertising. I love that answer. Not I’m in advertising and I’ve written a screenplay that just lost it’s option, but I’m in advertising. Period. Here’s another answer. “I develop software.” Not I develop software while in my off time I audition for student films in the hopes that I will some day be discovered so that I don’t have to develop software anymore.

Listen, I love my friends. We are all in the business. We are all trying and struggling to make something happen with the talent and skill that we were blessed with and educated into, but sometimes you just want to meet someone who doesn’t care where you’re represented. Someone who thinks living in LA is nice, but just not for them. I have to live in LA for at least the next couple of years. I am OK with that, but it is great to go on vacation and meet people who don’t understand what a producer does and have never had their headshot taken.

So we’re back. I have seen more of the inside hallways of the Empire State building than one should. I am the retard that suggested the tourist trip for the day. Yeah. Empire State Building on a Saturday in the summer, not a good idea. By the time we got to the top all of us were ready to kill the smelly ass bastards smashed in with us on the 87th floor. We did not. I did almost push someone down the stairs (on purpose) but managed to control my rage by thinking, they don’t deserve to feel my lovely touch, even if it is a touch of anger.

Tiffany’s. My first time. I bought something. I will be wearing it often. I will not regret this purchase.

H&M. We West Coasters have no idea what good shopping is. Three stories of cheap clothes, Justin Timberlake blaring on the radio, yeah, New York is good.

Rockefeller Center. Meh. I’ve been there before. It’s nice.

Then we got ’slam pigged’ at K’s house. ‘Slam Pig’ is a technical term for getting your whore on. We went out to dinner, denied at Schiller’s (apparently the place is popular) then had an amazing find called Essex. Great food. The tartar sampler plate, yummy (I didn’t eat the steak), chocolate martini (I’m drunk just thinking about it). Off to Red Sky (K’s friend was bartending there) and I found the crowd to be much like the West LA crowds I hate so much. Our night was finished off at Iggy’s on the UES. Karaoke. Then back to Weehawken. On the way back to Jers, we had to take a bus. The 4am bus. The 4am bus with the drunken Jersey boys and the bus driver that tried to cop a feel and kissed me on the neck. Gross. Picture this, the bus can’t leave until it’s full. Three seats are empty. Drunken Jersey boy stands up in the back and screams in a heavy Jersey brogue, “Drive the fucking bus. Do your job. Drive the fucking bus to New Jersey.” Awesome, right? Then another drunken Jersey guy decides to stick up for the bus driver (who had already tried to feel up Allie and kissed me on the neck) and a near fist fight ensues. The front three rows of the bus are hysterically laughing. Now, all I can think of when I think of New Jersey is, “Do your job. Drive the fucking bus to New Jersey.”

Sunday we spent in the Bronx. I love the Bronx. We saw a Yankee game, left before as the radio announcer called it, “Unbelievable! The most exciting comeback since 1982 when (insert names here) came back to win against (insert name here).” In the Little Italy of the Bronx we heard it throughout the restaurant. Unbelievable! We walked around a street fair in the Bronx, and watched what was quite possibly the worst cover band in the history of cover bands.

We left this morning. Zanax made the flight beautiful and I now sit back in my living room as if I had never left. I kind of can’t wait to go back to NYC.

It’s Friday morning! Well actually we are in New Jersey, but I can see New York!

Got in yesterday evening, took the subway to Grand Central, it’s so pretty. Went to somewhere from the Bleeker street stop off the six (I actually have no idea if we were on the six, I just like to say stuff) and ate at Sala. If you guys from New York like tapas and sangria, this is the place for you. I recommend the goat cheese and the calimari.

Off to get coffee and a bagel.

So we leave tomorrow morning for the hustle and bustle. I’m pretty excited, having been there only briefly on a layover. We have tickets for a Yankee game. Yeah. I don’t like baseball that much, but I do like events where drinking is involved so I’ll make do. We have a dinner planned with Bob. Everyone Allie has ever known is going to be in New York so we plan a night of debauchery (that one’s for you Newly) and I think we’ll probably see Mr. T at some point. Still need to plan something with Sarah, hopefully we can meet her.

I’m bringing my computer so hopefully we’ll update from the road. I can’t wait to eat a slice of New York Pizza, see Times Square, and ride the subway. I love pizza, lights and public transportaion.