Noise in the Shape of Writing

Answering the door to trick or treaters is not one of my favorite jobs. As odd as it may sound, I much prefer the task of walking door to door with my daughter, with all the attendant neighborly niceties and "remember to say thank you's." And it's not because I get to steal her candy, being her chaperone!

Well, I do, but I would get to do that whether or not I was chaperone.

The reason I hate the candy-givert role is twofold: One, if you don't wear a costume when you answer the door... they complain. And two, if you compliment *their* costumes and you get the name of the costume wrong, they cry.

I'd just plain dispense with the talking at the doorway entirely but the kids and the mothers (who designed the costumes) love it. I know that from all the times I have done the door to door thing.

Case in point, tonight I called a girl in a grey cloak with dark face paint a "ghost" and she went away saying "Mom, he called me a ghost! Jeez." She was uncategorically depressed from the incident involving the old man... me. And I don't even want to talk about how many teenagers called me "sir." That alone created some "age parity" inside me the likes of which I hadn't suffered in years.

***

In better news, however, I have added yet another movie to my top ten. I shudder to think of what poor movie was bumped from the "10" list, so let's assume there's room for many more.

"Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", which was penned by Charlie Kaufman of "Adaptation" and "Being John Malkovich" fame, achieved a rare "final stretch" coup. There are a handful of movies like this... ones where I have given up all hope of things being tied together nicely -- usually I assign a very low numerical percentage chance of pulling through -- and almost all of them fail as predicted. But "Spotless" is the first one ever to come from the back of the pack, so to speak, and slingshot into siblimeness.

It speaks to inescapable emotions we all feel... loneliness, inadequacy, jealousy, shyness, anger, love, craziness to name a few... and does so with heart. It also does so with little in the way of overbearing plot. It's like a P.T. Anderson movie with less wimsy and more stark bitterness. Jim Carrey plays seemingly against type as a withdrawn loser who falls in love for the first time. With little in the way of facial shannanigans and prat falls, Carrey has to rely instead on heartfelt portrayals. And he can do it. Kate Winslet is utterly convincing as a manic depressive, childish chick whose hair color changes almost with each day. Frodo is good too, managing to channel as much Sean Astin as is hobbitly possble. In fact I love the way the secondary characters have story arcs that get fleshed out and completed by the end of the movie. Shouldn't all films end that way? Well, as we all know, they don't.

Now, the film tanked in theaters cause -- I contend -- it was misrepresented. I saw it as a comedy, based on the trailers. I never got around to seeing it while it was on the big screen, but I think it didn't get great press cause people were startled by it's lack of fart jokes. It also starts confusingly and slowly. I was ready to throw in the towel after about 20 minutes. Michel Gondry's terseness and dry editing were offputting to say the least. But it eventually becomes fluid... it is the way Jim Carrey's character's mind is working when we meet him. We just don't know it yet. Once the plot begins to thick (and you have seen the trailer, so you know it's when he gets the "procedure" initialized), the pace of things gels in a good way.

Music by Jon Brion could have been a bit more bold, IMO. And some hand-holding for the audience's sake might have helped. But by and large, this is a wonderful movie -- by turns moving and sad.

Pat says "if you liked Magnoilia or Punch Drunk Love, but wished it had been shot by the guy who did 'Pi', then perhaps this is your movie." And if association with "Pi" is a turn off (it is for most), you should still see this movie cause I am most likely exaggerating. Honestly, it's quite good.

After all, it's in my top ten... or twelve.

Mind... brimming... with seething... white hot... anger.
101 interchange... miles... away.

Why is it that the lightest dusting of rain makes every damn person in L.A. drive like Aunt Isabel.
A proverbial Aunt Isabel, of course. Cause if I had a real Aunt Isabel I bet she would do at least 25 on the 170. I mean, seriously... my 50 minute commute has become a 90 minute commute.

***

And why does TV suck these days. What happened to X-Files? The Pretender? Lois & Clark?

All this season has to speak for itself is Smallville and *maybe* a West Wing episode or two. I remember when there were, like, 15 hours of decent programming on the tube. I had to tape 60% of it and never got around to a good deal of it. But it was good!

***

Wait... compulsion to fulfill rule of three... kicking in...
What else is bugging me today?

***

Hey! Nothing! Work's interesting. Family's healthy.

***

Okay, I lied. Rush Limbaugh makes me want to hit something with a billy club and my last 4 comedy sketches have gone unperformed. Grrrrrr.

Back to the white hot seething again.

Tell me if I am crazy... everyone knows the "John Johnson" song, right? You know: "My name is John Johnson, I come from Wisconsin." I figured it was ingrained in everyone's memory from childhood. Well, above a certain age anyway (an age which gets ridiculously higher with each year). I wrote a song parody in that style about the undecided vote and no one who read it (the director, many cast and writers) had heard of the original.

Is it just me? Tell me!

Anyway, here is the parody I wrote:

--------------------------------------

THE UNDECIDED MARCH
by Pat Mannion

INT – IOWEST STAGE — NIGHT

(SUNG TO THE TUNE OF “MY NAME IS JOHN JOHNSON”)


JOHN JOHNSON
My name is John Johnson.
I live in Wisconsin.
I work in a factory there.
Reporters I meet as I walk down the street say:
“Hey. Who are you voting for?”
And I say, Let me just wash off the blood and the cow guts caked onto my hands after 16 hours at the Madison County meat packing plant and then tell my kids I won’t be home for dinner and I’ll get right on that!

KATE KOMING
-- my name is Kate Koming.
I live in Wyoming.
I work at a preschool right there.
Reporters I meet as I walk down the street say:
“Hey. Who are you voting for?”
And I say, Somewhere between the utter inability of either candidate to speak on social issues that affect me while they harp again and again about who’s responsible for finding Osama – which means fuck-all to anyone living in Wyoming and, wait, I’ve forgotten who’s on the ballot --

BRAD BORLIN
-- My name is Brad Borlin.
I live in New Orleans.
I’m a fourth year at LSU state. Go Tigers!
Reporters I meet as I walk down the street say:
“Hey. Who are you voting for?”
And I say, Dude! Bud Light -- all the way. Though Bud is will probably make the spread. We are talking about the Bud Bowl, right? Hey, you’re hot! PARTY!

MARGE MANSING
-- My name is Marge Mansing.
I live in East Lansing.
I go to Saint Benedict’s there.
The reporters I meet as I walk down the street say:
“Hey. Who are you voting for?”
And I say, I have to wait until Sunday when Pastor Timothy is going to tell us who to vote for according to the Lord’s will. [aside] Do I really live in a “swing state”? That sounds so dirty!

KRIS KUNER
-- My name is Kris Kuner.
I live in Laguna.
I work at the Old Navy store.
Reporters I meet as I walk down the street say:
“Hey. Who are you voting for?”
And I say, Well, my parents didn’t vote. And neither are my friends. Plus there’s no point in voting in California, right? It’s a blue state. So, how cool are these Silver Capri Cargos, huh? I think I could wear them with my off-white Thermal V-neck --

MARGARITA
My name Margarita.
I live in Arleta.
I work at a strawberry farm.
Reporters I meet as I walk down the street say:
(using gestures) “WHO -- are YOU –el VOTE-O -- FOR??!”
And I think: I KNOW what you talking bout. I no have to speak English to know there is a stupido election this year. But if I vote, you will find out I am not here legally. Come on, I’m FOREIGN, not RETARDED.

MIKE MARTID
-- My name is Mike Martid.
And I am retarded.
I don’t know my right from my left.
Reporters I meet as I walk down the street –
Would be surprised to find that I am significantly more informed then most of them are. Plus, I can put on my own clothes and I know where babies come from… take THAT Sean Hannity.

BILL BRIGHTON
-- My name is Bill Brighton.
I’m still undecided.
I represent all of the rest.
Reporters agree: If it wasn’t for me
we could put this whole business to rest.

ALL
Reporters agree: If it wasn’t for me
we could put this whole business to rest.


BLACK OUT

I was all excited about achieving my Kevin Bacon Number of "3".
Then I realized that I have a William Shatner Number of "2".
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1722629/
My goal is to make that a "1" before I die.
That is all.

One of the perks of working at a Hollywood design firm is seeing things way ahead of time. For exampe, working on posters for movies that are only just now being shot.

Even as the world awaits the premiere of something, we are doing the home video release version of it. For example, Scott and Robert are anxious for the upcoming world premiere of the Farscape miniseries while at the same time I am busy putting together the packaging for the DVD. The packaging contains lines like "well-received" and "amazingly popular miniseries". As if these things are guaranteed! (Maybe they are... I don't watch the show.)

I guess these things need to be rolling way ahead of time, but it still seems rather disingenuous.

The other weird thing I have found is that the studios often parcel out their poster duties to design firms WITHOUT any taglines or subtitles. That means that art directors are coming up with taglines for movies! Imagine a studio sending out a request for artwork for the original Alien movie... "Yeah, We need some posters, and we really don't have anything besides the movie title. If you have a spare moment, give us something like 'Alien... In space, noone wants to miss a great, scary alien movie.' But make it better."

I could learn to like this job.

"Star Wars 3 - I Have No Deodorant And I Must Wait In Line"
"Superman vs Batman - Sometimes even no-name actors get to wear tights"
"The Hobbit - A little carpet fuzz goes a long way"

Do I have a knack for this or what?
(Don't say "Or what"!)

After my Zen interview over a week ago, I got a call asking me to come in and do some freelance work there to see how I liked the place. In fact, I spent all of last week there and now I know why graphic designers have bags under their eyes and a pale albino look to make Brent Spiner jealous.

Offices are dark, bordering on pitch black. Hours are late... like 10-7, and OFTEN much later. Work is nonstop -- I didn't have time for a full lunch Mon or Tues, and by Thurs and Fri there wasn't time for even a few minutes of rest, let alone a break.

On the plus side, there is unlimited Coca Cola, Oreo cookies and Goldfish crackers. They know how to get me where it counts! Clearly they want their designers to stay awake and wired. And I know how fish-shaped cheesy morsels get me in a creative mood...

And often creativity comes in the form of naked pictures of actors. Apparently in order to make a really good poster of a scantily clad hot chick, you have to take hundreds of pictures of her half naked. That is for the artists to get a good idea of how to draw her with clothes half on. Unfortunately, if the movie also calls for Rob Schneider's ass to be seen, then there has to be a certain number of naked photos of Rob Schneider. And the worst part is you never know which you will be looking at until it is too late.

Another interesting item of note is the fact that my office overlooks the corner of Sunset and Spaulding -- probably one of the busiest prostitute hangouts in the city. There is ALWAYS someone (girls AND girls with Adams Apples) on the corner, and they usually get picked up within a few minutes. Plus, the pimps don't even try to be subtle. You cen tell them by their cars and their odd driving habit of coming by every hour or so, parking in the red and using a payphone.

All in all, between the having no time to think and the constant excitement happening outside my window, at least I wont be bored.

Went to a cool bar near Los Feliz called "4100". It's near the very east end of Santa Monica Blvd. where it hits Sunset. It has a sort of arabian look inside with curvaceous Moroccan doorways and velvety fabric on nearly every ceiling and wall. Prices are decent ($5 as opposed to $6 at many Hollywood bars) and there are quite a few taps with Newkie, Guiness, and several other great beers). The crowd is mainly a sort of nerdy end of the trendy scene with mostly guys looking to score on girls. Place is crammed, but I kinda liked it. Bartenders were nice to the patrons and very attentive. Music plays constantly and is quite good but also trendy. I think I will go back sometime.

Took in a showing of Big News at the 24th Street Theater south of downtown, near Vermont and 24th. Kinda scary neighborhood... not far from USC, but also not far from the edge of gangland. Very nice venue for a play or sketch show. Industrial feel inside. $5 comedy at midnight on weekends. It was nice seeing our material on a different stage than it is ont he other 51 Thursdays of the year. Seemed like a hip area of town, as far as south-of-the-10 Freeway places go. It's sort of to USC what Westwood is to UCLA, as far as I could tell. Too bad I had just finished reading the Daily News' weeklong series of articles on how gangs have taken over much of L.A. Now that I know where the Rollin Rich Neighborhood 60s Crips and the Eastside Crazy 18 Swan Bloods gangs' territories are, I don't feel like going south of the 10 at all. (Watch out, Brian and Amy, you are about a block and a half away from the Rollin 60s' turf... seriously! And they are supposedly the WORST out there.)

Attended my 20 year high school reunion meeting on Wednesday and, assuming we can get anyone to go to the thing, it might just end up being a decent affair. Also, it turns out I was having far too little sex in high school (read: none) compared to others. What was I doing wrong? I wasn't literally calling girls up and saying "I have a crush on you. Want to make out tonight somewhere?" How did I not realize it was as easy as that all along! And it wasn't cause no one noticed me cause I was apparently quite well-noticed among the gals back then... even amongst the supposedly out-of-reach, hip, school council types. No one ever told me!

Oh, the wasted hours playing D&D in the back of study hall.

Pat.