Noise in the Shape of Writing

I recently saw the movie "Spanglish". I was dreading seeing it cause I had not heard any good reviews. All I knew was that it had a troubled production and that James L Brooks was not 100% happy about it. Also, Adam Sandler seemed to not like most of the photos from shoots they did. But still, it was the first poster I worked on at the new ad firm and I was anxious to break it in with a viewing.. no matter how bad it turned out to be.

It's damn good.
I loved it.

I had a similar reaction to it that I had to American Beauty... I was left in tears... partly due to the BIGTIME tearjerker storyline and ending (happy, not sad). But MOSTLY due to my awe over Brooks' filmmaking. I honestly get choked up over REALLY GOOD movie magic... cinematography, music, direction... editing. And of course writing.

Spanglish is about a family that just isn't hitting on all cyllinders. They weren't meant to be. But they are good people. They want things to work. But they are all too human. Paz Vega and daughter (forget the young actress' name) come into the picture and offer a sanity to Sandler's family life, but they also are all too human. The story is sweet and utterly real. At no point did I witness fakeness of characters except at those moments when the movie is lager than life -- as a movie should be. The dialogue is real... and when it isn't it is thoroughly in character nonetheless.

Sandler is wistful, comical and fun to hang out with.. you get the feeling that this is a character you could befriend. Funny, hip, but well-meaning even as he does really unwise things. fI you liked "Punch Drunk Love" you will appreciate Spanglish. That is for sure.

Tea Leoni is comical despite herself. I believe her character is supposed to be played that way, but I think a lot of people thought it was supposed to be serious. It can be interpreted either way. She looks utterly haggard as opposed to sexy. Some people I know think she simply has not aged well. I think it was intentional. And I think it is hot.

The daughter steals the show. She has this soliloquy that will knock your socks off. She is amazing, really. Very believable. And her character has to deal with some real cultural problems that are played well.

The mother is well played too, though she is the most "sterotyped" of the characters. And the daughter character in Sandler's family is nicely acted too.

Well, simply put, I recommend it highly. Unless you don't like tearjerkers and family pics. But if a cross between American Beauty, Punch Drunk Love and Story of Us sounds good to you... you need to see this movie.

I am getting the urge to do miniatures gaming again. I don't really want to use any standard rules system... probably some home brew rules like Red Rahm uses. My daughter is really interested in painting figurines now. If I can get her to do a few hundred then I will be set for a nice little battle scenario.

We've been visiting Games Workshop's Westminister location for several months now, off and on. I think they smell a sale. But $10 a figure? Sure it's metal, and it probably is worth 100 points in the system (some magical Skaven shaman or summat I bet), but give me a handful of cheap plastic ones any day.

I also want to construct a playing board... lots of lichen and glued-on sand and what not. By the time we are done with it we will probably be sick of miniatures, but it will be a fun process.

Heck, there's an entire section on eBay just for Ral Partha!

Now I can finally find out what "Elf Astride Dog-Like Creature, Sporting Blob of Die Cast Metal and Torn-Off Remnant of Badly Designed Accoutrement" really looks like up close.

Guinness is so smooth. Guinness is perhaps the lightest beer I have ever had the pleasure to drink (not calorie-wise, though... no sir).

Anyone who says otherwise (you ladies know who you are!) has clearly not drunk enough beer.

George bless the St. James Gate Brewery!

(He's good for nothing else --leastways running the country-- so why not use his name in benediction)

I think I'll have me one right now...

I know I am not doing as much creative writing (non-comedy) as I would like to. So starting now I am going to try to do as much fiction as I do "non". Bear with me...

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Price Modules were insidiously hard to remove with anything short of a bone saw and the one in his head was getting him seriously close to considering it again. What else could he do but bite down and run harder.

Every street Nick passed and every person he tore through at this breakneck pace was another incriminating bit of evidence on the pile, and by now every Center Agency in Cyan Wedge was building a decent case against him.

Two asian chicks wearing blue acrylic collars.

Nick logged the image unconsciously. He couldn't help it at this point.
Center Agency could go fuck themselves -- every one of them from Cyan Wedge all the way to White.

A dog.

Simple visuals seemed to stick the best. Better a dog than another street whore team. Price Modules could waste minutes trying to link up a dog to a street intersection. Seconds, or less for a known prostitution team.

Nick hoped for more dogs.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Yeah, I have a predilection for cyberpunk. For some reason it is the first style to jump into my head every time I say "Write a story, Pat! Quick!" Plus, I like starting in the middles of stories. There's a reason why this protagonist is here doing this now, and I know I am going to lose interest if I start with a backstory or any sort of introduction.

As for normal BLOG type stuff: Aaagh! Food is tempting me again! Free food! At least today I chose chinese chicken salad. And I somehow managed to only eat half of it (smaller meals! more often! I am trying, Aaron and MikeD... it's a start)

Also, someone finally broke the sanctity of my Hollywood rooftop asylum. Everyday I go to the roof of our building a couple times... it is the ONLY time I am ever away from my computer. And I knew the pile of cigarette butts was an indication that I was not the only one who knew about the roof access. Heck, there's even a weed pipe hidden on the tool bench in the elevator repair nook (along with the requisite babe photos that the mechanics store there). Now everytime I hear a crunch crunch from the ceiling I KNOW it is someone (bong boy!) invading my sanctuary.

If any of you have a high powered telescope and point it towards Sunset Blvd. and see someone stretching their legs or reading a Mac catalog on a rooftop, that's me.

Pat.

I am on day 1 of the third attempt at this season's diet. After 6 moths of vegetating at home with no regimen and 8 weeks of getting free food at work (and dutifully taking advantage of it), I am back to my half-assed attempts at weight control.

Jogging in place in front of the old Gamecube (Zelda Legend of the Windwaker can eat up a good half hour in no time), eating less, eating earlier and healthier. (Though it's till hard to resist the free cookies and pop tarts at work.)

Somehow, I tend to eat healthier when someone else is paying for it. At work, when lunch is on the company's dime, I order salads and veggie things. If it were my own expense, I'd be getting fried meaty potatoey things cause it feels like it's more of my money's worth. I dunno.. I've always felt that salads are overpriced and so I avoid buying them on my own.

The health thing is partially due to feeling better and partially due to being scared cause two of my best childhood friends just got nasty medical conditions totally out of the blue. One with a debilitating nerve/immune system disease the name of which I forget, and the other with a grapefruit sized infection in his small intestine that had to be removed. (I could even count another very good friend's late onset diabetes!)

I certainly don't lead a healthy lifestyle necessarily, what with all the beer. So it seems odd that these two gentlemen who have always seemed healthier than me should get sicker than I ever have been. (Then again, 2004 was the worst year I've had medically, too... a broken pinky!)

It gives me pause. Or, more appropriately, it amkes me want to enjoy life while I can.. and perhaps prolong it if possible.

Should I follow this Wheat Grass thread that's going around email lists recently? Should I do the antioxidant thing? I think I will stick to what I know works... exercise and eating smart... fewer carbs and sweets.. fewer late night meals. Maybe less salt ( I have returned to my old habits of inhaling salsa a jar at a time).

Plus I hear that this 8 hours of sleep a night thing is healthy after all. So maybe the late night blogging is not as healthy physically as it is mentally.

Anyway, if you're reading this... remember to take care of yourself and maybe contact some old childhood friends to see if they are doing well still. I'd hate to lose any of you!

I am going to try to write more. Sometimes I go through needlessly angsty Mondays knowing that if I don't write something (Monday evenings are the deadline for the weekly sketch show I write for), I will feel horrible about it the next day. I shouldn't feel that way. I should be anxious to write. (Super bonus angsty deterring factor is the promise I have that I will read every one of my friends' blogs (that I know of) each time I publish in my blog... and that can be quite time consuming!)

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Each day as I commute to work, I tend to take a pretty involuntary, subliminally rehearsed route. 5, 170, 101, Cahuenga, Sunset. I could (and do) very easily drift off into contemplation only to find that I am miles down the road, having miraculously steered in the correct direction for several turns and lights.

Part of my daily jaunt, however, had become the habitual avoidance of the crazy white lady.

Crazy white lady -- or person who staggers through all lanes of Sunset traffic knocking on car windows, for short -- is part of my routine. Get in left lane of Sunset westbound. Ignore banging on passenger window. Promise self it's okay to stiff the needy because I know I donate elsewhere.

Problem is, I don't. At least not yet. I made a deal that I would not feel bad about the needy for as long as I am needy myself.

Now I have a job. And it pays pretty good. (Though I'd trade it all for a season writing for the Daily Show, natch). Still, I hug the left lane of that boulevard from Cahuenga to Fairfax every morning... reflexively... like the way I duck my head as I step into the shower under the perilously low, head-bash-hungry, metal frame... the one I call Mr. Hurts-a-Lot.

The no-job thing worked to assuage the guilt for at least half a year.
The checks I sent to NOW and the ACLU worked for several years prior to that.
And the fact that my parents give at church worked for quite a number of years while I was in college.

Now I am back to having no excuse.
Today I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I knew work was going to spring for a free lunch. I had no excuse not to hand over the scrumptious delight on bread to crazy white lady.

And I was going to. I know I was... but she wasn't there.

Now I don't know if I was.

I do have a strong opinion about it all, though. I feel that being accosted when there is a perfectly good soup kitchen nearby -- probably within a few blocks of anywhere in L.A. -- is something I am justified in nipping in the bud. Also, why should I choose this person to sustain simply because they had the guts to ask? Aren't all the timid needy persons as worthy, if not *more* worthy?

It seems unfair.

Soon our company will be moving to Beverly Hills/Mid Wilshire-ish (a block from Kirsten again!) I will no longer drive past crazy white lady. I will be driving past crazy rich SUV bitch and bastard.

But I will still be eating PB&J.

And I will probably look lke crazy white boy to them.