june 24, 2004

duly noted

I've been getting a few concerned emails and AIMs from folks who read my blog. The concensus is that I'm:
a) bored
b) depressed
c) feeling sorry for myself instead of finishing my novel
d) listening to too much Joy Division and Coil
e) a whiner

Nah. I'm fine...(well, maybe a little bit of the last 3 choices.) Just a bit introspective lately. That's all. It's easy to sink into a pit of inky nostalgia. Think of all that could have been... ponder the blatant impossibilites. Blah Blah Blah. You get the idea.

At work today my boss handed me two new Master Replica lightsabers to review on the starwars.com. Funny thing is, in the whole time I've been working at Lucasfilm, I never bothered to pick one up or even look at one. With all the gloom and doom meanderings twisting in my brain recently, I figured now was as good a time as any to hang up the bad mood.

I reverted into this dorky Star Wars Kid type as soon as I picked up the saber and turned it on. It became rather obvious that it was one of the coolest toys I've ever laid my hands on. Not surprisingly, my coworkers played with them too and the whole place ended up sounding just like I always imagined my office at Lucasfilm would eventually become -- nothing but sounds of the wooing and humming of lightsabers in action. Of course, Mousy was the only one in the room with any legit Jedi abilities, but I still waved the thing around like a complete freak. All that was missing was Yoda walking in and telling us to knock it off and get back to work.

Later when I came home, I decided to tune my guitar for the first time in months. Once your Les Paul starts collecting dust, you know you've hit rock bottom. It was nice to play again. I missed it more than I thought I would. I'm thinking about buying a cheap keyboard to get back to playing piano again. I took it for a few years as a kid and ended up thinking it was cooler to take guitar lessons, so I changed instruments and never looked back. Granted, my guitar playing is..shall we say "experimental" at best? But lately I've been interested in re-learning piano so when I visit people's houses and they happen to have a baby grand in the corner, I can play something besides the Peanuts theme song. I can still read music, so at least that's something, right?

I also RSVPed to attend the press screening of Garden State next Wed. The writer/director/actor of the film, Zach Braff will be there for a Q&A, so I'm looking forward to hearing his take on what it was like to direct his own screenplay. After finishing my screenplay last year, I've been intrigued with the followthrough with that process. Granted, I'm not headed to Tinseltown anytime soon. The only time I go to LA is when I need a Zanku Chicken fix or if I'm invited to a wedding/recordreleaseparty/convention. Lately I've been too heartbroken to even think about going back there since Hollywood Lanes was closed. The Dude can no longer abide....apparently. Regardless, it will be an interesting event...and it's here in San Fran and not LA.

If you haven't seen the trailer for Garden State, I suggest you go here.

And if you want to know more backstory of the movie, check out this Sundance channel video called "Anatomy of a Scene: Garden State."


june 23, 2004

hardy har har

So I went to a comedy club in North Beach called The Purple Onion tonight with my pals Erin and Dave. I don't normally go to comedy clubs, mostly because they remind me of watching a drunk friend with low self-esteem issues at a party try to be funny to impress a girl. It's like open mic night without the clove ciggies and the bad Goth poetry. But I went tonight because I wanted to spend some time with my pals, and have a social excuse to leave work earlier than 7 pm.

I figured I'd have one of those evenings where you sit and politely laugh at jokes about Pres. Bush, Britney and race relations. Actually, it was a pretty funny evening with political satirist Will Durst (the kind of guy my Republican dad would probably hate). However the awkward highlight of the evening was a comedian before him. As part of his joke routine he asked if there were any single people in the audience, and little did I know as I raised my hand, that I would be the only hand raised. Which of course got a round of laughs.

To tell you the truth, I didn't mind. I looked around the audience and saw plenty of married types, and they looked kind of glazed over with that conflicting mixture of smugness and envy. But I did feel like a circus freak. I mean, how in the hell can I be the only single person at a comedy club?! I guess I now know where to go if I want to flirt with boring married guys.

Regardless of my triumphant single hand waving, it was an entertaining evening.

Best unPC joke of the evening:

"I don't believe in cuddling after sex. I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy.
I just like to put the dead hooker in the the trunk, and push the car off a cliff."


june 22, 2004

flicking the on/off switch

Everything seems fake to me lately. I don't know how but sincerity seems to have slipped the scene. Perhaps it's my current lack of a real connection. And then I wonder if I blew out my emotional speakers and simply forgot. Instead of resonating with an impressive bass thump, they just buzz annoyingly to the beat. And I can't bother repairing them. I just allow them to rattle and hiss, destorting any sort of pleasing sound into noise.

Or maybe it's just loneliness settling in as it tends to do after awhile. Regardless, I feel like I'm drifting....not really in touch with anything real. My entertainment revolves around lowest common denominator TV and movies. Memories are pre-packaged vingettes tinged with re-released dialogue that may or may not have even reached my ears properly. My thoughts might as well be stored in ziplock baggies.

Relationships sometimes feel rehearsed...like I'm playing the part of someone I barely remember. But I don't really know my friends...their fears, their passions, their anything. I can't tell you any of their worst humiliating moments, or the last time they cried, or laughed until they cried. I want to. But then I realize that maybe I just want to observe, and not really play with the rest of the team. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm just not feeling anything.

I can't decipher if I'm procrastinating a life or simply bumping into blunt objects that come into focus a few moments too late. But I can tell you that I'm wasting time. In the last year I could have accomplished so much more. Instead of working towards whatever means to an end, I sit here waiting for some sort of sign...or vision. And all I hear are broken speakers hissing and popping into nothing.

I really need to get those fixed.

june 2, 2004

bonnie likes imaginary men best of all...

I'm almost done with the book. Paranormal murders. The bizarre characters. And of course plot twists galore. The only parts I'm having trouble with are the love scenes. I listen to "The Great Below" and "Gone, Still" over and over for inspiration. So far The Fragile has been perfect for all the other chapters. But this last bit is nearly impossible. A lycanth seduction scene isn't easy to write without sounding like bad Goth poetry. I don't know how many times I've rewritten the same scenes over and over in my mind. I can see it, I just can't describe it. It has to be more than just the obvious. And I sure as hell can't have it be the usual bodice ripper banter. Plus it's not even about the sex that makes it unique...that makes your hair stand up on end. It's something stronger in the tension primal and surreal at the same time.

It's not like I have a lot to draw on from real life at the moment. Dating right now sounds about as appealing as learning how to swim with sharks. I'm just not up to the challenge. Sure, there's been a few guys interested, but I'm not. To tell you the truth, with my track record, I think dating a lycanth doesn't sound so bad. Yeah, I know how bad that sounds.

Seriously, writing this book has been the best distraction. I've managed to make the characters so believable that they've invaded my reality without much trouble. I find myself saying lines that would better suit Jack, or Angeline. I look at people closer to see if they aren't really something else. Even when I drive by the park, I can't help but glance into the trees for a brief second wondering if something more lurks beyond the gates. Yup, I've officially lost it.

I think the worst part is Jack. He's made up completely, but I've fallen in love with him in a way. He's become my surrogate boyfriend. The kind who's only around when I need a distraction. I suppose it's the same sensation of believing in an imaginary friend as a child. I hear him whisper in my ear as I write the book. And his words barely bounce around in my head before I see them staring back at me on the computer screen. He's writing this book more than I am. And if this book isn't damn amazing, we're so breaking up.

I take a medium in straightjackets, by the way.


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