Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
There was so much pretending going on...
I really feel that one of the most significant relationships of my life is coming to an end.
Perhaps it was gradual, but it feels sudden.
I don't know what it's going to be like to go from feeling like I've always had a partner, to being completely alone, but I have to prepare for it, because it's happening.
I feel it slipping away.
I'm not really sure what I did or why it's happening, but it is.
And I, the person who takes a shot at herself whenever she can, can't say that I deserve it.
But I also can't say that this person ever deserved me.
To hell with it.
Perhaps it was gradual, but it feels sudden.
I don't know what it's going to be like to go from feeling like I've always had a partner, to being completely alone, but I have to prepare for it, because it's happening.
I feel it slipping away.
I'm not really sure what I did or why it's happening, but it is.
And I, the person who takes a shot at herself whenever she can, can't say that I deserve it.
But I also can't say that this person ever deserved me.
To hell with it.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
'I ain't no good at this...'
'I ain't no good at this at all.
And even if you are good at it...what exactly are you good at?'
I've never suffered from writer's block.
There's never been a time when once sentence couldn't be followed by another, a time when I don't know what comes next.
To me, what's really difficult is keeping what comes after that out...keeping it out until it's time.
I've never thought of myself as a person who is unable to focus on details.
I always thought I noticed things that were important and some things that were not.
However, I'm starting to wonder if for me, important details are not sometimes snuffed out by the big picture.
I see the end before anything else.
I always have.
To me, there is nothing more important than the way something ends.
The path only leads you to where you end up, to the purpose, to the theme...to the truth.
To me that's what makes a story different from life...the ability to see the end and derive meaning from it.
I think that's what makes living hard for me and probably for most people.
We see where we want to end up, but we can't see the path, nor can we see where we really will end up. Getting there would be so different if we only knew where we were headed.
I kind of wish it were as easy as using Matrix-like technology.
I'd flutter my eyelashes and the whole would spill onto the page in the proper order, that it would make sense and allow others to see what I see.
But it doesn't work that way.
It's about execution and it's difficult to execute order in a jumbled storm of ideas, one bleeding constantly into the next.
"Are you like a crazy person?"
Why yes, I am.
No matter how I do it, whether through writing or by some other means, I just want to make people think, feel, and understand.
And even if you are good at it...what exactly are you good at?'
I've never suffered from writer's block.
There's never been a time when once sentence couldn't be followed by another, a time when I don't know what comes next.
To me, what's really difficult is keeping what comes after that out...keeping it out until it's time.
I've never thought of myself as a person who is unable to focus on details.
I always thought I noticed things that were important and some things that were not.
However, I'm starting to wonder if for me, important details are not sometimes snuffed out by the big picture.
I see the end before anything else.
I always have.
To me, there is nothing more important than the way something ends.
The path only leads you to where you end up, to the purpose, to the theme...to the truth.
To me that's what makes a story different from life...the ability to see the end and derive meaning from it.
I think that's what makes living hard for me and probably for most people.
We see where we want to end up, but we can't see the path, nor can we see where we really will end up. Getting there would be so different if we only knew where we were headed.
I kind of wish it were as easy as using Matrix-like technology.
I'd flutter my eyelashes and the whole would spill onto the page in the proper order, that it would make sense and allow others to see what I see.
But it doesn't work that way.
It's about execution and it's difficult to execute order in a jumbled storm of ideas, one bleeding constantly into the next.
"Are you like a crazy person?"
Why yes, I am.
No matter how I do it, whether through writing or by some other means, I just want to make people think, feel, and understand.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Write what you know. Write what you know. Write what you know...
Physical abuse, rape, murder, grief, lust, love, suicide...
I've written about all of these things, but do I really know anything about them?
Not really.
I wouldn't call myself a person who is not easily inspire and last night, I experienced a flash of inspiration, something that convinced me to change the way I was doing things.
I finished the first chapter of my novel and I am now writing "what I know," for the first time in my life.
Yes, a more extreme version of what I know, because it wouldn't be interesting otherwise, but what I know just the same.
I was worried about the way I was executing it in the beginning, but I think it's coming together in a way I like now. I'm not sure if a unique quality is good or bad in this case, but I have a good feeling about this one.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
^ This is the imaginary line of songdom.
No one reads these blogs, in part because I have never promoted them. I thought I would start, but knowing that so many people around me hate my songs and poems, and they should, I thought I'd create an imaginary line of song/poemdom, so if they want to stop reading, they can.
Okay...new one.
Written about five seconds ago.
I can’t read your mind
I wish I could
It’d be best for both of us if you could say
What you want not what you should
I dream in pale whites
And vivid reds
In ‘maybe tomorrow’s
And ‘should’ve said’s
Your mind is plagued by thoughts
Of someone it shouldn’t be
But it’s not me
No, it’s not me
Take those words and let them out
’Cause I don’t care if they hurt me
When you keep them all inside
It’s not just them that can’t be free
I don’t know what you need
And you won’t tell me
And trying to make you
Is born of my greed
I keep things to myself
You’re not the only one
When the truth is surfacing
I’m the type to run
We’re two of a kind
What can we do
When you’re the best of me
And I’m the worst of you
We could take our words and let them out
And hope the truth would set us free
When we keep them all inside
It’s hurting you, it’s hurting me
Let’s take our words and let them out
And hope the truth will set us free
When we keep them all inside
It’s hurting you, it’s hurting me
I've written about all of these things, but do I really know anything about them?
Not really.
I wouldn't call myself a person who is not easily inspire and last night, I experienced a flash of inspiration, something that convinced me to change the way I was doing things.
I finished the first chapter of my novel and I am now writing "what I know," for the first time in my life.
Yes, a more extreme version of what I know, because it wouldn't be interesting otherwise, but what I know just the same.
I was worried about the way I was executing it in the beginning, but I think it's coming together in a way I like now. I'm not sure if a unique quality is good or bad in this case, but I have a good feeling about this one.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
^ This is the imaginary line of songdom.
No one reads these blogs, in part because I have never promoted them. I thought I would start, but knowing that so many people around me hate my songs and poems, and they should, I thought I'd create an imaginary line of song/poemdom, so if they want to stop reading, they can.
Okay...new one.
Written about five seconds ago.
I can’t read your mind
I wish I could
It’d be best for both of us if you could say
What you want not what you should
I dream in pale whites
And vivid reds
In ‘maybe tomorrow’s
And ‘should’ve said’s
Your mind is plagued by thoughts
Of someone it shouldn’t be
But it’s not me
No, it’s not me
Take those words and let them out
’Cause I don’t care if they hurt me
When you keep them all inside
It’s not just them that can’t be free
I don’t know what you need
And you won’t tell me
And trying to make you
Is born of my greed
I keep things to myself
You’re not the only one
When the truth is surfacing
I’m the type to run
We’re two of a kind
What can we do
When you’re the best of me
And I’m the worst of you
We could take our words and let them out
And hope the truth would set us free
When we keep them all inside
It’s hurting you, it’s hurting me
Let’s take our words and let them out
And hope the truth will set us free
When we keep them all inside
It’s hurting you, it’s hurting me
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Haven't written a song in a while, but sometimes I can't keep them down.
I call this one "A Little Shelter."
All I see is darkness
Save for one bright light from you
All I see are rain clouds
But you're the sun that's breaking through
Thought I would be shipwrecked
But then I saw your shore
Thought my heart was frozen
But you warmed me to my core
Could you help me through the darkness
Could you guide me through this storm
'Cause I am cold and I am lonely
And fear without you I'll not see the morn
Could you spare a little shelter
In a warm welcoming place
For I've withered down to nothing
So I won't take up much space
Let me be your sunlight
Show you how you glow like gold
Let me take care of you
When you break down and grow old
Let me keep you sailing
Worry not about the shore
When I have no more to give you
I'll find a way to give you more
I could help you through the darkness
I could guide you through this storm
When you're cold and feeling lonely
And fear you will not see the morn
I can spare a little shelter
And you can fill my empty space
'Cause you're the only thing worth something
In this godforsaken place
All I see is darkness
Save for one bright light from you
All I see are rain clouds
But you're the sun that's breaking through
Thought I would be shipwrecked
But then I saw your shore
Thought my heart was frozen
But you warmed me to my core
Could you help me through the darkness
Could you guide me through this storm
'Cause I am cold and I am lonely
And fear without you I'll not see the morn
Could you spare a little shelter
In a warm welcoming place
For I've withered down to nothing
So I won't take up much space
Let me be your sunlight
Show you how you glow like gold
Let me take care of you
When you break down and grow old
Let me keep you sailing
Worry not about the shore
When I have no more to give you
I'll find a way to give you more
I could help you through the darkness
I could guide you through this storm
When you're cold and feeling lonely
And fear you will not see the morn
I can spare a little shelter
And you can fill my empty space
'Cause you're the only thing worth something
In this godforsaken place
Friday, September 3, 2010
What I choose to do is of no concern to you and your friends.
Where I lay my head may not be my home, but I will last on my own.
'Cause it's me and my life.
It's my life.
I interviewed today to be a photographer with Olan Mills.
Although it's closer to what I want to do than working at the Chamber, it made me realize how far off my course I've taken myself and it makes me wonder how many of us live wasted lives with real passion buried somewhere inside.
The interview went well, aside from my moments of hesitation at the questions, "Do you like children?" and "Do you like to drive?"
I lied, but I almost wish I hadn't.
I'd earn three dollars per hour less than I'm currently making, but mostly I worry about it being full time.
I was getting ready to take my mom's suggestion and turn one of my two new screenplay ideas into a novel first. She thinks that once I'm published, it might be easier to get a screenplay deal and she's right.
But when will I have time to write?
People never turn out the way you imagine they will.
Why should I be any different?
'Cause it's me and my life.
It's my life.
I interviewed today to be a photographer with Olan Mills.
Although it's closer to what I want to do than working at the Chamber, it made me realize how far off my course I've taken myself and it makes me wonder how many of us live wasted lives with real passion buried somewhere inside.
The interview went well, aside from my moments of hesitation at the questions, "Do you like children?" and "Do you like to drive?"
I lied, but I almost wish I hadn't.
I'd earn three dollars per hour less than I'm currently making, but mostly I worry about it being full time.
I was getting ready to take my mom's suggestion and turn one of my two new screenplay ideas into a novel first. She thinks that once I'm published, it might be easier to get a screenplay deal and she's right.
But when will I have time to write?
People never turn out the way you imagine they will.
Why should I be any different?
Monday, July 19, 2010
"I have one too."
"One What?"
"Sense of destiny."
Once again my desire cannot be quashed.
No matter how defeated I might feel, something always pulls me back.
There's always the same goal, but a new angle, a new plan of attack.
Last year I wrote to Jason Reitman about my scripts and he told me to figure out which one would be cheapest to make, produce it myself, and get my foot in the door that way.
I thought it was a stupid suggestion to be quite honest.
Not putting one of my babies in the hands of professionals seemed absurd.
But lately, I've been thinking about it, really seriously thinking about it.
Take "Good Grief" for example.
There are only a few locations.
Grief Counseling itself (any classroom), two houses, and a video store.
No explosions, no special effects.
It would be very cheap to make.
And if it actually turned out well, it'd be easier to sell "Singing Swans" and get that one made for me.
So why couldn't I do it?
I know a lot of capable people.
Why couldn't I crew up and do it?
I'd need someone to help me gather resources and promote it and someone to help with cinematography, but other than that, the idea doesn't seem all that overwhelming.
The one thing that worries me is the acting.
To be honest, I wrote this for Alison Lohman and Ryan Gosling.
I couldn't deal with bad actors.
But the more I think about it, the more I'd like to try this.
Am I nuts?
"Sense of destiny."
Once again my desire cannot be quashed.
No matter how defeated I might feel, something always pulls me back.
There's always the same goal, but a new angle, a new plan of attack.
Last year I wrote to Jason Reitman about my scripts and he told me to figure out which one would be cheapest to make, produce it myself, and get my foot in the door that way.
I thought it was a stupid suggestion to be quite honest.
Not putting one of my babies in the hands of professionals seemed absurd.
But lately, I've been thinking about it, really seriously thinking about it.
Take "Good Grief" for example.
There are only a few locations.
Grief Counseling itself (any classroom), two houses, and a video store.
No explosions, no special effects.
It would be very cheap to make.
And if it actually turned out well, it'd be easier to sell "Singing Swans" and get that one made for me.
So why couldn't I do it?
I know a lot of capable people.
Why couldn't I crew up and do it?
I'd need someone to help me gather resources and promote it and someone to help with cinematography, but other than that, the idea doesn't seem all that overwhelming.
The one thing that worries me is the acting.
To be honest, I wrote this for Alison Lohman and Ryan Gosling.
I couldn't deal with bad actors.
But the more I think about it, the more I'd like to try this.
Am I nuts?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
With my whole heart under your hammer...
I wasn't built for failure.
All of this unfulfilled love...
Love of work that will never mean anything to anyone but me.
It weighs me down.
It crushes my soul.
Missed the final round at yet another film festival.
I'm so easily discouraged.
My heart just sank.
I'm going to miss the deadline on the Blue Water Film Festival, but I'm not really upset about that, because I know I couldn't make a film to save my life.
I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
I don't know why I would feel such passion for something I'm not any good at.
Maybe I'm not a good writer.
Maybe my friends think they're doing me a favor by not telling me that everything I write is shit.
But I do love movies and I believe in their power more than most.
Within minutes a film can make you look at people you’ve never seen before, people who might not even exist, and see yourself and the people around you. You can get pulled into their world and see your own and in relating to them and understanding them, you walk away understanding more about yourself and more about life. I often hear "Ash, it’s just a movie" and sometimes it is, but when it’s meant to be a study of the human condition, when you can make people examine their lives when they otherwise wouldn’t, when they’re too scared to see the truth, that’s a beautiful thing. I'd hoped that in loving this so much and believing in it so much, I’d get to be a part of it. But it's becoming clear that's never going to happen.
I feel lost.
I can work at this job I hate and save up to move to LA or New York, but when I get there, people still aren't going to read my scripts (Hell, only one person here bothered to read my newest).
I can pay an agent, but I don't look like an actress and I won't find work.
I'm going to die wanting this.
It all just seems like such a waste.
I seem like such a waste.
There's this tightness in my chest that doesn't go away and I can feel myself breaking a little more with every passing moment.
It hurts to breathe.
What do you do when you're living with the illusion of purpose, but the world has no need of you?
I don't know how much longer I can be here.
All of this unfulfilled love...
Love of work that will never mean anything to anyone but me.
It weighs me down.
It crushes my soul.
Missed the final round at yet another film festival.
I'm so easily discouraged.
My heart just sank.
I'm going to miss the deadline on the Blue Water Film Festival, but I'm not really upset about that, because I know I couldn't make a film to save my life.
I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
I don't know why I would feel such passion for something I'm not any good at.
Maybe I'm not a good writer.
Maybe my friends think they're doing me a favor by not telling me that everything I write is shit.
But I do love movies and I believe in their power more than most.
Within minutes a film can make you look at people you’ve never seen before, people who might not even exist, and see yourself and the people around you. You can get pulled into their world and see your own and in relating to them and understanding them, you walk away understanding more about yourself and more about life. I often hear "Ash, it’s just a movie" and sometimes it is, but when it’s meant to be a study of the human condition, when you can make people examine their lives when they otherwise wouldn’t, when they’re too scared to see the truth, that’s a beautiful thing. I'd hoped that in loving this so much and believing in it so much, I’d get to be a part of it. But it's becoming clear that's never going to happen.
I feel lost.
I can work at this job I hate and save up to move to LA or New York, but when I get there, people still aren't going to read my scripts (Hell, only one person here bothered to read my newest).
I can pay an agent, but I don't look like an actress and I won't find work.
I'm going to die wanting this.
It all just seems like such a waste.
I seem like such a waste.
There's this tightness in my chest that doesn't go away and I can feel myself breaking a little more with every passing moment.
It hurts to breathe.
What do you do when you're living with the illusion of purpose, but the world has no need of you?
I don't know how much longer I can be here.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Crazy-ass week.
July 4th
I felt great, for reasons which are probably silly to the average bear, but I felt really motivated. I couldn't sleep. I was bouncing off the walls.
I thought that now was the time for change.
I was gonna start working out every day, no slacking.
I think that all the time, but this time I really meant it.
I was going to stop drinking pop all together.
Having recently found out I'm allergic to coffee and cola, and having a strange obsession with the whiteness of my teeth (so I gave up tea too), my Mt. Dew intake had definitely increased.
July 5th
I wake with moderate to severe back pain.
I go to the bathroom and find that I'm urinating blood, a significant amount of blood.
And Aunt Rose isn't due for weeks.
I read about it online, knowing it's probably a kidney infection.
It says if you have a fever, go to the ER.
I did have a fever, but I didn't want to tell my parents.
Eventually I did and my mom took me to the hospital, which was packed because all the doctors' offices were closed.
We went to Physicians Health Care instead.
I peed in a cup.
By then it looked like say...grape juice.
The doctor told me I did in fact have a severe kidney infection and if I'm still peeing blood on Monday, which is my birthday, I probably have kidney stones.
I take some antibiotics, which I've taken before, which made me ralph.
I also got a nifty pill which numbs my bladder so I can't feel the pain, but I only have one left and it's only Thursday.
I still had to work and not being able to go to the bathroom as much as I need to or drink as much water as I'm supposed to be drinking was a bad thing.
I have the day off tomorrow and on Saturday's I'm there alone, so it should be better.
The upside is, caffeine causes my medicine not to work, so I gave it up completely.
Now I can really give up pop.
I'm still peeing blood, so we'll see what happens on Monday.
Not fun.
I felt great, for reasons which are probably silly to the average bear, but I felt really motivated. I couldn't sleep. I was bouncing off the walls.
I thought that now was the time for change.
I was gonna start working out every day, no slacking.
I think that all the time, but this time I really meant it.
I was going to stop drinking pop all together.
Having recently found out I'm allergic to coffee and cola, and having a strange obsession with the whiteness of my teeth (so I gave up tea too), my Mt. Dew intake had definitely increased.
July 5th
I wake with moderate to severe back pain.
I go to the bathroom and find that I'm urinating blood, a significant amount of blood.
And Aunt Rose isn't due for weeks.
I read about it online, knowing it's probably a kidney infection.
It says if you have a fever, go to the ER.
I did have a fever, but I didn't want to tell my parents.
Eventually I did and my mom took me to the hospital, which was packed because all the doctors' offices were closed.
We went to Physicians Health Care instead.
I peed in a cup.
By then it looked like say...grape juice.
The doctor told me I did in fact have a severe kidney infection and if I'm still peeing blood on Monday, which is my birthday, I probably have kidney stones.
I take some antibiotics, which I've taken before, which made me ralph.
I also got a nifty pill which numbs my bladder so I can't feel the pain, but I only have one left and it's only Thursday.
I still had to work and not being able to go to the bathroom as much as I need to or drink as much water as I'm supposed to be drinking was a bad thing.
I have the day off tomorrow and on Saturday's I'm there alone, so it should be better.
The upside is, caffeine causes my medicine not to work, so I gave it up completely.
Now I can really give up pop.
I'm still peeing blood, so we'll see what happens on Monday.
Not fun.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
My dreams swept into the dustbin, and me along with them…
I got a job.
Lately I find myself crying over nothing and I can’t stop.
I know it’s just depression.
My mom suggested I take something for it.
At three different points in my life I’ve taken anti-depressants because of problems with anxiety.
Sure, I’m a naturally sullen person, but that didn’t change while I was on them.
Each time, I talked like a flapper on a duck’s ass…even more so than usual.
I couldn’t sleep.
And I experienced more suicidal thoughts.
I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down that road again.
And as taking pills won’t change where I am in my life, it’s not as if pain would go away by my taking them.
I know that losing Chloe is part of it.
Residual pain of feeling useless from not having a job is part of it.
But it is now accompanied by a new pain of feeling like a failure, a feeling that this will be my life, a feeling that I will live, die…and my name will be forgotten.
I can write while I work to be sure, but it’s the acting and singing part which causes me pain.
I want to perform.
I’ve always wanted to perform.
I want to write indie dramas which would make people examine the human condition…their own lives.
And I want to act in them.
But the older I get, the harder it’ll be for this to happen.
I’ll only be 23 next month and I feel like…that’s it.
It’s too late.
I have to keep this job because no one in my life believes in me and I would never ask that anyone else be forced to support me in my pursuits.
I don’t ask and no one answers.
And if I did, no one would answer.
I am lost.
Not in the way that so many others are lost…for I know where I want to go.
I’m lost because I can’t find how to get there.
I’m lost because this love is as important as any other and I live without it.
Shall I abide in this dull world which in its absence is no better than a sty?
Lately I find myself crying over nothing and I can’t stop.
I know it’s just depression.
My mom suggested I take something for it.
At three different points in my life I’ve taken anti-depressants because of problems with anxiety.
Sure, I’m a naturally sullen person, but that didn’t change while I was on them.
Each time, I talked like a flapper on a duck’s ass…even more so than usual.
I couldn’t sleep.
And I experienced more suicidal thoughts.
I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down that road again.
And as taking pills won’t change where I am in my life, it’s not as if pain would go away by my taking them.
I know that losing Chloe is part of it.
Residual pain of feeling useless from not having a job is part of it.
But it is now accompanied by a new pain of feeling like a failure, a feeling that this will be my life, a feeling that I will live, die…and my name will be forgotten.
I can write while I work to be sure, but it’s the acting and singing part which causes me pain.
I want to perform.
I’ve always wanted to perform.
I want to write indie dramas which would make people examine the human condition…their own lives.
And I want to act in them.
But the older I get, the harder it’ll be for this to happen.
I’ll only be 23 next month and I feel like…that’s it.
It’s too late.
I have to keep this job because no one in my life believes in me and I would never ask that anyone else be forced to support me in my pursuits.
I don’t ask and no one answers.
And if I did, no one would answer.
I am lost.
Not in the way that so many others are lost…for I know where I want to go.
I’m lost because I can’t find how to get there.
I’m lost because this love is as important as any other and I live without it.
Shall I abide in this dull world which in its absence is no better than a sty?
Monday, June 7, 2010
Tell me something true...
The truth is a nasty cough syrup no one wants to have to taste.
But I thrive on its bitterness.
I take too much and it lives in me, shutting me down, little by little.
A noble death.
I knew a man who seemed to like me, who in fact, could not seem to leave me alone.
He disagreed with everything I said and not even passionately, as he had no reasons to support his disproval of my ideas, my likes, and my dislikes.
I loathed him.
I see now that in part, what I hate in him is what I hate in myself…a resilient stubbornness.
I am in pain today at the thought of hating myself more than usual.
But my stubbornness is different from his.
Mine is not free of passion.
Is it wrong to defend a belief to the death when you feel strongly about something, to try and make credible arguments until you’re blue in the face?
Is it wrong to not give up when you think something is truly important…even when there may be no hope of convincing your opponent?
I am not so closed-minded as to be immune to the convincing arguments of others.
Am I then just the right amount of stubborn or am I indeed closed-minded, but cannot see it?
But I thrive on its bitterness.
I take too much and it lives in me, shutting me down, little by little.
A noble death.
I knew a man who seemed to like me, who in fact, could not seem to leave me alone.
He disagreed with everything I said and not even passionately, as he had no reasons to support his disproval of my ideas, my likes, and my dislikes.
I loathed him.
I see now that in part, what I hate in him is what I hate in myself…a resilient stubbornness.
I am in pain today at the thought of hating myself more than usual.
But my stubbornness is different from his.
Mine is not free of passion.
Is it wrong to defend a belief to the death when you feel strongly about something, to try and make credible arguments until you’re blue in the face?
Is it wrong to not give up when you think something is truly important…even when there may be no hope of convincing your opponent?
I am not so closed-minded as to be immune to the convincing arguments of others.
Am I then just the right amount of stubborn or am I indeed closed-minded, but cannot see it?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
It’s not like the sea to leave you with me.
Summer will be yet another season in her absence.
No sun will shine on the love she has forgotten.
It has blown through me like wind through the trees.
Embers grow cold and ash too blows away.
It erases all evidences of me from memory.
She focuses her efforts on lies,
Lies of happiness, of unfathomable compatibility.
These lies I can’t combat.
I dwell alone in this house of truth forever.
No sun will shine on the love she has forgotten.
It has blown through me like wind through the trees.
Embers grow cold and ash too blows away.
It erases all evidences of me from memory.
She focuses her efforts on lies,
Lies of happiness, of unfathomable compatibility.
These lies I can’t combat.
I dwell alone in this house of truth forever.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
I just want my baby back...
I lost Chloe on Tuesday and I've been crying since.
My mom and I tried to make her grave as nice as we could, but we couldn't keep from feeling bad about leaving her alone in the ground.
And when it rained, I felt it even more.
I can't imagine life without her, this angel that I loved more than myself and I understand that maybe what's so difficult is not losing what you love, but what loves you.
I'd rather feel this way then forget her.
My mom and I tried to make her grave as nice as we could, but we couldn't keep from feeling bad about leaving her alone in the ground.
And when it rained, I felt it even more.
I can't imagine life without her, this angel that I loved more than myself and I understand that maybe what's so difficult is not losing what you love, but what loves you.
I'd rather feel this way then forget her.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
My back is sinkin' low and I do believe it's time...
I didn't make it to the final round at the Nantucket Film Festival with Good Grief.
I'm feeling very defeated.
I took a look back at the script and fixed any remaining errors and immediately printed two entry forms for The Austin Film Festival, one for Good Grief and one for Singing Swans.
I'm starting to realize that I'm not the kind of person who gives up easily, but I'm also starting to wonder if I'm not being unreasonable and immature.
I'm starting to wonder whether or not sticking with this particular dream is really a good idea, when I've got others and the constant defeat this one carries is weighing me down.
I feel myself trying despite my best efforts to throw in the towel and curl up.
But what does that mean?
I'm feeling very defeated.
I took a look back at the script and fixed any remaining errors and immediately printed two entry forms for The Austin Film Festival, one for Good Grief and one for Singing Swans.
I'm starting to realize that I'm not the kind of person who gives up easily, but I'm also starting to wonder if I'm not being unreasonable and immature.
I'm starting to wonder whether or not sticking with this particular dream is really a good idea, when I've got others and the constant defeat this one carries is weighing me down.
I feel myself trying despite my best efforts to throw in the towel and curl up.
But what does that mean?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
"Amid the sufferings of life on earth, suicide is God’s best gift to man."
You can be sad as you want to.
No one can punish me like I do.
In youth, we are much more easily satisfied. With age comes an unquenchable thirst for things, a wanting which can slowly eat us up.
When I remember my first love, I recall feeling like I'd be happy as long as we were married, feeling like I would need nothing else. Eight years later, this sentiment is gone, although my feelings for him remain. I have found a new love, yet one which does not diminish the first, but this romantic love could never restrain a more mature wanting...the desire to be my own person and to have my own purpose. The people I love and my desired course can only coexist peacefully when they encourage my ambition. And to me, that is a true sign of their affection.
I have heard it said that "Ambition is the ice in the lake of emotion," and that may sometimes be true, but it is a dangerous generalization. If pursuing the goal of being the person you believe you were meant to be is selfish, then I don't want to be anything but. However, to me becoming this person, the best person you can be, is proof of love.
I now believe it is possible to be ambitious and still love completely.
I now believe that it is possible to be in love with more than one person at a time.
I no longer wish to marry.
"How time distorts things."
Lately I've been thinking about how conceited people are self-centered, but in their own way, self-loathers aren't much different. Both types of people make everything about themselves, whether inadvertently or intentionally.
Having a tendency towards self-loathing myself, I've noticed an uncontrollable, paranoia which comes in waves, the feeling that everyone hates being around me. Only recently did I realize that reading into every little thing, the slightest unintentional insult, a person's mere absence, reading into these things and making them about myself is self-centered. And as part of the reason I hate myself is my potent desire to not be one of those people who loves myself too much, this is something I hope to avoid in the future.
We are complicated creatures, but we must never cease our efforts to truly understand ourselves.
No one can punish me like I do.
In youth, we are much more easily satisfied. With age comes an unquenchable thirst for things, a wanting which can slowly eat us up.
When I remember my first love, I recall feeling like I'd be happy as long as we were married, feeling like I would need nothing else. Eight years later, this sentiment is gone, although my feelings for him remain. I have found a new love, yet one which does not diminish the first, but this romantic love could never restrain a more mature wanting...the desire to be my own person and to have my own purpose. The people I love and my desired course can only coexist peacefully when they encourage my ambition. And to me, that is a true sign of their affection.
I have heard it said that "Ambition is the ice in the lake of emotion," and that may sometimes be true, but it is a dangerous generalization. If pursuing the goal of being the person you believe you were meant to be is selfish, then I don't want to be anything but. However, to me becoming this person, the best person you can be, is proof of love.
I now believe it is possible to be ambitious and still love completely.
I now believe that it is possible to be in love with more than one person at a time.
I no longer wish to marry.
"How time distorts things."
Lately I've been thinking about how conceited people are self-centered, but in their own way, self-loathers aren't much different. Both types of people make everything about themselves, whether inadvertently or intentionally.
Having a tendency towards self-loathing myself, I've noticed an uncontrollable, paranoia which comes in waves, the feeling that everyone hates being around me. Only recently did I realize that reading into every little thing, the slightest unintentional insult, a person's mere absence, reading into these things and making them about myself is self-centered. And as part of the reason I hate myself is my potent desire to not be one of those people who loves myself too much, this is something I hope to avoid in the future.
We are complicated creatures, but we must never cease our efforts to truly understand ourselves.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Three down...
I know I haven't written in a while.
Unfortunately, my Uncle Gary recently lost his battle with ALS.
I was helping my mom with this bowling benefit to aid my Aunt Tina in paying his left over medical bills. In the end she brought in about $5,000 which might not be much, but will come in handy.
I was also working on finishing up my latest screenplay, my third, Singing Swans.
It's all done now. I revised it, but of course there will be mistakes I can't see and things I can't correct until others have read it, but being that the subject-matter is kind of taboo on two fronts and that it's more sexually explicit than anything I've written before (although in reality, I used tricks to get around making it too dirty), I don't know how quickly my volunteers will get through it. It might be uncomfortable.
I'm to that point where I finish something and then I feel empty.
It makes me feel as if I have to start something else immediately or I have no sense of purpose, especially now that I'm done with school and don't have a job.
I applied for three jobs today and eight internships.
Beyond the scripts, there's always poetry, and music, but until I can make it on my own, nothing I do feels worthwhile.
I submitted Good Grief to the Nantucket Film Festival and Singing Swans and hopefully my next script, I'll submit to Austin.
I was also going to audition for Glee, but my brother was a real douche about it and so once again, I don't think I'll have the confidence to try, despite the best efforts of friends I don't deserve to convince me to do it.
Anyway, that's what's crackin'.
If anyone's interested in reading it, you're welcome to, but if you're really ageist or homophobic, I don't recommend it.
I'll share a bad poem I wrote at like 4am last night/this morning.
Why must I have a tender heart
So quick to take a bruise
Why must I find the truth in words
Others can refuse
Why must the ugly always distract
From the one thing I should see
Why isn't the pretty, the good, the praise
As much a part of me
Why is it only jabs and jeers
Repeat inside my head
Why have I built a wall which blocks
Whatever else is said
Why do you not all leave me
Beneath rubble of words I hear
I'm buried too deep and all rescue efforts
Now seem insincere
Unfortunately, my Uncle Gary recently lost his battle with ALS.
I was helping my mom with this bowling benefit to aid my Aunt Tina in paying his left over medical bills. In the end she brought in about $5,000 which might not be much, but will come in handy.
I was also working on finishing up my latest screenplay, my third, Singing Swans.
It's all done now. I revised it, but of course there will be mistakes I can't see and things I can't correct until others have read it, but being that the subject-matter is kind of taboo on two fronts and that it's more sexually explicit than anything I've written before (although in reality, I used tricks to get around making it too dirty), I don't know how quickly my volunteers will get through it. It might be uncomfortable.
I'm to that point where I finish something and then I feel empty.
It makes me feel as if I have to start something else immediately or I have no sense of purpose, especially now that I'm done with school and don't have a job.
I applied for three jobs today and eight internships.
Beyond the scripts, there's always poetry, and music, but until I can make it on my own, nothing I do feels worthwhile.
I submitted Good Grief to the Nantucket Film Festival and Singing Swans and hopefully my next script, I'll submit to Austin.
I was also going to audition for Glee, but my brother was a real douche about it and so once again, I don't think I'll have the confidence to try, despite the best efforts of friends I don't deserve to convince me to do it.
Anyway, that's what's crackin'.
If anyone's interested in reading it, you're welcome to, but if you're really ageist or homophobic, I don't recommend it.
I'll share a bad poem I wrote at like 4am last night/this morning.
Why must I have a tender heart
So quick to take a bruise
Why must I find the truth in words
Others can refuse
Why must the ugly always distract
From the one thing I should see
Why isn't the pretty, the good, the praise
As much a part of me
Why is it only jabs and jeers
Repeat inside my head
Why have I built a wall which blocks
Whatever else is said
Why do you not all leave me
Beneath rubble of words I hear
I'm buried too deep and all rescue efforts
Now seem insincere
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
20 years mystery of stomach problems solved?
Went to an allergist.
Today I found out I'm allergic to Coffee, cola, gluten, wheat, yeast, milk, soy, pineapple, tomato, sesame, mustard, rye, walnuts, almonds, apples, clams, black pepper, chocolate (could be fatal, my throat closes up and I have to carry these epi-pens wherever I go), oh, and coconut.
Now I have to start a gluten free diet, but maybe I won't feel sick all the time.
Today I found out I'm allergic to Coffee, cola, gluten, wheat, yeast, milk, soy, pineapple, tomato, sesame, mustard, rye, walnuts, almonds, apples, clams, black pepper, chocolate (could be fatal, my throat closes up and I have to carry these epi-pens wherever I go), oh, and coconut.
Now I have to start a gluten free diet, but maybe I won't feel sick all the time.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Congratulations on ruining America...
Never mind the fact that the health care bill gives racial preferences which are unconstitutional and violate the Civil Rights Act.
Never mind that it will increase the deficit to an unprecedented degree.
Never mind that even liberal media reported that at least 6 out of every 10 Americans didn't want it passed.
Just ignore all those people in the lobby screaming "Kill the bill," those people, your constituents.
Just ignore the fact that the AMA is made up of only 17% of doctors, so having their approval doesn't mean anything. Ignore the fact that most doctors hated this idea.
Ignore the process, ignore the constitution, ignore the people, ignore everything which made this country great.
Obama was a constitutional scholar.
To study it and still ignore it or find ways to bypass it shows that he has no respect for it. If you don't respect this document, the greatest document every created in the history of the world, then you don't respect America.
He is officially the worst president in history.
Words cannot describe how much I hate him.
Never mind that it will increase the deficit to an unprecedented degree.
Never mind that even liberal media reported that at least 6 out of every 10 Americans didn't want it passed.
Just ignore all those people in the lobby screaming "Kill the bill," those people, your constituents.
Just ignore the fact that the AMA is made up of only 17% of doctors, so having their approval doesn't mean anything. Ignore the fact that most doctors hated this idea.
Ignore the process, ignore the constitution, ignore the people, ignore everything which made this country great.
Obama was a constitutional scholar.
To study it and still ignore it or find ways to bypass it shows that he has no respect for it. If you don't respect this document, the greatest document every created in the history of the world, then you don't respect America.
He is officially the worst president in history.
Words cannot describe how much I hate him.
Monday, March 8, 2010
You belong in poetry...
And you belong in fine things, but you belong to someone else.
You belong to no one town.
You alone are holy.
You alone are beauty.
And you alone are lonely now.
You really let it out
For just a moment and I could see how.
You’d only lay me down on sheets that tear and give out.
I’ve never known a love ‘til now.
"You see women...on TV, in the movies, and they get left or whatever.
You just wanna kick 'em, they're so whiny.
Look at me."
Is there any feeling more humiliating and useless than the feeling of being in love?
It's embarrassing, feeling dominated by something you have absolutely no control over. Or perhaps, more accurately, someone. You can't make someone love you, especially not when you aspire to be who you are and not what they want.
You can't make someone stick around, no matter how much you may want them to.
And even when someone's a reason to get up in the morning, they might not think of you all day.
People act like being in love is such a wonderful thing..."What grace have I to fall so in love?"
But it can be an agony growing inside you, taking on a life of its own, like a child in the womb.
Most girls I knew couldn't wait to fall in love, pretended it, even before it happened. They wrote names of boys on notebooks, dreamed of weddings, named imaginary children.
I never wanted that.
I never wanted to be the kind of person who felt possessed by thoughts of someone else, but that's what I've become. To think of one person every day, without fail, and several times a day, makes me feel pathetic.
To spend so much time thinking about something which was never truly mine, someone whose hand I've never even touched and in all likelihood, will never touch, seems absurd.
It seems I've lost someone who might have been a dream, but is there any loss greater than the loss of a dream?
I wonder about karma.
I tell people that no one's ever loved me, but I don't think that's true.
What I mean is that no one I've loved has ever loved me back and that's only mostly true.
What is true, is that I haven't treated the people who fall in love with me very well. In most cases, this was only because I didn't love them back and not loving them was enough to hurt them. But to be honest, when I was younger, I was far less tactful, and what is now my best attempt at a gentle disappointment was once purposeful destruction.
Maybe I deserve what I'm feeling now because of my past mistakes.
I spend my time thinking about someone who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
A ghost who now hates me or doesn't care for me, who not long ago seemed to admire me.
What does one do with all that pain?
I'm not to that point in my story.
You belong to no one town.
You alone are holy.
You alone are beauty.
And you alone are lonely now.
You really let it out
For just a moment and I could see how.
You’d only lay me down on sheets that tear and give out.
I’ve never known a love ‘til now.
"You see women...on TV, in the movies, and they get left or whatever.
You just wanna kick 'em, they're so whiny.
Look at me."
Is there any feeling more humiliating and useless than the feeling of being in love?
It's embarrassing, feeling dominated by something you have absolutely no control over. Or perhaps, more accurately, someone. You can't make someone love you, especially not when you aspire to be who you are and not what they want.
You can't make someone stick around, no matter how much you may want them to.
And even when someone's a reason to get up in the morning, they might not think of you all day.
People act like being in love is such a wonderful thing..."What grace have I to fall so in love?"
But it can be an agony growing inside you, taking on a life of its own, like a child in the womb.
Most girls I knew couldn't wait to fall in love, pretended it, even before it happened. They wrote names of boys on notebooks, dreamed of weddings, named imaginary children.
I never wanted that.
I never wanted to be the kind of person who felt possessed by thoughts of someone else, but that's what I've become. To think of one person every day, without fail, and several times a day, makes me feel pathetic.
To spend so much time thinking about something which was never truly mine, someone whose hand I've never even touched and in all likelihood, will never touch, seems absurd.
It seems I've lost someone who might have been a dream, but is there any loss greater than the loss of a dream?
I wonder about karma.
I tell people that no one's ever loved me, but I don't think that's true.
What I mean is that no one I've loved has ever loved me back and that's only mostly true.
What is true, is that I haven't treated the people who fall in love with me very well. In most cases, this was only because I didn't love them back and not loving them was enough to hurt them. But to be honest, when I was younger, I was far less tactful, and what is now my best attempt at a gentle disappointment was once purposeful destruction.
Maybe I deserve what I'm feeling now because of my past mistakes.
I spend my time thinking about someone who seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
A ghost who now hates me or doesn't care for me, who not long ago seemed to admire me.
What does one do with all that pain?
I'm not to that point in my story.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Oscar show for Hop on Pop Culture...
We had no cameraman. Our tripod sinks.
It happens.
Use whichever link you prefer...or both, simultaneously.
Comments are welcome.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-34D3im9nE
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=103400213
It happens.
Use whichever link you prefer...or both, simultaneously.
Comments are welcome.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-34D3im9nE
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=103400213
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I raised a flag up into your heart.
You let the winds come tear it apart.
I went to an allergist on Monday because my brother just found out he has a lot of food allergies. Given that he never had any symptoms and I've had stomach problems since I was two, and Upper GIs, Lower GIs, stomach scopes, ultrasounds, etc, found nothing, my mom thought it was a good idea.
I don't get the results back for a month, but my new doctor is really concerned by how many different symptoms I have. He made me fill a prescription for epinephrine injections and I'm to carry them with me wherever I go.
I'm never to eat chocolate again because the reaction could be fatal.
He thinks Celiac disease is likely.
It's not that big a deal and even if I had to eat slop for the rest of my life I'd prefer it to feeling nauseous a few times a day, not to mention other more serious and disgusting symptoms.
I'm actually afraid that I won't be allergic to anything else and they'll never find out what's wrong with me.
I told the people in my immediate family what's going on and I only felt like telling one other person about it, but I sense some new apathy when it comes to me...and it really doesn't feel worth mentioning.
If my throat closes up and I die, I can only imagine a few people at my funeral anyway, most of them to support my family, not out of any affection for me.
I'm such a winner.
...Now with allergies;)
I went to an allergist on Monday because my brother just found out he has a lot of food allergies. Given that he never had any symptoms and I've had stomach problems since I was two, and Upper GIs, Lower GIs, stomach scopes, ultrasounds, etc, found nothing, my mom thought it was a good idea.
I don't get the results back for a month, but my new doctor is really concerned by how many different symptoms I have. He made me fill a prescription for epinephrine injections and I'm to carry them with me wherever I go.
I'm never to eat chocolate again because the reaction could be fatal.
He thinks Celiac disease is likely.
It's not that big a deal and even if I had to eat slop for the rest of my life I'd prefer it to feeling nauseous a few times a day, not to mention other more serious and disgusting symptoms.
I'm actually afraid that I won't be allergic to anything else and they'll never find out what's wrong with me.
I told the people in my immediate family what's going on and I only felt like telling one other person about it, but I sense some new apathy when it comes to me...and it really doesn't feel worth mentioning.
If my throat closes up and I die, I can only imagine a few people at my funeral anyway, most of them to support my family, not out of any affection for me.
I'm such a winner.
...Now with allergies;)
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Oh, compromise...
Got a haircut today.
Modeled after this:
When I walked in the door afterward, my mom said, "You look so much like Katie Holmes with that haircut."
Later we watched The Ice Storm and she said, "Nope. Holy shit. You do look just like Christina Ricci. I used to say, 'everything but the eyes,' but no, especially the eyes."
I get both frequently and maybe it's a little true and more obvious when I steal their haircuts and watch a movie which features them both...but it's still, "Hey, you look like them only not as pretty," right?
If either of them ever need an uglier little sister in a movie, I'm up for it.
On an unrelated note...I was thinking about will and how easily it can break or... grow stronger.
When it comes down to it, it's really a matter of what you want, sometimes even without understanding it.
There was a guy I used to talk to online when I was in high school. We met once when we were kids and hated each other, still for some reason (which would become clear in time) all those years later he insisted on talking to me.
Eventually we were talking almost everyday, but when he visited my home town it wasn't a pleasant experience and when he visited a second time, it was worse to the point of being disgusting. Both times he treated me like crap, but the second time he blatantly sexually harassed me and I'll spare you the details.
I hadn't talked to the guy in years, on purpose, and with good reason. I signed on to an old screen name when I couldn't sign on with my usual one and immediately received a message from him. I could've ignored him, but I didn't.
Soon it was evident that he hadn't changed at all. Still the same creepy motivations. And why was I talking to him?
I didn't know.
He asked if I'd talk to him again tomorrow and I said I would.
In fact, he made me promise.
Today, I blocked him on that screen name too and I have no intention of ever talking to him again. And even though it might be wrong or spiteful, I think I did the whole thing on purpose.
Even when we were just chatting, early on, when he said things that were off-putting, he was always the type to plead my forgiveness. Someone who couldn't stand to be hated.
I don't hate many people, but I do hate him, and I thought it fair that he should live with it after what he did to me.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Funny, but it seems like the people you most want to talk to, the ones you obsess over, are always the ones who aren't there to talk to you...whether they're getting revenge on you or not.
I know who I wish was here to talk to me...and it sure isn't him.
Modeled after this:
When I walked in the door afterward, my mom said, "You look so much like Katie Holmes with that haircut."
Later we watched The Ice Storm and she said, "Nope. Holy shit. You do look just like Christina Ricci. I used to say, 'everything but the eyes,' but no, especially the eyes."
I get both frequently and maybe it's a little true and more obvious when I steal their haircuts and watch a movie which features them both...but it's still, "Hey, you look like them only not as pretty," right?
If either of them ever need an uglier little sister in a movie, I'm up for it.
On an unrelated note...I was thinking about will and how easily it can break or... grow stronger.
When it comes down to it, it's really a matter of what you want, sometimes even without understanding it.
There was a guy I used to talk to online when I was in high school. We met once when we were kids and hated each other, still for some reason (which would become clear in time) all those years later he insisted on talking to me.
Eventually we were talking almost everyday, but when he visited my home town it wasn't a pleasant experience and when he visited a second time, it was worse to the point of being disgusting. Both times he treated me like crap, but the second time he blatantly sexually harassed me and I'll spare you the details.
I hadn't talked to the guy in years, on purpose, and with good reason. I signed on to an old screen name when I couldn't sign on with my usual one and immediately received a message from him. I could've ignored him, but I didn't.
Soon it was evident that he hadn't changed at all. Still the same creepy motivations. And why was I talking to him?
I didn't know.
He asked if I'd talk to him again tomorrow and I said I would.
In fact, he made me promise.
Today, I blocked him on that screen name too and I have no intention of ever talking to him again. And even though it might be wrong or spiteful, I think I did the whole thing on purpose.
Even when we were just chatting, early on, when he said things that were off-putting, he was always the type to plead my forgiveness. Someone who couldn't stand to be hated.
I don't hate many people, but I do hate him, and I thought it fair that he should live with it after what he did to me.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Funny, but it seems like the people you most want to talk to, the ones you obsess over, are always the ones who aren't there to talk to you...whether they're getting revenge on you or not.
I know who I wish was here to talk to me...and it sure isn't him.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
"There's only one conclusion to every story...We all fall down."
I've heard tales of mothers who got an adrenaline rush and lifted a car to pull their children to safety after a crash.
I've heard mothers say that after you have a child, everything else matters less...you, your husband.
I know my parents don't think they're compatible anymore, or maybe they think they never were. But they don't realize how similar they are.
My dad has this quality about him, an inherited trait, he's conceited. He's belittling. He thinks himself superior to everyone and he's very open about.
My mom has low self-esteem. She has for years and she always lets him get to her.
He's selfish, but she doesn't realize that she's no different.
She resents all of us because she didn't do anything with her life...or because she thinks she didn't. She made sacrifices, I know that, but it's her reaction to that which makes her selfish.
There are stories about your parents that as their child, you should never hear and I heard them all, several times, even as a little kid.
I know about every instance infidelity in their marriage.
I know every harsh word that was ever spoken and every bad thing that ever happened to either of them, in graphic detail.
My mom made sure I knew how much she hated me for ruining her life at five years old and I've heard that sentiment repeated every time she got drunk for years. Which was at least once a month and during the bad times, once a week or more often.
There are things she can't cope with, so she drinks, and then she spills them to me. And as much as she wants to think herself a martyr, making a kid cope with the things you can't handle makes her something else entirely.
She's as selfish as he is and she always has been, and neither of them love me as much as they love themselves or as much as I love them.
A couple times when he was drunk, my dad locked me and my brother in the basement.
My mom once cut my leg with a beer bottle.
They were so sorry.
Not sorry enough to stop.
My dad's the VP of a beer distributorship.
He's a millionaire.
But alcohol helped to ruin them before it ever helped to make them.
I don't really blame it.
They look for excuses to drink, excuses to say all those things they've been aching to say, to me, to each other.
I've never taken a drink and I never will.
People judge me for that. They think I'm square or that I'm judging them, when I don't care what they do.
My Uncle Gary's dying. People from Hospice care were there today and implied that he didn't have long at all. My mom walked into the house at the wrong moment and heard the sobs and all the terrible things his loved ones should've kept to themselves in front of him but didn't.
She came home, and she got drunk, and she reported it all to me.
She talked about her mom and what it was like to watch her die of cancer, how she'd asked my mom to kill her.
Stories I've heard a hundred times, maybe more.
And listening to her make it about her again, I just got so mad.
I told her to go bed.
I sent her to her room like she was a little kid.
My big brother used to go to his room and lock his door when she did it. But I sat and listened to her and held her when she cried, because I loved her more than he did and still she prefers him to this day. They both do.
My parents are killing themselves, and they're killing me, and they don't care.
But maybe I'm the selfish one.
"Ain't love grand?"
I've heard mothers say that after you have a child, everything else matters less...you, your husband.
I know my parents don't think they're compatible anymore, or maybe they think they never were. But they don't realize how similar they are.
My dad has this quality about him, an inherited trait, he's conceited. He's belittling. He thinks himself superior to everyone and he's very open about.
My mom has low self-esteem. She has for years and she always lets him get to her.
He's selfish, but she doesn't realize that she's no different.
She resents all of us because she didn't do anything with her life...or because she thinks she didn't. She made sacrifices, I know that, but it's her reaction to that which makes her selfish.
There are stories about your parents that as their child, you should never hear and I heard them all, several times, even as a little kid.
I know about every instance infidelity in their marriage.
I know every harsh word that was ever spoken and every bad thing that ever happened to either of them, in graphic detail.
My mom made sure I knew how much she hated me for ruining her life at five years old and I've heard that sentiment repeated every time she got drunk for years. Which was at least once a month and during the bad times, once a week or more often.
There are things she can't cope with, so she drinks, and then she spills them to me. And as much as she wants to think herself a martyr, making a kid cope with the things you can't handle makes her something else entirely.
She's as selfish as he is and she always has been, and neither of them love me as much as they love themselves or as much as I love them.
A couple times when he was drunk, my dad locked me and my brother in the basement.
My mom once cut my leg with a beer bottle.
They were so sorry.
Not sorry enough to stop.
My dad's the VP of a beer distributorship.
He's a millionaire.
But alcohol helped to ruin them before it ever helped to make them.
I don't really blame it.
They look for excuses to drink, excuses to say all those things they've been aching to say, to me, to each other.
I've never taken a drink and I never will.
People judge me for that. They think I'm square or that I'm judging them, when I don't care what they do.
My Uncle Gary's dying. People from Hospice care were there today and implied that he didn't have long at all. My mom walked into the house at the wrong moment and heard the sobs and all the terrible things his loved ones should've kept to themselves in front of him but didn't.
She came home, and she got drunk, and she reported it all to me.
She talked about her mom and what it was like to watch her die of cancer, how she'd asked my mom to kill her.
Stories I've heard a hundred times, maybe more.
And listening to her make it about her again, I just got so mad.
I told her to go bed.
I sent her to her room like she was a little kid.
My big brother used to go to his room and lock his door when she did it. But I sat and listened to her and held her when she cried, because I loved her more than he did and still she prefers him to this day. They both do.
My parents are killing themselves, and they're killing me, and they don't care.
But maybe I'm the selfish one.
"Ain't love grand?"
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
"You're not really a writer unless people are readin' your shit."
"I'm an aspiring writer."
Another huge blizzard today.
I shoveled the driveway twice before my parents got home and it barely made a dent. It just kept coming. I almost hopped on the 4 wheeler to do it, but I'd never used the plow and it's been awhile since I'd driven the thing in general.
It finally stopped snowing.
So while I was locked away inside, I made flyers for this benefit my family's having for my uncle Gary and printed them out.
I printed up my screenplay too and got it all set for shipping to the Nantucket Film Festival.
Austin's submissions are due in June and I want to send in both the one I'm submitting to Nantucket and the new one I'm working on, so I gotta get crackin'.
I only have six fans and even my biggest fan hasn't read the last one or didn't like it, so she didn't want to review it, so I guess I'm not really a writer.
But no matter what happens, I can't seem to be discouraged from writing, which is both good and bad.
I'm glad I love something, but I'd like to know if I'm wasting my time.
I have to get through this new one, but the story challenges me at every turn...not because it's difficult to write or I don't know what to put on paper, but because it's stuff I'd have trouble talking about, even with close friends.
In any case, I want to get it out because I have another story idea eating at me.
I think much of the time I give the impression that no amount of encouragement could change my thinking, but somewhere along the line, something must have sunken in...now that everyone's given up on me.
Another huge blizzard today.
I shoveled the driveway twice before my parents got home and it barely made a dent. It just kept coming. I almost hopped on the 4 wheeler to do it, but I'd never used the plow and it's been awhile since I'd driven the thing in general.
It finally stopped snowing.
So while I was locked away inside, I made flyers for this benefit my family's having for my uncle Gary and printed them out.
I printed up my screenplay too and got it all set for shipping to the Nantucket Film Festival.
Austin's submissions are due in June and I want to send in both the one I'm submitting to Nantucket and the new one I'm working on, so I gotta get crackin'.
I only have six fans and even my biggest fan hasn't read the last one or didn't like it, so she didn't want to review it, so I guess I'm not really a writer.
But no matter what happens, I can't seem to be discouraged from writing, which is both good and bad.
I'm glad I love something, but I'd like to know if I'm wasting my time.
I have to get through this new one, but the story challenges me at every turn...not because it's difficult to write or I don't know what to put on paper, but because it's stuff I'd have trouble talking about, even with close friends.
In any case, I want to get it out because I have another story idea eating at me.
I think much of the time I give the impression that no amount of encouragement could change my thinking, but somewhere along the line, something must have sunken in...now that everyone's given up on me.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Why I can no longer stand Bill Maher...
To me, part of what makes a person smart is an ability to weigh pros and cons and make their own informed decision about something...an ability to recognize a valid point in an argument that opposes their own.
Years ago, when I used to watch Politically Incorrect, Bill Maher was a bit more moderate and because of this, I agreed with him much more often than I do now.
In agreeing with him, I failed to see how closed-minded he is. Regardless of whether or not someone has a valid point, he doesn't consider it. He just keeps talking.
I really feel like the Bush administration ruined him.
He calls himself a libertarian, but it's obvious he's now extremely left wing. It's like he's gone off his rocker.
A lot of people don't like that he attacks religion and I don't care about that. What bothers me is that he's now embracing the silliest arguments and generalizing, attaching them to tons of people and labeling them all republicans and suddenly all conservatives are the enemy on every issue.
This video really bothered me.
Why do people insist that people who support the tea parties are all racists?
I think it's a stupid analogy because it's not taxation without representation, as we do have representatives, but to me it's as if the current administration is labeling those who don't want to pay high taxes racist as an attempt to scare these citizens into keeping quiet and discredit them, and Hollywood fell for this hook, line, and sinker.
If these groups of citizens, which included democrats, independents, libertarians, and republicans alike were simply to adopt the "Don't Tread on Me" flag as their symbol, would one of the great symbols of American liberty suddenly be considered a racist symbol?
I get my news from PJTV, a moderate website, not Fox, not CNN...and they interview plenty of black people at these tea party conventions.
Could they really all hate their own race?
I doubt it.
It insults our intelligence and it really burns my toast.
Years ago, when I used to watch Politically Incorrect, Bill Maher was a bit more moderate and because of this, I agreed with him much more often than I do now.
In agreeing with him, I failed to see how closed-minded he is. Regardless of whether or not someone has a valid point, he doesn't consider it. He just keeps talking.
I really feel like the Bush administration ruined him.
He calls himself a libertarian, but it's obvious he's now extremely left wing. It's like he's gone off his rocker.
A lot of people don't like that he attacks religion and I don't care about that. What bothers me is that he's now embracing the silliest arguments and generalizing, attaching them to tons of people and labeling them all republicans and suddenly all conservatives are the enemy on every issue.
This video really bothered me.
Why do people insist that people who support the tea parties are all racists?
I think it's a stupid analogy because it's not taxation without representation, as we do have representatives, but to me it's as if the current administration is labeling those who don't want to pay high taxes racist as an attempt to scare these citizens into keeping quiet and discredit them, and Hollywood fell for this hook, line, and sinker.
If these groups of citizens, which included democrats, independents, libertarians, and republicans alike were simply to adopt the "Don't Tread on Me" flag as their symbol, would one of the great symbols of American liberty suddenly be considered a racist symbol?
I get my news from PJTV, a moderate website, not Fox, not CNN...and they interview plenty of black people at these tea party conventions.
Could they really all hate their own race?
I doubt it.
It insults our intelligence and it really burns my toast.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Why don't you put your hair back on and come on back?
Just come on back...
Sometimes I feel I'm wearing a mask I don't remember putting on.
Most see me as quite reserved, and always aware of my position with regard to the implications of my interaction with other people.
But sometimes I wonder if my behavior doesn't exemplify my true intent. Sometimes I think it acts as a defense mechanism, one more powerful than even I can understand.
I haven't dated in awhile, but usually when I do, if I get too many phone calls I just stop answering the phone.
I don't know if I cherish "me time" more than most, or if my behavior is self-destructive, ensuring that I will remain alone.
Still, there are exceptions to the rule. People who cause me to rack my brain for an excuse to start a conversation with them. These people afford a glimmer of hope.
One such person seemed equally fascinated by me in the beginning, and the effortless ability to hold a conversation for hours or carry it over for days made me wonder if I too was worthy of companionship.
Now the conversations are fewer, shorter...and I find myself fanning a dying flame while the other person waits for the embers to go dark. The thought that I could need something that isn't essential to my being makes me feel pathetic. And when my thoughts drift back to the fire, I wonder if it's ever in the mind of that other person or if I am completely alone in this.
I wonder how something that seemed to fit together so perfectly could be broken apart and slip away without warning, how one could be left with a void and the other think nothing of it.
And if I was unworthy, I wonder why this person was ever a part of my life, why one would be made to seem so perfectly compatible with me, only to be lost.
I wonder if in knowing me well, all interest faded away.
I feel abandoned.
I wonder if some people exist, beautiful, distant, perfect...just to make us suffer.
And I marvel at the idea that someone who once made me feel intelligent, interesting, and significant could make me feel so much less than before they entered my life.
Sometimes I feel I'm wearing a mask I don't remember putting on.
Most see me as quite reserved, and always aware of my position with regard to the implications of my interaction with other people.
But sometimes I wonder if my behavior doesn't exemplify my true intent. Sometimes I think it acts as a defense mechanism, one more powerful than even I can understand.
I haven't dated in awhile, but usually when I do, if I get too many phone calls I just stop answering the phone.
I don't know if I cherish "me time" more than most, or if my behavior is self-destructive, ensuring that I will remain alone.
Still, there are exceptions to the rule. People who cause me to rack my brain for an excuse to start a conversation with them. These people afford a glimmer of hope.
One such person seemed equally fascinated by me in the beginning, and the effortless ability to hold a conversation for hours or carry it over for days made me wonder if I too was worthy of companionship.
Now the conversations are fewer, shorter...and I find myself fanning a dying flame while the other person waits for the embers to go dark. The thought that I could need something that isn't essential to my being makes me feel pathetic. And when my thoughts drift back to the fire, I wonder if it's ever in the mind of that other person or if I am completely alone in this.
I wonder how something that seemed to fit together so perfectly could be broken apart and slip away without warning, how one could be left with a void and the other think nothing of it.
And if I was unworthy, I wonder why this person was ever a part of my life, why one would be made to seem so perfectly compatible with me, only to be lost.
I wonder if in knowing me well, all interest faded away.
I feel abandoned.
I wonder if some people exist, beautiful, distant, perfect...just to make us suffer.
And I marvel at the idea that someone who once made me feel intelligent, interesting, and significant could make me feel so much less than before they entered my life.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
What's not to like?
You ever get the feeling some people just disagree with you to piss you off?
Don't get me wrong, I hate people who agree with everything I say out of a lack of personality or a need to appease, but the need to be contrary or play the Devil's Advocate at all times really bugs me.
My brother's been doing that to me for a few years now.
His taste used to mirror mine in film and music. Not so anymore. The influence of others over his impressionable personality ruined him and now he seems to disagree with me on everything.
Once we were both naturalists. Some of my favorite movies to watch in the house were his.
One lousy girlfriend later, I was the only one watching them, and he only watches escapist films.
It seems like whenever I really love something now, he makes his best effort to hate it.
Ex. I loved Rilo Kiley.
He said, "I don't like that talk-singing, storyteller crap."
Therefore, he never listened to Jenny Lewis and when I transitioned into liking folk, he was left behind.
What bothers me most, I think, is that when I really like an actor or actress, he says he doesn't like them and when I start liking one he likes, he claims not to like them anymore.
When we were younger, we both watched Beautiful Girls a lot, and when Episode I came out, he developed a huge crush on Natalie Portman.
For years, I looked up to her, but when Garden State and Closer came out and he couldn't like them because they conflicted with his Anti-naturalism thing, my liking of her surpassed his. All of the sudden, he's not so big on Natalie Portman and I am.
He doesn't like Emily Blunt, Evangeline Lilly, Angelina Jolie, and Evan Rachel Wood because of my obsession with them.
He has said complimentary things about them and he does watch their movies, but claims not to like them to bug me, or because he's weirded out by how much I like them.
I once noted that Scarlett Johansson, Natalie Portman, Evan Rachel Wood, and Jennifer Connelly were Jewish.
He said, "I must like Jewish girls."
I replied, "Me too."
He just smiled and shook his head.
When watching Sunshine Cleaning with my parents, my mom told my dad, "Mike loves the redhead."
I replied, "Ash loves the brunette."
Mike later said, "You have to stop saying you love girls."
He's just going to have to get over the fact that I do have girl crushes and we happen to have the same taste in women, haha.
I don't know if he's uncomfortable because he's "worried about me" or because he's insecure.
I'm forcing him to see Wolfman with me this weekend.
Oh and just because I said he was great in Things We Lost in the Fire, he says he doesn't like Benicio del Toro.
Really burns my toast!
What's not to like?
Don't get me wrong, I hate people who agree with everything I say out of a lack of personality or a need to appease, but the need to be contrary or play the Devil's Advocate at all times really bugs me.
My brother's been doing that to me for a few years now.
His taste used to mirror mine in film and music. Not so anymore. The influence of others over his impressionable personality ruined him and now he seems to disagree with me on everything.
Once we were both naturalists. Some of my favorite movies to watch in the house were his.
One lousy girlfriend later, I was the only one watching them, and he only watches escapist films.
It seems like whenever I really love something now, he makes his best effort to hate it.
Ex. I loved Rilo Kiley.
He said, "I don't like that talk-singing, storyteller crap."
Therefore, he never listened to Jenny Lewis and when I transitioned into liking folk, he was left behind.
What bothers me most, I think, is that when I really like an actor or actress, he says he doesn't like them and when I start liking one he likes, he claims not to like them anymore.
When we were younger, we both watched Beautiful Girls a lot, and when Episode I came out, he developed a huge crush on Natalie Portman.
For years, I looked up to her, but when Garden State and Closer came out and he couldn't like them because they conflicted with his Anti-naturalism thing, my liking of her surpassed his. All of the sudden, he's not so big on Natalie Portman and I am.
He doesn't like Emily Blunt, Evangeline Lilly, Angelina Jolie, and Evan Rachel Wood because of my obsession with them.
He has said complimentary things about them and he does watch their movies, but claims not to like them to bug me, or because he's weirded out by how much I like them.
I once noted that Scarlett Johansson, Natalie Portman, Evan Rachel Wood, and Jennifer Connelly were Jewish.
He said, "I must like Jewish girls."
I replied, "Me too."
He just smiled and shook his head.
When watching Sunshine Cleaning with my parents, my mom told my dad, "Mike loves the redhead."
I replied, "Ash loves the brunette."
Mike later said, "You have to stop saying you love girls."
He's just going to have to get over the fact that I do have girl crushes and we happen to have the same taste in women, haha.
I don't know if he's uncomfortable because he's "worried about me" or because he's insecure.
I'm forcing him to see Wolfman with me this weekend.
Oh and just because I said he was great in Things We Lost in the Fire, he says he doesn't like Benicio del Toro.
Really burns my toast!
What's not to like?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
You asked for it...
The Musketeers of Pig Alley (1912)
Traffic in Souls (1913)
The Pawnshop (1916)
The General (1927)
Sunrise (1928)
Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928)
Scarface (1931)
King Kong (1933)
Tokyo no onna (Woman of Tokyo) (1933)
Modern Times (1936)
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Gone With the Wind (1939)
The Wizard of Oz (1939)
Dark Victory (1939)
Shadow of a Doubt (1943)
The Bicycle Thief (1948)
A Place in the Sun (1951)
Dial M for Murder (1954)
White Christmas (1954)
On the Waterfront (1954)
Rear Window (1954)
A Bout de Souffle (Breathless) (1959)
North by Northwest (1959)
Gidget (1959)
Splendor in the Grass (1961)
To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)
Lásky jedné plavovlásky (Loves of a Blonde) (1965)
Blow Up (1966)
Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
Badlands (1973)
Chinatown (1974)
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)
Jaws (1975)
Carrie (1976)
Days of Heaven (1978)
The Deer Hunter(1979)
Apocalypse Now (1979)
The Amityville Horror (1979)
The Shining (1980)
Vacation (1983)
Red Dawn (1984)
Blood Simple (1984)
The Breakfast Club (1984)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Lucas (1986)
Die Hard (1988)
Beetle Juice (1988)
Uncle Buck (1989)
Heathers (1989)
Sex, Lies, and Videotape (1989)
Field of Dreams (1989)
Okay...it's time for the 90s and up to present, so I'm going to leave out the year. I'm in my element now;)
"Beautiful Girls,"
American Beauty,"
"Donnie Darko,"
"Igby Goes Down,"
"Hackers,"
"Requiem for a Dream,"
"Freeway,"
"American Psycho,"
“The Professional”
"Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys,"
"Grand Canyon,"
"Gia,"
"Stardom,"
"Girl, Interrupted,"
"Higher Learning"
"The Ice Storm,"
"Meet Joe Black,"
"But I'm a Cheerleader,"
"Untamed Heart,"
"Playing Mona Lisa,"
"Cheaters,"
"The Believer,"
"White Oleander,"
"Benny and Joon,"
"Serendipity"
"Spun,"
"The General's Daughter,"
"Adventures in Babysitting,"
"Edward Scissorhands"
"The Virgin Suicides,"
"What's Eating Gilbert Grape,"
"Frailty,"
"Mars Attacks!"
"Laurel Canyon,"
"The Man Who Wasn't There,"
"Playing by Heart,"
"Trainspotting,"
"Murder by Numbers,"
"The Rules of Attraction,"
"The Talented Mr. Ripley,"
"The Other Sister,"
"Wild Things,"
"Empire Records,"
"Waking the Dead,"
"Where the Heart Is,"
"Ghost World,"
"Outside Providence,"
"The Gift," "Elephant,"
"Hard Candy,"
"Anywhere but Here,"
"Panic,"
"Sexy Beast,"
"Office Space,"
"Brokedown Palace,"
"Romy and Michele's Highschool Reunion,"
"Renaissance Man,"
"Uncle Buck,"
"What about Bob?"
"Fried Green Tomatoes"
"eXistenZ,"
"Moonlight and Valentino,"
"An American Rhapsody,"
"The Burbs,"
"The War,"
"Interview with the Vampire," "
A Simple Plan,"
"Bong Water,"
"Highway,"
Sleepers,"
"Hideaway,"
"A River Runs Through It,"
"Heavenly Creatures,"
"Thirteen,"
"Clueless,"
A Simple Twist of Fate," "
My Girl,"
"Legends of the Fall,"
"Overnight,"
"Great Expectations"
"Mortal Thoughts,"
"The Cure,"
"The Devil's Advocate,"
"Romeo is Bleeding,"
"Malice,"
"Dead Calm,"
"Lawn Dogs,
"Two Days in the Valley,"
"Onegin,"
"The Last Days of Disco,"
“Boyz n the Hood”
"My Summer of Love,"
"In the Bedroom,"
Naissance des pieuvres (Water Lilies)
"Lymelife"
"The New World,"
"V for Vendetta,"
"The Human Stain,"
"Down in the Valley,"
"The Good Girl,"
"Away We Go,"
"Mean Creek,"
"The Hurt Locker,"
"All the Real Girls,"
"The Lovely Bones,"
"Henry Poole is Here,"
"Things We Lost in the Fire,"
"Away From Her,"
"Junebug,"
"Adaptation,"
"Serenity,"
"Pretty Persuasion,"
"Garden State,"
"25th Hour,"
"Secretary,"
"The Jacket,"
"United States of Leland."
"Lost In Translation,"
"Big Fish,"
"Pure,"
"The Slaughter Rule,"
"House of Sand and Fog,"
"Stay,"
"300"
"Cherish,"
"The Upside of Anger,"
"Closer,"
"Domino,"
"Eulogy,"
"Fierce People,"
"Speak,"
"10th & Wolf"
"Lost and Delirious,"
"Blue Car,"
"The Royal Tenenbaums,"
"Saved!"
"Almost Famous,"
"Waitress,"
"No Country for Old Men,"
"Running with Scissors,"
"Jesus Camp,"
"An American Crime,"
"Lars and the Real Girl,"
"Silk,"
"Volver,"
"Atonement,"
"Gideon's Daughter,"
"The Sleeping Dictionary,"
"3:10 to Yuma,"
"Talk to Her,"
"Black Snake Moan,"
"Where the Truth Lies,"
"Dreamland,"
"The Secret (Si j'étais toi),"
"Changeling,"
"Sunshine Cleaning," "
In Bruges,"
"Adventureland,"
"The Fountain,"
"A Love Song for Bobby Long,"
"Pieces of April,"
"Love Actually,"
"The New World,"
"Life As a House”
”The Prestige."
The snow's comin' down. I'm watchin' it fall...
If you know anything about me at all, you probably me know that my greatest love in life is my love of film. What you might not know is that a close second is my love for music. Maybe it's sometimes on equal footing and depending on mood, it might even surpass film. Music has the power to alter my mood completely. To take me from utter despair to euphoria and vice versa.
There's a great blizzard out there today, a complete whiteout.
I had to venture out earlier (even though I didn't feel like it) to go to the drug store for my antibiotics and my prilosec. The roads were terrible and I was freezing. The world was so gray that when I returned home, I wasn't in the best mood. But then I remembered that I wanted to find out which artist had covered "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister on last night's Damages, because it was kinda different, but I loved it.
Turns out it was this band called Hellsongs who also does covers of AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Slayer, Metallica, and others. They cover these metal songs and make them acoustic and totally beautiful.
Then on the FX website where I found the first song, I found another great band who was featured in the episode, a band called Color of Clouds.
This after discovering yesterday that I love every song Pete Yorn ever recorded.
"You know what it's like in the beginnings, when getting a call from her...it makes your day? It's like...seeing a shooting star."
Discovering new music for me is just like falling in love.
There's a great blizzard out there today, a complete whiteout.
I had to venture out earlier (even though I didn't feel like it) to go to the drug store for my antibiotics and my prilosec. The roads were terrible and I was freezing. The world was so gray that when I returned home, I wasn't in the best mood. But then I remembered that I wanted to find out which artist had covered "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister on last night's Damages, because it was kinda different, but I loved it.
Turns out it was this band called Hellsongs who also does covers of AC/DC, Iron Maiden, Slayer, Metallica, and others. They cover these metal songs and make them acoustic and totally beautiful.
Then on the FX website where I found the first song, I found another great band who was featured in the episode, a band called Color of Clouds.
This after discovering yesterday that I love every song Pete Yorn ever recorded.
"You know what it's like in the beginnings, when getting a call from her...it makes your day? It's like...seeing a shooting star."
Discovering new music for me is just like falling in love.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
You ever get the feeling the world is a tuxedo...
and you're a pair of brown shoes?
First off, let me say, although I want the Saints to win tonight, I think they're goin' down and that's where my money's at.
Also, we should soon be filming episode two of Hop on Pop Culture with Tree and Stump.
We plan to get it out before The Oscars to discuss predictions and allow me to tell you who should win but won't and who was better than those nominated, but got no recognition.
If you missed the first episode, check it out here:
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=101498846
Comments are welcome.
Okay...this is where the blog once again transitions into a girly blog about my hair.
I wanted to grow it out. The goal is Penelope Cruz's hair in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Now that I'm about halfway there (and this always happens), I change my mind and start wanting Linda Evangelista's hair in the Freedom '90 video.
I have really thick hair and I could probably do either, but I've haven't tried. I just get stuck in between those extreme stages. But I have a round face and naturally puffy cheeks, so maybe it's best to avoid short hair.
You tell me...
First off, let me say, although I want the Saints to win tonight, I think they're goin' down and that's where my money's at.
Also, we should soon be filming episode two of Hop on Pop Culture with Tree and Stump.
We plan to get it out before The Oscars to discuss predictions and allow me to tell you who should win but won't and who was better than those nominated, but got no recognition.
If you missed the first episode, check it out here:
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=101498846
Comments are welcome.
Okay...this is where the blog once again transitions into a girly blog about my hair.
I wanted to grow it out. The goal is Penelope Cruz's hair in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Now that I'm about halfway there (and this always happens), I change my mind and start wanting Linda Evangelista's hair in the Freedom '90 video.
I have really thick hair and I could probably do either, but I've haven't tried. I just get stuck in between those extreme stages. But I have a round face and naturally puffy cheeks, so maybe it's best to avoid short hair.
You tell me...
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Surely not the luckiest man....
My uncle was recently diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease, after months of doctors not knowing what was wrong with him, claiming that sleep apnea had caused brain damage.
Gary was one of the biggest men I'd ever seen up close, probably 6'8 and pretty heavy, but he's lost over 100 pounds, just wasting away.
Today I went with my Aunt, her daughter, Gary's mom, and my mom down to the hospital where he's being treated in Detroit. He was in the ICU and we learned how his ventilator works, how to inject his medications, how to change ventilators so he can talk, how to suction his air passage, and how to bag him if there's trouble with the vent.
His daughter met us there and I could tell by looking at her that she wasn't paying attention. She wasn't interested in a thing that was said and I knew she wasn't willing to help. She wouldn't even hug him.
My Aunt's crazy to bring him home now. I've never seen him so weak and she won't read about how the machines work. She implied that she wanted us there to take notes and help her learn how everything worked, but once we were there, we could tell the plan had changed. We know she expects both my mom and me to suck the gunk out of his trach tube every three hours, give him sponge baths, and wipe his butt.
As selfish as it sounds, I don't think there's any way I could do that.
Gary is one of the few people in my family that I can stand, but he and my Aunt have only been married a few years and honestly, I don't know him that well.
Even if it was one of my parents, I doubt I could do it. I'd have to hire a nurse.
I have a thing about necks...I can't even touch my own let alone shove a tube through a hole someone else's to suction out out mucus so they can breathe.
They showed us the machine and then he became the machine. They talked about him like he wasn't even there. What it would take to keep him running.
I gave him a hug, told him a stories, and made him smile, and it made me feel worse for him knowing that he's in there...his brain still works and he can still comprehend everything around him, but he can't move. He can't even move enough to breathe.
Kierkegaard said,"Only the noble of heart are called to difficulty," so perhaps the noble thing to do is get over my phobias and just do it.
Gary was one of the biggest men I'd ever seen up close, probably 6'8 and pretty heavy, but he's lost over 100 pounds, just wasting away.
Today I went with my Aunt, her daughter, Gary's mom, and my mom down to the hospital where he's being treated in Detroit. He was in the ICU and we learned how his ventilator works, how to inject his medications, how to change ventilators so he can talk, how to suction his air passage, and how to bag him if there's trouble with the vent.
His daughter met us there and I could tell by looking at her that she wasn't paying attention. She wasn't interested in a thing that was said and I knew she wasn't willing to help. She wouldn't even hug him.
My Aunt's crazy to bring him home now. I've never seen him so weak and she won't read about how the machines work. She implied that she wanted us there to take notes and help her learn how everything worked, but once we were there, we could tell the plan had changed. We know she expects both my mom and me to suck the gunk out of his trach tube every three hours, give him sponge baths, and wipe his butt.
As selfish as it sounds, I don't think there's any way I could do that.
Gary is one of the few people in my family that I can stand, but he and my Aunt have only been married a few years and honestly, I don't know him that well.
Even if it was one of my parents, I doubt I could do it. I'd have to hire a nurse.
I have a thing about necks...I can't even touch my own let alone shove a tube through a hole someone else's to suction out out mucus so they can breathe.
They showed us the machine and then he became the machine. They talked about him like he wasn't even there. What it would take to keep him running.
I gave him a hug, told him a stories, and made him smile, and it made me feel worse for him knowing that he's in there...his brain still works and he can still comprehend everything around him, but he can't move. He can't even move enough to breathe.
Kierkegaard said,"Only the noble of heart are called to difficulty," so perhaps the noble thing to do is get over my phobias and just do it.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Now it's time to wake up.
Someone once told me, "You grow up when you give up your dreams, when you see things as they are, and you stop living for yourself."
"What's the point of living if you don't have a dream? I'd rather stick a knife in my gut right now than live like that," I retorted.
But I'm starting to believe that this unadulterated passion comes from youth and that giving up and growing up could quite possibly be one in the same.
Reality has stepped in to stomp out the fires of my idealism and from the ashes, I rise like a phoenix, new, changed...but as something I never wanted to be.
I write this thinking that I shouldn't be writing anything anymore, thinking that the things I write aren't any good and that the praise of strangers meant to soften the blows of my failure have made them far worse in the end.
I'm not special.
I'm a number.
Another blurred image in a crowd of the faceless.
I am reborn, but my phoenix is not powerful as she was meant to be, yet she looks down at the old me and feels only pity.
A fellowship with HBO, a fellowship with ABC, two film festival submissions...these are the forms I've filled out this week.
The promise of collaboration and the financing of both my scripts from a young novelist I do not trust, one who claims he has industry ties.
I hear praise, I fill out forms, I'm promised results and change...but nothing ever comes of it and I've never felt so discouraged.
Early this week I went to a job interview and the interviewer told me "We don't much like creative types around here. You couldn't handle the monotony."
I look at my heroes and I am baffled by and envious at the idea of actually being good at something, being so good at something that it's potent, unable to be missed.
And here I sit, unable to do anything, punished for a creativity that in truth, I do not possess.
Today, the letter from a law school in Lansing arrives.
I'm invited to their next open house and my parents encourage me to go.
I couldn't throw it away and I wasn't even insulted by the implication that I should forget everything I've ever wanted and go to law school instead...just because I can.
It's time to wake up.
It's time to choose.
In my romanticism, I never thought I'd have to face it...the possibility of not getting to do what I'd planned on doing.
I never thought I'd face the blade.
And surprisingly enough, I think I'm choosing law school over it.
"What's the point of living if you don't have a dream? I'd rather stick a knife in my gut right now than live like that," I retorted.
But I'm starting to believe that this unadulterated passion comes from youth and that giving up and growing up could quite possibly be one in the same.
Reality has stepped in to stomp out the fires of my idealism and from the ashes, I rise like a phoenix, new, changed...but as something I never wanted to be.
I write this thinking that I shouldn't be writing anything anymore, thinking that the things I write aren't any good and that the praise of strangers meant to soften the blows of my failure have made them far worse in the end.
I'm not special.
I'm a number.
Another blurred image in a crowd of the faceless.
I am reborn, but my phoenix is not powerful as she was meant to be, yet she looks down at the old me and feels only pity.
A fellowship with HBO, a fellowship with ABC, two film festival submissions...these are the forms I've filled out this week.
The promise of collaboration and the financing of both my scripts from a young novelist I do not trust, one who claims he has industry ties.
I hear praise, I fill out forms, I'm promised results and change...but nothing ever comes of it and I've never felt so discouraged.
Early this week I went to a job interview and the interviewer told me "We don't much like creative types around here. You couldn't handle the monotony."
I look at my heroes and I am baffled by and envious at the idea of actually being good at something, being so good at something that it's potent, unable to be missed.
And here I sit, unable to do anything, punished for a creativity that in truth, I do not possess.
Today, the letter from a law school in Lansing arrives.
I'm invited to their next open house and my parents encourage me to go.
I couldn't throw it away and I wasn't even insulted by the implication that I should forget everything I've ever wanted and go to law school instead...just because I can.
It's time to wake up.
It's time to choose.
In my romanticism, I never thought I'd have to face it...the possibility of not getting to do what I'd planned on doing.
I never thought I'd face the blade.
And surprisingly enough, I think I'm choosing law school over it.
Monday, February 1, 2010
To vanish into oblivion is easy to do.
Sometimes I think I can feel myself disappearing.
I know some people don't like to think about the fact that every moment that passes is another they can't get back, that they're a moment closer to their own demise, but sometimes I think I can feel it.
I can feel myself winding down and getting to that place where people don't think of you every day anymore, where not one person does.
Nobody calls me.
No one sends me a message, an e-mail, or a letter.
I don't see anybody, no one sees me.
I don't hear anybody.
Nobody hears me.
I'm alone most of the time and it's starting to wear me down.
I don't feel like sleeping until I do, and then I don't feel like getting up.
I don't have an appetite.
It was 3pm before I had anything to eat today and even then I didn't feel hungry.
I never have a reason to go anywhere, but when a reason comes up, I don't want to go out.
The things that I love and the people who don't love me back don't seem enough to sustain me anymore.
I think about people all day long and nobody thinks about me and I've reached a point where I don't want to think about them either.
Deep down in the pit of my stomach I feel myself dying and I wish I'd do it faster.
I have a job interview tomorrow and I'm hoping for a chance to do something...anything that would get me out of the house.
But at the end of the day nobody cares about me and even though I've tried to deny that it was important for years, I wish somebody did, just one person.
Because I'm in a lot of pain all the time and the more it hurts to smile, the more I think it's not going to go away.
I'm too good at wanting, but I'm never gonna be what I want and I'm never gonna be the thing someone else wants.
I wish I had the guts not to be anymore.
I know some people don't like to think about the fact that every moment that passes is another they can't get back, that they're a moment closer to their own demise, but sometimes I think I can feel it.
I can feel myself winding down and getting to that place where people don't think of you every day anymore, where not one person does.
Nobody calls me.
No one sends me a message, an e-mail, or a letter.
I don't see anybody, no one sees me.
I don't hear anybody.
Nobody hears me.
I'm alone most of the time and it's starting to wear me down.
I don't feel like sleeping until I do, and then I don't feel like getting up.
I don't have an appetite.
It was 3pm before I had anything to eat today and even then I didn't feel hungry.
I never have a reason to go anywhere, but when a reason comes up, I don't want to go out.
The things that I love and the people who don't love me back don't seem enough to sustain me anymore.
I think about people all day long and nobody thinks about me and I've reached a point where I don't want to think about them either.
Deep down in the pit of my stomach I feel myself dying and I wish I'd do it faster.
I have a job interview tomorrow and I'm hoping for a chance to do something...anything that would get me out of the house.
But at the end of the day nobody cares about me and even though I've tried to deny that it was important for years, I wish somebody did, just one person.
Because I'm in a lot of pain all the time and the more it hurts to smile, the more I think it's not going to go away.
I'm too good at wanting, but I'm never gonna be what I want and I'm never gonna be the thing someone else wants.
I wish I had the guts not to be anymore.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The past is dead, and I'm not looking back.
The future's in your head.
It's a fantasy, Jack.
The now penguin in here,
And he's flapping his wings,
And although he can't fly,
He does wonderful things.
He likes to go for a walk,
Knows it's good to be outside,
And when he gets sad,
He's not afraid to cry.
He's been licking my wounds,
'Cause he knows that they'll heal.
He's been making me fall,
So I'll know that I'm real.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuqPbNu5_1c
I'm in love with that song.
You guys wanna make me happy?
Listen to that song.
You wanna make me really happy?
Watch Flashbacks of a Fool.
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=45356667
It's a fantasy, Jack.
The now penguin in here,
And he's flapping his wings,
And although he can't fly,
He does wonderful things.
He likes to go for a walk,
Knows it's good to be outside,
And when he gets sad,
He's not afraid to cry.
He's been licking my wounds,
'Cause he knows that they'll heal.
He's been making me fall,
So I'll know that I'm real.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuqPbNu5_1c
I'm in love with that song.
You guys wanna make me happy?
Listen to that song.
You wanna make me really happy?
Watch Flashbacks of a Fool.
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=45356667
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Gone are the days of not feeling it.
I'll let you know if my heart turns.
Last month I had two script ideas vying for my attention. The older, more developed one took the cake and I've been working on it since, pushing the other one to the back of my mind.
But there are some tricky elements to the one I'm working on, and by that I mean there's something I don't really know about and something I don't want to write about, and those happen to be the same thing. And it's early on in the script so in order to make progress I have to move past it.
The closer I get to it, the harder it is to feel motivated to write and I'm wondering if it's less that I don't want to and more that I'm scared to, because I haven't got a clue what I'm doing.
To make matters worse, I came up with a new script idea today and I can't stop thinking about that one. It's probably because I don't want to work on the old one, but hey, maybe I'm more creative in my desperation.
They could both be interesting, but I know the one I'm writing now would be more likely to sell, so I guess I should keep on truckin'. Maybe if I think, "The sooner I get this one done, the sooner I can start the next one," I'll finish faster.
It's weird, but I think I sometimes relate better to characters than I do to real people, but maybe most people do.
Random Movie Quote Alert:
"Everyone knows books are better than life, that's why they're books!"
I can write a story and through the behavior of a character, not through description, not through their words, with behavior alone, I can make someone's motivation clear...but I can't for the life of me understand the motivations of some of the real people in my life.
My mom coddles me one minute and cuts me the next, but at least she always has and I understand why.
It's mostly friends I don't understand.
So many of them act like I'm the coolest thing since sliced bread to the point of kissing my ass, and then without warning disappear off the radar for awhile only to come back and kiss my ass again.
I don't understand it.
The only conclusions I can come to:
A) The ass kissing is their way of coddling me and that because I'm a self-bashing cynic, people around me assume I'm in need of coddling when in reality I'm content to be a self-bashing cynic.
B) When they disappear off the radar, they've tired of me, yet they feel guilty, so when they do see me, I become the coolest thing since sliced bread again.
If it's the latter, I say, let me know if your heart turns, as I would let you know the state of mine.
I understand that people are mercurial because in many ways, I am, but I also understand that in other regards I'm unchangeable. I am loyal to a fault and so 'my heart is always on the line.' But it's a risk I'm willing to take, so I wish they'd all be honest with me.
Last month I had two script ideas vying for my attention. The older, more developed one took the cake and I've been working on it since, pushing the other one to the back of my mind.
But there are some tricky elements to the one I'm working on, and by that I mean there's something I don't really know about and something I don't want to write about, and those happen to be the same thing. And it's early on in the script so in order to make progress I have to move past it.
The closer I get to it, the harder it is to feel motivated to write and I'm wondering if it's less that I don't want to and more that I'm scared to, because I haven't got a clue what I'm doing.
To make matters worse, I came up with a new script idea today and I can't stop thinking about that one. It's probably because I don't want to work on the old one, but hey, maybe I'm more creative in my desperation.
They could both be interesting, but I know the one I'm writing now would be more likely to sell, so I guess I should keep on truckin'. Maybe if I think, "The sooner I get this one done, the sooner I can start the next one," I'll finish faster.
It's weird, but I think I sometimes relate better to characters than I do to real people, but maybe most people do.
Random Movie Quote Alert:
"Everyone knows books are better than life, that's why they're books!"
I can write a story and through the behavior of a character, not through description, not through their words, with behavior alone, I can make someone's motivation clear...but I can't for the life of me understand the motivations of some of the real people in my life.
My mom coddles me one minute and cuts me the next, but at least she always has and I understand why.
It's mostly friends I don't understand.
So many of them act like I'm the coolest thing since sliced bread to the point of kissing my ass, and then without warning disappear off the radar for awhile only to come back and kiss my ass again.
I don't understand it.
The only conclusions I can come to:
A) The ass kissing is their way of coddling me and that because I'm a self-bashing cynic, people around me assume I'm in need of coddling when in reality I'm content to be a self-bashing cynic.
B) When they disappear off the radar, they've tired of me, yet they feel guilty, so when they do see me, I become the coolest thing since sliced bread again.
If it's the latter, I say, let me know if your heart turns, as I would let you know the state of mine.
I understand that people are mercurial because in many ways, I am, but I also understand that in other regards I'm unchangeable. I am loyal to a fault and so 'my heart is always on the line.' But it's a risk I'm willing to take, so I wish they'd all be honest with me.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
"If man is made in God's image, what does that say about God?"
"Yeah...yeah, that sounds like a good one!"
For a person who was raised by two Catholics, one who was forced to go to church every day in his youth and forced into Catholic school and therefore never went back in adulthood, and one who criticizes or embraces religion depending on the situation, I have a pretty independent outlook on religion.
I was made to go to church about five times on Easter Sunday, but I only remember going once or twice. When I was six years old and my brother and I told my parents we didn't want to go. They didn't make us. Instead, they discussed the importance of the day with us, a tradition we did not continue.
Still, some things stuck with both of us in our formative years, but with my brother, who is in many ways far more impressionable, these things were fleeting. After getting engaged to an agnostic, he became one. Although he still calls himself one, I think he's an atheist now.
As for me, I still pray every night, but it seems more like a habit or a tick. As one of the nervous, obsessive compulsive habits that came with the anxiety of starting middle school was praying more often, which bizarrely enough is common among OCD sufferers.
Now I only pray once, but can't go to sleep until I do.
Yet, as my health continues to deteriorate with each passing day (and no one is able to figure out how to help me or even what's causing it) and on the career front, I'm finding it harder and harder to laugh while my dreams come apart at the seams, I'm becoming the kind of person who does not embrace faith in times of trouble, but shies away from it. Deism intrigues me most. What was good enough for our founding fathers is good enough for me.
As even scientists will tell you of the rare probability of our existence without some higher power, it makes a great deal of sense to me that God created us then went on vacation. It makes it easier to explain life's great tragedies if God turned his face away long ago. The great wars, the holocaust... It seems wrong to think that God would not have intervened unless of course you believe that the holocaust happened because God knew the Jews could withstand it and in some way would be made stronger because of it, because they are the chosen people. I suppose it's possible, but I'd like to throw it out there...whether God's around or not, the Jews are the chosen people. I'd love to be Jewish.
Even though I'm having a crisis of faith at the moment, I still love reading about religions, particularly Judaism. Many other religions, including Christianity, were born of Judaism and studying the roots of something is always fascinating to me.
But more than anything else in Judaism, I like reading about two ideas.
I like the idea that man was not made in God's image and the tendency of the younger sibling to surpass the older sibling in greatness.
In Judaism, God is not to be compared to anything.
Random Movie Quote Alert:
"Because He's not like anything. Not only can you not see Him or hear Him, you can't even...think about Him? What's the difference between that and Him not existing?"
"There's no difference."
"I mean, Christianity's silly but at least there's something to believe...or not believe. In Judaism there's nothing."
"Nothing but nothingness. Judaism's not really about belief. It's about doing things. You light candles, say prayers, keep the Sabbath, visit the sick..."
"And belief follows?"
"Nothing follows. You don't do it because it's smart, and you don't do it because you get saved because there's no one to save you. You do it because the Torah tells you to and you submit to the Torah."
"That is fucked."
"Don't swear in front of it."
"The book's closed."
If God is infallible then man was not made in his image. Man is the very essence of fallibility. Man sucks and if man was made in his image, God would suck too, which is highly unlikely because of the perfectly mechanized way in which everything he made works. My theory is that man selfishly made God in his image in an attempt to boost his own self-esteem.
God is man in a robe with a big white beard?
I think not.
"And Abraham said to God, 'Oh that Ishmael might live before You!' But God said, 'No, but Sarah your wife will bear you a son, and you shall call his name Isaac; and I will establish My covenant with him for an everlasting covenant for his descendants after him. As for Ishmael, I have heard you; behold, I will bless him, and will make him fruitful and will multiply him exceedingly. He shall become the father of twelve princes, and I will make him a great nation. But My covenant I will establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you at this season next year.'"
As the youngest of two children and undeniably engaged in a heated sibling rivalry, I also love the idea of the younger sibling surpassing the older in "Quality" and "Greatness." Of course, genetically, it's been shown that younger siblings get the leftover genes. They're not supposed to be as attractive or as intelligent.
In many cases a younger sibling might copy an older sibling and try to do what the older sibling has done, only better. My brother and I seem to unknowingly copy each other in an attempt to outdo.
He went to Port Huron High School and was on the Quiz Bowl team.
I went to Port Huron High School, got a higher GPA, and was captain of the Quiz Bowl team.
He graduated from The University of Michigan.
I graduated from The University of Michigan...with a higher GPA.
When I was in 10th grade I announced that I wanted to be a writer.
He changed his major because he wanted to be a writer too.
I finished my first screenplay.
He finished his first novel.
I finished another screenplay.
He finished another novel.
I'm writing a third screenplay.
A vicious circle.
According to the old testament, I win.
But in competition we are more alike than we realize and in sharing a rivalry and sometimes sharing a brain, we are the same.
For what is envy if not a kind of love?
"Take your son, your only son..."
"Not his only son."
"It's the only one he loves."
For a person who was raised by two Catholics, one who was forced to go to church every day in his youth and forced into Catholic school and therefore never went back in adulthood, and one who criticizes or embraces religion depending on the situation, I have a pretty independent outlook on religion.
I was made to go to church about five times on Easter Sunday, but I only remember going once or twice. When I was six years old and my brother and I told my parents we didn't want to go. They didn't make us. Instead, they discussed the importance of the day with us, a tradition we did not continue.
Still, some things stuck with both of us in our formative years, but with my brother, who is in many ways far more impressionable, these things were fleeting. After getting engaged to an agnostic, he became one. Although he still calls himself one, I think he's an atheist now.
As for me, I still pray every night, but it seems more like a habit or a tick. As one of the nervous, obsessive compulsive habits that came with the anxiety of starting middle school was praying more often, which bizarrely enough is common among OCD sufferers.
Now I only pray once, but can't go to sleep until I do.
Yet, as my health continues to deteriorate with each passing day (and no one is able to figure out how to help me or even what's causing it) and on the career front, I'm finding it harder and harder to laugh while my dreams come apart at the seams, I'm becoming the kind of person who does not embrace faith in times of trouble, but shies away from it. Deism intrigues me most. What was good enough for our founding fathers is good enough for me.
As even scientists will tell you of the rare probability of our existence without some higher power, it makes a great deal of sense to me that God created us then went on vacation. It makes it easier to explain life's great tragedies if God turned his face away long ago. The great wars, the holocaust... It seems wrong to think that God would not have intervened unless of course you believe that the holocaust happened because God knew the Jews could withstand it and in some way would be made stronger because of it, because they are the chosen people. I suppose it's possible, but I'd like to throw it out there...whether God's around or not, the Jews are the chosen people. I'd love to be Jewish.
Even though I'm having a crisis of faith at the moment, I still love reading about religions, particularly Judaism. Many other religions, including Christianity, were born of Judaism and studying the roots of something is always fascinating to me.
But more than anything else in Judaism, I like reading about two ideas.
I like the idea that man was not made in God's image and the tendency of the younger sibling to surpass the older sibling in greatness.
In Judaism, God is not to be compared to anything.
Random Movie Quote Alert:
"Because He's not like anything. Not only can you not see Him or hear Him, you can't even...think about Him? What's the difference between that and Him not existing?"
"There's no difference."
"I mean, Christianity's silly but at least there's something to believe...or not believe. In Judaism there's nothing."
"Nothing but nothingness. Judaism's not really about belief. It's about doing things. You light candles, say prayers, keep the Sabbath, visit the sick..."
"And belief follows?"
"Nothing follows. You don't do it because it's smart, and you don't do it because you get saved because there's no one to save you. You do it because the Torah tells you to and you submit to the Torah."
"That is fucked."
"Don't swear in front of it."
"The book's closed."
If God is infallible then man was not made in his image. Man is the very essence of fallibility. Man sucks and if man was made in his image, God would suck too, which is highly unlikely because of the perfectly mechanized way in which everything he made works. My theory is that man selfishly made God in his image in an attempt to boost his own self-esteem.
God is man in a robe with a big white beard?
I think not.
"And Abraham said to God, 'Oh that Ishmael might live before You!' But God said, 'No, but Sarah your wife will bear you a son, and you shall call his name Isaac; and I will establish My covenant with him for an everlasting covenant for his descendants after him. As for Ishmael, I have heard you; behold, I will bless him, and will make him fruitful and will multiply him exceedingly. He shall become the father of twelve princes, and I will make him a great nation. But My covenant I will establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you at this season next year.'"
As the youngest of two children and undeniably engaged in a heated sibling rivalry, I also love the idea of the younger sibling surpassing the older in "Quality" and "Greatness." Of course, genetically, it's been shown that younger siblings get the leftover genes. They're not supposed to be as attractive or as intelligent.
In many cases a younger sibling might copy an older sibling and try to do what the older sibling has done, only better. My brother and I seem to unknowingly copy each other in an attempt to outdo.
He went to Port Huron High School and was on the Quiz Bowl team.
I went to Port Huron High School, got a higher GPA, and was captain of the Quiz Bowl team.
He graduated from The University of Michigan.
I graduated from The University of Michigan...with a higher GPA.
When I was in 10th grade I announced that I wanted to be a writer.
He changed his major because he wanted to be a writer too.
I finished my first screenplay.
He finished his first novel.
I finished another screenplay.
He finished another novel.
I'm writing a third screenplay.
A vicious circle.
According to the old testament, I win.
But in competition we are more alike than we realize and in sharing a rivalry and sometimes sharing a brain, we are the same.
For what is envy if not a kind of love?
"Take your son, your only son..."
"Not his only son."
"It's the only one he loves."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
What's with stupid people and being obsessed with Garden State?
Okay, this really burns my toast.
I waited for Garden State to come out for about three years. I saw it change from Zach Braff's Untitled Natalie Portman Project to Large's Ark (Large's Ark was a much better title by the way) and when it came out, I did love it. Of course, the more I watch it now, the more fault I find in it because Andrew is a terrible character, but I digress.
It seems like everyone saw it and because everyone saw it, inevitably, stupid people saw it too and they love it without knowing why they love it, some reading into things that don't mean anything and totally misunderstanding a completely understandable, straightforward film.
But here's what gets me...here's what sparks a fury in my soul.
Why now are people incapable of watching a coming of age story or a movie about coming home without comparing it to Goddamn Garden State?
I watched two movies which were new to me in two days. All the Real Girls and Fireflies in the Garden and on the IMDB messages boards for both, people were comparing them to Garden State.
First of all, All the Real Girls, all things considered is probably a better movie than Garden State. Fireflies in the Garden probably not as good, but still a pretty darn good movie.
All the Real Girls is about a manwhore changing his ways when he meets the right girl. Largeman can't feel and changes his ways when he meets the right girl...so what? The conflict is entirely different. Stories are made by conflict and conflict is about the problem and sometimes the cause, not the solution. And anyway, maybe Largeman felt something because he stopped taking the damn anti-depressants, maybe if he'd been off them for a year, he wouldn't have been so overwhelmed by Natalie Portman's sudden burst of awesomeness. When I was watching it, Garden State never once came to mind, not once, and yet on IMDB some dumbass says, "This is just like Garden State and Garden State is better. Go watch that."
And my first thought was, "No it's not and no it isn't, and don't tell me what to do fuckwit."
Fireflies in the Garden, a writer comes home for his mom's graduation, she dies. People say "He came home because his mom died just like Largeman."
Wrong!
"He needs to fix his relationship with his father which is the same conflict as Garden State."
WRONG!
The relationship with the father in Garden State is a subplot. The fact that he's too doped up to feel anything is the main conflict.
I should never read those message boards because 60% of the people on them have the IQ of Forrest Gump, 30% are artfags who probably don't watch half the films they claim are their favorites, and only 10% are people like me who actually give a damn about things they watch and give things a chance to be something all their own before comparing them to something else.
GRRRR!
I waited for Garden State to come out for about three years. I saw it change from Zach Braff's Untitled Natalie Portman Project to Large's Ark (Large's Ark was a much better title by the way) and when it came out, I did love it. Of course, the more I watch it now, the more fault I find in it because Andrew is a terrible character, but I digress.
It seems like everyone saw it and because everyone saw it, inevitably, stupid people saw it too and they love it without knowing why they love it, some reading into things that don't mean anything and totally misunderstanding a completely understandable, straightforward film.
But here's what gets me...here's what sparks a fury in my soul.
Why now are people incapable of watching a coming of age story or a movie about coming home without comparing it to Goddamn Garden State?
I watched two movies which were new to me in two days. All the Real Girls and Fireflies in the Garden and on the IMDB messages boards for both, people were comparing them to Garden State.
First of all, All the Real Girls, all things considered is probably a better movie than Garden State. Fireflies in the Garden probably not as good, but still a pretty darn good movie.
All the Real Girls is about a manwhore changing his ways when he meets the right girl. Largeman can't feel and changes his ways when he meets the right girl...so what? The conflict is entirely different. Stories are made by conflict and conflict is about the problem and sometimes the cause, not the solution. And anyway, maybe Largeman felt something because he stopped taking the damn anti-depressants, maybe if he'd been off them for a year, he wouldn't have been so overwhelmed by Natalie Portman's sudden burst of awesomeness. When I was watching it, Garden State never once came to mind, not once, and yet on IMDB some dumbass says, "This is just like Garden State and Garden State is better. Go watch that."
And my first thought was, "No it's not and no it isn't, and don't tell me what to do fuckwit."
Fireflies in the Garden, a writer comes home for his mom's graduation, she dies. People say "He came home because his mom died just like Largeman."
Wrong!
"He needs to fix his relationship with his father which is the same conflict as Garden State."
WRONG!
The relationship with the father in Garden State is a subplot. The fact that he's too doped up to feel anything is the main conflict.
I should never read those message boards because 60% of the people on them have the IQ of Forrest Gump, 30% are artfags who probably don't watch half the films they claim are their favorites, and only 10% are people like me who actually give a damn about things they watch and give things a chance to be something all their own before comparing them to something else.
GRRRR!
Ask me somethin'
Anything...
http://www.formspring.me/AshTheMovieGeek
And learn more about me by reading my responses.
http://www.formspring.me/AshTheMovieGeek
And learn more about me by reading my responses.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Ash needs to stop listening to grunge...
So, I formed a new band.
It's called Ashley Dionne and a Boy Named Boo.
I also liked 'Sounds from Jupiter,' but thinking of naming the album that.
One new song up on myspace, but for some reason it sounds shottier up there than as a regular mp3.
Still getting the hang of things, so for some reason it's grungy, not anything like the folky stuff I've been listening to and really want to create. Plus, as much as I like grunge, I think I sound silly singing it (I sound silly singing everything I guess), so it's not the best song in the world but it's a start and it's nice to have musical accompaniment for a change.
Guitars and drums...yay.
I still want a keyboard.
I fully intend to learn piano for this project.
It's called Ashley Dionne and a Boy Named Boo.
I also liked 'Sounds from Jupiter,' but thinking of naming the album that.
One new song up on myspace, but for some reason it sounds shottier up there than as a regular mp3.
Still getting the hang of things, so for some reason it's grungy, not anything like the folky stuff I've been listening to and really want to create. Plus, as much as I like grunge, I think I sound silly singing it (I sound silly singing everything I guess), so it's not the best song in the world but it's a start and it's nice to have musical accompaniment for a change.
Guitars and drums...yay.
I still want a keyboard.
I fully intend to learn piano for this project.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Golden Globes and My Not So Golden Self-esteem.
I predicted most of the winners, but like always the winners I predicted and those I thought deserving weren't always the same.
Very glad Glee won.
Not only is it enjoyable, it's the freshest thing on TV in quite some time and Ryan Murphy is pretty much the God of TV.
Sandra Bullock winning over Emily Blunt was predictable, but it made me angry, not only because I love Emily Blunt and she was brilliant, but because people are way too prone to eating up the true stories, no matter how trite and predictable they are.
And even though I'm glad The Hurt Locker was nominated, it was such an amazing film and it sticks with you to such an unnerving degree that I'm really upset it didn't win best picture (although the best film of the year, Brothers should have been nominated and should've won).
Also, so glad Streep won for Julie & Julia and not It's Complicated.
Then, just to ruin my night, before going to bed, my mom, who's not said one supportive thing since finding out I signed with a talent agency has to say, "Do you know how hard it is to become an actress?
Your chances are like...one and a million. There are tons of girls out there trying to do just that.
You really think anything is going to come of this?
Maybe if you get a job in production, you can get a small part later."
I felt like saying, "And maybe I can't get a job in production. Maybe I've already been applying for production jobs without success for months. Maybe I never wanted to have a job in production anyway and you just wiped your feet on my dreams. I already know that I'm not tall, skinny, and beautiful. I know that I don't stand out and that I'm going to fail, but if I'm not going to try I may as well just kill myself because I don't want to live as some nothing person who solidified her nothingness all on her own by never trying anything."
I should never wonder why I have low self-esteem, when my mother makes it abundantly clear as often as she can that she hates me more than anyone else on the entire planet because she had me, gave up work and did nothing with her life and somehow her making a decision becomes my fault.
You say 'believe in yourself, that's all you need,' but it's not easy when the people you care most about can't muster the tiniest bit of encouragement and you have to wonder why there's not a single person who cares about you.
And I, being poor, have only my dreams.
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet.
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
Very glad Glee won.
Not only is it enjoyable, it's the freshest thing on TV in quite some time and Ryan Murphy is pretty much the God of TV.
Sandra Bullock winning over Emily Blunt was predictable, but it made me angry, not only because I love Emily Blunt and she was brilliant, but because people are way too prone to eating up the true stories, no matter how trite and predictable they are.
And even though I'm glad The Hurt Locker was nominated, it was such an amazing film and it sticks with you to such an unnerving degree that I'm really upset it didn't win best picture (although the best film of the year, Brothers should have been nominated and should've won).
Also, so glad Streep won for Julie & Julia and not It's Complicated.
Then, just to ruin my night, before going to bed, my mom, who's not said one supportive thing since finding out I signed with a talent agency has to say, "Do you know how hard it is to become an actress?
Your chances are like...one and a million. There are tons of girls out there trying to do just that.
You really think anything is going to come of this?
Maybe if you get a job in production, you can get a small part later."
I felt like saying, "And maybe I can't get a job in production. Maybe I've already been applying for production jobs without success for months. Maybe I never wanted to have a job in production anyway and you just wiped your feet on my dreams. I already know that I'm not tall, skinny, and beautiful. I know that I don't stand out and that I'm going to fail, but if I'm not going to try I may as well just kill myself because I don't want to live as some nothing person who solidified her nothingness all on her own by never trying anything."
I should never wonder why I have low self-esteem, when my mother makes it abundantly clear as often as she can that she hates me more than anyone else on the entire planet because she had me, gave up work and did nothing with her life and somehow her making a decision becomes my fault.
You say 'believe in yourself, that's all you need,' but it's not easy when the people you care most about can't muster the tiniest bit of encouragement and you have to wonder why there's not a single person who cares about you.
And I, being poor, have only my dreams.
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet.
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
You shelter me. I lie in your shade,
There's a tree in my back yard.
I call it "The Africa Tree" or more accurately, "My Africa Tree."
We owned the lot before we moved here and I never saw it.
I'm sure it existed, but I never saw it.
But when we moved here, it became mine. It suddenly existed for me.
It sits at the bottom of a hill on the river's edge and in the summer it is full and green, and lovely. In the winter it is cold, dark, twisted, but in a strange way still beautiful and always mine.
Although I know it exists and I see its beauty, I've never touched it. I only admire it from the balcony, from a distance. This wondrous thing I've never touched and yet it is mine.
You too are beautiful and distant and before I knew you existed, I did not need you, but knowing that you're there, however far away, you're a part of me.
And when you acknowledge me, I am full and alive, and when you don't, it is I who become cold, dark, twisted...alone.
Sometimes I think we're that tree. That by nature, we've grown together and sometimes it isn't pretty, but it's ours.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
But things don't really change...
I sent a message to an actor who I knew recently worked on a film in Michigan asking for advice on getting started. He was nice enough to respond and told me that even more than acting, writing is about who you know, but after paying me an undeserved compliment, he encouraged me to give acting a try. He gave me the name of a new Michigan agency that his friend was considering working with.
I wrote to them, name dropped, and they wrote back to me. Then they sent me a W9 and an Agency Agreement.
I signed with them.
I don't know what will come of pursuing acting, maybe nothing, but as it was secretly always my top aspiration, I think it's better to try and fail than not try at all.
And I'm grateful for the help I received as you don't always here stories of kindness coming from the 'Hollywood Types.'
Still, the cloud of uncertainty and negativity that so often plagues me descends. They could drop me at any time and I keep thinking they'll just change their minds when they meet me in person, or even before that.
And I get nervous. Usually I perform anyway, but I keep thinking I'm going to clam up when it counts.
That's why I haven't told anyone.
With me, things always seem to fall through.
I've never given anyone a reason to have faith in me, which is probably why no one does.
My mind turns to people who seemed to in the past, shooting stars in the infinite void that is my self-esteem. And now, when I need them most, I feel them slipping away, leaving me to the void, the negative thoughts which will make me fail if I don't all on my own.
I wrote to them, name dropped, and they wrote back to me. Then they sent me a W9 and an Agency Agreement.
I signed with them.
I don't know what will come of pursuing acting, maybe nothing, but as it was secretly always my top aspiration, I think it's better to try and fail than not try at all.
And I'm grateful for the help I received as you don't always here stories of kindness coming from the 'Hollywood Types.'
Still, the cloud of uncertainty and negativity that so often plagues me descends. They could drop me at any time and I keep thinking they'll just change their minds when they meet me in person, or even before that.
And I get nervous. Usually I perform anyway, but I keep thinking I'm going to clam up when it counts.
That's why I haven't told anyone.
With me, things always seem to fall through.
I've never given anyone a reason to have faith in me, which is probably why no one does.
My mind turns to people who seemed to in the past, shooting stars in the infinite void that is my self-esteem. And now, when I need them most, I feel them slipping away, leaving me to the void, the negative thoughts which will make me fail if I don't all on my own.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Is anybody reading these?
Maybe it's better if it's just mine.
No one likes my songs.
Something Else
The imperfections on my skin
Make it hard to stare too long
And the way I hold my mouth
Makes everything sound wrong
The bags under my eyes
Distract so they can't shine
Would you spend some time with me
If your face looked more like mine
I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I know I can't hate you
No matter how I hate myself
I know I can't hate you
Although you wish for someone else
The body that I have
Voids all personality
Nothing I could be is worth it
That's the harsh reality
And if I reached out to touch you
You would struggle not to gag
At my crooked jaw and the way this eyelid sags
I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I know I can't hate you
No matter how I hate myself
I know I can't hate you
Although you wish for someone else
But if you squint your eyes real tight
Or you look at me in low light
I'll look as beautiful as you
I'll look as beautiful as you
I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I've learned that I can hate you
As much as I hate myself
I've learned that I can hate you
Just for wanting something else
No one likes my songs.
Something Else
The imperfections on my skin
Make it hard to stare too long
And the way I hold my mouth
Makes everything sound wrong
The bags under my eyes
Distract so they can't shine
Would you spend some time with me
If your face looked more like mine
I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I know I can't hate you
No matter how I hate myself
I know I can't hate you
Although you wish for someone else
The body that I have
Voids all personality
Nothing I could be is worth it
That's the harsh reality
And if I reached out to touch you
You would struggle not to gag
At my crooked jaw and the way this eyelid sags
I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I know I can't hate you
No matter how I hate myself
I know I can't hate you
Although you wish for someone else
But if you squint your eyes real tight
Or you look at me in low light
I'll look as beautiful as you
I'll look as beautiful as you
I've heard it said that you can't love
Until you learn to love yourself
But I've learned that that's just shit
People say to help themselves
And I've learned that I can hate you
As much as I hate myself
I've learned that I can hate you
Just for wanting something else
And the words fell apart in my mouth like moldering mushrooms.
I'm having some trouble with my new script.
I had a title and then I thought I had a better one...suddenly I forget the better one and was left with the first, so the lost title seems infinitely better simply because it was lost.
And it transitions from a state of loneliness, to one of bliss, and finally to utter despair...but I'm struggling with writing or even conceptualizing the middle stage because the causes of the protagonist's happiness...I have not experienced.
Although I can see much of this one, I have other ideas and I'm considering abandoning this until I'm better able to write what I know...because I've actually lived through it.
Not sure where to go from here.
Now please allow me to tell you what's important.
This is important.
You should want to see it.
Check it out:
http://sundance.bside.com/2010/films/hesher_sundance2010
I had a title and then I thought I had a better one...suddenly I forget the better one and was left with the first, so the lost title seems infinitely better simply because it was lost.
And it transitions from a state of loneliness, to one of bliss, and finally to utter despair...but I'm struggling with writing or even conceptualizing the middle stage because the causes of the protagonist's happiness...I have not experienced.
Although I can see much of this one, I have other ideas and I'm considering abandoning this until I'm better able to write what I know...because I've actually lived through it.
Not sure where to go from here.
Now please allow me to tell you what's important.
This is important.
You should want to see it.
Check it out:
http://sundance.bside.com/2010/films/hesher_sundance2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Spells that get weaker the longer they take...but I wait.
It doesn't hurt anymore, love that is stubborn and becomes a part of who you are.
Sometimes I think there are two kinds of people in the world: People who can't stand to be examined by others, to be put under a microscope, and those who like it.
I'm the latter, not because I care what people think, but because whether I'm being criticized or praised, it's nice to get attention every once in a while.
Someone was discussing me with me last night...well, not really discussing. They were talking and I was listening. This is someone I've known all my life who was citing me as an example that people do change over time.
My hotheadedness, the way I seemed to elude others intentionally, seemed to be translated into an opposing force in a strangely reasonable way. In tiring of my own stubbornness, anger, and loneliness, I now give gifts without an occasion to merit them. I am overly generous not just in this regard, but with myself. I am overprotective of what is mine, both material and animate.
This excess of attention placed on those I care about causes paranoia when it is not returned. Normal amounts of consideration seem insincere and obligatory.
Just one person's opinion, but still an opinion I could be hurt by if I allowed myself to be.
Instead, I chose to embrace it and find beauty in truth.
It explains much about me:
Why not hearing from certain people for only a day or two is painful, and why I'm ashamed of this neediness and hide it, perhaps causing myself more pain in the end.
Why anyone who I find interesting who pays me even the smallest amount of attention is deified and missed greatly whenever I'm alone.
And because I'm still a bit stubborn, these feelings, these people, become harder to let go.
Why I love them more than myself and more than some I see every day and why I sometimes feel alone in the presence of others.
Sometimes I miss the old Ash, the one who'd sock you before she'd hug you, because for me, this change, this "improvement" in myself came too late. Perceptions of people don't often change and being this overly sensitive person does me no good now. In being insensitive and even vicious, at least I was able to pretend I was content.
Sometimes I think there are two kinds of people in the world: People who can't stand to be examined by others, to be put under a microscope, and those who like it.
I'm the latter, not because I care what people think, but because whether I'm being criticized or praised, it's nice to get attention every once in a while.
Someone was discussing me with me last night...well, not really discussing. They were talking and I was listening. This is someone I've known all my life who was citing me as an example that people do change over time.
My hotheadedness, the way I seemed to elude others intentionally, seemed to be translated into an opposing force in a strangely reasonable way. In tiring of my own stubbornness, anger, and loneliness, I now give gifts without an occasion to merit them. I am overly generous not just in this regard, but with myself. I am overprotective of what is mine, both material and animate.
This excess of attention placed on those I care about causes paranoia when it is not returned. Normal amounts of consideration seem insincere and obligatory.
Just one person's opinion, but still an opinion I could be hurt by if I allowed myself to be.
Instead, I chose to embrace it and find beauty in truth.
It explains much about me:
Why not hearing from certain people for only a day or two is painful, and why I'm ashamed of this neediness and hide it, perhaps causing myself more pain in the end.
Why anyone who I find interesting who pays me even the smallest amount of attention is deified and missed greatly whenever I'm alone.
And because I'm still a bit stubborn, these feelings, these people, become harder to let go.
Why I love them more than myself and more than some I see every day and why I sometimes feel alone in the presence of others.
Sometimes I miss the old Ash, the one who'd sock you before she'd hug you, because for me, this change, this "improvement" in myself came too late. Perceptions of people don't often change and being this overly sensitive person does me no good now. In being insensitive and even vicious, at least I was able to pretend I was content.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
"But sadly, it's true, that bang-ups and hang-ups can happen to you."
Unemployment.
Perpetual boredom.
Resentful looks.
Waiting.
Not an ideal way to celebrate the would-be, new found independence which is supposed to accompany graduation.
A trip to Florida.
Not a realistic and fair way to spend unemployment.
Hear it's cold there lately and I'd rather not go.
But, I have other problems.
I'm fallin' apart.
I thought I was dying last night.
I rarely cry from physical pain, but I was overcome.
I wonder how many people my age have to put up with what I have to put up with.
Probably a lot.
I shouldn't complain.
Might need my gallbladder out...it might be food allergies. My brother just found out he's allergic to milk, yeast, and apparently, everything outside. Food allergies can affect your stomach, even your brain.
Maybe that's my problem.
I avoided drinking coffee today, avoided the tomato based soup my mom had made the night before that seemed to destroy me, causing a fever in my belly, a burning from the belly button up into my sternum.
I have a really bad headache because my two front teeth on the bottom never used to line up with the ones on top and now they do...I think I dislocated my jaw in my sleep...again.
C'est la vie.
Perpetual boredom.
Resentful looks.
Waiting.
Not an ideal way to celebrate the would-be, new found independence which is supposed to accompany graduation.
A trip to Florida.
Not a realistic and fair way to spend unemployment.
Hear it's cold there lately and I'd rather not go.
But, I have other problems.
I'm fallin' apart.
I thought I was dying last night.
I rarely cry from physical pain, but I was overcome.
I wonder how many people my age have to put up with what I have to put up with.
Probably a lot.
I shouldn't complain.
Might need my gallbladder out...it might be food allergies. My brother just found out he's allergic to milk, yeast, and apparently, everything outside. Food allergies can affect your stomach, even your brain.
Maybe that's my problem.
I avoided drinking coffee today, avoided the tomato based soup my mom had made the night before that seemed to destroy me, causing a fever in my belly, a burning from the belly button up into my sternum.
I have a really bad headache because my two front teeth on the bottom never used to line up with the ones on top and now they do...I think I dislocated my jaw in my sleep...again.
C'est la vie.
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