I entered a screenplay contest a few weeks ago. It works like this: everyone that entered (a little over 700 people) was broken into heats of 25-30 people. Each heat was assigned a genre and a subject line at midnight April 4 and had until exactly midnight April 12 to complete an original screenplay.

Of course, with my luck, I drew fantasy, which I haven't the slightest fucking clue how to write. The only thing I could think of was the Neverending Story. I was shooting blanks. I forged forth anyway because I really wanted to do this. Here for your reading pleasure is the fruit of my toil. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Couple things to keep in mind while reading:
1. 15 pages max
2. Genre: Fantasy
3. Subject Line: A Toll Booth

Here it is:

Phantom Call

Quote of the Day

"Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly--all else is desperation."

--Charles Bukowski
excerpt from Post Office

And the Oscar goes to...

Alright, so let's talk. The Oscars, or "The Academy Awards" for you purists and anal rententive film creeps. So what did you think? Any surprises? Any shockers? I certainly thought so. But regardless of if you or I agree or disagree with what went down in Hollywood that evening, I must say that this was a damn fine year for cinema. Shall we start from the top, or bottom? Awww, hell, I'll just start with a dartboard, a randomly scattered selection of index cards tacked to said dartboard, a blindfold and voila!

Shit, first shot hit a black and white photograph of a drunken Charles Bukowski right in the forehead. Sorry Buke. OK, blindfold back in place, let's try this again. Shot number two, I peek over my blindfold: AH-HA! OK, now we're going somewhere.

Cinematography.

What a boring category, right? WRONG! For film geeks like myself, this one is almost as good as Best Picture or Best Actor. I'm not about to give a lesson on the importance and role of the cinematographer, that's the beauty of Google.com. Got a topic you're interested in? No problem, Google it. Instant expert. So anyway, cinematography. Two masters, Roger Deakins and Bob Elswit both had two, count 'em, two classic portraits that in any given year would have easily run away with this category without a thought. Now that's hard work friends. Deakins had Assaination of Jesse James--one of the few I didn't see this year and have been lambasted heavy by my associates for my folly as a result--and No Country for Old Men. Not a bad year. Elswit framed both Michael Clayton and There Will Be Blood. No one can touch these guys. Michael Clayton wasn't nominated--one of the big slights of this year's crop--but Elswit took home the Oscar nonetheless for There Will Be Blood. Great year for the resurection of the classic western landscape. Peckinpah and Ford would have been proud. There's something about those dusty, wide-angle shots of the west that just look larger-than-life, like it's something from a different world. i love it. Bob Elswit, great job buddy, and Deakins, you rule too man, don't be too hard on yourself.

OK, blindfold back in place. Shot number three. Bukowski, DUCK!! Ahhh, ol' Buke's safe.

Director.

OK, now i'm fucking furious. Granted, there were three pictures that in any other year would have taken the trophy hands down, but this was a great year for film--what are ya gonna do? The hall of fame directors loomed large this year: Ethan Coen (Joel finally got co-directing credit from his ego maniac brother), Paul Thomas Anderson (one of my all-time heroes), and Tony Gilroy. It's like watching a fight between your three best friends and as much as you hate it, someone's got to win. Fair enough. But here's where bias and opinion come into play. No Country brought it home. Great film, don't get me wrong, but you have got to be kidding me. There Will Be Blood was epic, it was large, it was all things that a director could possibly do to be completely satisfied with an end result, and we've all heard the cliched stories about the nuerotic director that ceaselessly obsesses over his film until he's driven to insanity, never satisfied. Alright, maybe I made that one up, but you get the point. Blood was so good that I feel like upon first screening, PTA, Elswit and the gang all smiled at each other and were like, "Yup." In fact, I love the moment during the show, when they have the four way split-screen with all the directors, just before the announcment is made, and the big moment is revealed: "Joel and Ethan Coen". If you can find it, watch PTA's split-second, immediately honest reaction--that moment of pure reaction, before you have a thought to compose yourself and fake it. There's a little side mouthed grimace that says "wow". It's amazing. I tried to find the clip for you on youtube, but was fruitless. Big time rip-off and PTA knew it.

Alright--round four. All pictures, objets d'art, and various rodents and crumbsnatching critters, be warned, the dart is now raised and released.

Actor.

Daniel Day-Lewis, no other logical choice, not much else to say really. Obviously the best performance this year and one of the best in cinematic history. I could go on forever and write you a far too verbose thesis study as to why, but I won't. Big nod to Clooney for his performance in Michael Clayton. Any other year, my friend. One observation: we're missing one key player here amongst the nominees. Ryan Gosling for Lars and the Real Girl. Incredible. Netflix it and get back to me. I think his is the second best performance of the year.

OK, screw this stupid "dart-throwing" theme, it's getting old and it really wasn't that funny in the first place. I'm packing up my shit and moving this party to Krakatoa coffee shop because i'm in dire need of an iced coffee. Be back in a minute.

Great decision. I'm currently sitting right across from one of the more beautiful girls I've laid eyes on in a while. She has red hair, which is weird because I usually don't care much for redheads. She looks tired. Anyway, what's next?

Best Motion Picture.

Now i'm fucking BOILING! No Country! What an enormous crock of shit! I won't repeat myself too much here because I think you get it at this point and know exactly where I'm about to go with this, so I'll just say: No. Fucking. Way. Um yeah hello, Coens? Yeah, you guys forgot one thing: an ending for your film. There Will Be Blood, 'nuff said. Again, the whole "any other year thing" applies. I will mention two things that stand out to me here. First, the Juno nomination. Best Picture? You've got to be kidding me, right? Replace Juno with a Lars and the Real Girl bid, and I'm pretty content with the line-up.

So what else? Actress? Pretty weak bunch this year, don't have much of an opinion, sorry ladies. Screenplay? Alright, as much as I was disappointed with Juno, it's still cool to see a fresh face win amongst the usual players. Diablo Cody's personal story alone makes me want to pull for her. Congratulations Cody, now welcome to the Hollywood rotating cast of usual players. Cody's already got the greenlight from producer Steven Spielberg writing a TV series called The United States of Tara and a feature film from Fox's Atomic Films subsidiary called Jennifer's Body about "a newly possessed cheerleader turns into a killer who specializes in offing her male classmates" (imdb.com). Sounds like a real winner. Hello and gooooooodbye Mrs. Cody. Sorry, I'm a dick.

So that's that. What a great year for movies, no? I enjoyed it. Can next year top it? Doubtful. Unless of course someone puts together a CGI version of He-Man. Has that been done yet? Holy shit, I think I'm on to something here...I gotta go!

Skeletor stands stoic outside Castle Grayskull as it burns and crumbles to the ground. He looks to the sky and throws his arms in the air.

"Heeeeee-Maaaaaaaannnnnnn!"

Golden.

Crazy eyes Sarte says: "Ponder This."

Dear friends,

I've been lazy.

Well, not really lazy in the traditional sense, but lazy in the fact that I haven't posted anything on my poor, sparsely filled, neglected, little blog. I'm really not a bad guy and is surely not representative of me as a person, I've just been, ah, busy. I swear! Doesn't everyone love to say that, "I've been busy..." Bullshit!

But I really have, check it. I'm writing a novel that I'm far too ambitiously trying to get finished by the opening weeks of March, which takes up all my brain power and humility. I'm now pretentious as fuck and I'm cool with that. But as a result, I've lost all my friends and find myself consistently far under my total minutes on my Sprint phone bill every month. See, there's always a plus side to every tragedy. Tragedy, hah! I scoff at thee.

Anyway, as you can see, I really don't have a lot to talk about. Call it lack of inspiration, call it total drainage of mojo, call it what you will. I call it the "triple nasty king-kong thunder dunk from hell," which I plan to reveal on my little plastic hoop hanging above my bedroom door during the slam dunk contest portion of NBA all-star weekend. It'll be way sicker than the Harold Miner 360 tomahawk dunk from the glory days of 1993 when people were calling that chump "Baby Jordan."

My mojo's back, baby.

But stay with me, I'm not a total bust. I've certainly had the pleasure of observing many cool things in the past couple weeks that are print-worthy. First of all, I listened to the final, mastered copy of Calico Horse's upcoming full-length release, and it's ridiculous. Have a listen. It's like a dark, twisted carnival of warped pipe organs where the lighting is a little off and you're not sure if you're actually safe in the tent where the show is taking place. It's a pretty visual album, if that makes any sense. It feels like it would fit on the soundtrack of some strange dreamscape where one minute you're flying, and the next, you're falling; equal parts exhilarating as it is terrifying. It's way sicko. They've also got a few shows coming up that you all need to attend, for its quite important. And you'll catch a full on front kick to the sternum if you don't.

I love getting random e-mails from friends and various weirdo's directing me to websites of people doing weird shit, and I mean weird in the most endearing of terms. My buddy Paul directed me to this guy Peter Callesen. Callesen does these crazy delicately intricate little paper cutouts with insane detail using just the normal, everyday A4 white print paper that we fill our copiers and printers with. Crazy. Later in the day, on that same e-mail chain, came another gem from another buddy Scott that sent me to Dan McPharlin. This guy’s artwork is easily some of the coolest, most innovative stuff I've seen in a bit. He makes these miniature models of weird synth/keyboard machines created in his mind and brought to life using cardboard matte material. The detail on these tiny creations is insane: the little dials, knobs, switches, keys and sliders. I can't even begin to imagine how he does it. It'd make a cool documentary. Any takers? Come on, film students of the world unite! Get a hold of this guy and get it done, you'll have an audience, I promise.

There a few good films out there as well. Michael Clayton--amazing. An incredible sort of philosophical study on morality, the choices we make in life, and the consequences attached to said choices. It's amazing to me, the people we become from youth to adolescence and into adulthood and the stress' we put ourselves through in the pursuit of the ideals we create in our own heads pertaining to what it means to be successful. What's really important: enjoying this very limited existence that we are granted, or spending that existence in pursuit of a silly cliché and all the small battles and wounds that go along with it? Everyone has a different answer and that is what makes this life so interesting and filled with incredible stories to tell. Second best film of the year. It'll be interesting to see who little Mr. Oscar goes to for acting: the Hollywood stalwart or arguably greatest thespian of our time (my time that is).

Speaking of Hollywood stalwarts, I caught a great film on PBS the other night called The Bad and the Beautiful (terrible title, but look past that); an examination on Hollywood players and the all bullshit that goes along with getting a picture made. And with a 1952 release date, looks like not much changes with time. Kirk Douglas plays a ruthless producer who simulatiously sells out anyone--actor, director, writer--at any given moment, but at the same time makes gems out of anything he touches, including the future careers of those he alienates, posing the question: is a bit of heartache worth a lifetime of success? And is success really success, or is it a life of torture? It'd be interesting to ask Brittany Spears how she feels about that revelation. I think Karl Marx said it best when he wrote that people are just "cogs in a ceaselessly moving machine." Nothing changes.

Another awesome little gem is the animated film Persepolis, a cool story about a Persian girl growing up in late 1970's revolutionary Iran. The film is a factual historical account of the Shah and the Muslim clerics seizing power and halting all the idealistic progress the people had made, and reverting back to the impossible mixture of religion and social rule. Told from the girl's perspective, it shows how heartbreakingly hard a repressive regime can be on human spirit; people simply trying to exist and be the best they can be. It definitely sheds some light on the little freedoms we have on a day to day basis that go unnoticed. It's pretty profound.


So that’s it in a nutshell. Pretty pathetic, eh? Whatever. Anyway, you can sleep tight knowing that I'm in good spirits, I'm working hard and everyday is a blessing.

Also, I've got a homework project for everyone because I think it's important and it's something I've realized in the past few weeks: have a philosophical discussion with a good friend. It's a good thing to do every now and again--not every day, but every now and again--and reminds you of what's important to you and helps you remember what's integral to your own personal existence. It's also very cool to know what's important to your buddy and what their perspective is on this ever moving comedy of errors and conquests as the world moves and experiences change that position. And keep in mind, the listening section of this exchange is just as important, if not more, than the speaking portion.

Take heed jesters.

What's a typical friday night for you? Let me restate that; what's a typical friday night for you residents of San Diego, California? Does it involve getting all dressed up to go to a bar you've been to 10,000 times before? Does it involve spending the first hour and a half you're there hating all the douchebags because you're still not drunk enough and still see them for what they are? Does it involve knowing you're going to waste $150 bucks with nothing to show for it but a blinding hangover and black ink smeared all over your wrist?

I've got a better idea. Go see a live show. Even better, go see a live show at the Casbah. Even better than that, go see the best show that the Casbah is throwing down this month. One of the best bands in San Diego right now, Calico Horse (formerly The Clockwork Army) takes the stage probably around 9:30pm this Friday evening to be followed by Brooklyn (where else?) indie scenster biggies, MGMT and Yeasayer. If you haven't listened to any of these bands yet, take a moment to go do it now because they're all fucking ridiculous. I'm so pumped about seeing Yeasayer I'm thinking about heading over to the 7-Eleven parking lot and starting a one man mosh-pit for no good reason.

I saw Calico Horse two weeks ago open for Black Heart Procession and they were incredible. They had a keyboard malfunction and the lovely tigeress frontwoman, Emily Neveu improvised using someone's glockenspiel. That woman has mad glocken, yo, and her vocals are hauntingly gorgeous. They have a bassist with a penchant for all things Jean-Luc Godard and a guitarist who will teach you vocal harmonies for 48 Thai bhat and a Parliment. They are fearless.

And at $10 bucks a pop advance purchase to see three of the best bands out there? Shiiiiit, good value holmes. I'll be there, come have a greyhound with me.

P.S. UPDATE!!! This show will sell out. Repeat, this show WILL SELL OUT so don't get stuck at the door, go buy your ticket now here.

There Will Be Blood: A Guide to Pure Evil

It's an interesting thing to me, people that dedicate their lives to following an organized religion. I don't mean the family that gets all dressed up and makes an appearance at the local church for Easter and Christmas mass. I mean the folks that truly believe that there is a universal god guiding the lives of every living creature and controlling natural disasters and creating deadly diseases in response to human sin; the ones that believe that others who don't think like they do will burn in hell for an eternity. Is there a heaven and hell? Is there a god and a devil? Maybe there is and maybe there isn't, who am I to judge really? What I know for sure is that there is definitely a force of good and evil. And both are present every waking hour in the form of mankind. The forces of greed, pride, envy and lust are dangerous things and drive men to do evil things as a result. All of these devilish attributes are addressed in easily the best film I've seen in a long time, There Will be Blood.

I'd first like to congratulate director Paul Thomas Anderson and writer of the book Oil!, Upton Sinclair, on creating the most dastardly, repulsive and simply evil character in cinema history since Jack Torrance in Kubrick's The Shining. Daniel Day Lewis is fucking incredible as Daniel Plainview: a filthy, snarling, heartless, whiskey drinking, monster with a murderous rage and a healthy desire to destroy everything in his path. He will stop at nothing to win, even if it means ruining the life of his own son, played with delicate subtly by newcomer Dillon Freasier. Plainview's main nemesis, amongst many that he makes throughout the film, is a young prodigal preacher named Eli Sunday, played with incredible conviction by Paul Dano, who just came off another brilliant performance in last year's Little Miss Sunshine. Dano's performance is close to par with Day Lewis' and really unleashes his acting chops with this character. Eli Sunday has the small western town of Little Boston (the central valley of California) duped into thinking he is a prophet and uses that to quench his real thirst, which is power. The film is a beautiful ballet of one ups and small battles between the two characters of Sunday and Plainview that climaxes to a perfect conclusion. The only goal of both characters is to win, and you quickly realize it is very allegorical with respect to god and the devil and each ones desire to control the masses.

The film was shot by Paul Thomas Anderson staple, Bob Elswit, who also shot Magnolia, Punch Drunk Love, and Michael Clayton, and he creates a beautiful portrait that captures the landscape of the west, and the pure filth of the oil business, which serves as a great parallel for the dirty greed and nasty business dealings that go along with it. The soundtrack, scored by Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead, is a haunting ebb and flow of strings and drums that rise to a peak, creating a world of suspense in itself. It is incredible. The play between Elswit's dark shots and the crescendo of screaming strings has you freaked when there's nothing on the screen but a lonely wide angle desert shot. At times, I almost felt like I could be watching a Kubrick film, reminiscent of 2001: A Space Odessey. This is one of those films that leaves you with a strange feeling, like you know you just saw something poignant. However, I don't think this film is for everyone. In fact, one of my friends that I went to it with walked out halfway through because she said it was giving her an anxiety attack. I could totally understand.

This film is brutal and like it or not, you will remember it. With it's score, cinematography, performances and set/costume design, this film has that feel of something classic. It feels larger than life. It feels important. I truly believe this film will be one that will make film class syllabus' one day and will stand the test of time.

Is PTA my generation's Kubrick? I don't know. But I do know two things: I absolutely loved this film, and I hate people that ask themselves a question and then answer it.

Now go have yourself a nightmare, go see There Will be Blood and let me know what you think.

Clean Slate in 2008.

As you can see--if you'll take notice the time and date of this posting--it is in fact New Year's, just after midnight, when normal folks are out swapping saliva and making further plans of fornication and other great undertakings, and here I sit, in front of this computer screen as fireworks explode, kazoos sound off, and neighbors hosting New Year's house parties scream in delight, drinking these god damned ridiculous drinks that a friend of mine introduced me to called "Calimochos"--red wine mixed with Pepsi over ice. Yes, I am a gigantic loser, but I've got a mantra for the coming year--"Clean slate in 2008."

Wait, it gets lamer.

Obviously, I decided to stay in for the evening, refusing to spend $50 on a cover charge to a bar that I wouldn't even go to if I were an orphan meeting my birth mother for the first time, and then spending $8 per bottle of domestic beer trying to get through the evening. Instead, I sat in my buddy Halverson's living room--with his new roommate and his girlfriend, sans Halverson--watching the film The Science of Sleep.

This movie had been out for a while, but for whatever reason, I was unable to garner any interest. The film, directed by music video impresario Michel Gondry, is a strange sort of rhythmic loop of consciousness, breaking into and out of that stated consciousness, and finally questioning where exactly it is that consciousness begins, and where it ends. And what a great question it is. Which reality is actually reality? How do we know what is absurd and what is normal? And what do absurd and normal even mean anyway? This film is that good. It has you questioning everything that you have ever known or learned or thought or lived. There is so much more existing than the everyday, mundane, day to day tasks and little familiarities that we fill our waking hours with. Whatever happened to that day that I woke up Christmas morning in the cold winter of 1987 in Tacoma, Washington when I rose and walked downstairs to find a new bike next to the Christmas tree; my late grandfather looking up over his spectacles from his newspaper, legs crossed, sitting in the brown leather chair next to the fireplace, sipping on a cup of coffee and smiling as he saw the pure reaction on my face as I stopped mid stride on the stairwell.

Those days are gone and those moments are buried deep somewhere in the psyche, but they come together as a summation to form a complete personality that grows everyday--little bits added, but never subtracted. We can conjure up at will those moments we choose to remember, and forget the ones we hope to leave behind, but regardless of their positive or negative effect, they are there; shaping our structure: the way we move, the way we react, the prejudices we harbor, the humans we become. It's all important, and all we can do is try to be the best person we can be.

I don't want to get into a film review here, because for me, that's not the point. The film is incredible, which is only an opinion and really doesn't matter in the end, because the film gets you thinking in an abstract manner. Well, it did me anyway, and that's all I'll say about that. The point for me is that our time on this earth is limited, and it is far too short to not be honest with the people you really care about. There is nothing to be ashamed of or afraid of or anything for that matter. If you love someone, tell them you love them. If you take issue with something, let it be known, if you have a goal in mind, make a plan and execute it. That is what those crazy dreams are trying to tell us. That is our own internal voice telling us there is nothing to be afraid of. You literally have nothing to lose. There is almost a childlike innocence about the whole thing, because when you are a child, you are fearless. Not fearless in the sense that you know a certain boundary and you defy it, but fearless in the sense that you know that regardless of what happens, you'll wake up tomorrow and you'll have a whole new day before you. It's really that simple. Trust yourself. Chances are if it feels right, it is right and if you believe in yourself, others will too. And if they don't, fuck them, you really don't need them anyway, do you?

So what does this have to do with The Science of Sleep? Well, to be quite honest with you, nothing. Nothing in the literal sense anyway. But I will say that anything that inspires me to get proactive about something--anything--is worth talking about. And this film inspired me to get proactive about pretty much the only thing that I have control over--my life. Inspiration--holy shit--what an important thing.

Now, given the fact that it is just past midnight, and I'm a little drunk, I'll leave it at that. I hope you all had a wonderful evening and got well drunk and saw a great show and kissed your sweetheart or crush or the guy/gal within closest vicinity and made a vow to get a new job or undertaking a personal vendetta or whatever the case Netflix, or whatever you do, this film. It's worth it, trust me. It must be, it inspired a drunk dude with nothing to do on New Years to write this little piece.

Oh, and the weird thing: the film ended at exactly 12:00am, 2008. This is going to be a good year.

Man, I need a girlfriend.

Happy New Year!!