Sweaty Palms

This is an old clip (maybe a year or so) but someday my kids (I know, I know. Colin have kids?) will not have clue what a mouse or a touch-pad is for. Now when do we get the flying cars already?

The Painful Creative Journey

Last night I had my roommate, Tony Bui, a Sundance-winning filmmaker, give me his review of my "Mama" script for feedback. It wasn't easy. He's liked my premise and pitch, but he wasn't thrilled with where the script went. He felt it was obvious and had some main characters he didn't care about.
He talked about what he thought could be powerful if I just removed half the characters and rewrote it as a slightly different story. (reinforcing themes that drew me in the first place.)

It was hard to take this after a year or more of developing this script.

But you know, he was right.

The script in it's present form could be enjoyable, even produce-able, but not necessarily put me in the league of writing I'd like to be known for. Tony is working right now with Ted Hope on his next project, who produced many of the best indie films of the past 15 years. (Brothers McMullen, The Ice Storm, American Splendor, etc.) and was just passing on wisdom he says producers like Ted would be looking for.

So after so much time developing this script it was hard to hear but Tony knows what he's talking about. The question became: Do I want to move ahead with this script in its present form to just get a film going, or do I want to spend at least several more months rewriting it to try and take it to another level?

I'm leaning toward the latter, already coming up with new ideas. But it wouldn't be a lie to say it's painful being almost 40, wanting this for 20 years, and having to delay it some more. For good reasons, but I guess this is a test of the craft.

Colin Versus the Hydra!

The image above is my depiction of a vivid nightmare from last night.
As far as I can recall it started out with me being chased by a criminal through a desolate and dark part of New York City, among decrepit buildings and abandoned warehouses. I was running for my life, taking turns and corner, trying to escape certain death at the hands of this dangerous and mysterious pursuer

Eventually I came to a small park who's tall trees blotted out any remaining light. The park was inky black. I stopped, feeling helpless and considered just dropping next to some small brush. But I elected to climb high into a tree and blend in with the foliage. The criminal arrived and passed through , unaware of my location.
I waited in the tree until morning and finally climbed down. As the early morning fog lifted, I found a subway and slipped in among the commuters. I remember feeling great relief that I was among life again and heading for another borough. I would certainly never see my pursuer again.

(Sidenote: I probably should not have been watching "The Shining" before I went to bed last night.)

Continuing my dream, I arrived home to my family's neighborhood. The neighborhood was perched on either side of a narrow but deep crevice, at the bottom of which lay a river. The homes were a honeycomb of dwellings and compartments, much like you'd see in the ghettos of Rio. They towered precariously above opposing cliffs.

And they were under attack.

Emerging from the crevice was a massive red Hydra monster with no eyes. It had many tentacles that acted independently, swiping groups of fleeing people and dropping them into it's terrifying mouth.

My friend Cindy Thoennessen, who I used to work at Charlex with, was there and told me the only way to kill the monster was to stab it in the throat at a vulnerable point. In order to get to the exposed throat, though you would have to not only dodge the monster's lethal flaling arms, but throw yourself off the cliff to reach the beast's throat. There would be very little chance of surviving even if successful.

I went to a nearby market and asked a shopkeeper for a knife. He gave me what seemed to be a rather overly large pocket knife as big as my forearm, with a switchblade.

Before I returned to kill the monster, I paused and solemnly contemplated giving my life so that my family and others could live. Once I had accepted this sacrifice, I went toward the cliffside.

But the monster had already been slain.

It turns out another ex-Charlex workmate, a computer animator, had simply thrown a bucket of dirty water on monster. It had the effect of acid and the beast disintegrated.

I remember standing there feeling very awkward. I wasn't jealous of the other victor, but I remember feeling depressed that I had mentally accepted my death so that others could live, and then was not able to follow through. It was a hard state to return from.

Oscar goes home with the Former Stripper

I just liked this photo Screenwriter Diablo Cody posted on her blog, the morning after winning Best Original Screenplay for "Juno".

Sketchbook series # 2

(click on image for larger version)
November 11, 1995. This is when I was traveling parts of the world, particularly SE Asia, by myself. Bangkok was always a gateway to several countries over there. The night I made these sketches was when I was waiting for my flight back to the States. It was common for flights to have a 5 am departure. So between check-in and security needs, you had to be there by 3am and it made no sense to spend the last night in a hotel. At the time there was nothing to do in Dom Muang International airport at that hour except walk around and count the sleeping bodies. I counted 103 that night. They made excellent models.

Drinks on the House

I must have been building my karmic bank account lately because I keep getting free drinks that I should have paid for. For the past week I've been given three:

* Tonight at Coffee Bean (the west coast's Starbucks competitor) I pulled up at 9:10 to get an Ice Blended. A guy sweeping up for the night spotted me and yelled out "We closed at nine." But seeing the disappointment in my face, a broken man sitting in his little dented gray VW, he relented and yelled out "What do you want?" I said an Ice Blended and he said he could do that. So I parked and followed him inside. Just as he was about to start though I realized I had left my money at home and cried out "Wait, wait, wait!" He said he was already in motion and not to worry about it. One free Ice Blended.

* Last night I was seeing a friend DJ at a small club and went out back to an outside bar and asked if they take credit card for a vodka tonic. The bartender said only cash but I realized I didn't have enough. He asked how much I had. In my wallet there was two dollars. "That's fine" he said and poured my drink.

* A few days earlier I ordered a meal at a KFC drive-through. When I got to the window to pay, I discovered they didn't take any credit or debit cards. So I said I needed to cancel my order. The guy shrugged and handed over my drink anyway, saying " Just keep the drink."

I have been trying to commit random acts of kindness to people in the past few weeks, so although my bank account may be low, my karmic account seems to be in good shape. Maybe I should step up my random acts of kindness to Pre-Meditated to see what can really happen.

Ling-Ling Sets Me Straight

For the past week I've been house/cat sitting for my friends Chris and Khue in Eagle Rock. Generally I'm allergic to cats, but every once in a while I seem to get along with one like Ling-Ling. Low dander levels or something I'm told.

Anyway, Ling-Ling and I have had a pretty good relationship this week except for one habit she has that drove me absolutely nuts.

Being somewhat nocturnal the Double L has a nightly penchant for leaping up to the top of a wardrobe that stands at the foot of the bed. She'll then stare down at me like some freaky gargoyle before launching herself into the air four feet above the bed.

This is all cute except that she only pulls these feline acrobatics just after I managed to fall into a nice deep sleep. The next thing I know I'm ripped from my slumber, bolting upright with my heart beating fast because it felt like someone just threw a sandbag into bed next to me.
I usually swear at Ling-Ling and push her out of bed, though she never seems to carry an air of remorse.

After a couple nightly performances of this, I had enough. I banned Ling-Ling from the bedroom, physically chasing her out the other night and closing the door. What followed was Ling-Ling crying and pawing at the door for ten minutes. I finally fell asleep to the dubious sounds of Ling-Ling amusing herself in the living room, doing Lord knows what.

When I woke up the next morning I found this as I opened the bedroom door:

I'm not really sure whether to be amused or freaked out at Ling-Ling's offerings. But she seemed to be delivering a message in the form of Khue's padded insoles. "Tread lightly in my house"?
Who knows.