January 2, 2006, 5:42pm

Bubba, it’s your dad and I just went down to Verizon. Right now its 6:40 or whatever on Monday and I’m watching the football game. But I went down to Verizon today because my phone has not been working at-all. Hell, I uh, you know…I don’t know what the shit is wrong with it. Kathy didn’t either. Took it down there and they said it’s some kind of a niche, uh, in the, uh, charger and, uh, therefore she turned it, she took it out and turned the battery around and then everything was fine. Cause I went in there and I told her…she said “Can I help you?” and I said “Yeah my God damn phone has got the flu! Son of a bitch is sicker than dogshit and I want it fixed!” And so you know I’ve been billed for this one for years plus it’s been less than a year since I had the God damn thing.

So anyway, I’m just calling to make sure that my granddaughter was getting fed steak and eggs and that she’s eating steak and eggs uh, three times a day and she’s drinking whole milk and uh, she’s not starving and she’s eating six meals a God damn day because to be an athlete she’s going to have to eat six a day…and I expect her to be an all-state basketball player and, if need be, an all-state football player and, if need be, an all-state wrassler but I don’t give a shit. But uh, academics come first with her so she needs to understand that too, so you need to pound that shit into her brain.

Just call, give me a call when you get back. I was just wondering how your meeting with Cory went and if he’s on his way to Iraq or Afghanistan or wherever the shit he was going. And Kathy was asking me “Does he have a college degree?” and I said “You know, I really don’t know, I really don’t know. But to be in the Pentagon and to be where he is he’s got to have some kind of a fricken degree. Hell I don’t know…” She said “Well you always talked about him and his brother being fighters” and I said “With each other! They didn’t like each other! They couldn’t go to the same God damn school! One had to go to Thornton and one had to go to Northglenn.” I said “They’re not bad kids, they really aren’t.”

So anyway, when you get the chance, give me a buzz. I’ve tried a couple times today and uh, haven’t been able to reach you. I don’t know if I don’t have your regular number or what so… Give me a buzz when you get a chance and make sure that you can verify that she is eating damn good, steak and eggs, ok? Ok bye.

January 3, 12:02pm

This is the second day I have called. I don’t want to talk to you Bubba. Put your God damn…my granddaughter on the phone when I call back again. Ok? Thanks. Bye bye.

January 8, 8:12pm

Bubba. It’s your dad. Uh…I need an updated picture of my granddaughter…you know…your daughter. Kathy wants to make a t-shirt for yourself and so…and, and, and for Rhonda. So you know, I Love My Granddaughter, I Love My Daughter, whatever… So, if you would, uh, send me an updated picture. Kathy will take care of it. She wants to do it in the worst way. So please…an updated picture of our daughter, our granddaughter…so that she can do that….I Love My… you know…Dad. I Love My Mom…that kind of stuff, so... It means…It’s very meaningful to Kathy so please do that for me if you would, please. I just need an updated picture as soon as possible. And get that baby to me. And, and, you guys… I hope everything is going great and I hope it is… and we all love you and… My God that, uh…. We’re so happy about having a granddaughter! I am! Jiminy Christmas! I’m so happy about having a God damn granddaughter…Jiminy Christmas… I’m so…

Tears

Well…we’ll talk later. I love you. Bye bye. 

My friend Travis posted a few thoughts on his blog about the nature of timeline as it relates to completing what, ostensibly, are artistic products.  Here tis:

I was having a series of conversations yesterday and a theme seemed to keep turning up.  Is it better to keep working on a project, take as long as you need, in order to turn out something that you are completely satisfied with or should you accept imperfections as part of any project and work on getting it finished in a timely manner? The artist says never compromise the vision. It will take as long as it takes. It's zen. It's art.  The pragmatist says create product. Realize that this project is just a piece of the larger goal of developing a body of work. It's the first step down a longer road and the journey will be delayed or never start if you keep languishing in the Purgatory of perfection.  Where do you fall on this measuring scale? Are you a director or a film maker? Do you write for yourself or do you want people to see or read the stories you conjure up? I think that we are all working on a timeline. Sometimes we don't even realize it's there.  Sometimes it's obviously restricted (like the project I'm working on now), other times you can be lulled into a sense of complacency, feeling like you have all the time in the world.

Don't be fooled. Create quality, but create.

I know where he’s coming from, or where this post originated.  It was fueled by wading through some afterthoughts about jumping into a project with a marginal script.  (At least one of the conversations he’s footnoting was with me).  I should add - I've read the script.  It's not bad, actually a good read.  It may have been a bit half-baked but it's a good concept and Travis is improving as a writer for sure.  None of this diatribe is reflective of my opinion of him or his life...(unless he wants to use it that way I guess, like I do, duh).  No, this is mine.  It was the implication that the artist and pragmatist are at opposite ends of a measuring scale that made me scrunch up my nose, say ‘huh?’ and read again.  I don’t think I agree with that.  Why would they be?

I think whether or not a person feels the need to complete something on a timeline depends on their goal, not the creative process or whether they are an artist or a pragmatist.  Do I care if I take a year to write what should be a 3 month script?  No.  What’s my goal?  To write things I like and think are quality.  Trav made reference to the ‘larger goal of creating a body of work’.  Sure, that’s a larger goal, but it isn’t ‘the’ goal…right?  Creating a body of work for the sake of doing it wouldn’t warrant reflecting on the process or evaluating the product.  Solely amassing pages would be satisfying if that was the case.  So what’s the goal?  To sell something.  Maybe that’s a few steps down the path but it’s the central goal, it’s why a body of work seems so relevant.   

But let’s not overcomplicate; churning out crap for the sake of having a body of work is still churning out crap.  Who wants a body of crap?  I’ve written plenty of crap.  I don’t want it included in any public crap cauldron – it is what it is.  Crap.  You’ve never read it.  It’s not on my site.  I don’t believe that everything I do should be included in my portfolio, should be read, seen, made, etc.  Fuck that.  It may be part of my process and who I am but it shouldn’t be part of how I get defined as a writer unless I want it to be.  And it certainly isn’t how I want to be defined.

Whoa…who says these things?  No one.  Who do these things apply to?  Probably everyone at some level.  Want to figure out how you really feel about your work, where your real motivations lie?  Create something you love and NEVER share it with anyone.  You’ll find out quickly how much of your goal is invested in your art and how much is rooted in the actions and opinions of others.  Here’s another one – how much of your life are you willing to invest in your art and by ‘invest’ I mean immersing yourself in someone else’s process and giving up autonomy?  It’s easy to be a maverick and work outside the box, on your own dime and schedule because you are 100% in charge of that process.  Hey, I do that.  But would you go to school for 3 years to learn the fundamental craft from professionals?  Ok fine, doesn’t mean you are or aren’t an artist one way or another.  The point was to identify the true motives for doing what we do. 

Because I think art without honesty is a fraud.

Hey I’m not saying if you do things to make money that you’re somehow less of an artist than someone who doesn’t.  And I'm not saying it's bad to choose the nebulous professional endeavor of 'artistry' because it quenches some part of your mental thirst to be socially acceptable yet delightfully aloof in your respective circles of peer judgement.  Not saying that at all.  What is an ‘artist’ anyway?  I am.  You are.  Whatever. There’s no real answer here.  Are you an artist if you never sell anything you create?  God damn right you could be, but not necessarily.  Are you an artist because you sell something?  Of course not – ever.  I guess it all comes down to goals.  Want to make films to sell?  Maybe you’re an aspiring businessman.  Want to write to create something interesting?  You just might be an aspiring artist.  Want to create something interesting that sells?  Maybe you’re a genius. 

I don’t live in Hollywood anymore.  Where I live, nothing happens.  I spend a lot of time swimming around in my private botanical of hidden motives.  I never worked in the industry and I have never really given two fucks about belonging anywhere, not in many years anyway.  Now that I'm more seriously considering changing career paths it's necessary that I read things like Trav's post and stumble between my soapbox, my cosmetics, my process and my self...hoping eventually to make sense out of it all.  I guess the good part is that I only care about writing and that's something that will never go away.  It’s what meaningful to me.  And you know why?  Because I think it keeps me honest.  Do I begrudge others for churning out a script to have product to market to sell in order to advance?  Not necessarily.  I even said as much in my post a few weeks ago about the bartender/screenwriter at Hotel Fig.  I see that as a process and goal different from mine.  But I would begrudge the donning of the ‘I’m an artist’ badge, then turning out crap because the central goal was actually to produce something sellable, not something personal, artistic or interesting. 

Don't be fooled. Create quality, but create.  To me, not being fooled means your being honest about your motives, not trying or having to decide between process or product.  Doing the former will define the latter.  Won’t it?

If I was ever asked to testify against Santa Clause, I wouldn’t do it because when we’re bad, Santa brings us coal.  Now that I think about it, the snowman has coal for eyes.  I wonder what he did.

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It takes a big man to cry.  Just look at that man over there, crying his eyes out.  He's enormous. 

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If I was on death row, my last meal would be all-you-can eat ribs.  Then, when the time came for me to die, I could say "I'm not done yet."   Eventually I’d throw up, which probably wouldn’t get much sympathy.  But I’d keep eating. 

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It's important to think outside the box.  Its also probably important to think inside the box.  Like “What’s in there?  Does it need air?  How did it fit and will there ever be a time to let it out?”

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Sharks.  Is there any word in the English language that elicits more fear, more sheer terror?  There’s “ratbait,” but technically, that’s two.  Then moosecock…and spider-eyes.  But that’s it.          

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I never played baseball because I was afraid of getting hit with the ball.  Later in life, I realized I was afraid of bats too, but the other kind…with fangs and bloodlust. 

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As a little boy, I’d jump around and sometimes fall down on my bum.  He got hurt when I was older, because I weighed more and his bones were brittle from not getting proper nutrition on the street. 

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If there is ever an etiquette class for reindeer, one lesson should be to respect your co-workers.  Another could be not to do number two in a chimney.  Or maybe when to do number two in a chimney.  Not everyone is good you know.

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I sat at the table for an hour looking at Tommy's project.  I wondered if I'd been too hard on him for not finishing on time.  And you know?  I was.  I smiled, finished my juice and prepared to teach my son an important lesson - how to admit when you're wrong.  I licked my lips and opened the pantry door, looking at him squarely.  I told my son, "It was unrealistic of me to expect you to finish an eight foot wax clown carving in just under a day.  That's at least two days.  Now go outside and catch us some dinner you little dickens." 

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Carefully, I peeked beneath the lid.  Empty.  I think Mrs. Taylor could sense my disappointment before I even spoke a word.  “Nothing,” I said hoarsely.  “There are no Valentines in my box.”

“That’s because you gave other people trash and dead bugs,” she said. 

I guess she had a point.  But to hell with them all, I thought.  The real Batman would never tolerate this kind of treatment!

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I wonder if anyone ever told the Tin Man “Hey, have a heart.”  Because he didn’t have one.  That was his whole problem.  Now that I think about it, he didn’t have any ears either.  So they probably thought he was just ignoring them by not getting a heart.

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My mom had a way of putting things that really cut through the nonsense.  I left the kitchen and went to my room thinking about what she’d said, wondering just how she did that.  Mark was smaller than the rest of us.  He did have a disability.  It was wrong to color him in pastel markers.  Finally, using South American child labor camps to make the T-shirts of Mark covered in markers when we knew good and well that our quantities were below 100,000 and the distribution plan focused only on the Continental U.S. was, well, just plain bad business.

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It seems like a less lethal way of taking care of a mouse problem would be to fill a shoe box with cheese cubes.  When the first mouse showed up, he could call the others, let them know what he’d come across and refer to himself as “The Cheesekeeper.”  After the box got crowded, other mice might notice that there had never been such a great party just for mice with food so rich and so many friends.  Soon they’d grow suspicious of The Cheesekeeper, but by then you could have thrown the box in someone else’s trash.  Now its their party.

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My teacher used to say “An Apple a Day Keeps the Doctor Away.” I know now that was just a big-person exaggeration because, really, if you throw it hard enough just one time, he won’t see you for months.

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One night my wife and I creeped into our daughter’s room to play a trick on her.  I was dressed like Dracula and she was dressed like the Tooth Fairy.  We play acted that’s we’d accidentally shown up on the same night, her to leave a quarter and me to tear out Missy’s throat. 

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I dropped my wallet at the market today.  A kind stranger picked it up for me and smiled when she saw the picture I keep of my love. 

“Your lovely wife?” she beamed, handing it to me. 

I smiled back.  “No…not yet.” 

“Your fiancée?  How romantic!” she responded. 

“We’re not engaged…yet,” said I. 

“A long courtship!” she chirped!  “I love it!” 

“Not really,” I said, counting my change.

“No.”

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1. Full Name: Codename - Wild Geese

2. Were you named after anyone? No.  Birds maybe.

3. Do you wish on stars? Only Ricardo Montalban and he's never paid off.

4. When did you last cry?  I'm tearing up as we 'speak'...imagining songs, birds, clouds.

5. Do you like your handwriting?  I write with a robotic arm and therefore don't consider it my own.

6. What is your favorite lunch meat?  14 year old runaway torso sliced thin for sandwiches.

7. How many kids?  4 at the park, strangers but so pure.  I'm watching them now...waiting.

8. Names and ages of kids:  I've named them Mrs. Crowley, Pandora, Vic Trigger and Thor.

9. If you were another person would you be friends with you? Unless when I was them I was rude to the real me, then I would punch me in the nose, hard, so my eyes would tear up.  If after that we could talk like adults and I could feel like I was being heard,  then I'd hope for a lasting friendship.

10. Do you have a journal?  Yes.  But I fill it out as other people.

11. Do you use sarcasm a lot? I don't get it.

12. Would you bungee jump?  Depends on who the business owner is.  I don't trust Pakistanis.

13. What is your favorite cereal?  I reject this question on principle. 

14. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?  Again, I wear skates. Is this biased?

15. Do you think that you are strong? I used to be a powerlifter but I cried during The Notebook.  I never feel like I really fit in.

16. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? They don't sell it in this country.  It's called 'Vanilla Hash'.

17. Shoe Size? Ha ha ha I know where you're going with this.  17 - extra wide.

18. Red or Pink? Depends whether they seem appreciative that I paid for dinner.

19. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? Half my break dance moves I stole from others.  So lack of creativity.

20. Who do you miss most?  The fat witch that lives in my chimney.  I've never seen her.

21. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? Only Crystal.  She and I apparently are the only ones with enough free time.

22. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Vibrant chartreuse, candy apple red.

23. Last thing you ate? Evidence.  All of it.

24. What are you listening to right now? There is this silly leprechaun on my desk!  He's so funny, yet never says a word.  Maybe he doesn't have a tongue.  It's me now, I'm sobbing.

25. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? I'd leave myself and the rest of the pack in a car window so we could melt into a new color which I would call 'Corlianderthon'.

26. Favorite Smells? Mmmm...black tar heroin right when it hits a REAL silver spoon.  And napalm in the morning.

27. Last person you talked to on the phone?  Not sure, I didn't look.  I screamed at them incessantly for 40 seconds, hung up and moved to the next alphabetical name.

28. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?  That they have sneaky devil eyes.

29. Do you like the person who sent this to you? I want to.  I really, really want to.

30. Favorite Drink? Anything in a used, velvet slipper.

31. Favorite Sport to Watch? Bum fighting.

32. Hair Color? What's with the character assassination?  So I'm thinning out.  Seriously, back off.

33. Eye Color? Corlianderthon

34. Contacts?  Yes, one on the thigh and one by my kidney.  He said it was a 2 contact minimum once I made altar boy.

35. Favorite Food?  Little people of all denominations.    

36. Scary Movies or Happy Endings? Happy Endings...but only at Tokyo Spa and only when Sun Yi Lieng is working.

37. Last Movie You Watched?  Since I'm a speed reader I only watch the trailers.

38. Favorite Day of the Year?  The day I stop working.  Then it will be my favorite day 'of all time'.

39. Summer or winter?  Summer is way hotter, but Winter is rumored to be nastier. But they are twins.  I don't know.  You pick.

40. Hugs or Kisses? Depends on cost and if there is any drink minimum.

41. Favorite Dessert?  This embarrassing, but, I'm allergic to cats so I can't answer this.

42. Who Is Most Likely To Respond? Crystal.  She'll do it again and again.  She loves this.  Never done anything better.

44. What books are you reading? The Berenstein Bears Learn About Swinging and Cross-Genetic Disfigurement

45. What's On Your Mouse Pad? That leprechaun!  He moved!

46. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? Surveillance tapes from the Shell station bathroom on 42nd. 

47. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Who f@!!@6=% cares?  More like Pet Shop Boys or Bananarama!  Shizzzam!

48. What's the furthest you've been from home? I'm miles away from anything recognizable right now.

49. Do you have a special talent? Yes, but since coming of the tour circuit I no longer enjoy being referred to as the 'Human Super Soaker'.  Just let it go.

50. Favorite Quote? Not sure who said it, but it went something like this: "What the fuck Crystal?  Why do you send around such crazy emails?!  Seriously!  Once in awhile just a quick line to say "Hi!  How are you?" would be nice.  The collective 'we' are starting to wonder if you really exist or if all these wacky emails are generated from computer like that crazy one in War Games.  Come back home Crystal!  Come back!"
 
"Now....In order to send this back to me you need to highlight all the text, go to edit and copy. Then click New Memo. Go to edit and paste. Then change the answers to yours and send on to your friends."

Ah yes…the days when the self-loathing runs deep.  I question my work ethic, curse myself for missing my 500 word daily writing quota and find 20 things to follow up on that I never cared about until my subconscious grabbed the wheel, hit the gas and started steering me down the path of most resistance.  And I know when I do this.  I’m aware.  I’m doing it now as a matter of fact.  And despite being aware, instead of buckling down and churning out product, I prepare myself to work.  Here’s what that consists of: turning on the tv, connecting to the internet and plugging my headphones into aol radio.  Then I sit and wonder why nothing creative rains from my head to my fingers, assembling into letters then sentences, words then brilliance.  And then…I get negative.  I get down on myself, saying I know better, why won’t I do better?  Because soon I’ll tap into “it” I tell myself…  “It” being the time I wrote The Ring at one sitting in a 5 by 7 upstairs office that shared a bathroom with a bar in Santa Fe – straight to finish, all night, no editing.  Then I think about when I wrote The Exchange, sitting in a vacant house in San Francisco during a very wet winter.  I remember writing Free Tommy Fallen, my first full-length script, and how cathartic it felt to write something that was loosely about my life and my friends.  I use memories like that to rationalize my inertia, wanting to believe that if I just wait long enough, another creative spark will ignite under my ass and then I’ll be a writer…because then I’ll have ‘it’. 

It’s a struggle I have with my process and it runs deep.  The sweet taste of true inspiration is so exquisite that sometimes I don’t think anything I produce outside of those rare, sparking moments is worthy of a second read, so why torture myself?  Why push it?  During the day I can usually avoid the fight, shoving real work (i.e. employment) to the forefront of my day and believing my duties as a provider and partner are reason enough to put what is currently and undesirably a hobby on the back burner for a few more hours.  Night time is a little harder because my subconscious is more worthy an adversary.  If I’m tired enough, I can just fall asleep. 

Then again, I’ve ruined two computers by pissing on them in my sleep.  Two.

Title:      Cockblockers
Log line: A new couple has but one problem, the woman's ex-boyfriend keeps blocking the advances of her new beau.
Buyer:    Paramount Pictures
Price:     $1.2 million against $1.8 million

Title:       Chasing Dinner
Log line:  In a small town, the residents' lives are turned upside down when three pigs escape being butchered to become "hams on the lam," spurring a media circus during the holiday season.

Buyer:     Yari Film Group
Price:      n/a

Title:       Killing on Carnival Row
Log line:  Set in the future in a town called Burgue, the citizens, which include both humans and other creatures, are being targeted by a serial killer.
Buyer:     New Line Cinema
Price:      Mid-six figures  

Title:        Venus Kincaid
Log Line:  A female African American government agent finds herself shrunken down to a teenage girl but retaining all of her special sleuthing skills.
Buyer:      Fox 2000
Price:       n/a

Title:      Big Stan
Log line: A wimpy con man panics when he learns he's going to prison for fraud. He hires a mysterious martial arts guru who transforms him into a kung fu expert who can fight off inmates who want to hurt him -- and love him.
Buyer:   Crystal Sky Pictures and Silver Nitrate Pictures
Price:    n/a

Title:      Perfect Pet
Log line: A divorced genetic engineer designs the "perfect pet" to impress his kids, but finds his creation soon goes awry.
Buyer:    New Line Cinema
Price:     n/a
 
Sigh.  Now the real question – what do I do about it?  Draw a line in the sand, protest against selling out and say THAT’S the reason I’ll choose to not pursue the Hollywood machine?  I write to write, not to sell.  Never until recently have I become interested in the idea of changing careers and pursuing the one career that I feel is most central to who I am as a person.  Am I good enough?  I don’t know.  Are the people who wrote these scripts?  Apparently.  What to do, what to do… I really do long for the surge of creativity that allows inspiration and motivation to coexist in the thin space between my two ears.  Where is it?  Sigh…  Get back to work, that’s what I do.  It’s what I’m going to do now.