Just looks like more of Texas to me.

Ah, Saturday night in el barrio Toonerville! Que rico. I got off work early and walked the dog around for a few miles through Atwater and damn if it doesn't feel like Mexico won SoCal back. You can smell amazing carne asada on every corner and the only music you hear is Mexican rock and roll or ranchera music. Families are out in lawn chairs, the men in either tank tops or buttoned up short sleeves while the women are in summer dresses, enjoying the cool evening air after another stinker of a hot, muggy August day. Fall can't come soon enough for some and too soon for the cholos out tweaking their rides. Personally, I love this time of year because the kids and kooks are leaving the beach to the real surfers and the water is going to get colder soon. Bigger waves, colder water, but still sunny and football and hunting seasons are upon us. I love this time of year. I even started skating again, granted I'm just pushing around on my cruiser board but it still makes me happy and maybe I'll actually be able to ollie again soon. Either way it's still fun.

Peace out, bitches!

It's called a changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.

Reshoots are what happens when people forget to shoot something or shoot it and rush it and it doesn't work for a variety of reasons (i.e. focus, composition, lighting, continuity, blah, blah, blah). I am working on reshoots for what promises to be a horrible movie: Street Fighter. Yep, a movie based on a video game about randomly fighting people and monsters on a sideways scrolling screen is now a "major" motion picture going, I'm sure, straight to video. In the video game the characters were, well, characters. You know, little Asian girl in school girl uniform versus commie beefcake or green monster or some dumb shit. In the movie it seems to be all dressed up stylish people kicking the shit out of each other. Whatever. The pay sucks, we're covering a fight scene for three days, and the whole thing reeks of mediocrity. I'm only doing it to hang out with my friends who are on it and see what happens. The DP is cool but ten years younger than me and kind of green and clearly a trustfund baby. The operator is seven years younger than me and is so green, nervous, and keyed up that his constant jittering while holding the camera resulted in me getting a nice sized cut on the finger. I'm thinking of fragging him if he doesn't chill the fuck out. What a goof ball life I lead. It's no wonder I drink a lot, what with the state of the union and the world and then I'm hanging out with the dopes in Hollywood. Ha! I need to get my head either examined or caved in.

Note to any interested parties: the season of the NFL is upon us and that means Sunday and Monday nights on The Pearl are devoted solely to the pursuit of inebriation and over-eating while watching grown men run around in tights and smash the shit out of each other while chasing the silliest looking ball ever made. Come one, come all but make sure you bring beer or snacks as the galley is might bare these days. It's been a spell since we did any honest pirating...

Peace out, bitches!

Well, Holmes! It seems we've finally discovered the secret to your intelligence!

Working is funny sometimes. We either run around like chickens with our heads cut off or we sit around doing nothing while everyone figures out what they want to do. I think that's one of the many reasons why people always make the military analogy when trying to describe film making. That and everyone is a film geek and wants to sound cool by making the Army connection. Whatever, it's a funny little racket and thankfully I'll be able to pay bills this month.

I got home and Gun Dog mag and the new issue of Surfer were at my door. If you were spying on me, would you find that weird?

Peace out, bitches!

Oh, almost forgot my new sticker which is on my camera cart:

Jesus God almighty look at that bunch over there man! They've spotted us!

Here are some photos from day one of the Chrysler job. Don't ask because I don't know. Apparently, what really sells luxury cars these days are zombies although we're not actually using real zombies. Just these funny fake guys and some even faker background extras. We strapped these "corpses" to another car and chased the Chrysler around while the background kids ran after the whole thing and tried to climb on top of the Corpse Ride. It'll all get processed and geeked up so it looks like this giant wave of humanity forms up like Voltron into a big hand that reaches for that which it must not have: upper-class symbols of wealth, today played by a god-awful Chrysler. Oh, the things we do for money 'round these here parts.

Peace out, bitches!

If you don't have good dreams, Bagel, you got nightmares.

It's 12:32 in the am and I need to be awake in four and a half hours to get ready for work. I cannot sleep tonight for some reason. At least I was wide awake for Ghost's puking session. I think it was all of the avocado husks he ate while I was working in Melah's backyard. Interesting. Anyway, I can't sleep and I've been reading a really interesting book about the British Natural History Museum called Dry Storeroom #1: The Secret Life of The Natural History Museum by Richard Fortey, who happens to be a retired paleontologist recently retired from said museum. Fascinating stuff and not at all conducive to falling asleep, at least if you're as big a dork as I apparently am. Hmmm.

I just realized why I can't sleep: I fell surfing today and landed on my fins and now my right ass cheek is bruised. Genius! It wasn't even good surf...

Peace out, bitches!

I can breathe and I can move, but I'm not alive because I took that poison, and nothing can save me.

I spent the day in idle pursuits: yoga, six mile walk, weights, surfing, building a planter in the girl's backyard (no, that is not a fucking euphemism for anything sexy). It was nice. The water was warm and clear, my friends were there, we went skin diving and I almost grabbed a fish and I saw a three foot leopard shark or something. Good times.

The joy kind of got let out of my day when, in the midst of my newspaper reading, the girl demanded we look up the Dems convention as Michelle Obama had said something to the effect that yes, she loved her country. Sensing this was one of those moments where you indulge the other person even though you have absolutely no interest in the subject I fired up C'Thulu's Lil'Helper and bam! CNN.com had us covered. 

Let me say this: I am no fan of any politician from anywhere or anytime including the future. A politician's real and true job is getting elected. Everything in between election cycles is kind of bullshit to a politician, at least in its heart of hearts or reptilian brain. Yeah, sure, some of them occasionally do something that benefits a lot of people but let's be honest: you have to force a motherfucker to really do something good. It is not in their nature as they really are after only one thing and that's re-election. I don't know exactly how it works everywhere else but 'round here the way to get elected is to play ball with the douche bags who really run  this bitch. Yep, play ball with the almighty suits of corporate America and their buddies in the military and you to can sit in on boring meetings about procedural language that is to be included in the next sub-meeting of the Sub-Committee on Agricultural Appropriations, Fiscal Year 2008. When you're not completely over your head and out your ass dealing with issues you know nothing about feel free to take some kickbacks and make policy by listening to your corporate bosses. Who knows, when you finally get caught fucking up maybe you can get on the boards of several multi-nationals and make some real money. What the fuck?

Why are the people in charge around here complete bastards? Obama won't be any different, not really anyway. Have you seen his "advisers"? Austan Goolsbee is his chief economic guy and he thinks free trade and NAFTA are raging successes. Not quite what the candidate has said but ok... Jeffrey Liebman worked with the Clintons on Social Security reform which opened the door for the crackpots on the right to try to privatize Social Security. Smart. I could go on but why bother? Yes, some of what he says he wants to do makes sense and will move the country forward, out of the partisan divide and maybe out of our class divide. I don't think it will all work out that way but it's fun to think it will but ultimately I just don't have faith in either my countrymen  or our elected leaders. We're all overfed, over-stimulated, and under-educated and the money guys are happy with that and are keeping us on the treadmill and away from the open door and freedom. I can't tell you what the Matrix is, I can only show you. Yep, eyes wide open and pulling cables out of my skull.

God bless America! This country brought to you by an endowment from Monsanto.

Peace out, bitches!

A house full of condiments and no food... how embarrassing.

Ah, another lovely Sunday night blogging and dicking around and not drinking at Tortuga even though it's Rock and Fucking Roll Bingo. It's good, I'm happy I've been hanging out with Melah and my friends and not feeling hungover or slow. Good times. I went for a super fun surf with Aaron the other day and even though the waves were small and gutless we had a blast. I love surfing and skateboarding and just being outside and running around like a dope. Everywhere I look there are all of these guys aging away so ungracefully and most of them are younger than me. Or way older and just now starting families as they're finally done with rehab and fucking around. I guess I'll be that guy if I don't have a family soon. Except for the rehab part and the fucking around part. I just meant I'm going to be the old guy when/if I have kids. Whatever.

So who's going to be the new HNIC? It better be Obama even though I think I'll end up hating him as much as I hated Clinton. NAFTA anyone? Or how about GATT? Welfare reform? I swear, I still don't know why Ishmael Reed and the rest of the smart brothers called him "the first black president." Why? Because he cheated on his wife? Played sax? Fucked over a ton of poor people? Interesting definitions of blackness, guys.

If McCain wins I'm going to go out and slap the first white man I see in the face just so he knows what it's like to be stereotyped AND so that he'll stop thinking we're beyond race. That's the only way McCain wins: white people, en mass, decide that they have to be honest about racism and admit they're collectively not ready to elect a NIGGER to "run" the country. McCain is so obviously unqualified and insane and knocking on death's door and the Republican party has so clearly gone of the neocon deep end that ONLY a total racist would vote for him.

Anyway, I suggest you go to Ropeadope and order a McCain "Nope" shirt. McCain as the Obama illustration that Shepard Fairey did (Giant guy) but with the word "Nope" instead of "Hope." Very funny. Show stopper in a way.

Peace out, bitches!

You don't go to work every day. You go to a bar every day.

Weezer video over and I'm exhausted. The job, as usual, was a totally enjoyable cluster fuck. It was a goofy concept for a cool band: they play in the parking lot of the Forum. They try to break Guinness Book of World Record stuff. They have 500 extras, all fans of the band and totally deranged, helping them. Very funny. Pie fight, dodge ball, biggest skateboard, longest game of Guitar Hero, most acoustic guitars broken, blah blah blah. Too bad the job was underbid and there weren't enough crew and we had five video cameras and no time and and and and... It was only enjoyable because I got to see a bunch of guys I haven't seen in ages and all we did, besides hustle, was crack jokes and talk shit. Good times. Went to Tortuga after with Josh and some of the other guys and once again didn't drink. Go for raging sobriety. Now I'm sitting at home with Ghost stressing about when, or rather if, I'll ever work again. I hate freelance sometimes. Bills pile up, money goes out, and never quite enough comes back into the old bank account. At least I'm shooting a freebie in Vegas on Sunday and Monday. It'll either be really cool or totally stupid and then I come home and take a step back and 2nd AC for my pal Vincent. Oh, the humanity! Whatever, a fucking paycheck is a fucking paycheck. 

Hmm, fry cook you say? If only there were surf in Chad...

Peace out, bitches!

There's fuckin' room to move as a fry cook. I could be manager in two years. King. God.

I got a call from a friend of mine who is a production manager to do a low budget night shoot. I hemmed and hawed and finally decided to do it as I wasn't going to do anything Tuesday night anyway except sleep. Sleep? Fuck that, let's go work on a music video for no good reason. Turns out Joel Schumacher (of  Tigerland and Falling Down and motherfuckin' D.C. Cab fame!) was the director. What? Big time Hollywood director doing a music video for Scars On Broadway? Scars on what? I was surprised and somewhat flabbergasted by this development and further stunned when Joel's second unit director basically handed me the camera for everything but the main band performance. I got to shoot for Joel Schumacher. He even told me he liked my shots. I am stoked.

Now I'm off to do a Weezer video with the Malloy brothers and Giles the Giant Englishman and Vinnie Velcro. All my goofy friends are on this one and we're shooting by the Forum so Inglehood represent!

Peace out, bitches!

Something has to be done, but nothing too original, because hey, this is Hollywood.

Ah, off for awhile and now it's back to work on two shitty music videos in a row! Melah is back at work and the midget starts school again on Wednesday. I babysat her yesterday and am hanging with her again today, well, part of today. I scheduled a night shoot for tonight out in the middle of nowhere. Actually, it's Aqua Dulce Canyon which is where they used to shoot all of the "alien planet" scenes for the old Star Trek series. Very cheesy. The other great part about the job is that this young Aussie AC who I loathe is on the job. Perhaps I'm only doing it to fuck with him or perhaps it's because my cute friend asked me to help out. No, it's because I'm a pirate and I want the money, all the money. In true B camera fashion I have no intention of doing any real work tonight. I'm going to go through the motions and pass "Go" and collect $500. Oh, almost forgot, the DP is a total prima dona who thinks he's the second coming of Christ because he works on low budget "experimental" videos for hot Silver Lake indie rock bands. All in all, I'm sure I'm going to regret taking this job.

Tomorrow I go and prep for a Weezer video and that kind of makes me happy. I still haven't gotten a whole crew together but I'm sure it'll all work itself out somehow. We'll see. That shoots on Thursday so I'm hoping to prep Wednesday and then pass out for twelve hours as I'm getting the feeling I'll be going from crappy night shoot straight to prep with no sleep in between. Yeah, living the fucking dream in Hollywood! Ha, you know, I was actually getting anxious about bills and work and now look, too much too soon.

By the way, the midget is really spoiled in some minor ways but is a really cool little kid overall. She sat in the gym reading for awhile while I helped a pal along the path to healthy living. All the old queens were gushing over "my little girl" and couldn't believe how well behaved she was. Full disclosure: I had to bribe her to read two chapters of her Narnia book by telling her I'd let her play with my iPhone. Danger Will Robinson, danger! We're off to the beach for a bit and then I ditch her on the side of the road with Ghost and go to work.

Peace out, bitches!

I believe whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you... stranger.

San Onofre, even though it's overrun with campers and Jesus-freak kid camps, is still pretty much unspoiled California coastal magic. We camped out for two days and scored really fun chest/waist high surf and met some weirdos. I highly recommend you go and enjoy what could have been in SoCal if only a bunch of greedy developers weren't in charge. It's so gorgeous and the beaches are mostly real beaches: scrub, rocks, very little sand, kelp, and waves with no one out. Lovely.

That said, camping with a six and half year old is a test of one's patience. Unless you're the drunk midget's mother, who seemed fine with all of the complaining and whining. Although those moments were rare they were intense and I guess I'm more used to camping with adults who's only whining moments come when the surf goes flat or we run out of booze and smokes. It was fun watching the midget learn about real beaches and get here hike on. Yeah, we had to hike down to the beach with boards and water and whatnot and Melah and the midget did fairly well. I of course can't sleep as the dog has trained me to wake up at the latest by 6am and walk him and now that I'm not drinking I really can't ignore him. C'est la vie. All in all it was an amazing experience and I even got to see my pal Mike who has officially quit the business of Hollywood to live near the beach with his dog and start a construction company with his dad. Nice. If only there was surf in Chad I might do the same. We also drove down to Oceanside where Melah redeemed herself by standing up on some little waves. Nice. I somehow got a sit down sized barrel on a set wave and laughed all the way to the beach.

Now, if only I could get out of here and get onto my couch and into a dry martini. D'oh! I'm still not drinking!

Peace out, bitches!

We're outgunned, and undermanned. But you know sumpin'? We're gonna win. You know why? Superior attitude. Superior state of mind.

Watch out Orange County! Masked brown people on longboards approaching!

But you are drunk. A sober person would have reached for the pretzels.

So I haven't posted in a bit as I've been hanging out with long-lost Aaron and assorted other buffoons and thus have been too busy to post. Sorry, but thanks for the round of concern concerning the previous post. I love alliteration, even in small portions.

I'm not drinking this month and I just had a funny night. I saw Dark Knight (FUCKING AWESOME!) at the Cinerama Dome with Aaron and Melah and then parted ways with everyone for some quality time at the gym. Post work out, feeling all fresh and happy at 10:30pm, I got a call from my pal who was at Tortuga feeling down and having a couple of drinks. I was a little hesitant but decided to go over and watch her drink and see some of the local pirates even though I'm Captain Sober for August. I am very happy to report that all of my pirate buddies decided I was the man for hanging out even though I'm not drinking. They were actually proud of my decision to knock off the sauce for a minute as they had all witnessed my sorry drinking spell during Shrink (the worst experience ever in my short career as a focus puller). Nice, huh? Tattooed freaks and geeks getting down with the idea of just saying "fuck it" to booze for a spell while still coming in to the bar to say hi and hang out. I  think I cheered my friend up but you never can tell with drunk people. I also got hit on for being sober and having just come from the gym. Yeah, there's a fetish for everything I guess, even sober guys who smell like the gym. Strange town, LA.

I have the sneaking suspicion that before too long everyone is going to ask me to start drinking again as I'm too much of an asshole as Captain Sober. Or maybe I'm worried I won't like me when I'm several weeks off of any booze of any kind. Hmm. Best just to let this work itself out over the course of the month.

In more exciting news, I'm going to San Onofre for a little surf/camp deal with Melah and the drunken midget. God help me, why did I decide to stop drinking?!

Peace out, bitches!

Oliver, my father used to say that a man can never outdo a woman when it comes to love and revenge.

I just got divorce paperwork from my soon to be ex-wife and I'm a little perturbed. Not only am I being asked to pay alimony but I also get to pay for her attorney fees. Hmm, dads a CEO at an international law firm and I need to pay for what? I picked the wrong month to stop drinking AND smoking, the wrong damn month.

Peace out, bitches!

All you got is your friends.

Ha ha! I wasn't going to drink for a month and then Aaron AND Doug showed up at once with Sibel and now we're all drunk. Funny thing about life- it's always changing on you. Fuck it. Health kick starts in a minute. I love my friends and if it weren't for them I'd be dead or even more fucked up and stupid-bitter. Anyone reading this: if you love me and I haven't told you lately that I love you, I'm sorry. I'm clearly not smart enough or well-adjusted enough to make it on my own so I owe my latest 36 and a minute years to you.

Peace out, bitches!

Exterminate all rational thought. That is the conclusion I have come to.

I am at work in Hollywood on a dark and cold soundstage and I am very pleased with life. We are shooting promos for Monday Night Football and all my rowdy friends are here on the job. I am going to try and take some silly photos of the set and maybe get in a little bit of trouble. Ha! When I walked on stage I got a hero's welcome as I haven't seen any of these guys in ages. It's nice to be remembered.

In more interesting news I've decided to pass on all booze for a month. I've been feeling a bit unhealthy and broke so I think a month long hiatus will do me some good. It'll also free up more time for yoga, the gym, surfing, and gearing up for hunting season. Now that Ghost is showing more interest in birds than shoes I plan to hunt as often as possible this season. I can not wait for that first day of dove season where you watch the sun come up and smell the early morning dew and watch you first dove stop suddenly and plummet to the earth. I hope the damn dog remembers to fetch and not eat my dear departed dove. Anyone want to go?

Peace out, bitches!