A person doesn't change just because you find out more.

Lately I've noticed that while at work I have been avoiding making eye contact with people who are attempting to make small talk with me. I believe that if I make eye contact with them they might think I actually want to talk to them, which I don't. I usually just don't have time for it all. On occasion I'll talk to people for a bit, when we're not in the middle of the shit and I like them. I don't think it's a character defect on my part as I'm generally considered a friendly person by the people I work with. Of course I have my days or moments just like anyone else but lately... I just get tired of bullshitting with people I don't like or wide eyed PAs with too many questions. What's the point? Let's just all get to work, knock this motherfucker out and hey, I'll buy you a beer for not talking my damn ear off. Sound fair?

Perhaps I'm just getting too old and too bored to deal. Perhaps.

Peace out, bitches!

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

I've been at work. I've been in the Pacific. I've been in a bar. Or two. Possibly three. I digress. I've come to the conclusion that I'd like to spend most of my time in the Pacific or at least next to it, with Melah and the Midget. I think it's high time I find a way to make that happen. I'm open to suggestions.

Peace out, bitches!

We've got sun, earth, and atmosphere, and when you've got that, you've got weather!

Jane's is belting out "Summertime Rolls" and all I can think about is that, as mad as I was all day at my girlfriend, I love her to death. "Her nose is a pepper sunrise," and the anger melts away. Yeah, sure, maybe it's the beers and the two shots of Herradura. Maybe it's the scorching hot night time air as the car drives me through midnight in Hollywood. I don't care. I just want to get home and say, "Hi. I was mad. Now I'm not. I love you. Goodnight."

They're out there, you know, the hookers, the lost, the desperate, the new, and the crazies. Walking around and screaming at the world or maybe that one person in it that fucked them over so hard that Hollywood or Sunset at midnight ended up making sense. You ignore them at your own peril even if you don't live here because they're where you are too. Look in the corners, with the dust and dirt and grime that you subconsciously sweep away as you clean. They're under the rug, so to speak. We're all guilty us normal douche bags, we make them every day as we run around not dealing with reality. We plug into the Matrix. They watch, they wait, and as soon as we're not plugged in they remind us of the "collateral damage" of our lifestyle choices. They're people too but no one likes to admit that and that's what makes us less human. Trade places? Fuck you. I want out. I want Jane to stop this crazy thing so I can get off.

Midnight run from East Los through Hollywould-or-would-they-not to The Hood. You see it all and yeah, you're a little buzzed but maintaining. They're everywhere, Chief. Highway Patrol cuts you off just to make an exit, bueno! Crazies, lost souls, kids out eating it all up and maybe tagging, johns looking desperate, immigrants hating it all and just trying to make it back to the room, drunks looking at you from the comfort of their car with a grin of recognition, randoms out jogging in deepest darkest LA just so they can say they did, and it's all yours/mine this city! Birthright? Earned? Fuck. Who cares? We're all here. Now. Make it work or get burnt up in the canyons or drowned down at the pier or eaten by a shark, the locals, we won't mind. Our home is your home just stay in your racially assigned area, please. The LAPD is overworked as is, what with the racial profiling and the endless machinations of manipulating downtown's purse strings and your fears. So alive this city! This shithole! This home...

As happens too often, I read a book and it blew the back of my head open. As I work on mending said hole I suggest you read Empire of Illusions and check back with me.

Peace out, bitches!

A cup of tea would restore my normality.

I love this time of year. I grew up thinking summer was the shit, The Man, the reason to live through the rest of the seasonless year here in Southern California. I was wrong. Fall is the only way that a man such as myself can stay sane here in the new and improved Los Angeles. The weather cools off a bit. The water gets cold and the waves get big so the lineups empty out. Football season starts. Everything comes into season for hunting. I am feeling content and we're only in Week 1 of the 2009/2010 NFL season. The early dove season ends tomorrow and I only got one day but I enjoyed the fuck out of it and I don't care what anyone else says. Most of them don't hunt anyway so...

This truly is the season of plenty. Whenever you can hunt every game bird around, deer, rabbits, and then go surf an afternoon session without anyone else out you know you've got it good. I've decided to be out in the bush for the entire week of my birthday this year. Hunt ducks all day, drive down to the border, camp, wake up and hunt quail and dove along the Colorado river, camp, wake up and drive up to Palm Springs and meet the Girl for some spa time and relaxing. Only in the Fall.

It's nice to finally be able to say exactly what makes you happy and to be able to live that life. Thank you to Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Peace out, bitches!

They have to amuse themselves, 'cause we're not making them laugh.

Some thoughts on Denver:

City Hall looks like every other city hall-vaguely Roman architecture and meant to be imposing. Not bad, not very original, but not bad. Across a park and a little block away is another spired building that is lit up in garish blue light at night. It's a church, or so I'm told. Stand in the right spot and you can see both of them at night and you get the sense that someone in Denver is starved for attention.

People drink a lot here. The rent is fairly cheap and there don't seem to be too many cops around and the kids here get hammered. I went to a punker bar the other night and sort of sat back and observed and was stunned at the amount, severity, and volume of the drinking going on. I met a few kids who told me all about the music scene in Denver and where to go every night of the week for a good drink, DJ, and local band. They were fired up and quite funny. I think the oldest person I talked to was the bartender and he was only 34. I also watched a street punk duke it out with one of the bar patrons. Everyone was on the street cheering them on and the door man didn't step in until someone got bounced off the floor. The three homeless Indians at the bus stop told me they were alcoholics and that whites were funny.

Downtown Denver is chock full of little restaurants and bars and seems about as stale as you can get. It's sparkling clean and you get the feeling it really wishes it were somewhere else. There's an open air pedestrian mall on 16th street that reminds me of South Pasadena back in the day: homeless people competing with slightly upscale joints for your money.

I can't think of any reason to come back here but I don't hate the place.

Peace out, bitches!

I don't get that close to the glass until I'm on the floor.

Here are some photos from when I went hunting for deer in the Sequoias.

It was going to be a three day hunt but my friend and I had a miscommunication and he ended up without a sleeping bag. Go for annoying. We slept in my tent and it was uncomfortable and I didn't sleep well at all. I still managed to get out and up into the hills fairly early but to no avail. No deer for me and a grumpy camp partner. Five hours later I was back in civilization a day early for dinner with Melah and her parent's. Could be worse, I could be in Denver on a job. Oh wait, I am.

Denver seems interesting but I'm withholding judgement until I actually get out and about and see some shit. For now, I wish I were somewhere far away looking through my scope and not hanging out with anyone. No talking, no compromising, no bullshit.

Peace out, bitches!

I was going to the worst place in the world and I didn't even know it yet.

And so it came to pass that a job came through and a plan was formulated and equipment was rented and on and on until I found myself at Panavision Hollywood.

I am to take part in a shoot that is going to take a perfectly good SLR manufactured by Canon and turn it into a relatively shitty video camera. Good. Good plan. Maybe we can convince people to never ever ever worship at the throne of Digital. As always, just because you can doesn't mean you should and this goes without saying when it comes to "digital film making." The camera ain't no fun and the shoot, oh the shoot!

We are heading into the asshole of the world, Captain: Piru and Fillmore during a fucking heat wave and an army of wildfires. Should be great.