He's been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far much more bitter, cynical sense of humour.

We wrapped Kevin Spacey today and I'm a little sad about that, he was cool. He's also one of my favorite actors. When they wrapped him today I told him it had been an honor and he smiled and gave me a hug and said thank you. Nice guy. A little bonkers but basically a nice guy. He will be missed.

Other than that I got run into a  couple pieces of furniture while running backwards on a hand held shot that should have been Steadicam and I got hit in the face with the camera. My whole body fucking hurts and I'd really love to have a couple of shots of Patron and call it a night but I have to be on Zuma at noon. Oh, it's 3am right now. Good times on Shrink. We decided the camera department shirt should simply say, "Off is better." As in "off this fucking job." Supposedly the last two days are going to be single camera and no one wants to do those days. We're trying to devise a fair method of deciding who gets to get totally fucked for two heavy days of shooting but I know it's going to be me. I'm the DP's guy so I guess I'm fucked. Par for the course and that's just how it goes.

Damn, my jaw hurts and the dog is whining so I'm going to bed.

Peace out, bitches.

This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

Haven't posted in awhile but you haven't missed much: painful camera positions, painful scheduling, painful long days and painful poor planning and execution by the brain trust. I did manage to stay sober all week which doesn't sound like much but did take a bit of effort. This job is basically an affront to all I hold dear about the business I'm in and it hurts. I came home every night and did yoga and walked my dog and tried to read some good books. I'm currently mired in Pynchon's last book and it's kicking my ever wandering mind to no end. Anyway, Melah and Ani surprised me one night by randomly showing up and making dinner, which was nice. Most of time, however, has been spent getting peeled on Shrink, the little movie that couldn't but somehow, against all that is holy, managed to do it. And wreck everyone's lives.

I had a nice weekend which started off with Sandow (the A-cam 2nd) and I getting a little gacked out and drinking a bottle of damn fine chardonnay while waxing poetic about the world in which we work. Totally fun and ridiculous. I slept for the rest of the day and realized I really needed to do so as my body basically rebelled against the very idea of getting up and being productive. I think I'm slowly being killed by a movie, I think it's doing it on purpose. Shrink is a murderer! Eventually I got up and managed to make it out to the Lodge for Rock and Roll Bingo and dammit, that was worth it! I love that bar and its patrons. Bunch of scum bags and freaks and I miss them right now. Today was great- sleep in and then surf all day and polish it off with a delightfully silly dinner at Taylor's with Bean. Steak house frozen in time, eh? Sounds intriguing, let me get my cool hat. Too bad I have to work tomorrow.

So, that's the long and short of it as I'm too tired to regale all two of you with tall tales of stupidity and mendacity from the makers of Shrink. If I survive I'll fill you in on the stupid.

Peace out, bitches!

Hey, did you see th-the way he went SAILING right out there?

Oh my gawd! It's 12:40am and I'm a little ( a lot, who are we kidding!) buzzed on a school night and I just have to say: I threw a rock at sound department after they made us wait an hour because they couldn't sack up and push their cart up the hill we pushed our shit up, Kevin Spacey called me "the meanest 1st AC" he'd ever met (he was smiling), we schooled our annoying intern, I told the director I was going to quit if he didn't stop yelling at us for doing our jobs, and as I left the bar a song came on that said "What the hell am I doing drinking in LA." Oh my, oh my, life in LA on this movie, and in general in this business, is a collection of wonderful non-sequitors  and bullshit. I hate this movie, the director is a hack, I've missed out on about three thousand dollars and several days off and I'm so tired and over it that I don't care! I think I'm shell shocked or some shit. Ha ha haha a ahaha aha ahahahaha aah haaaaaaaa! Kill me now, you jackasses! Nice, the Sex Pistols just popped up on the radio. Also, I'm in the parking lot by Starfucks because AT&T still hasn't sent me my replacement modem. Life is good.

Peace out, bitches!

A good plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow.

If ever you get a hankering to work on a low budget movie just remember this one thing: No matter who's in it, the experience is going to suck balls. Seriously, it won't be fun. I am going to go and surf in the morning and then I'm going to go work in an office building in Century City at 10:30am on a Sunday. Sounds fun, no? It probably won't be but I need to get paid so off I go to spin the wheel and hope for the best.

This weekend was interesting. We got off work at 6am on Friday and went to the Drawing Room, which just happens to open at 6am. The entire camera department made it out and some of the electrics and some of the PAs, minus their shit throwing ability. The crack-up part came when Kevin Spacey walked up and said "Hi." He actually came out for a drink with us! I got fucking hammered with Kevin Spacey Friday morning and I had fun doing it! Who'd have thought Spacey was that cool, I mean, a dive bar at 6am? Too cool. He also bought everything once he showed up so it was Patron for all my friends. Needless to say, Friday was a bit of a wash.

Well, that's all for now. I'm sure that as soon as I got to work it'll all go to hell and I'll get right back on line to start bitching all over again.

Peace out, bitches!

Is this something you can share with the rest of us, Amazing Larry?

Oh it has been an interesting couple of weeks! I haven't posted in awhile because I've been sleepwalking through my real life so as to save up energy for my fake life as an AC on "Shrink," the little movie that couldn't. I said goddamn! I am tired and broken and both emotionally and spiritually broken and on top of that I have to got to the local Starfucks to get a wi-fi signal. My trusty home modem aboard the Pearl fried itself in a spasm of self-loathing and disgust with my rampant online porn addiction. What? You heard me.

This movie is going to kill me very slowly and painfully in a way that the Swedes could never have pulled off, much less dreamed of in a thousand and one frozen Swedish nights. Every decision to save money or "increase productivity" has exploded in production's face and then been thrown at the crew like shit thrown by a psychotic pack of monkeys, aka the assistant directors and PAs. I am going to explode soon and heave a lens into someones cranium. I am going to explode and burn one of our overpriced trendy locations to the ground. I am going to explode and then consume the explosion and watch it turn into an ulcer and an even more severe reliance on alcohol. Good lord, I am a small cog in a vicious machine that spits out crap while consuming all that is good and pretty in the world. "Shrink," a movie about people who make movies written by a thirty year old boy who can't tuck his shirts in but still ties a double Windsor every day. What. The. Fuck.

In happier news I went surfing before our night shoots twice and even slept on the beach for two hours and woke up with the sun. I also successfully completed a really nice late drop into a head high wave and then smacked the shit out of the lip. I think I finally kinda sorta know how to surf. God is in the little moments of joy that mean nothing to anyone but you.

Peace out, bitches!

The next guy who says "Badda-boom badda-bing" to me is getting kicked right in the fucking nuts.

Oh my god, making movies is fucking bullshit! I spent all day cooped up in a goddamn Venice "mansion" apartment baking in the heat and lights and attitude. You'd think it could be good times and whatnot, I mean, it's only the second day so no one hates each other just yet. Production is freaking out because we're running three, count 'em, three cameras with a thousand feet of film going through each one every take. That is a lot of film, my friends. That's the kind of film consumption that led Major Bitterness to comment, "What, are we making Indian Jones 5 and 6?" Ha! Anyway, production freaked out and started hiding film so my loader had to deal with the bitchy production manager, loading, and she had to keep doing staircase laps to get between the darkroom and the set. She was beat down by lunch, poor kid. Following that things got even worse and I was forced to let the other AC know that despite being on A cam I was still the head of the department. It didn't go very well. (Emily Abbott says this is fucking bullshit and she's a fucking minor!) End of the story is that I'm in charge and fuck everyone else! 

Anyway, short post tonight. I'm tired and want to get up early and do yoga cuz I'm old. What?

If you were... if you were me, wouldn't you do the same thing for your children?

It's Father's Day here in Los Angeles even though it's 10:40pm. Still counts! Sit back down and wait till the bell sounds, goddammit! Anyway, I just wanted to stop and reflect on my father and let him know (I'm told he's an avid fan of this blog) that I love him, respect him, and want him to have a happy Father's Day in what ever third world shit hole he happens to be in at this time. Ha! Just kidding, Pops, you know I'd be right there with you if only someone would pay me a duffel bag full of Euros to go.

Funny story about my dad: When I first was introduced to guns and hunting and shooting and everything else cool about being a black redneck, my dad had the best lesson I've ever seen. I can't really remember how old I was but I do remember that I still had a chin and a well defined jawline and my stomach didn't hang over my belt. It was actually rather concave as opposed to the "bulbous" shape it now possesses but I digress. I also remember it being very hot so we were probably in the Angeles Crest in the summer. My father took a .12 gauge Mossberg (his preferred killin' stick) and loaded it with a deer slug which is a rather large hunk of lead roughly the same size as a .12 gauge. Think bigger than you'd really want anything to be especially when said item is approaching any part of you at around 1,300fps. He then proceeded to fire this deer slug into a large engine block and out the other side thus scaring the shit out of me and leading me to believe that what is best in life is not the lamentations of their women but not getting shot. Ever. I've since found myself on the wrong end of several different projectile weapons and the lesson has been reinforced. Once, Moose shot me in the chest in what had, up to that exact moment, been a perfect Norman Rockwell moment of fathers and sons happily chasing pheasant around in the hinterlands of North America. Good thing I was far away and Moose tends to aim low.

Back to the original point: Pops does lessons well. Straight to the point, no bullshit but still flashy and interesting. So today I say Happy Fathers Day, Pops! Let's chase down the cow what fucked you up and give him a taste of his own medicine! Or, more realistically, lets go to South Dakota and git some phez!

Post Script: It was once pointed out to me that the above story may have been more myth than reality but I stand by it nonetheless. Even if it never happened I'm still a good marksman and have never shot anything I didn't mean to hit and then later skin, gut, grill, and eat. Thanks again, Pops. And thanks to all the other Pops before you.