I'm reminded of my days back in Princeton, when many students of color were passionately lobbying the university to add an Ethnic Studies program to the curriculum through a series of rallies, protests, even a sit-in of the President's office. In the midst of this, were were a number of students who, at best, acted as devil's advocates that actively engaged the protesters on these issues. On many occasions, these Devil's advocates would make statements that were often contradictory, but were all individually inflammatory. As a result, some of these passionate protesters would become so incensed that they'd loose sight of their ultimate goal as they tried to shout down the inherent stupidness of elements of the opposition.
These so-called Devil's advocates, of course, grow up to be the Tucker Carlsons of the world.
And, in many cases, these well-intentioned passionates grow up to be Keith Olberman.
As much as I love and enjoy "Countdown with Keith Olberman", I suppose I must remind myself that, as often insightful and passionate as he can be, he can often loose sight of the forest for those damned trees.
Case in point: my recent post about his recent segment, laying much of the blame for high oil prices at the feet of Enron, oil speculators, former Senator & Mrs. Phil Graham, and, by proxy and omission, John McCain. As a number of commentators pointed out in that post, and, as this New Yorker article linked in the title addresses, while speculators can assume some of the blame, much of it must be laid at the feet of the insane growth of oil demand. Now, I'm still not entirely convinced that there isn't whole scale market manipulation, but I would not be doing my due diligence to not give voice to these other, potentially stronger factors.
And, as the New Yorker points out, these regulatory measures against speculators may, in some ways, be as much of a political stunt as the gas tax holiday proposal from the spring. While I believe it's clearly a more substantive stunt, it still beats up a familiar bogeyman for the public while not addressing the fundamental, underlying issues.
July 01, 2008
June 19, 2008
There Has Been Blood
Whenever I've been watching one of the billions of presidential debates over the last few months, my roommate has occasionally asked me "what are they going to do to bring these gas prices down?" And my answer has been pretty pathetic: "uhm, there's not enough refineries, and China's increasing the demand, so it's out of their control until we switch to renewable fuels.... I think".
But the more I really thought about it, the more that simply didn't make sense. If Exxon is making a BILLION dollars in profit for the first three months of this year, that means that their revenues have vastly outpaced their expenditures. So, even if the processing of crude oil had become so much more expensive because of bottlenecks in the pipeline, which would, presumably, drive up the price of a barrel of oil, it still doesn't account for the huge profit disparity.
And then I saw this segment on "Countdown with Keith Olberman" last night.
In short, it's all Enron's fault. Enron and Phil Graham.
So, the question is, if the so-called "Enron Loophole", that allows energy speculators to simultaneously drive up the price of oil while hording it as an investment and then reaping insane profits, has single-handedly caused the price of oil to double since it's inception, why haven't ANY of the Presidential candidates talked about it this year? After all, you would think that Enron is a pretty easy boogeyman to present for further public flogging.
And, yes, I'm talking to YOU, Senator Obama.
Some legislation has been passed to address this, but there's much more work to be done. If you want to help do something about it, check out StopOilSpeculators.com.
The other thing that concerns me is that, near the end of Keith's report, he mentioned the term "oil bubble".
Having lived through both the 1st internet bubble and now a real estate bubble, the thought of an oil bubble makes me extremely nervous. I mean, sure, if the bubble burst, the oil prices should collapse, which would be easier on my petrol budget. But, if all of these financial institutions are acting as major oil speculators, would the crash of the oil market make some collapse like Bear Sterns, pouring even more salt in the wounds of the credit crisis?
June 16, 2008
Robotech inches closer to big screen reality
OK, so, it's not quite a nerd-gasm yet. (Does that, then, make it nerd-play?)
Lawrence Kasdan to pen 'Robotech'
But it's still pretty tasty - because the minute somebody is paying an A-list writer for a script, you can at least know that somebody, somewhere, is serious enough about actually making the film to put some real skin in the game.
My only concern is that Robotech is a MASSIVE story. I mean, originally, they were three separate and totally unrelated anime cartoons that the producers redubbed and smooshed together to make one big, epic story spanning three generations of heroes fighting successive waves of mecha-enabled alien invaders (namely, the Zentraedi, The Robotech Masters, and, my personal favorites, The Invid). To do it even sort of right, you really ought to do three separate trilogies, one for each generation.
And, perhaps that's the point. If I was a studio head, I would be salivating at the chance to launch a property with a massive built-in audience and 8 potential sequels. Especially since you only need three-film commitments from any one actor (so the costs are fairly fixed, as opposed to other franchises that become increasingly expensive from actors' salaries).
And, unlike most 80's cartoons, Robotech already had fairly sophisticated dramatic elements - real death and cross-racial romance and the cost of war. It doesn't need to be upgraded to adulthood like, say, Transformers. In fact, my other concern is that the studio might try to soften some of the hardcore storytelling at the end of each saga in hopes of "sending people home happy".
Just tell a good story, man. That'll make people happy enough.
Then again, Kasdan did write "Empire Strikes Back". Maybe I shouldn't be concerned.
And I do think Tobey Maguire would make a pretty good Rick Hunter. And Katee Sackhoff is the obvious choice for Dana Sterling. Dare I suggest Grace Park is Lin Minmei?
Actually, the more I think of it, the more I realize Ron Moore is totally jacking Robotech tropes for Battlestar Galactica. Edward James Olmos is a total shout-out to Captain Gloval. The tone and lessons about war are also very similar, as well as the effect humanity has on alien cultures.
In short, I'm still anticipating the nerd-gasm. But, done right, this could be the "Lord of The Rings" for giant robot sci-fi summer action movies. I have renewed hope.
June 03, 2008
The Leader of the Free World
Damn that Obama!!!! I was supposed to be the first Black president!
PSYCHE. :-)
MSNBC & CNN are 4 years late.
I called this back in 2004, in a blog post I called "The Future".
Barack Hussein Obama is the presumptive nominee from the Democratic Party for President of the United States of America.
Think about that for a minute.
As we sit, a Black man has a 50/50 shot at becoming the leader of the free world.
And, if I can get all Marcus Garvey-ish on it for a moment, we're basically a coin toss away from having a man who looks like, frankly, the majority of the population of this planet, become the de-facto leader of said planet.
A bi-racial man of African descent who was raised by Americans of European descent, who worships with the majority religion on Earth (namely, Christianity), but wears a name with deep cultural resonance with the 2nd largest religion on Earth (namely Islam).
Delicious.
April 25, 2008
Breaking My Silence
I'll just say this: anyone who doesn't understand why someone like Rev. Wright might say something like "God Damn America", while still being a patriot, read this article from the New York Times, and understand that, while this case got a lot of publicity, stories like this happen every single day in this country and never get reported.
Black people (and, I increasingly suspect, Brown people as well) who simply want the opportunity to live their lives are KILLED.
They're killed with impunity.
They're killed by people who are supposed to enforce the laws like those against murder. They're killed by people who are supposed to protect them because they're citizens.
And when they're killed under such circumstances, on the extremely rare occasion where some sort of trial is convened, their loved ones are told that said killing wasn't really criminal or even improper.
The call from Rev. Wright isn't "Go To Hell America".
The call is "Damn it, America! Why can't you do right by me like you promised?!?!"
It's the glaring absence of justice on earth that makes us call for divine retribution.
Black people (and, I increasingly suspect, Brown people as well) who simply want the opportunity to live their lives are KILLED.
They're killed with impunity.
They're killed by people who are supposed to enforce the laws like those against murder. They're killed by people who are supposed to protect them because they're citizens.
And when they're killed under such circumstances, on the extremely rare occasion where some sort of trial is convened, their loved ones are told that said killing wasn't really criminal or even improper.
The call from Rev. Wright isn't "Go To Hell America".
The call is "Damn it, America! Why can't you do right by me like you promised?!?!"
It's the glaring absence of justice on earth that makes us call for divine retribution.
April 17, 2008
Silence is golden
I'm sure many of you have been wondering why I haven't had anything to say about all of the recent electoral controversies of the last two months. Nothing on Rev. Wright, or Bosnian snipers, or phone calls at 3 in the morning, or bitterness in small town Pennsylvania, or the Weathermen, or flag lapel pins, or bowling, or whiskey shots, or even the debate last night on ABC.
And, yes, I do spend a fair amount of time following these stories, and I have pretty strong opinions. So strong, sometimes, that it literally drives up my blood pressure and makes my hands tremble in fury.
Which doesn't feel good.
So I don't say anything.
Because these things are distractions.
As my roommate likes to say, "they keep us all REAL busy, don't they?"
So, I've chosen to contribute as little as possible to the cacaphony, because, at the end of the day, the choice is really very simple:
If you like the direction the country is going in right now, internationally and economically, vote for John McCain.
If you don't like the direction the country is going in, but feel that the partisan divide in the country is just insurmountable, so that the best we can hope to do is cobble together the slimmest majority necessary to win and then, with no mandate, make whatever changes are available to that 50.01% of us, vote for Hilary Clinton.
If you don't like the direction the country is going in, and that the problems are so big that the incrementalism available to those slim majorities won't be enough to cut it, and are ready to at least try to bridge the partisan divide to build a real majority so that the entire country can be galvanized actually make some significant changes, vote for Barack Obama.
If you don't think voting for either of these three will effect your life in anyway, write in a 3rd party candidate who you think could, if given a chance, and vote for him.
if you don't think voting AT ALL can change the direction of the country, stay at home, roll up your sleeves, and get to work making your own contribution to making things better.
It's that simple.
Ask yourself what you believe, and then act accordingly.
But don't let them waste your time with this crap.
I know it's hard. Because the crap is madly entertaining.
But it's still crap.
And, yes, I do spend a fair amount of time following these stories, and I have pretty strong opinions. So strong, sometimes, that it literally drives up my blood pressure and makes my hands tremble in fury.
Which doesn't feel good.
So I don't say anything.
Because these things are distractions.
As my roommate likes to say, "they keep us all REAL busy, don't they?"
So, I've chosen to contribute as little as possible to the cacaphony, because, at the end of the day, the choice is really very simple:
If you like the direction the country is going in right now, internationally and economically, vote for John McCain.
If you don't like the direction the country is going in, but feel that the partisan divide in the country is just insurmountable, so that the best we can hope to do is cobble together the slimmest majority necessary to win and then, with no mandate, make whatever changes are available to that 50.01% of us, vote for Hilary Clinton.
If you don't like the direction the country is going in, and that the problems are so big that the incrementalism available to those slim majorities won't be enough to cut it, and are ready to at least try to bridge the partisan divide to build a real majority so that the entire country can be galvanized actually make some significant changes, vote for Barack Obama.
If you don't think voting for either of these three will effect your life in anyway, write in a 3rd party candidate who you think could, if given a chance, and vote for him.
if you don't think voting AT ALL can change the direction of the country, stay at home, roll up your sleeves, and get to work making your own contribution to making things better.
It's that simple.
Ask yourself what you believe, and then act accordingly.
But don't let them waste your time with this crap.
I know it's hard. Because the crap is madly entertaining.
But it's still crap.
March 06, 2008
Was, not "Wanted"
So, some time ago, you all heard me crying the blues about how Universal & Co. screwed up the film adaptation of Mark Millar's supervillain opus, "Wanted". After all, as the image to the right clearly shows, half the fun of that title came from the fact that they were comic book supervillains run amok, right down to their 4 colored costumes and utterly reprehensible behavior. So, when I heard they weren't incorporating any of that into the movie, and really kind of white-washing the characters for the film, I was completely prepared to dismiss this film, sight unseen.
I don't care if it's some of my favorite actors like James McAvoy and Morgan Freeman and Angelina Jolie. (Truth be told, I won't say Angelina is one of my favorites, but she does have talent along with a tremendous sense of global responsibility and I'm occasionally happy to pay to look at her in various states of undress)
I don't care if it has eye-popping special effects and death-defying stunt sequences.
I don't care if it's actually a good movie.
IT'S NOT "WANTED", SO STOP CALLING IT "WANTED"!
OK, now that I've gotten that out of my system..... :-)
This is a pretty f'n cool trailer:
">Wanted Exclusive Trailer
Exclusive Trailer">Add to My Profile | More Videos
In short, I'll probably go see it.
But, from now on, it shall forever be known as "The Other Angelina Assassin Movie" (so that we don't confuse it with "Mr. & Mrs. Smith").
Now I don't want to talk about it anymore! :-)
February 12, 2008
Bogeymen
I cannot tell you how many different ways I've tried to start this post, which I think is indicative of how big a topic this is.
Today, I want to talk about fear.
But let's begin at the beginning.
I was having breakfast with a young lady last week, and the topic drifted into the Presidential election. She commented that so many men who say they couldn't or wouldn't vote for Hilary Clinton are, ultimately, afraid of having a woman as President.
Now, of course, I've made no secret of my support for Barack Obama, but, at least consciously, I would never have thought that my opposition to her may be based in some latent misogyny. Quite the contrary, actually: the foreign policy position she's presented has seemed far more belligerent and, frankly, male than most of her Democratic contenders, to the point where, in some instances, she's starting to sound like the Republicans. My opposition to her has, at least consciously, always been based in my general opposition to DLC-style politics (i.e. "We're Democrats who want to beat up the same people as the GOP, so vote for us instead of those girlie-man Progressives"). Which is why I don't like guys like Joe Lieberman (even before he showed his true colors last year), or Evan Bayh, or even, in some instances, Harold Ford.
On the other hand, the Clintonistas will say the same thing that one of my cousins up in Milwaukee said back in 2004 on why he was supporting Bush: "Sometimes, you need a bully." After all, the world is full of scary stuff and scary people. Isn't it obvious that we need someone big and bad to go beat up the scary people?
And this has been the rapp on Obama - he's not tough enough. If he thinks he can talk to the Iranians, or Al Qaeda, or the North Koreans, or the lobbyists, or the big polluters and pharmeceutical companies, he's either a sucker who's too naive to be in office or a coward who's too spineless to get into a fight.
This is the same thing John Edwards was saying before he dropped out. You've got to be ready to take these people on. Because they're coming to get you. Hell, they may already have you.
And MY GOD, if Obama is talking this Hope crap now, just wait until the Republicans get a hold of him! None of us can possibly imagine the onslaught of character assassinations that will be unleashed against Barack by the likes of Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh and the Swift Boat Vets and all the other cogs in the Right Wing Attack Machine (tm).
And let's not even get into what radio host Stephanie Miller called "Right Wing World". If you thought WE had enemies to be afraid of, progressives, that's nothing compared to the enemies that the conservatives see.
I mean, let's take a step back for a minute. According to Dictionary.com, the definition of conservative is:
–adjective
1. disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change.
2. cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate.
3. traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit.
And, once you get past the politically specific definitions, you get to my favorite one:
having the power or tendency to conserve; preservative.
Preserve.
Protect.
Defend.
The very definition of the word assumes a state of constant siege. Their enemies are legion.
It's not just specific terrorist groups like Al Qaeda or Hamas or Hezbollah, in their eyes. It's not just specific countries like Iran or Syria. It's not even the whole of the religion of Islam. It is a clash of whole civilizations. Our very way of life is at stake. These people don't just want to kick us out of their countries. They don't just want to control the world's oil supply. They want to enslave us. They want to steal our God. And, barring that, they want to kill as many of us as they possibly can, for no other reason than the fact that we exist.
I think 9/11 is probably the first time that the average white person in America felt like there was a man out there, somewhere, who was plotting to kill them in the most newsworthy fashion possible, simply because of their identity, as opposed to some assumed grievance.
Which is probably way far fewer Black people in America had their world turned upside down as a result of that day: we've lived under the threat of random, indiscriminate identity-based violence & bloodshed for centuries. So what of Osama Bin Laden wants to blow up my office? The LAPD may shoot me tonight before I can even pull out of the driveway, ya heard?
When I was accepted into Princeton, my older brother pulled me aside and explained to me that, when I got to campus, I was suddenly going to be a "nigger", and subject to unspeakable affronts like the kind he experienced at the University of Maryland back in the early 80's. Things like being bombarded with so-called water balloons filled with ketchup, or having to endure regular racist cat calls from trucks full of his fellow students simply walking home from a late class. And that I needed to steal myself for what was coming.
But, see, the funny thing is, by the time he pulled me aside, I'd already been going to school with the sons of rich white people for the better part of seven years, and it simply wasn't the case. The worst racial incidents that I'd experienced there both came in 6th grade - in the first, one kid told me that I was the blackest Black person he had ever seen, and, in the second, another kid called me "Buckwheat". When I confronted him about it, he tried to spin it that Buckwheat was famous (thanks to the Eddie Murphy skit) and that it was meant as a term of endearment. Whatever. It stopped. And, as far as the first incident, hey, let's be honest - I'm a deep chocolate brother and I wear my complexion with pride.
And, in the one instance in my life where a white kid did have the nerve to call me "nigger" to my face, he was inches away from having a "come to Jesus" meeting with my fist before the host at that particular party, my token white friend at the time, kicked the offending child out while his mother pleaded with my mom for forgiveness for exposing me to such riff-raff.
The point is, I'd been around white people for a while.
And I wasn't scared of them.
Now, I'm not saying that I'm some hero or that I deserve a "Profiles in Courage" award. Put me in the room with just about any kind of barking dog, and watch my inner punk flourish.
What I am saying is, fear is easy. It usually goes hand in hand with people who talk about being realistic.
But, personally, I'm tired of being afraid.
In her book, "The Game of Life and How To Play It", Florence Scovel-Shinn defines fear as having perfect faith in evil.
It's that other 'F' word that was key for me.
Faith.
And not the way Mike Huckabee means.
Like I wrote the morning after the 2004 Presidential Election in "....the sun WILL rise...", I suddenly understood that I had been a willing participant in a system that validated evil, even if it was only as the lesser of two.
And, in that moment, I decided that I would NEVER, EVER vote for someone because I was afraid of something ever again.
When I wrote "The California Democratic Party SUCKS" back during the 2006 Gubernatorial Election, I caught a lot of flak from my local progressive friends for saying that I would not vote for the Democratic candidate, Phil Angelides, even if that meant re-electing Arnold. They were all terrified of 4 more years of Herr Schwarzenegger. But I had faith that, by not choosing the lesser of two evils, I would get closer to the outcome that I wanted. In short, I put it in the hands of a higher power.
Two years later, I think most Californians will agree that, while he's been less than ideal, the Governator has been a fairly decent steward of the Golden State.
Everyone was so down after Bush was re-elected, and appropriately so. 2005 was an awful year for America. But didn't I say that that particular election was going to be the low point before a progressive surge in the American electorate? Look at the country now - Democratic primaries are seeing, in some cases, double the voter turn out than 4 years ago.... which was already a record year.
My point is, I stopped letting George Bush and Arnold Schwarzenegger steal my joy. And that was not blind faith. It was a belief backed by conviction and effort and wisdom. But it is also founded in the fundamental understanding that nothing anybody else can do to me can hurt me more than what I can do to myself.
Which is why I love this little mantra from Frank Herbert's "Dune:
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
What so many people may not understand is that Obama is offering the same message and operating on the same frequency as not just RFK or MLK, but of, ultimately, Gandhi.
It's not about Peace Through Strength.
My friends, it is about Strength Through Peace.
Not world peace. Inner peace. Spiritual peace. Human peace. Peace at the center. The peace that passes all understanding.
And folks, you know that I am very much a Prodigal Son when it comes to the traditional church. But the peace that comes from knowing that you are MORE than how a poll or an election or a pundit or an attack ad defines you, let's you confront the smears from the Hannitys and O'Reilly's of the world, directly, without malice, without hatred, and without fear.
The peace that comes from knowing that the true idea at the center of America is much older and deeper and fundamental and eternal and MORE than the political, social, and economic structures that have been put in place on this particular mass of land by these particular people over the last 232 years, and it would be impossible for a group of men in a cave with some explosives or a despot with an army of any size to destroy it - THAT peace lets you confront those with foul intentions with a resolve so steely and a strength so insurmountable that they wither in your presence.
The strength for those confrontations is the same that Gandhi used to dismantle the oppressor of a nation, or that Dr. King used to gain equality for his people.
Now, those who still live in fear simply cannot believe in the validity of any other kind of power besides that which is fear-based. And that's OK.
When it gets scary for them, the rest of us will hold their hands and whisper that it will be alright.
And, honestly, as long as the likes of McCain and even Hilary are preparing to wage war from a place that is ultimately based in fear, neither of them will EVER get my vote. Even if she is the Democratic nominee.
Like I've said before - I'm MORE. And until she realizes that she is, too, she cannot possibly represent me.
And I have faith that the world will unfold to my liking as long as I am true to who I am and what I believe.
Just like the State of California did. And just like the American electorate did.
In short, I think it's time for us all to get past our fear, and have the courage to hope for the world and the life we truly desire.
In all of the areas where you feel the tension to be secure, to be protected, to be safe from the Bogeymen... in every place where you hold your fear like a warm, soothing blanket:
Fear of Republicans.
Fear of Liberals.
Fear of Homosexuals.
Fear of Homophobes.
Fear of white people.
Fear of black people.
Fear of Bush.
Fear of McCain.
Fear of Hilary.
Fear of Obama.
Fear of Bin Laden.
Fear of women.
Fear of men.
Fear of failure.
Fear of success.
Fear of Satan.
Fear of God.
Fear of life.
Fear of death.
Let.
It.
Go.
Because you're already safe.
How could you not be?
You're MORE.
Today, I want to talk about fear.
But let's begin at the beginning.
I was having breakfast with a young lady last week, and the topic drifted into the Presidential election. She commented that so many men who say they couldn't or wouldn't vote for Hilary Clinton are, ultimately, afraid of having a woman as President.
Now, of course, I've made no secret of my support for Barack Obama, but, at least consciously, I would never have thought that my opposition to her may be based in some latent misogyny. Quite the contrary, actually: the foreign policy position she's presented has seemed far more belligerent and, frankly, male than most of her Democratic contenders, to the point where, in some instances, she's starting to sound like the Republicans. My opposition to her has, at least consciously, always been based in my general opposition to DLC-style politics (i.e. "We're Democrats who want to beat up the same people as the GOP, so vote for us instead of those girlie-man Progressives"). Which is why I don't like guys like Joe Lieberman (even before he showed his true colors last year), or Evan Bayh, or even, in some instances, Harold Ford.
On the other hand, the Clintonistas will say the same thing that one of my cousins up in Milwaukee said back in 2004 on why he was supporting Bush: "Sometimes, you need a bully." After all, the world is full of scary stuff and scary people. Isn't it obvious that we need someone big and bad to go beat up the scary people?
And this has been the rapp on Obama - he's not tough enough. If he thinks he can talk to the Iranians, or Al Qaeda, or the North Koreans, or the lobbyists, or the big polluters and pharmeceutical companies, he's either a sucker who's too naive to be in office or a coward who's too spineless to get into a fight.
This is the same thing John Edwards was saying before he dropped out. You've got to be ready to take these people on. Because they're coming to get you. Hell, they may already have you.
And MY GOD, if Obama is talking this Hope crap now, just wait until the Republicans get a hold of him! None of us can possibly imagine the onslaught of character assassinations that will be unleashed against Barack by the likes of Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh and the Swift Boat Vets and all the other cogs in the Right Wing Attack Machine (tm).
And let's not even get into what radio host Stephanie Miller called "Right Wing World". If you thought WE had enemies to be afraid of, progressives, that's nothing compared to the enemies that the conservatives see.
I mean, let's take a step back for a minute. According to Dictionary.com, the definition of conservative is:
–adjective
1. disposed to preserve existing conditions, institutions, etc., or to restore traditional ones, and to limit change.
2. cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate.
3. traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit.
And, once you get past the politically specific definitions, you get to my favorite one:
having the power or tendency to conserve; preservative.
Preserve.
Protect.
Defend.
The very definition of the word assumes a state of constant siege. Their enemies are legion.
It's not just specific terrorist groups like Al Qaeda or Hamas or Hezbollah, in their eyes. It's not just specific countries like Iran or Syria. It's not even the whole of the religion of Islam. It is a clash of whole civilizations. Our very way of life is at stake. These people don't just want to kick us out of their countries. They don't just want to control the world's oil supply. They want to enslave us. They want to steal our God. And, barring that, they want to kill as many of us as they possibly can, for no other reason than the fact that we exist.
I think 9/11 is probably the first time that the average white person in America felt like there was a man out there, somewhere, who was plotting to kill them in the most newsworthy fashion possible, simply because of their identity, as opposed to some assumed grievance.
Which is probably way far fewer Black people in America had their world turned upside down as a result of that day: we've lived under the threat of random, indiscriminate identity-based violence & bloodshed for centuries. So what of Osama Bin Laden wants to blow up my office? The LAPD may shoot me tonight before I can even pull out of the driveway, ya heard?
When I was accepted into Princeton, my older brother pulled me aside and explained to me that, when I got to campus, I was suddenly going to be a "nigger", and subject to unspeakable affronts like the kind he experienced at the University of Maryland back in the early 80's. Things like being bombarded with so-called water balloons filled with ketchup, or having to endure regular racist cat calls from trucks full of his fellow students simply walking home from a late class. And that I needed to steal myself for what was coming.
But, see, the funny thing is, by the time he pulled me aside, I'd already been going to school with the sons of rich white people for the better part of seven years, and it simply wasn't the case. The worst racial incidents that I'd experienced there both came in 6th grade - in the first, one kid told me that I was the blackest Black person he had ever seen, and, in the second, another kid called me "Buckwheat". When I confronted him about it, he tried to spin it that Buckwheat was famous (thanks to the Eddie Murphy skit) and that it was meant as a term of endearment. Whatever. It stopped. And, as far as the first incident, hey, let's be honest - I'm a deep chocolate brother and I wear my complexion with pride.
And, in the one instance in my life where a white kid did have the nerve to call me "nigger" to my face, he was inches away from having a "come to Jesus" meeting with my fist before the host at that particular party, my token white friend at the time, kicked the offending child out while his mother pleaded with my mom for forgiveness for exposing me to such riff-raff.
The point is, I'd been around white people for a while.
And I wasn't scared of them.
Now, I'm not saying that I'm some hero or that I deserve a "Profiles in Courage" award. Put me in the room with just about any kind of barking dog, and watch my inner punk flourish.
What I am saying is, fear is easy. It usually goes hand in hand with people who talk about being realistic.
But, personally, I'm tired of being afraid.
In her book, "The Game of Life and How To Play It", Florence Scovel-Shinn defines fear as having perfect faith in evil.
It's that other 'F' word that was key for me.
Faith.
And not the way Mike Huckabee means.
Like I wrote the morning after the 2004 Presidential Election in "....the sun WILL rise...", I suddenly understood that I had been a willing participant in a system that validated evil, even if it was only as the lesser of two.
And, in that moment, I decided that I would NEVER, EVER vote for someone because I was afraid of something ever again.
When I wrote "The California Democratic Party SUCKS" back during the 2006 Gubernatorial Election, I caught a lot of flak from my local progressive friends for saying that I would not vote for the Democratic candidate, Phil Angelides, even if that meant re-electing Arnold. They were all terrified of 4 more years of Herr Schwarzenegger. But I had faith that, by not choosing the lesser of two evils, I would get closer to the outcome that I wanted. In short, I put it in the hands of a higher power.
Two years later, I think most Californians will agree that, while he's been less than ideal, the Governator has been a fairly decent steward of the Golden State.
Everyone was so down after Bush was re-elected, and appropriately so. 2005 was an awful year for America. But didn't I say that that particular election was going to be the low point before a progressive surge in the American electorate? Look at the country now - Democratic primaries are seeing, in some cases, double the voter turn out than 4 years ago.... which was already a record year.
My point is, I stopped letting George Bush and Arnold Schwarzenegger steal my joy. And that was not blind faith. It was a belief backed by conviction and effort and wisdom. But it is also founded in the fundamental understanding that nothing anybody else can do to me can hurt me more than what I can do to myself.
Which is why I love this little mantra from Frank Herbert's "Dune:
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
What so many people may not understand is that Obama is offering the same message and operating on the same frequency as not just RFK or MLK, but of, ultimately, Gandhi.
It's not about Peace Through Strength.
My friends, it is about Strength Through Peace.
Not world peace. Inner peace. Spiritual peace. Human peace. Peace at the center. The peace that passes all understanding.
And folks, you know that I am very much a Prodigal Son when it comes to the traditional church. But the peace that comes from knowing that you are MORE than how a poll or an election or a pundit or an attack ad defines you, let's you confront the smears from the Hannitys and O'Reilly's of the world, directly, without malice, without hatred, and without fear.
The peace that comes from knowing that the true idea at the center of America is much older and deeper and fundamental and eternal and MORE than the political, social, and economic structures that have been put in place on this particular mass of land by these particular people over the last 232 years, and it would be impossible for a group of men in a cave with some explosives or a despot with an army of any size to destroy it - THAT peace lets you confront those with foul intentions with a resolve so steely and a strength so insurmountable that they wither in your presence.
The strength for those confrontations is the same that Gandhi used to dismantle the oppressor of a nation, or that Dr. King used to gain equality for his people.
Now, those who still live in fear simply cannot believe in the validity of any other kind of power besides that which is fear-based. And that's OK.
When it gets scary for them, the rest of us will hold their hands and whisper that it will be alright.
And, honestly, as long as the likes of McCain and even Hilary are preparing to wage war from a place that is ultimately based in fear, neither of them will EVER get my vote. Even if she is the Democratic nominee.
Like I've said before - I'm MORE. And until she realizes that she is, too, she cannot possibly represent me.
And I have faith that the world will unfold to my liking as long as I am true to who I am and what I believe.
Just like the State of California did. And just like the American electorate did.
In short, I think it's time for us all to get past our fear, and have the courage to hope for the world and the life we truly desire.
In all of the areas where you feel the tension to be secure, to be protected, to be safe from the Bogeymen... in every place where you hold your fear like a warm, soothing blanket:
Fear of Republicans.
Fear of Liberals.
Fear of Homosexuals.
Fear of Homophobes.
Fear of white people.
Fear of black people.
Fear of Bush.
Fear of McCain.
Fear of Hilary.
Fear of Obama.
Fear of Bin Laden.
Fear of women.
Fear of men.
Fear of failure.
Fear of success.
Fear of Satan.
Fear of God.
Fear of life.
Fear of death.
Let.
It.
Go.
Because you're already safe.
How could you not be?
You're MORE.
February 05, 2008
Will it happen again?
My first year in film school, one of my classmates interned at a production company and was able to get her hands on a copy of the screenplay for "Unbreakable" about 7 months before the movie actually hit the theaters.
As a 1st year screenwriting fellow at AFI, freshly minted in Los Angeles, during an 18 month period that saw the release of "The Sixth Sense", "The Matrix", "American Beauty", "The Insider", "The Talented Mr. Ripley", "The Thomas Crown Affair", "Fight Club", "The Beach" (yes, I REALLY like "The Beach"), "American Psycho", "The Blair Witch Project", "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", "Dancer In The Dark", "Gladiator", "In The Mood For Love", "High Fidelity", "O Brother, Where Art Thou?", "Being John Malkovich", "Magnolia", and "Three Kings"....
You get the idea.
It was a great time for movies, and the chance to actually read a script for what was one of the most anticipated films of the year BEFORE it was even produced was VERY satisfying.
I read it, and, for the most part, loved it. Until the very end.
As a comic book fan AND a filmmaker-in-training, I was so geeked about the prospect of this film, but I knew that something just didn't - quite - work.
So, I started drafting a letter to M. Night Shaymalan.
Yes, as a first year film student, I was going to give script notes to a guy who'd just been nominated for three Oscars (Picture, Directing, & Original Screenplay) for what is now the 30th top grossing movie of all time.
But then I figured, hey, he's so good, of course he'll see what's wrong and re-write the script before shooting. I mean, after all, who am I to tell him? He clearly knows what he's doing.
To this day, I wish I'd written that letter.
And, as both "Unbreakable" and "A.I. : Artificial Intelligence" clearly demonstrate, not even the very best filmmakers are above notes.
I like "The Sixth Sense", and, for all it's flaws, I still love "Unbreakable". But I LOATHE the endings of "Signs" and "The Village", to the point that they really ruin the movies for me. And "The Lady In The Water" is just a train wreck.
Maybe I'm a sucker.
I mean, I suppose 2 for 5 is still a .400 batting average, but his most recent efforts haven't really been inspiring.
I think M. Night Shyamalan is an amazing director. He has a masterful sense of color, framing, camera movement, and pacing. Taken strictly on an aesthetic level, his films are marvelous.
But, first and foremost, I am a writer.
And the storyteller in me finds M. Night Shyamalan to be a wildly inconsistent screenwriter.
SO, like I said, maybe I'm just a sucker.
But, damn, this looks good!
So, Variety is reporting that he shopped the original draft of this script around town, and everybody passed. So, he went back and re-wrote it, and THEN got a green light from 20th Century Fox.
NOBODY is above notes.
Maybe I'm a sucker, but I have hope.
As a 1st year screenwriting fellow at AFI, freshly minted in Los Angeles, during an 18 month period that saw the release of "The Sixth Sense", "The Matrix", "American Beauty", "The Insider", "The Talented Mr. Ripley", "The Thomas Crown Affair", "Fight Club", "The Beach" (yes, I REALLY like "The Beach"), "American Psycho", "The Blair Witch Project", "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", "Dancer In The Dark", "Gladiator", "In The Mood For Love", "High Fidelity", "O Brother, Where Art Thou?", "Being John Malkovich", "Magnolia", and "Three Kings"....
You get the idea.
It was a great time for movies, and the chance to actually read a script for what was one of the most anticipated films of the year BEFORE it was even produced was VERY satisfying.
I read it, and, for the most part, loved it. Until the very end.
As a comic book fan AND a filmmaker-in-training, I was so geeked about the prospect of this film, but I knew that something just didn't - quite - work.
So, I started drafting a letter to M. Night Shaymalan.
Yes, as a first year film student, I was going to give script notes to a guy who'd just been nominated for three Oscars (Picture, Directing, & Original Screenplay) for what is now the 30th top grossing movie of all time.
But then I figured, hey, he's so good, of course he'll see what's wrong and re-write the script before shooting. I mean, after all, who am I to tell him? He clearly knows what he's doing.
To this day, I wish I'd written that letter.
And, as both "Unbreakable" and "A.I. : Artificial Intelligence" clearly demonstrate, not even the very best filmmakers are above notes.
I like "The Sixth Sense", and, for all it's flaws, I still love "Unbreakable". But I LOATHE the endings of "Signs" and "The Village", to the point that they really ruin the movies for me. And "The Lady In The Water" is just a train wreck.
Maybe I'm a sucker.
I mean, I suppose 2 for 5 is still a .400 batting average, but his most recent efforts haven't really been inspiring.
I think M. Night Shyamalan is an amazing director. He has a masterful sense of color, framing, camera movement, and pacing. Taken strictly on an aesthetic level, his films are marvelous.
But, first and foremost, I am a writer.
And the storyteller in me finds M. Night Shyamalan to be a wildly inconsistent screenwriter.
SO, like I said, maybe I'm just a sucker.
But, damn, this looks good!
So, Variety is reporting that he shopped the original draft of this script around town, and everybody passed. So, he went back and re-wrote it, and THEN got a green light from 20th Century Fox.
NOBODY is above notes.
Maybe I'm a sucker, but I have hope.
February 02, 2008
YES WE CAN
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to tell you who to vote for. But don't just take my word for it.
Wouldn't it be just poetic for Obama to become the first African-American presidential nominee of a major American political party during Black History Month?
Wouldn't it be just poetic for Obama to become the first African-American presidential nominee of a major American political party during Black History Month?
January 22, 2008
for Heath, or "requiem for a smiling face"
12 years ago, there were no such things as "blogs".
In fact, back in 1996, there was barely even an internet.
Even in my day job, where we were ostensibly on the leading edge of software & technology at the time, we were still using things like VI, the MS WordPad of text editors, to write complex computer programs, line-by-line-by-line. Lotus Notes was the latest thing for intra-company communications, and only senior management had actual accounts on the system. A laptop? You may as well have asked the company to buy you a Rolls Royce while you were at it. And, if you were one of the blessed few to have a company e-mail account, chances are, you were keeping a manila folder in your file cabinet, where you kept hard copy print outs of every single e-mail you ever sent or received.
At home, things weren't much better. I bought a Compaq Presario that year and subscribed to a local Mom & Pop internet service provider to get dial up access to the nascent web. After being spoiled by free e-mail back in college, I couldn't wait to rip open my shrink-wrapped copy of Netscape Navigator and jump back onto the so-dubbed "Information Superhighway".
One night during that same year, as I was listening to Hot 97 on the train ride back to my humble abode in Montclair, New Jersey, Angie Martinez & company came on the air in tears.
Tupac Shakur had just died.
I didn't know this man. And yet, his passing had meaning - real personal meaning - to me.
And, even though I was a relatively content, well-compensated (albeit grotesquely overworked) little corporate drone, I had to say... SOMETHING.... about this to someone.
I was driven..... compelled to write.
So, I sat down at my Presario and composed a little essay called "2Pacalypse", where I related the suddenness of 2Pac's passing to Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge on San Luis Rey", questioning this notion that death is God's way of saying "mission accomplished". Was his soul actually supposed to learn something by getting gunned down on the Las Vegas strip? Were the rest of us supposed to take something away from it? Or was the search for terrestrial meaning at all a fruitless gesture?
Of course, what took me a page or two to say back in the mid 90's I can now do in one paragraph. Practice makes perfect. :-)
Point being, even back then, when I couldn't even imagine living the life that I lead right now, was the DNA for Macroscope.
Even more to the point, I'm still struck by my personal need to respond in a personal way to the passing of a person who had no direct contact with my life.
Then again, as I stated in "2Pacalypse", Tupac been touching my life in some way since 1991. As a popular artist, his music had provided a kind of Greek chorus to my life. I remember cruising the summer streets of Baltimore with my friends to the tune of "I Get Around", or planning to scare the white people in the dining hall at Princeton with a song that starts "...They claim that I'm violent, just cause I refuse to be silent", or feeling warm and fuzzy and agreeable listening to "Dear Mama".
If I can paraphrase Jeffrey Wigand, we artists are in the Emotion Delivery Business.
And anyone who can make you FEEL something will always have a place in your heart, regardless of how that feeling is given to you. They become your friends, you family even. They can make you laugh or cry. They can inspire you, and even disappoint you, even if you've never ever met.
Thus is the odd conundrum that is mass media and celebrity.
Even though he was a stranger, 2Pac's art made him feel like he was my friend.
Which is why I'm suddenly reminded of him and his passing today.
Not that long ago, I hated Heath Ledger.
He didn't really register with me the first time I saw him, opposite Mel Gibson in "The Patriot". I mean, his character irritated me, but there were so many other things in that movie that pissed me off even more (Black slaves who were just tickled pink to pick Mel's cotton? A church full of people burned alive, but everything is cool because Mel killed Jason Isaacs? Shall I go on?), that I just sort of ignored the young Aussie.
"A Knight's Tale" was when he really started to irk me, because I could feel the studio machine tuning up the band to proclaim him "The Next Big Thing(tm)". I'd recently read William Goldman's "Adventures in The Screen Trade", and tended to agree with his thesis that new stars were only created when an established star passes on a juicy role and the producers are forced to cast a talented unknown in the part. Sadly, I think I was unfairly heaping Heath in with my feelings on Ben Affleck in Pearl Harbor ("The Next Harrison Ford"? come ON!) and just this overwhelming sense of Jonestown-style Kool-Aid that was floating around movie marketing that year. In fact, by the end of the summer of 2001, I was so irritated with the kind of films I'd been seeing, that I teamed with a like-minded classmate from film school to write a film that directly addressed many of the failings that we saw while still telling a good yarn.
And after a year of working on said film, we got word that Heath Ledger was going to star in a new movie with the EXACT SAME TITLE AS OURS.
Yes, I HATED Heath Ledger.
But then I saw "Monster's Ball". In particular, this scene made me a believer in Heath Ledger.
(And, if you've never seen the movie before, I beg you, PLEASE don't waste time with this YouTube clip. Just go out and rent the damn thing, because it's just a fantastic film):
I even loved "The Four Feathers". And a big part of what I loved was Heath's performance - just through his body and his face, he was able to transport me directly inside his character's emotional journey, from false pride, to cowardice, to guilt, resolve, sacrifice, despair, and, finally, triumph.
I read an interview with him where he said that, regarding acting roles, he felt like it would be a waste of his time to repeat himself. Which is why he turned down a ton of nice, frothy teen films at the start of his career and was, at one point, forced to borrow money from his agent to survive, waiting for a good, original role.
The guy wasn't just a teen idol-in-training. He was an f'n actor.
And the very best actors have always been anthronauts - literally, "sailors on the seas of humanity" - exploring the uncharted corners of the soul and bringing the breadfruits of this spiritual New World back to nourish those of us who wait on the safer, civilized shores of our own identities.
But, knowing what I know about actors who channel the spirit of their characters, like Mr. Ledger clearly does, I can't help but wonder about the toll it took on him to accomplish... THIS:
Before The Joker, he appeared to be on the path to be a reasonably peaceful & content family man. Then, after locking himself in a hotel room for six weeks to inhabit this most unhinged of all supervillains, he separated from his love and complained that he'd been unable to sleep for weeks.
His brain just couldn't stop spinning.
I believe I even heard that he'd been prescribed Ambien, and it still only helped him sleep for an hour at a time.
Am I suggesting something as crass as "The Joker killed Heath Ledger"? No. What I am suggesting is, when people describe certain actors as fearless, it's not just about doing their own stunts. There are emotional and spiritual costs to doing this sort of work at the highest level.
I remember my father wondering out loud about Ricky Williams: "with all that money, you'd think a guy would be able to keep himself off of drugs".
Sadly, Dad, sometimes, for some people, the drugs are the only things propping them up to allow them to even do what they do. Athletes. Rock stars. Movie stars.
Delivering a feeling to millions upon millions of people, night after night, day after day...
Think of it this way: consider how much energy it takes for you to have the relationships with the people you personally know and with whom you maintain a personal connection. Now, imagine if you had to do that for a living, where every single person on the street feels connected to you. Deeply. Personally. Spiritually.
Every. Single. Person.
The best of them give us all so much. Things we simply could not live without, no matter how much we want to dismiss them as inconsequential.
After I got through shouting "WHAT?!?!?" at my computer screen, hoping that if I said it long enough and loud enough, the sheer force of my voice would change the words to anything other than "Heath Ledger Dead at 28"....
After I got over the deep sadness I felt for people like Michelle Williams and his daughter, or even someone like Christopher Nolan, who now has the unenviable task of looking at his friend Heath's face every single day for the next six months while trying to finish editing his movie....
After taking the stream of phone calls from friends who were as astonished and saddened at the news as I was....
After all that mourning....
All I honestly have left to say is "Thank you."
"Thank you, Heath, for the deliveries"
"They were always right on time."
Send some light and love both to him and the people who knew him best.
Good night, friends.
In fact, back in 1996, there was barely even an internet.
Even in my day job, where we were ostensibly on the leading edge of software & technology at the time, we were still using things like VI, the MS WordPad of text editors, to write complex computer programs, line-by-line-by-line. Lotus Notes was the latest thing for intra-company communications, and only senior management had actual accounts on the system. A laptop? You may as well have asked the company to buy you a Rolls Royce while you were at it. And, if you were one of the blessed few to have a company e-mail account, chances are, you were keeping a manila folder in your file cabinet, where you kept hard copy print outs of every single e-mail you ever sent or received.
At home, things weren't much better. I bought a Compaq Presario that year and subscribed to a local Mom & Pop internet service provider to get dial up access to the nascent web. After being spoiled by free e-mail back in college, I couldn't wait to rip open my shrink-wrapped copy of Netscape Navigator and jump back onto the so-dubbed "Information Superhighway".
One night during that same year, as I was listening to Hot 97 on the train ride back to my humble abode in Montclair, New Jersey, Angie Martinez & company came on the air in tears.
Tupac Shakur had just died.
I didn't know this man. And yet, his passing had meaning - real personal meaning - to me.
And, even though I was a relatively content, well-compensated (albeit grotesquely overworked) little corporate drone, I had to say... SOMETHING.... about this to someone.
I was driven..... compelled to write.
So, I sat down at my Presario and composed a little essay called "2Pacalypse", where I related the suddenness of 2Pac's passing to Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge on San Luis Rey", questioning this notion that death is God's way of saying "mission accomplished". Was his soul actually supposed to learn something by getting gunned down on the Las Vegas strip? Were the rest of us supposed to take something away from it? Or was the search for terrestrial meaning at all a fruitless gesture?
Of course, what took me a page or two to say back in the mid 90's I can now do in one paragraph. Practice makes perfect. :-)
Point being, even back then, when I couldn't even imagine living the life that I lead right now, was the DNA for Macroscope.
Even more to the point, I'm still struck by my personal need to respond in a personal way to the passing of a person who had no direct contact with my life.
Then again, as I stated in "2Pacalypse", Tupac been touching my life in some way since 1991. As a popular artist, his music had provided a kind of Greek chorus to my life. I remember cruising the summer streets of Baltimore with my friends to the tune of "I Get Around", or planning to scare the white people in the dining hall at Princeton with a song that starts "...They claim that I'm violent, just cause I refuse to be silent", or feeling warm and fuzzy and agreeable listening to "Dear Mama".
If I can paraphrase Jeffrey Wigand, we artists are in the Emotion Delivery Business.
And anyone who can make you FEEL something will always have a place in your heart, regardless of how that feeling is given to you. They become your friends, you family even. They can make you laugh or cry. They can inspire you, and even disappoint you, even if you've never ever met.
Thus is the odd conundrum that is mass media and celebrity.
Even though he was a stranger, 2Pac's art made him feel like he was my friend.
Which is why I'm suddenly reminded of him and his passing today.
Not that long ago, I hated Heath Ledger.
He didn't really register with me the first time I saw him, opposite Mel Gibson in "The Patriot". I mean, his character irritated me, but there were so many other things in that movie that pissed me off even more (Black slaves who were just tickled pink to pick Mel's cotton? A church full of people burned alive, but everything is cool because Mel killed Jason Isaacs? Shall I go on?), that I just sort of ignored the young Aussie.
"A Knight's Tale" was when he really started to irk me, because I could feel the studio machine tuning up the band to proclaim him "The Next Big Thing(tm)". I'd recently read William Goldman's "Adventures in The Screen Trade", and tended to agree with his thesis that new stars were only created when an established star passes on a juicy role and the producers are forced to cast a talented unknown in the part. Sadly, I think I was unfairly heaping Heath in with my feelings on Ben Affleck in Pearl Harbor ("The Next Harrison Ford"? come ON!) and just this overwhelming sense of Jonestown-style Kool-Aid that was floating around movie marketing that year. In fact, by the end of the summer of 2001, I was so irritated with the kind of films I'd been seeing, that I teamed with a like-minded classmate from film school to write a film that directly addressed many of the failings that we saw while still telling a good yarn.
And after a year of working on said film, we got word that Heath Ledger was going to star in a new movie with the EXACT SAME TITLE AS OURS.
Yes, I HATED Heath Ledger.
But then I saw "Monster's Ball". In particular, this scene made me a believer in Heath Ledger.
(And, if you've never seen the movie before, I beg you, PLEASE don't waste time with this YouTube clip. Just go out and rent the damn thing, because it's just a fantastic film):
I even loved "The Four Feathers". And a big part of what I loved was Heath's performance - just through his body and his face, he was able to transport me directly inside his character's emotional journey, from false pride, to cowardice, to guilt, resolve, sacrifice, despair, and, finally, triumph.
I read an interview with him where he said that, regarding acting roles, he felt like it would be a waste of his time to repeat himself. Which is why he turned down a ton of nice, frothy teen films at the start of his career and was, at one point, forced to borrow money from his agent to survive, waiting for a good, original role.
The guy wasn't just a teen idol-in-training. He was an f'n actor.
And the very best actors have always been anthronauts - literally, "sailors on the seas of humanity" - exploring the uncharted corners of the soul and bringing the breadfruits of this spiritual New World back to nourish those of us who wait on the safer, civilized shores of our own identities.
But, knowing what I know about actors who channel the spirit of their characters, like Mr. Ledger clearly does, I can't help but wonder about the toll it took on him to accomplish... THIS:
Before The Joker, he appeared to be on the path to be a reasonably peaceful & content family man. Then, after locking himself in a hotel room for six weeks to inhabit this most unhinged of all supervillains, he separated from his love and complained that he'd been unable to sleep for weeks.
His brain just couldn't stop spinning.
I believe I even heard that he'd been prescribed Ambien, and it still only helped him sleep for an hour at a time.
Am I suggesting something as crass as "The Joker killed Heath Ledger"? No. What I am suggesting is, when people describe certain actors as fearless, it's not just about doing their own stunts. There are emotional and spiritual costs to doing this sort of work at the highest level.
I remember my father wondering out loud about Ricky Williams: "with all that money, you'd think a guy would be able to keep himself off of drugs".
Sadly, Dad, sometimes, for some people, the drugs are the only things propping them up to allow them to even do what they do. Athletes. Rock stars. Movie stars.
Delivering a feeling to millions upon millions of people, night after night, day after day...
Think of it this way: consider how much energy it takes for you to have the relationships with the people you personally know and with whom you maintain a personal connection. Now, imagine if you had to do that for a living, where every single person on the street feels connected to you. Deeply. Personally. Spiritually.
Every. Single. Person.
The best of them give us all so much. Things we simply could not live without, no matter how much we want to dismiss them as inconsequential.
After I got through shouting "WHAT?!?!?" at my computer screen, hoping that if I said it long enough and loud enough, the sheer force of my voice would change the words to anything other than "Heath Ledger Dead at 28"....
After I got over the deep sadness I felt for people like Michelle Williams and his daughter, or even someone like Christopher Nolan, who now has the unenviable task of looking at his friend Heath's face every single day for the next six months while trying to finish editing his movie....
After taking the stream of phone calls from friends who were as astonished and saddened at the news as I was....
After all that mourning....
All I honestly have left to say is "Thank you."
"Thank you, Heath, for the deliveries"
"They were always right on time."
Send some light and love both to him and the people who knew him best.
Good night, friends.
January 04, 2008
THIS is The Moment
If you look to your left and see the nifty new Archives feature here on Macroscope, the statistics are very telling. I generated more posts in 2003 than in all of the other six years of this blog's existence, combined.
2003 was a heavy year.
I turned 30 that August.
And, on the day of my birthday, I had to attend a funeral.
One of my co-workers, a very nice young Mormon fellow, had recently left his job to go back to law school. About a week after we'd given him a fond send off, he was celebrating with his family, including his parents, brothers, his wife and two young children, during a cookout. At one point, my friend's father was playing with my friend's little two year old son in the front yard, and he took his eyes off the child for a moment.... which was all that was needed for the little boy to run over to the next door neighbor's pool that had always fascinated him.
He fell in and drowned.
2 years old.
And the funeral was the day of my birthday.
I remember my girlfriend & I driving deep out into Ventura County early that morning. She's an artist and she'd made a painting of the two of us and her young daughter as a birthday gift. After being together for nearly a year, I believe we broke up roughly a month after this drive.
It was a beautiful day and the area surrounding the church was full of orange groves and farm land. I remember stepping inside the viewing room for the wake.
To this day, I can think of nothing more abominable than a tiny casket.
Inside, he just looked like he was napping.
By the time I got home, my mother had called to wish me a happy birthday. She was on the road coming back from Georgia at the time. A young man from my family's church back in Baltimore was a Marine paratrooper and he was being court-martialed because he and two other marines had been caught tampering with the parachute lines for their unit. They claimed it was meant to bring attention to some unknown ill on the base, but, really does it really even matter? However, the other two had somehow managed to cop a plea, so he, at 19 years old, was left holding the bag and facing the full righteous fury of the United States Marine Corps. He was being sentenced that day in Georgia, so a group from our church took a bus down from Baltimore to act as character witnesses in hopes of inspiring some leniency in his sentence.
Mom told me that, after they all made their impassioned pleas, the judge sentenced him to 20 years in Ft. Levenworth, KS.
As opposed to life in prison.
In this same phone call, Mom told me that one of her old co-workers who'd been a longtime family friend and had even done my taxes on some occasions had just died after a long illness. She also told me that one of the elder statesmen of our church, himself a Marine who was praying for the young man's freedom, had died.
2003 was the first year I had official representation as a tv writer. After several meetings, I apparently came within a hair's breath of getting hired to write for a major NBC drama. But was not. So, I, as an Ivy League graduate, formerly a highly paid IT consultant, now holding a Master of Fine Arts degree, would continue to subsist for another year as a glorified secretary in a non-profit. Excuse me, as a TEMPORARY glorified secretary in a non-profit.
At various points throughout the year, I'd had both my telephone and my electricity disconnected because I hadn't paid my bills. It's moments like then that you think, "Maybe that payment protection plan on my credit card wasn't such a crazy idea."
I turned 30 that year.
To paraphrase Max Cady, 2003 was the year I learned about loss.
Loss of loved ones. Loss of the dream of a family of my own. Loss of opportunities. Loss of pride.
I wrote a lot that year.
But if you look at Macroscope, circa 2003, you won't find any of these stories there.
Instead, you'll find page after page after page about what's wrong with the world outside. Dozens of invectives against George Bush and the invasion of Iraq and intolerance and Rwanda and water politics and CSA sympathizers, with some pop culture & comic references sprinkled in between.
And, of course, LOTS of posts about Howard Dean.
And, if I may psychoanalyze myself from 5 years ago, Dean was going to be the one to make it all right in my life again. And he was going to do it by making Them pay. We were going to take Our Country back. We were going to steal our dreams back. And kick the asses of all the people who'd taken our dreams away in the first place.
I mean how else can you explain this?
I think I was dying inside, and Dean helped me live again by being an avatar for all of rage that was building inside.
Sometimes, I think anger is a necessary tool. You can't go from abject despair to rapturous joy overnight. There are steps. Sometimes, you need a righteous fury just to muster the energy to pick yourself up again.
I loved Dean for America and everything that it stood for. But, like with all things, if you continue to grow, eventually, you'll outgrow them.
Case in point, sometime in the summer of 2004, I was conducting yet another e-mail debate, this time, over legalizing gay marriage, when my brother, staunch, pro-defense Republican that he is, waded into the thick of my progressive, liberal friends to defend the church's official position on the subject. And, of course, it was just ON. But one guy, who'd I'd campaigned with extensively for Dean, took it too far. While everyone else was saying that my brother's position was rediculous, THIS guy started saying that my brother was stupid and that people like him are the reason why this country is in the mess that it is and that he hoped that my brother didn't have children so that they wouldn't grow up to be as stupid as he was and...
You get the idea.
I was livid.
I was out of work, sitting at home at my computer in my underwear, and I was livid.
How DARE he attack my family like that?!?!
I basically told my brother "I got this", and then spent an hour composing a blistering response.
I was using Hotmail at the time. And it wouldn't let me send that e-mail. I'd exceeded the maximum number of e-mails I could send in a day and would have to wait.
I'm suddenly reminded of an episode of The Simpsons where Homer goes to buy a gun and is told that he can't take it home right away because of the 5 day waiting period. His response?
You reap what you sow.
And that was really the moment that I realized that, if I wanted a different world, I had to start making different choices.
I had to BE different.
I realized that, ultimately, as easy and viscerally satisfying it may be in the short term, fighting just really didn't feel good at all. And it simply wasn't constructive. I stopped arguing with my brother about politics. In fact, I stopped arguing about politics, period. Because, in the end, it was never about America. It was always about me.
And a funny thing happened once I started focusing on myself and getting right inside. My life actually started getting better. I got a real, permanent job. I got to travel. I lost weight. I got a house. I nearly sold my movie. Twice.
As a Dean supporter, I used to make fun of the Kucinich people, especially as their candidate spoke of replacing the DoD with a "Department of Peace". But, now I see, that, if peace is what you truly want, you have to make peace your intention.
And, more specifically, as I said after Dean's collapse in a post called, ironically enough, "Electibility":
There was a time when my hopes for Barack Obama waivered, and I was leaning more towards John Edwards. But, again, I had an epiphany.
I get those a lot now.
I realized that Edwards had transformed himself into a more disciplined and effective version of Howard Dean. He was the new servant of red meat for the progressive faithful.
Even more scary, if you compare their speeches and take out the '90's nostalgia, Edwards sounds an awful lot like Hillary Clinton. While Edwards is talking about fighting and taking on the powerful corporate interests, Hilary is saying that she's the only one who knows how to fight the right wing machine.
They're both there to fight The Bogeyman. Just like John Kerry in '04 and Al Gore in 2000. They're all spoiling for a fight. For them, it's not about peace and prosperity, it's about victory on the battlefield.
Just like the Republicans. I was struck by last night's GOP debate, where they all talked about this giant existential battle for the soul of the planet against islamofascism, but not a single one of them gave any time to discussing how do the practical things like, I don't know, securing the loose nukes laying around the old Soviet republics that could actually make the islamofascists so dangerous. To them, Al Qaeda and the PLO and Black September and the Ayatollah Khomeini are all faces of the same monster, like Sauron in Middle Earth.
Bogeymen.
But, as I said in my Christmas post about Freddie Krueger, Bogeymen are only as powerful as you make them.
In the end, you can't stop war by waging war on war.
Which is why I love what Obama's doing. He is operating on a totally different, and, dare I say, higher level than anyone else in this race. He is conducting his campaign and trying to lead the nation in the tradition of RFK, and MLK, and even Gandhi.
He understands the power of peace and reconciliation. He is the only person who is actually running to be President of the UNITED States of America.
Oddly enough, the night of the caucuses, they interviewed Howard Dean on MSNBC. And he really didn't look well. He looked sickly. And old.
I still love Dean, but his moment has past.
My mom was a staunch Hillary supporter until I gave her Obama's two books. Now, she thinks, given the improbability of Obama's very existence (Kenyan father, Kansas mother, schooled in Indonesia, raised in Hawaii, on to Harvard law, etc.) that he must be a divine gift.
Over Christmas dinner, she asked my brother who he's supporting, and, even though he's a Republican who voted for George W. Bush TWICE, he said that, if he gets the nomination, he's voting for Obama.
THIS is the America I want. And, as any student of manifestation and divine energy will tell you, before you decide to fight like Edwards or get to work like Hillary, it all starts with choosing and cultivating the right dream.
Dreams reshape the world.
I read recently that one of the beliefs about the ancient Mayan calendar is that, when it ends in 2012, the world as we know it will come to an end.
A moment of profound loss.
But you need that loss to get to the next world, the so-called "Noosphere", a state of transhuman consciousness for the entire planet.
I know. More about that later.
In 2003, I needed those losses to be who I am right now. You have to let go of the old to embrace the new.
I think Obama is the vanguard of a transformation. Of this country and, potentially, the world.
And all I can say is, "Bring it on!"
2003 was a heavy year.
I turned 30 that August.
And, on the day of my birthday, I had to attend a funeral.
One of my co-workers, a very nice young Mormon fellow, had recently left his job to go back to law school. About a week after we'd given him a fond send off, he was celebrating with his family, including his parents, brothers, his wife and two young children, during a cookout. At one point, my friend's father was playing with my friend's little two year old son in the front yard, and he took his eyes off the child for a moment.... which was all that was needed for the little boy to run over to the next door neighbor's pool that had always fascinated him.
He fell in and drowned.
2 years old.
And the funeral was the day of my birthday.
I remember my girlfriend & I driving deep out into Ventura County early that morning. She's an artist and she'd made a painting of the two of us and her young daughter as a birthday gift. After being together for nearly a year, I believe we broke up roughly a month after this drive.
It was a beautiful day and the area surrounding the church was full of orange groves and farm land. I remember stepping inside the viewing room for the wake.
To this day, I can think of nothing more abominable than a tiny casket.
Inside, he just looked like he was napping.
By the time I got home, my mother had called to wish me a happy birthday. She was on the road coming back from Georgia at the time. A young man from my family's church back in Baltimore was a Marine paratrooper and he was being court-martialed because he and two other marines had been caught tampering with the parachute lines for their unit. They claimed it was meant to bring attention to some unknown ill on the base, but, really does it really even matter? However, the other two had somehow managed to cop a plea, so he, at 19 years old, was left holding the bag and facing the full righteous fury of the United States Marine Corps. He was being sentenced that day in Georgia, so a group from our church took a bus down from Baltimore to act as character witnesses in hopes of inspiring some leniency in his sentence.
Mom told me that, after they all made their impassioned pleas, the judge sentenced him to 20 years in Ft. Levenworth, KS.
As opposed to life in prison.
In this same phone call, Mom told me that one of her old co-workers who'd been a longtime family friend and had even done my taxes on some occasions had just died after a long illness. She also told me that one of the elder statesmen of our church, himself a Marine who was praying for the young man's freedom, had died.
2003 was the first year I had official representation as a tv writer. After several meetings, I apparently came within a hair's breath of getting hired to write for a major NBC drama. But was not. So, I, as an Ivy League graduate, formerly a highly paid IT consultant, now holding a Master of Fine Arts degree, would continue to subsist for another year as a glorified secretary in a non-profit. Excuse me, as a TEMPORARY glorified secretary in a non-profit.
At various points throughout the year, I'd had both my telephone and my electricity disconnected because I hadn't paid my bills. It's moments like then that you think, "Maybe that payment protection plan on my credit card wasn't such a crazy idea."
I turned 30 that year.
To paraphrase Max Cady, 2003 was the year I learned about loss.
Loss of loved ones. Loss of the dream of a family of my own. Loss of opportunities. Loss of pride.
I wrote a lot that year.
But if you look at Macroscope, circa 2003, you won't find any of these stories there.
Instead, you'll find page after page after page about what's wrong with the world outside. Dozens of invectives against George Bush and the invasion of Iraq and intolerance and Rwanda and water politics and CSA sympathizers, with some pop culture & comic references sprinkled in between.
And, of course, LOTS of posts about Howard Dean.
And, if I may psychoanalyze myself from 5 years ago, Dean was going to be the one to make it all right in my life again. And he was going to do it by making Them pay. We were going to take Our Country back. We were going to steal our dreams back. And kick the asses of all the people who'd taken our dreams away in the first place.
I mean how else can you explain this?
I think I was dying inside, and Dean helped me live again by being an avatar for all of rage that was building inside.
Sometimes, I think anger is a necessary tool. You can't go from abject despair to rapturous joy overnight. There are steps. Sometimes, you need a righteous fury just to muster the energy to pick yourself up again.
I loved Dean for America and everything that it stood for. But, like with all things, if you continue to grow, eventually, you'll outgrow them.
Case in point, sometime in the summer of 2004, I was conducting yet another e-mail debate, this time, over legalizing gay marriage, when my brother, staunch, pro-defense Republican that he is, waded into the thick of my progressive, liberal friends to defend the church's official position on the subject. And, of course, it was just ON. But one guy, who'd I'd campaigned with extensively for Dean, took it too far. While everyone else was saying that my brother's position was rediculous, THIS guy started saying that my brother was stupid and that people like him are the reason why this country is in the mess that it is and that he hoped that my brother didn't have children so that they wouldn't grow up to be as stupid as he was and...
You get the idea.
I was livid.
I was out of work, sitting at home at my computer in my underwear, and I was livid.
How DARE he attack my family like that?!?!
I basically told my brother "I got this", and then spent an hour composing a blistering response.
I was using Hotmail at the time. And it wouldn't let me send that e-mail. I'd exceeded the maximum number of e-mails I could send in a day and would have to wait.
I'm suddenly reminded of an episode of The Simpsons where Homer goes to buy a gun and is told that he can't take it home right away because of the 5 day waiting period. His response?
"Five DAYS?!?! But I'm angry RIGHT NOW!!!"At this point, I had a new girlfriend, and I called her to rant. And, of course, she would have none of it. Moreover, she pointed out to me that this was, in fact, my fault. After all, I'd spent the better part of a year sowing bile, venom, and anger to this little virtual community. The guy in question hadn't said anything worse than I had over the year, it's just that this time it was about someone I cared about instead of some abstract evil OTHER out there.
You reap what you sow.
And that was really the moment that I realized that, if I wanted a different world, I had to start making different choices.
I had to BE different.
I realized that, ultimately, as easy and viscerally satisfying it may be in the short term, fighting just really didn't feel good at all. And it simply wasn't constructive. I stopped arguing with my brother about politics. In fact, I stopped arguing about politics, period. Because, in the end, it was never about America. It was always about me.
And a funny thing happened once I started focusing on myself and getting right inside. My life actually started getting better. I got a real, permanent job. I got to travel. I lost weight. I got a house. I nearly sold my movie. Twice.
As a Dean supporter, I used to make fun of the Kucinich people, especially as their candidate spoke of replacing the DoD with a "Department of Peace". But, now I see, that, if peace is what you truly want, you have to make peace your intention.
And, more specifically, as I said after Dean's collapse in a post called, ironically enough, "Electibility":
America is, for lack of a better term, a symphony.Which brings me to the events of the last week in Iowa.
It is the blueprint for a song that calls upon the very best from every single instrument in the orchestra. And the President is the conductor. A conductor cannot take the elements of the piece meant for the brass section and give them to the strings simply because he likes the way the strings sound. On the other hand, the conductor can't take from the strings and give to the winds because he thinks the strings are too arrogant and full of themselves. And he certainly can't make the symphony work by catering to the natural divisions between the various sections.
The conductor's goal should be rousing, fulfilling, beautiful harmony.
Which means the President of the United States of America has to represent the entire country. Not just the red states or, my personal favorites, the blue states. Every section has a role to contribute to the endeavor, and the President's job is to led the way by which ALL sections contribute and are provided for. He must be the President for the workers, the poor, the underclass, but he must also be the President for the business community and the wealthy, those who provide the opportunities for the others.
There was a time when my hopes for Barack Obama waivered, and I was leaning more towards John Edwards. But, again, I had an epiphany.
I get those a lot now.
I realized that Edwards had transformed himself into a more disciplined and effective version of Howard Dean. He was the new servant of red meat for the progressive faithful.
Even more scary, if you compare their speeches and take out the '90's nostalgia, Edwards sounds an awful lot like Hillary Clinton. While Edwards is talking about fighting and taking on the powerful corporate interests, Hilary is saying that she's the only one who knows how to fight the right wing machine.
They're both there to fight The Bogeyman. Just like John Kerry in '04 and Al Gore in 2000. They're all spoiling for a fight. For them, it's not about peace and prosperity, it's about victory on the battlefield.
Just like the Republicans. I was struck by last night's GOP debate, where they all talked about this giant existential battle for the soul of the planet against islamofascism, but not a single one of them gave any time to discussing how do the practical things like, I don't know, securing the loose nukes laying around the old Soviet republics that could actually make the islamofascists so dangerous. To them, Al Qaeda and the PLO and Black September and the Ayatollah Khomeini are all faces of the same monster, like Sauron in Middle Earth.
Bogeymen.
But, as I said in my Christmas post about Freddie Krueger, Bogeymen are only as powerful as you make them.
In the end, you can't stop war by waging war on war.
Which is why I love what Obama's doing. He is operating on a totally different, and, dare I say, higher level than anyone else in this race. He is conducting his campaign and trying to lead the nation in the tradition of RFK, and MLK, and even Gandhi.
He understands the power of peace and reconciliation. He is the only person who is actually running to be President of the UNITED States of America.
Oddly enough, the night of the caucuses, they interviewed Howard Dean on MSNBC. And he really didn't look well. He looked sickly. And old.
I still love Dean, but his moment has past.
My mom was a staunch Hillary supporter until I gave her Obama's two books. Now, she thinks, given the improbability of Obama's very existence (Kenyan father, Kansas mother, schooled in Indonesia, raised in Hawaii, on to Harvard law, etc.) that he must be a divine gift.
Over Christmas dinner, she asked my brother who he's supporting, and, even though he's a Republican who voted for George W. Bush TWICE, he said that, if he gets the nomination, he's voting for Obama.
THIS is the America I want. And, as any student of manifestation and divine energy will tell you, before you decide to fight like Edwards or get to work like Hillary, it all starts with choosing and cultivating the right dream.
Dreams reshape the world.
I read recently that one of the beliefs about the ancient Mayan calendar is that, when it ends in 2012, the world as we know it will come to an end.
A moment of profound loss.
But you need that loss to get to the next world, the so-called "Noosphere", a state of transhuman consciousness for the entire planet.
I know. More about that later.
In 2003, I needed those losses to be who I am right now. You have to let go of the old to embrace the new.
I think Obama is the vanguard of a transformation. Of this country and, potentially, the world.
And all I can say is, "Bring it on!"
January 01, 2008
Lists
Because it's the beginning of a new year, I suppose it's only appropriate to talk about the things I loved in the 365 days past. So, without further ado, and in no particular order:
Favorite films released theatrically in 2007
Favorite films I saw in my living room in 2007
Favorite musical discoveries of 2007
Favorite films released theatrically in 2007
- Talk To Me
- No Country For Old Men
- Sunshine
- Hot Fuzz
- Grindhouse
- Lust, Caution
- Superbad
- 3:10 To Yuma
- The Bourne Ultimatum
Favorite films I saw in my living room in 2007
- Equilibrium
- Deja Vu
- The Dreamers
- Silent Hill
- Idiocracy
- Dirty Pretty Things
- Green Lantern
- 52
- New Avengers
- Thor
- Eternals
- League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: The Black Dossier
- World War Hulk
- New Avengers: The Illuminati
Favorite musical discoveries of 2007
- "Frequency" by Naked Rhythm
- "Singles" by Vikter Duplaix
- "Belle Et Fou" by Jazzanova
- "International Affairs" by Vikter Duplaix
- "Bebel Gilberto Remixed"
- "A Night At The Playboy Mansion" by Dimtri From Paris
- "After The Playboy Mansion" by Dimitri From Paris
- "The Street Experience" by Raheem Devaughn
- "Danger Doom" by Danger Mouse & MF Doom
- The Wire
- The Shield
- Battlestar Galactica
- Lost
- Heroes
- Chuck
- The 4400
- John From Cincinnati
- Entourage
- Bionic Woman
- Flash Gordon
- John From Cincinnati (and no, this is not a mistake)
- American Gangster
- Spider-Man 3
- Countdown to Final Crisis
- Justice League of America (the comic)
- Baltimore Ravens
- Democratic Congressional Majority
- Sweeterlife
- Room Service
- Mingle and Plei
- The Do-Over
- Reflection
- Pause
- whatever the Hell Garth Trinidad was calling that party he used to through in the Purple Room in the Standard Sunset Hotel
- Dune Messiah
- Children of Dune
- The Law of Attraction
- Exceptional Selling
December 30, 2007
Striking while the iron is hot
You knew it was bound to happen.
Well, at least, I did. :-)
So, for February Sweeps, the WGA is asking it's members to start producing webisode series en mass, that will all be broadcast online at MySpace TV under the moniker of "Strike TV" - the content will be free and the ad revenue generated will go to support many of the other members of the industry (directors, actors, below-the-line) who've been put out of work because of the strike. But the creators own all of the content and, I believe, are free to put it up on other venues where they can pull their own ad revenue.
Details at www.myspace.com/striketv.
So, if you or someone you know is a member of the WGA, they'd better hop to it.
Hell, if I was a member of the guild, I'd be rolling out my web series (i.e the one I want to start shooting next month) as quickly as possible in the hopes of being one of the first new hits on this brand new "network". Opportunities like this don't come often.
Well, at least, I did. :-)
So, for February Sweeps, the WGA is asking it's members to start producing webisode series en mass, that will all be broadcast online at MySpace TV under the moniker of "Strike TV" - the content will be free and the ad revenue generated will go to support many of the other members of the industry (directors, actors, below-the-line) who've been put out of work because of the strike. But the creators own all of the content and, I believe, are free to put it up on other venues where they can pull their own ad revenue.
Details at www.myspace.com/striketv.
So, if you or someone you know is a member of the WGA, they'd better hop to it.
Hell, if I was a member of the guild, I'd be rolling out my web series (i.e the one I want to start shooting next month) as quickly as possible in the hopes of being one of the first new hits on this brand new "network". Opportunities like this don't come often.
December 24, 2007
My Gift To You
I have three gifts to give on this Christmas morning.
But first, a statement of the obvious:
I'm a writer.
I wrote my first screenplay when I was 21, at the end of my senior year in college. I'd taken some film and video production classes, I owned a camcorder, and I figured I'd just round up my family & friends as cast & crew and just shoot it.
No lights. No editing equipment. No budget for food or craft services or costumes. No rehearsals or stunt coordination.
Ah, to be young and naive.
Anyway, it never happened, largely because I think the guy I most wanted to play the lead probably believed I cast him because he was too similar to the unsympathetic character he'd be playing (which is, of course, why I wanted him), so he turned it down. Could never get these non actors and non film crew to be totally motivated to labor for me for free.
But, after the production sort of fell apart, I started to look at the script a bit closer, and something about it just didn't seem quite..... real.
I realized that I didn't really know enough about acting to truly evaluate whether my script was good material for someone to create a good performance. Thus began my introduction to acting as a student at the 12 Miles West Theater company in Montclair, New Jersey's Luna Stage under the tutelage of my dear coach and thespian extraordinaire Jackie Knox.
Funny - as I'm writing this and looking for the links, I see all the changes that have happened in the last 11 years since I first walked into that little black box theater. Jackie left the company, started a family, & moved them and her acting studio down to my alma mater, Old Nassau. 12 Miles West lost their lease and is looking for a permanent home, temporarily housed in Madison, NJ. Luna Stage has become its own company, with its own classes. And I, of course, have moved to the City of Angels.
11 years.
One of my little cousins just celebrated her 10th birthday last week. She didn't even exist when I took my first acting class. Tonight, she was passing out her own Christmas cards and wrapping gifts for her relatives. A whole little person with her own agenda.
11 years.
During that class, I had the opportunity to read Sanford Meisner on Acting
, by the great American "Method" coach. And, aside from the various techniques and methods described, there was one passage in that book that fundamentally altered my life. To paraphrase, Meisner said that the key to any art is understanding that it takes 10 years of doing it, constantly, to become a master.
10 years.
Up to that point, I'd lived my life in these neat little 4 year increments. 4 years of high school. 4 years of college. I was in the middle of what would eventually be 4 years as an IT consultant during the internet boom that coincided with an on-again, off-again long distance relationship that finally went nuclear after 4 years.
10 years just seemed like an outrageously long time at the time.
And yet, in the ensuing decade, life has happened.
And what is art, if it is not about life?
I recently saw a Flamenco show at El Cid in Los Angeles, and, while all three dancers were fantastically skilled, there was a weight to the older woman, a profoundness, a substance to her performance that her younger, faster, more agile counterpart lacked.
She was real.
She was
MORE
Before that, I saw this music video
Somewhere around the 2:45 mark in that video, Beyonce starts a dance routine that literally had me rocking back on my hips with my mouth open saying "I want to WRITE like THAT!!!"
Before that, as I was about to start the umpteenth re-write of the project I mentioned in this post, I recruited my significant other at the time, who is an incredibly accomplished (I mean, Award-winning) actress to help me do a little read-through of the script. I knew it was good, but, just like my 1st screenplay back in the day, I knew it was missing something.
So, before we read it through, she sat for a moment and, for lack of a better term, CHANNELED THE SPIRIT of my central antagonist.
Let me repeat that: she CHANNELED THE SPIRIT of my central antagonist.
I mean, literally, for a few moments, she became him.
I've been working on this particular script since 8 days before 9/11, but, that day, I actually met the villain of my movie, face to face, in my living room.
And I'm not afraid to say, that scared the piss out of me.
And, afterwards, she told me that things like that are part of the reason she took a break from acting, because letting someone like that get inside you begins to take its toll after a while.
Now, I'm sure I know what some of you are thinking. And if you can't go there with me on this particular Macroscope post, trust me, I understand. There was a time not long ago when even I wouldn't have read past this paragraph, so don't sweat it if you're not prepared for where I'm going with this. To paraphrase Jesus, "The Word is only intended for those who can hear, and those who can't...it was never intended for them in the first place."
Of course, those who know me know that probably my favorite Bible verse is the first verse of the first chapter of The Gospel according to John:
In other words, God is a writer.
Not only is God a writer, but God is also The Story.
And The Story was already there from the very beginning.
Just like Alan Moore and Warren Ellis seem to be suggesting in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: The Black Dossier and Planetary, respectively, the stories we tell already exist before we ever put pad to pen. If we want them to be MORE, we have to align ourselves with what they truly want to be.
When I wrote my first screenplay while in film school, I'd had it outlined and structured down to the Nth detail. But when I actually started writing it, something happened. As I like to say now, when I write, there's a point at which a threshold is crossed and, even though my flesh & blood body are still sitting at a keyboard, and then going to the dinner table and then maybe watering my front lawn, I am now, at that moment, actually INSIDE the story. So, by the time I came up for air and delivered my first draft, not only was is an outrageous 153 pages long, but the final 30 pages has nothing to do with my original outline at all. The story jumps off of the path I'd laid for it and literally snowboards down the side of a mountain into an area of my own soul that I didn't even know existed.
At the time, I told my writing group that I really don't know how that happened. I mean, it's almost as if I'd taken a nap and someone else had written the final act of the film.
Today, I often find myself advising my other writing friends to stop fighting with the story. It's a fully formed thing with its own agenda. And, just like I advised one of my aunts who's stressing out because her child's future may not be what she had planned, your babies have their own path. You just have to relax and be there to help illuminate it for them.
So, as I began to embark on the final round of re-writes on this film before we try to put it in front of a camera next year, I realized that, for this script in particular, even though I'd spent much time inside the story, I'd never really tried to actually live inside the main character. And that was the missing piece. As John Travolta said in the teaser trailer for "Face/Off": I must become him.
I tried it, and suddenly, I saw the film in a whole new light. It's like, the spine of the story had always been there on the page, I'd just been too blind pursuing my own agenda to see what it really wanted to be.
But, then, to start re-writing, I also had to do what my ex had done - I had to be inside the villain for a time, too. I had to make him just as real and as human.
It was a meditation.
And, after breathing through it and turning inward, when I'd let myself personally experience the horrors that made that character into a monster.... when I finished the mediation, I was aware that my face was sore.
Because my mouth had been open in a silent scream the entire time and I hadn't even realized it.
I'm not even going to get into the story about how a Tarot card told me that THIS was the script I had to write at this moment. :-)
As I was having lunch with a friend who's a network exec, I told her that I finally understood that storytelling and writing at the highest level, the one that actually moves hearts and touches souls, is actually an exercise in magic.
It's why so many people in Hollywood who pay the bills don't understand, and, consequently, don't respect writing. They know it's necessary, but it's not something you can really break down and measure and computate. To them, it's witchcraft. Literally.
So, my first gift is for every writer out there, and it's little piece of self-knowledge: If you are a writer, and you ascribe to the highest that our art has to offer, you are a magician. Like Merlin. Plain and simple.
And even if King Arthur didn't understand what Merlin did, he damn well knew he couldn't rule without him, which is why Merlin ALWAYS had a preferred seat near the King at the Round Table.
AMPTP, take note. The writers are the ones who make it all possible. The motion picture industry as we know it today simply would not exist without writers. The debt that everyone who makes their fortunes in filmmaking owes to writing can NEVER, EVER be fully repaid.
But I'm willing to bet that the WGA will gladly put the producers on some sort of installment plan. :-)
My second gift is for everyone, and it's this: If you have ever told a story to another soul, even if it was as simple as calling your sister and complaining about your day at work, then you, too, are also a writer.
Raw & lacking formal training? Perhaps. And not necessarily in the sense of a paid script doctor or bestselling novelist. But you are a writer, nonetheless. And all rights and privileges as described above apply.
So write.
Tell your story. Who cares if it's not in iambic pentameter? So what if it's just about how much your mother-in-law is driving you mad? Nothing, literally nothing, is more important than opening your soul and sharing it to let the sun shine in. I know some say "It won't change things if I say it". And my response is, you have no idea how much your life can change by simply expressing what's in your heart. How could you if you've never done it?
And my final gift is a hand-me-down, but maybe the best one I've ever gotten. And this is for all the writers (i.e. everybody)
When my previously mentioned ex was still just the cute but strange girl in the cubicle next door, she once told me that she could tell that I believed that the screenplay I was working on was going to save my life. And, as much as I wanted to deny it, she was right. "THIS script will be the one that sells and brings me money, accolades, respect, success, love, and eternal happiness." All in that order.
And she pointed out that, because I was so fixated on the script, I was neglecting my life in the process. And, again, she was right - I was broke, overweight, and dying in a dead-end job at the time.
But, as the scripture says "The Word IS God".
In other words, you ARE The Story.
And the story is only a reflection of you.
So, before you put all of your energy into writing that screenplay, or that song, or getting that part, or that promotion, or that bonus, or that car, or that house, or that man, or that kiss, or that new pair of shoes.... before you devote your entire focus to all of these things outside of yourself, take care of yourself first.
Write your life.
Literally.
Write down what you want to happen in your life. If it's your dream date, write down how it all plays out perfectly. If it's the launch of your business, write down how easily and smoothly and beautifully and successfully it occurs. If it's selling your screenplay, write down and describe the moment when you get the call, what the check looks like when you're holding it in your hand.
If you're a member of the Writers Guild of America, fire up that copy of Final Draft and write a scene where YOU, the screenwriter, are the main character, and you are getting residual checks for iTunes downloads of your show that are phatter and richer than you ever dreamed possible.
(In fact, maybe the folks over at UnitedHollywood should put up a wiki or something where the WGA rank & file can log on and write down their positive strike resolution fantasies, i.e. the ones where you get a shitload of money & respect, not the ones where you draw & quarter Nick Counter, because, after all, it's not about him, it's about YOU, so stop giving him all of your power. He's like Freddie in the original Nightmare on Elm Street. Stop giving him the power to be your Bogeyman and he'll become irrelevant. Just a suggestion).
And when you've written these beautiful scenes, read them to yourselves as many times as you can. And feel good just imagining.
"Wouldn't it be nice if this were really happening exactly the way I wrote it?"
All of that good energy has got to go somewhere.
In short, this Christmas, practice some magic on yourselves.
After all, this is the season of miracles.
This is my gift to you all.
Now I can go to bed. :-)
Ho, ho, ho.
But first, a statement of the obvious:
I'm a writer.
I wrote my first screenplay when I was 21, at the end of my senior year in college. I'd taken some film and video production classes, I owned a camcorder, and I figured I'd just round up my family & friends as cast & crew and just shoot it.
No lights. No editing equipment. No budget for food or craft services or costumes. No rehearsals or stunt coordination.
Ah, to be young and naive.
Anyway, it never happened, largely because I think the guy I most wanted to play the lead probably believed I cast him because he was too similar to the unsympathetic character he'd be playing (which is, of course, why I wanted him), so he turned it down. Could never get these non actors and non film crew to be totally motivated to labor for me for free.
But, after the production sort of fell apart, I started to look at the script a bit closer, and something about it just didn't seem quite..... real.
I realized that I didn't really know enough about acting to truly evaluate whether my script was good material for someone to create a good performance. Thus began my introduction to acting as a student at the 12 Miles West Theater company in Montclair, New Jersey's Luna Stage under the tutelage of my dear coach and thespian extraordinaire Jackie Knox.
Funny - as I'm writing this and looking for the links, I see all the changes that have happened in the last 11 years since I first walked into that little black box theater. Jackie left the company, started a family, & moved them and her acting studio down to my alma mater, Old Nassau. 12 Miles West lost their lease and is looking for a permanent home, temporarily housed in Madison, NJ. Luna Stage has become its own company, with its own classes. And I, of course, have moved to the City of Angels.
11 years.
One of my little cousins just celebrated her 10th birthday last week. She didn't even exist when I took my first acting class. Tonight, she was passing out her own Christmas cards and wrapping gifts for her relatives. A whole little person with her own agenda.
11 years.
During that class, I had the opportunity to read Sanford Meisner on Acting
, by the great American "Method" coach. And, aside from the various techniques and methods described, there was one passage in that book that fundamentally altered my life. To paraphrase, Meisner said that the key to any art is understanding that it takes 10 years of doing it, constantly, to become a master.10 years.
Up to that point, I'd lived my life in these neat little 4 year increments. 4 years of high school. 4 years of college. I was in the middle of what would eventually be 4 years as an IT consultant during the internet boom that coincided with an on-again, off-again long distance relationship that finally went nuclear after 4 years.
10 years just seemed like an outrageously long time at the time.
And yet, in the ensuing decade, life has happened.
And what is art, if it is not about life?
I recently saw a Flamenco show at El Cid in Los Angeles, and, while all three dancers were fantastically skilled, there was a weight to the older woman, a profoundness, a substance to her performance that her younger, faster, more agile counterpart lacked.
She was real.
She was
MORE
Before that, I saw this music video
Somewhere around the 2:45 mark in that video, Beyonce starts a dance routine that literally had me rocking back on my hips with my mouth open saying "I want to WRITE like THAT!!!"
Before that, as I was about to start the umpteenth re-write of the project I mentioned in this post, I recruited my significant other at the time, who is an incredibly accomplished (I mean, Award-winning) actress to help me do a little read-through of the script. I knew it was good, but, just like my 1st screenplay back in the day, I knew it was missing something.
So, before we read it through, she sat for a moment and, for lack of a better term, CHANNELED THE SPIRIT of my central antagonist.
Let me repeat that: she CHANNELED THE SPIRIT of my central antagonist.
I mean, literally, for a few moments, she became him.
I've been working on this particular script since 8 days before 9/11, but, that day, I actually met the villain of my movie, face to face, in my living room.
And I'm not afraid to say, that scared the piss out of me.
And, afterwards, she told me that things like that are part of the reason she took a break from acting, because letting someone like that get inside you begins to take its toll after a while.
Now, I'm sure I know what some of you are thinking. And if you can't go there with me on this particular Macroscope post, trust me, I understand. There was a time not long ago when even I wouldn't have read past this paragraph, so don't sweat it if you're not prepared for where I'm going with this. To paraphrase Jesus, "The Word is only intended for those who can hear, and those who can't...it was never intended for them in the first place."
Of course, those who know me know that probably my favorite Bible verse is the first verse of the first chapter of The Gospel according to John:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
In other words, God is a writer.
Not only is God a writer, but God is also The Story.
And The Story was already there from the very beginning.
Just like Alan Moore and Warren Ellis seem to be suggesting in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: The Black Dossier and Planetary, respectively, the stories we tell already exist before we ever put pad to pen. If we want them to be MORE, we have to align ourselves with what they truly want to be.
When I wrote my first screenplay while in film school, I'd had it outlined and structured down to the Nth detail. But when I actually started writing it, something happened. As I like to say now, when I write, there's a point at which a threshold is crossed and, even though my flesh & blood body are still sitting at a keyboard, and then going to the dinner table and then maybe watering my front lawn, I am now, at that moment, actually INSIDE the story. So, by the time I came up for air and delivered my first draft, not only was is an outrageous 153 pages long, but the final 30 pages has nothing to do with my original outline at all. The story jumps off of the path I'd laid for it and literally snowboards down the side of a mountain into an area of my own soul that I didn't even know existed.
At the time, I told my writing group that I really don't know how that happened. I mean, it's almost as if I'd taken a nap and someone else had written the final act of the film.
Today, I often find myself advising my other writing friends to stop fighting with the story. It's a fully formed thing with its own agenda. And, just like I advised one of my aunts who's stressing out because her child's future may not be what she had planned, your babies have their own path. You just have to relax and be there to help illuminate it for them.
So, as I began to embark on the final round of re-writes on this film before we try to put it in front of a camera next year, I realized that, for this script in particular, even though I'd spent much time inside the story, I'd never really tried to actually live inside the main character. And that was the missing piece. As John Travolta said in the teaser trailer for "Face/Off": I must become him.
I tried it, and suddenly, I saw the film in a whole new light. It's like, the spine of the story had always been there on the page, I'd just been too blind pursuing my own agenda to see what it really wanted to be.
But, then, to start re-writing, I also had to do what my ex had done - I had to be inside the villain for a time, too. I had to make him just as real and as human.
It was a meditation.
And, after breathing through it and turning inward, when I'd let myself personally experience the horrors that made that character into a monster.... when I finished the mediation, I was aware that my face was sore.
Because my mouth had been open in a silent scream the entire time and I hadn't even realized it.
I'm not even going to get into the story about how a Tarot card told me that THIS was the script I had to write at this moment. :-)
As I was having lunch with a friend who's a network exec, I told her that I finally understood that storytelling and writing at the highest level, the one that actually moves hearts and touches souls, is actually an exercise in magic.
It's why so many people in Hollywood who pay the bills don't understand, and, consequently, don't respect writing. They know it's necessary, but it's not something you can really break down and measure and computate. To them, it's witchcraft. Literally.
So, my first gift is for every writer out there, and it's little piece of self-knowledge: If you are a writer, and you ascribe to the highest that our art has to offer, you are a magician. Like Merlin. Plain and simple.
And even if King Arthur didn't understand what Merlin did, he damn well knew he couldn't rule without him, which is why Merlin ALWAYS had a preferred seat near the King at the Round Table.
AMPTP, take note. The writers are the ones who make it all possible. The motion picture industry as we know it today simply would not exist without writers. The debt that everyone who makes their fortunes in filmmaking owes to writing can NEVER, EVER be fully repaid.
But I'm willing to bet that the WGA will gladly put the producers on some sort of installment plan. :-)
My second gift is for everyone, and it's this: If you have ever told a story to another soul, even if it was as simple as calling your sister and complaining about your day at work, then you, too, are also a writer.
Raw & lacking formal training? Perhaps. And not necessarily in the sense of a paid script doctor or bestselling novelist. But you are a writer, nonetheless. And all rights and privileges as described above apply.
So write.
Tell your story. Who cares if it's not in iambic pentameter? So what if it's just about how much your mother-in-law is driving you mad? Nothing, literally nothing, is more important than opening your soul and sharing it to let the sun shine in. I know some say "It won't change things if I say it". And my response is, you have no idea how much your life can change by simply expressing what's in your heart. How could you if you've never done it?
And my final gift is a hand-me-down, but maybe the best one I've ever gotten. And this is for all the writers (i.e. everybody)
When my previously mentioned ex was still just the cute but strange girl in the cubicle next door, she once told me that she could tell that I believed that the screenplay I was working on was going to save my life. And, as much as I wanted to deny it, she was right. "THIS script will be the one that sells and brings me money, accolades, respect, success, love, and eternal happiness." All in that order.
And she pointed out that, because I was so fixated on the script, I was neglecting my life in the process. And, again, she was right - I was broke, overweight, and dying in a dead-end job at the time.
But, as the scripture says "The Word IS God".
In other words, you ARE The Story.
And the story is only a reflection of you.
So, before you put all of your energy into writing that screenplay, or that song, or getting that part, or that promotion, or that bonus, or that car, or that house, or that man, or that kiss, or that new pair of shoes.... before you devote your entire focus to all of these things outside of yourself, take care of yourself first.
Write your life.
Literally.
Write down what you want to happen in your life. If it's your dream date, write down how it all plays out perfectly. If it's the launch of your business, write down how easily and smoothly and beautifully and successfully it occurs. If it's selling your screenplay, write down and describe the moment when you get the call, what the check looks like when you're holding it in your hand.
If you're a member of the Writers Guild of America, fire up that copy of Final Draft and write a scene where YOU, the screenwriter, are the main character, and you are getting residual checks for iTunes downloads of your show that are phatter and richer than you ever dreamed possible.
(In fact, maybe the folks over at UnitedHollywood should put up a wiki or something where the WGA rank & file can log on and write down their positive strike resolution fantasies, i.e. the ones where you get a shitload of money & respect, not the ones where you draw & quarter Nick Counter, because, after all, it's not about him, it's about YOU, so stop giving him all of your power. He's like Freddie in the original Nightmare on Elm Street. Stop giving him the power to be your Bogeyman and he'll become irrelevant. Just a suggestion).
And when you've written these beautiful scenes, read them to yourselves as many times as you can. And feel good just imagining.
"Wouldn't it be nice if this were really happening exactly the way I wrote it?"
All of that good energy has got to go somewhere.
In short, this Christmas, practice some magic on yourselves.
After all, this is the season of miracles.
This is my gift to you all.
Now I can go to bed. :-)
Ho, ho, ho.
December 22, 2007
While we're talking about sci-fi....
I blogged about this over the summer, but I really feel like this was one of the most overlooked films of the year. This is something you should really see in a theater, but catch it however you can.
December 21, 2007
What Happened To The Future?
So, I'm going to do something a little different with this particular post. This time, I'm actively seeking your opinions.
But first, of course, comes MY opinion. :-)
I think this particular train of thought started for me after watching the special features on the anniversary DVD for Ridley Scott's Alien. In an interview with the original screenwriter, Dan O'Bannon, he mentioned that he drew from a number of influences for inspiration for that story. In particular, a wild '60's Italian sci-fi film called "Planet of The Vampires" by Mario Bava, and "Strange Relations" a collection of short stories about the, shall we say, complications created by human/extraterrestrial sexual intercourse by sci-fi novelist Philip Jose Farmer.
At one point, O'Bannon was also involved in Alejandro Jodorowsky's attempt in the mid 70's to adapt Frank Herbert's "Dune" for the screen, and had actually been trying to adapt "Total Recall" from Philip K. Dick's short story, "We Can Remember It For You Wholesale" with Ron Shussett at least since they worked on "Alien".
What really struck me was that O'Bannon had drawn on an incredibly diverse body of written work in science fiction for his films and, as such, had helped usher in a real renaissance of sci-fi films: really original, groundbreaking ideas coupled with major studio-scale budgets for films aimed at adults as opposed to just more expensive Saturday morning cartoons like the original Star Wars.
Fast forward to a month or so ago, when I finally got to see the remastered version of "Blade Runner" on the big screen. And, as beautiful as that film is to behold, I was suddenly aware that Blade Runner represented a somewhat sad milestone, because virtually every sci-fi film that's been made ever since seems like it occupies the same world as "Blade Runner". It's like, it's so amazing, that everybody decided they weren't interested in exploring any new worlds anymore - this one will do just fine.
Consider for a moment why the original "Star Trek" has managed to survive for 40 years, but why "Enterprise" died a painful death: Roddenberry was creating and exploring a totally new world, while "Enterprise" was simply retracing the lines on a masterpiece.
Personally, I find this trend of "inhabiting" instead of "exploring", bleeds over into all sorts of genres & mediums. As Mark Millar stated recently, Stan Lee & Jack Kirby were introducing a new world, or dimension, or race in almost every issue of their 100 issue run on "Fantastic Four" during the late 60's, but most of the writers who've followed them on those books have simply found new ways to recombine the same elements that Stan & Jack created rather than adding to the pantheon. Someone once argued that George Lucas should open up the licensing for "Star Wars" so that other filmmakers can tell stories in the world he created (as opposed to creating their own worlds). And, aside from perhaps "The Dark Tower", who has recently written anything that can actually be considered legitimate fantasy that doesn't look like just another province in Tolkien's Middle Earth?
What's curious to me is that, particularly in the realm of comics, most prominent American writers are more than happy to reuse & repackage old superhero stories & characters, while the Brits like Moore, Millar, Grant Morrison, & Warren Ellis seem much more willing to throw something new and crazy out there (e.g. We3, The Filth, Invisibles, Ocean, Ministry of Space, etc.)
But what really drove the point home to me was the latest segment in Alan Moore & Kevin O'Neill's "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen": "The Black Dossier". Moore just floods the story with sci-fi, fantasy, and pop culture figures from the turn of the century, and it's just a world teeming with life and new ideas. At the beginning of the modern scientific age, it seemed as if nearly everyone had an idea of what was possible and just let their imaginations run wild.
So, I have two questions:
1. has the technology advanced so far that, as William Gibson suggested at the time he released "Pattern Recognition", we now actually live in a sci-fi world, so there's no more room to imagine a big future? (Personally, I think that's a load of B.S., but I'm open to hear arguments to the contrary)
2. Where are the new, big ideas of the future coming from now? Are there books or magazines that I'm overlooking?
Consider this an open discussion. So, wherever you happen to see this post (email, macroscope, facebook, or myspace) feel free to comment or pontificate out loud.
But first, of course, comes MY opinion. :-)
I think this particular train of thought started for me after watching the special features on the anniversary DVD for Ridley Scott's Alien. In an interview with the original screenwriter, Dan O'Bannon, he mentioned that he drew from a number of influences for inspiration for that story. In particular, a wild '60's Italian sci-fi film called "Planet of The Vampires" by Mario Bava, and "Strange Relations" a collection of short stories about the, shall we say, complications created by human/extraterrestrial sexual intercourse by sci-fi novelist Philip Jose Farmer.
At one point, O'Bannon was also involved in Alejandro Jodorowsky's attempt in the mid 70's to adapt Frank Herbert's "Dune" for the screen, and had actually been trying to adapt "Total Recall" from Philip K. Dick's short story, "We Can Remember It For You Wholesale" with Ron Shussett at least since they worked on "Alien".
What really struck me was that O'Bannon had drawn on an incredibly diverse body of written work in science fiction for his films and, as such, had helped usher in a real renaissance of sci-fi films: really original, groundbreaking ideas coupled with major studio-scale budgets for films aimed at adults as opposed to just more expensive Saturday morning cartoons like the original Star Wars.
Fast forward to a month or so ago, when I finally got to see the remastered version of "Blade Runner" on the big screen. And, as beautiful as that film is to behold, I was suddenly aware that Blade Runner represented a somewhat sad milestone, because virtually every sci-fi film that's been made ever since seems like it occupies the same world as "Blade Runner". It's like, it's so amazing, that everybody decided they weren't interested in exploring any new worlds anymore - this one will do just fine.
Consider for a moment why the original "Star Trek" has managed to survive for 40 years, but why "Enterprise" died a painful death: Roddenberry was creating and exploring a totally new world, while "Enterprise" was simply retracing the lines on a masterpiece.
Personally, I find this trend of "inhabiting" instead of "exploring", bleeds over into all sorts of genres & mediums. As Mark Millar stated recently, Stan Lee & Jack Kirby were introducing a new world, or dimension, or race in almost every issue of their 100 issue run on "Fantastic Four" during the late 60's, but most of the writers who've followed them on those books have simply found new ways to recombine the same elements that Stan & Jack created rather than adding to the pantheon. Someone once argued that George Lucas should open up the licensing for "Star Wars" so that other filmmakers can tell stories in the world he created (as opposed to creating their own worlds). And, aside from perhaps "The Dark Tower", who has recently written anything that can actually be considered legitimate fantasy that doesn't look like just another province in Tolkien's Middle Earth?
What's curious to me is that, particularly in the realm of comics, most prominent American writers are more than happy to reuse & repackage old superhero stories & characters, while the Brits like Moore, Millar, Grant Morrison, & Warren Ellis seem much more willing to throw something new and crazy out there (e.g. We3, The Filth, Invisibles, Ocean, Ministry of Space, etc.)
But what really drove the point home to me was the latest segment in Alan Moore & Kevin O'Neill's "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen": "The Black Dossier". Moore just floods the story with sci-fi, fantasy, and pop culture figures from the turn of the century, and it's just a world teeming with life and new ideas. At the beginning of the modern scientific age, it seemed as if nearly everyone had an idea of what was possible and just let their imaginations run wild.
So, I have two questions:
1. has the technology advanced so far that, as William Gibson suggested at the time he released "Pattern Recognition", we now actually live in a sci-fi world, so there's no more room to imagine a big future? (Personally, I think that's a load of B.S., but I'm open to hear arguments to the contrary)
2. Where are the new, big ideas of the future coming from now? Are there books or magazines that I'm overlooking?
Consider this an open discussion. So, wherever you happen to see this post (email, macroscope, facebook, or myspace) feel free to comment or pontificate out loud.
December 14, 2007
December 04, 2007
November 27, 2007
The Spirit of The Age
A few months back, one of my myspace friends brought to my attention a pair of online feature length films - "America: Freedom to Fascism" and "Zeitgeist".
Now, as some of you know, I've pulled back a lot from my "Dean for America" days, in terms of my political activism and such, but I'm a sucker for a good documentary and I always obey instructions from beautiful women (ladies, take note, but don't abuse! :-)), so I checked them out.
Now, "America: Freedom to Fascism" is, for the most part, a tax protest film. Again, for long time readers of my other blog, you all know that tax policy is a pet peeve of mine, and not the way that you might expect. Even as someone who's had my own run-ins with the IRS over the years (and thank God THAT'S finally cleared up), I firmly believe that paying fair taxes is, in principle, a fundamentally patriotic act. Citizenship is a privilege, blessing us with all of the things contained in the Bill of Rights and, for those of us fortunate enough to make it, the promise of prosperity in a free market economy. Of course, free markets only work if certain people don't succeed, so it is the responsiblity of those who do succeed, largely at the expense of others, to return a portion of that prosperity to promote, as they say, "the general welfare" - which largely includes things that are in the best interests of everyone in the society, but, more often than not, there's no profit to be gained by doing it so no private entity would ever try to make a business out of it. Things like public assistance, infrastructure maintenance, etc.
In short, America is a club, and your income taxes are your membership fees. And, the higher your club status is, the higher your fees.
And, let's be honest, compared to the rest of the industrialized world, our tax rates are extremely low.
Is the system perfect? Clearly not. There is tremendous inequity in the tax code right now, where labor & wages are taxed at a higher rate than accumulated wealth. And don't even get me started on corporate or farm subsidies. And government funds are perpetually misappropriated by lawmakers for pork barrel spending and the seemingly generational cycle of frivolous wars.
But, the fact of the matter is, all of those issues could be largely corrected by a more informed and engaged electorate who made their representatives act in a more responsible manner with their money.
So, the minute that film opens with a guy actively looking for the law that requires him to pay taxes... well, clearly he and I are coming from different perspectives.
(incidentally, the law he's looking for is The Internal Revenue Code of 1939).
Did I mention that the filmmaker in question, Aaron Russo, had about $2 million in tax liens he owed to the IRS, prior to making this movie?
"Me thinks he doth protest too much"
But I'll get back to Mr. Russo in a minute.
Point being, I kind of slammed that first film, and since I could never seem to find any information about what exactly the other film, "Zeitgeist", was about without actually watching the entire freakin' movie, I kind of let that one go.
Until about three weeks ago, when, as a result of a chance meeting during AFI FEST, I got to go to the closing night gala of the Artivist Film Festival - basically, a festival for films focusing on social & political activism. It was a rockin' good time (especially the reception afterwards, where I was deliberately trying to get a cute girl to give up her dirty secrets in front of her boyfriend during a game of "I Never" - like I said, I'm naughty sometimes.
) - but the big winner of the festival was, you guessed it, "Zeitgeist".
My new friend who helped organize the event said he'd gone to AFI FEST to avoid the protests outside of his own festival, especially since the director of Zeitgeist was allegedly getting death threats.
Curious.
Since they had some free copies, I got a DVD and finally camped out to watch it this weekend.
The 2nd & 3rd sections of Zeitgeist are kissing cousins to "America: Freedom to Fascism" - it's all about 9/11 conspiracy theories and how the Federal Reserve and the Income Tax Code are all a massive scam intended to extract wealth from the population at large to finance the construction of a one-world government that controls the population with implanted electronic trackers.
So, first a comment about 9/11 conspiracy theories: I remember when the whole thing first happened, and one of my friends immediately said that he thought the Federal government had something to do with it. And, at the time, I just rolled my eyes and said, "Come ON, man! Even if you think Bush is a bad president, do you really think he would actively allow the murder of THREE THOUSAND AMERICAN CITIZENS?!?!?"
That was 2001.
As of today, three thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-six American citizens have been killed in Iraq.
Needlessly.
I don't know the details of the physics and the arguments about airplanes and NORAD and missiles and controlled demolitions. Frankly, I don't care.
All I know is, the president has demonstrated that he is a man who will do just about anything that will advance his own agenda.
And a man who will do anything, by definition, is a man who cannot be trusted.
Section 3 of Zeitgeist is interesting, because, in one instance, they site someone who interviewed this guy Nicholas Rockefeller, who's supposed to be part of this international banking cabal, where he basically admits that, yes, we want to enslave the world. And, who was the interviewer? AARON RUSSO, the director of "America: Freedom to Fascism"!
Having said all of that, the idea that the US Treasury actually outsources the creation of our currency to a gi-normous private bank is, to put it mildly, unsettling.
But, the section of Zeitgeist that was far and away more interesting to me was the first, which compares the gospels about Jesus' life to other mythological saviors in other, earlier cultures around the world, all of which seem to draw their essential features from various elements, symbols, and positions in astrology.
Of course, he ends by saying that Jesus is, in fact, yet another hoax constructed by the church and the powers that be to control the masses.
I'm reminded of a time, years ago, when my brother and many of my cousins had a real mad-on about the Book of Revelations and the Anti-Christ and the end of days. It seemed like every time I came home, there was new evidence that some new person was really the Anti-Christ. One time, it was The Pope. Another time, it was Prince Charles. Before that, I think it was Ronald Reagan.
Until, I finally asked my brother, let's pretend that someone could give you irrefutable proof that a given person was the Anti-Christ, and you had an exact date and time for The Rapture. Assuming that you know all of this.
How would your life be different?
You're expending all of this energy trying to uncover this hidden knowledge (or, more specifically, to uncover substantive proof to verify something that you're already convinced is true). How would obtaining this proof change your life?
He didn't have an answer.
And it occurred to me that, for conspiracy theorists, the proof isn't for them. It's for everybody else. They already know the answer, but no one else believes them. So they're trying to find the proof that will make everyone else say "OMG! You were right all along! How could I have been so blind, when you saw it all so clearly?!?!"
In short, they're evangelists.
And, like so many evangelists, they're own faith is completely dependent upon everyone else believing what they believe. Because, of course, they're right.
But, in the end, it's an empty pursuit.
Whether Jesus was an actual, flesh & blood historical figure or not (and, in the end, does it really matter? Just like those brothers who are trying to argue that Jesus had to be of African descent because Revelations 1:16 said he had "feet like unto fine brass".... while ignoring the rest of the description in verses that said he had "eyes as a flame of fire" and "His voice as the sound of many waters And He had in His right hand seven stars: and out of His mouth went a sharp two-edged sword" - sometimes, I wonder how much religious intolerance and argument could be eliminated if we just made a class called "Reading and Interpreting Poetry" a graduation requirement in every school in America so people can recognize a fucking figure of speech when they see it? But I digress....)
Whether he was historical or not, one of my favorite quotes from Jesus is (and I'm seriously paraphrasing) "The Word is intended for those who can hear it. And those who cannot, it was never intended for them in the first place".
So many of us spend so much time trying to convince everyone else that we're right. We advocate and plead and build flowcharts and make 2 hour movies that we give away for free on the internet or blow an entire day writing incredibly elaborate blog postings on the desperate hope that someone, ANYONE, will listen to us and believe.
Imagine what our lives would be like if we redirected all of that effort back into ourselves. How much more powerful we could be. How transformed we would be. How inspirational our very presence would be.
Our very lives could say more, and move more people, than any film ever could.
I told my brother, as far as you're concerned, irrespective of the signs, for you, the end times are the day you die. So, rather than expending all of this energy, like Prince said:
Now, as some of you know, I've pulled back a lot from my "Dean for America" days, in terms of my political activism and such, but I'm a sucker for a good documentary and I always obey instructions from beautiful women (ladies, take note, but don't abuse! :-)), so I checked them out.
Now, "America: Freedom to Fascism" is, for the most part, a tax protest film. Again, for long time readers of my other blog, you all know that tax policy is a pet peeve of mine, and not the way that you might expect. Even as someone who's had my own run-ins with the IRS over the years (and thank God THAT'S finally cleared up), I firmly believe that paying fair taxes is, in principle, a fundamentally patriotic act. Citizenship is a privilege, blessing us with all of the things contained in the Bill of Rights and, for those of us fortunate enough to make it, the promise of prosperity in a free market economy. Of course, free markets only work if certain people don't succeed, so it is the responsiblity of those who do succeed, largely at the expense of others, to return a portion of that prosperity to promote, as they say, "the general welfare" - which largely includes things that are in the best interests of everyone in the society, but, more often than not, there's no profit to be gained by doing it so no private entity would ever try to make a business out of it. Things like public assistance, infrastructure maintenance, etc.
In short, America is a club, and your income taxes are your membership fees. And, the higher your club status is, the higher your fees.
And, let's be honest, compared to the rest of the industrialized world, our tax rates are extremely low.
Is the system perfect? Clearly not. There is tremendous inequity in the tax code right now, where labor & wages are taxed at a higher rate than accumulated wealth. And don't even get me started on corporate or farm subsidies. And government funds are perpetually misappropriated by lawmakers for pork barrel spending and the seemingly generational cycle of frivolous wars.
But, the fact of the matter is, all of those issues could be largely corrected by a more informed and engaged electorate who made their representatives act in a more responsible manner with their money.
So, the minute that film opens with a guy actively looking for the law that requires him to pay taxes... well, clearly he and I are coming from different perspectives.
(incidentally, the law he's looking for is The Internal Revenue Code of 1939).
Did I mention that the filmmaker in question, Aaron Russo, had about $2 million in tax liens he owed to the IRS, prior to making this movie?
"Me thinks he doth protest too much"
But I'll get back to Mr. Russo in a minute.
Point being, I kind of slammed that first film, and since I could never seem to find any information about what exactly the other film, "Zeitgeist", was about without actually watching the entire freakin' movie, I kind of let that one go.
Until about three weeks ago, when, as a result of a chance meeting during AFI FEST, I got to go to the closing night gala of the Artivist Film Festival - basically, a festival for films focusing on social & political activism. It was a rockin' good time (especially the reception afterwards, where I was deliberately trying to get a cute girl to give up her dirty secrets in front of her boyfriend during a game of "I Never" - like I said, I'm naughty sometimes.
) - but the big winner of the festival was, you guessed it, "Zeitgeist".My new friend who helped organize the event said he'd gone to AFI FEST to avoid the protests outside of his own festival, especially since the director of Zeitgeist was allegedly getting death threats.
Curious.
Since they had some free copies, I got a DVD and finally camped out to watch it this weekend.
The 2nd & 3rd sections of Zeitgeist are kissing cousins to "America: Freedom to Fascism" - it's all about 9/11 conspiracy theories and how the Federal Reserve and the Income Tax Code are all a massive scam intended to extract wealth from the population at large to finance the construction of a one-world government that controls the population with implanted electronic trackers.
So, first a comment about 9/11 conspiracy theories: I remember when the whole thing first happened, and one of my friends immediately said that he thought the Federal government had something to do with it. And, at the time, I just rolled my eyes and said, "Come ON, man! Even if you think Bush is a bad president, do you really think he would actively allow the murder of THREE THOUSAND AMERICAN CITIZENS?!?!?"
That was 2001.
As of today, three thousand, eight hundred, and seventy-six American citizens have been killed in Iraq.
Needlessly.
I don't know the details of the physics and the arguments about airplanes and NORAD and missiles and controlled demolitions. Frankly, I don't care.
All I know is, the president has demonstrated that he is a man who will do just about anything that will advance his own agenda.
And a man who will do anything, by definition, is a man who cannot be trusted.
Section 3 of Zeitgeist is interesting, because, in one instance, they site someone who interviewed this guy Nicholas Rockefeller, who's supposed to be part of this international banking cabal, where he basically admits that, yes, we want to enslave the world. And, who was the interviewer? AARON RUSSO, the director of "America: Freedom to Fascism"!
Having said all of that, the idea that the US Treasury actually outsources the creation of our currency to a gi-normous private bank is, to put it mildly, unsettling.
But, the section of Zeitgeist that was far and away more interesting to me was the first, which compares the gospels about Jesus' life to other mythological saviors in other, earlier cultures around the world, all of which seem to draw their essential features from various elements, symbols, and positions in astrology.
Of course, he ends by saying that Jesus is, in fact, yet another hoax constructed by the church and the powers that be to control the masses.
I'm reminded of a time, years ago, when my brother and many of my cousins had a real mad-on about the Book of Revelations and the Anti-Christ and the end of days. It seemed like every time I came home, there was new evidence that some new person was really the Anti-Christ. One time, it was The Pope. Another time, it was Prince Charles. Before that, I think it was Ronald Reagan.
Until, I finally asked my brother, let's pretend that someone could give you irrefutable proof that a given person was the Anti-Christ, and you had an exact date and time for The Rapture. Assuming that you know all of this.
How would your life be different?
You're expending all of this energy trying to uncover this hidden knowledge (or, more specifically, to uncover substantive proof to verify something that you're already convinced is true). How would obtaining this proof change your life?
He didn't have an answer.
And it occurred to me that, for conspiracy theorists, the proof isn't for them. It's for everybody else. They already know the answer, but no one else believes them. So they're trying to find the proof that will make everyone else say "OMG! You were right all along! How could I have been so blind, when you saw it all so clearly?!?!"
In short, they're evangelists.
And, like so many evangelists, they're own faith is completely dependent upon everyone else believing what they believe. Because, of course, they're right.
But, in the end, it's an empty pursuit.
Whether Jesus was an actual, flesh & blood historical figure or not (and, in the end, does it really matter? Just like those brothers who are trying to argue that Jesus had to be of African descent because Revelations 1:16 said he had "feet like unto fine brass".... while ignoring the rest of the description in verses that said he had "eyes as a flame of fire" and "His voice as the sound of many waters And He had in His right hand seven stars: and out of His mouth went a sharp two-edged sword" - sometimes, I wonder how much religious intolerance and argument could be eliminated if we just made a class called "Reading and Interpreting Poetry" a graduation requirement in every school in America so people can recognize a fucking figure of speech when they see it? But I digress....)
Whether he was historical or not, one of my favorite quotes from Jesus is (and I'm seriously paraphrasing) "The Word is intended for those who can hear it. And those who cannot, it was never intended for them in the first place".
So many of us spend so much time trying to convince everyone else that we're right. We advocate and plead and build flowcharts and make 2 hour movies that we give away for free on the internet or blow an entire day writing incredibly elaborate blog postings on the desperate hope that someone, ANYONE, will listen to us and believe.
Imagine what our lives would be like if we redirected all of that effort back into ourselves. How much more powerful we could be. How transformed we would be. How inspirational our very presence would be.
Our very lives could say more, and move more people, than any film ever could.
I told my brother, as far as you're concerned, irrespective of the signs, for you, the end times are the day you die. So, rather than expending all of this energy, like Prince said:
Instead of asking him how much of your time is left
Ask him how much of your mind, baby!
And, at that point, when you REALLY know who you are, and what you're capable of, who gives a fuck about the fucking Illuminati or the Tax Code or Building 7?Ask him how much of your mind, baby!
And that's what I love about the very end of Zeitgeist - because, in the midst of all of this awful evidence, the filmmaker offers a moment of inspiration, to recognize our true selves, our true divinity, with a quote from Carl Sagan where he says that the concepts of division are fading away to a sense of a universal whole, and that a single organism at war with itself cannot survive.
I think the Zeitgeist guy is on to something bigger than even he may realize. And when he understands that, when he speaks to the Nicholas Rockefellers of the world, at that very instant, Rockefeller is listening to God, at the same time that the Zeitgeist guy is speaking to God....
...when he understands THAT fact...
Well, let's just say, I want to see THAT movie.
And, when I get to the point where I look at George W. Bush giving a speech, and I know that, in that instant, God is watching God talking to God....
Let's just say, I'll have a different kind of blog post to make that day. :-)
p.s. Thanks, songstress.
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