Monday, August 21, 2006

At work again here, at the office gig. There just isn’t any work to do so I put Mahler on and I’ve been going over monologues in my head and writing. I feel old and unaccomplished, I feel like driving off a cliff. I simply just don’t have the balls. Hemingway, you had balls. Plath, you had balls. Fabian, you’re nothing. I have no idea why I feel such guilt that I do nothing here at work all day. The bosses walk in through my office to use the fax and I scramble pretending to look busy but we both know I’m not up to anything. I know they hear me typing and I wonder what they think I’m doing. I wonder if I’ll ever get fired.

We filmed a scene for the commercial for the “Bass Dog Collar” that will be in the DVD extras. We spent two hours with my weight bench in the alleyway next to my apartment. My neighbors started yelling at me. We were making tons of noise, the scene was absurd. I found myself and the other actor, our shirts off and pumping iron in the alleyway grunting loudly and getting really gay on camera for two hours to get about a minute of usable footage. Then we did some test shots for the chase scene for the other film. We’re holding call backs at my place tomorrow. They want to do top shots for the other film as well in the apartment. Moving the furniture is going to be a pain in the ass. Hopefully this will all come together and look presentable. I’m not very happy with the way I Kill People for Money turned out even though the festival people pretended to like it so much. Serena came over and argued with me for a couple days this weekend. It’s all really messed up here.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Office gigs used to drive me insane. The one I had in the Air Force was mind numbing. I’ve been keeping myself entertained fairly well these days with it all though thanks to the fact that nobody really cares what I do here. I spent this week at work reading Knut Hamsun’s Hunger and eating cookie crisp. Since I got this gig in June I’ve been able to do a lot of reading which has been excellent. So far I’ve been able to finally read:

The aforementioned Hunger

Women, Factotum, Love is a Dog from Hell, Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame and South of No North by Charles Bukowski

Slaughterhouse Five and Breakfast of Champions by Vonnegut

The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky

North by Celine

Ask the Dust and Full of Life by John Fante

I’ve also really gotten into Phillip Glass as they’re playing him a lot here on the classical station. I start acting classes on Monday. Still can’t find it in me to break it off with the girlfriend. A big part of me is miserable and another big part of me is just too comfortable. Romantic relationships are utterly unnatural, never again hopefully after this one…hopefully.

I’ve revised my short story Poetry is for Assholes a trillion times and I think I should have a final version ready to send out by the end of Sunday. It’s the story about a guy (Garrison Brownstein), his friend Matt Johnson and how they subsequently fall in love with a pretentious hack poet. They go across the country to San Francisco to get into what they still think is a huge writing and poetry scene only to stay there for a day and wind up in Jackson Mississippi where they become huge pretentious poets in their small community. The whole story ends a bit tragically but it’s quirky, dirty, sexy, and it has a theme. Bad art begat bad art and leaks into the media and affects society as whole. Don’t think that popular shitty band/book/show/movie/artwork matters? Think again!

I’ve got to get back to my real writing; maybe I’ll have some work to do as well. I move back to LA in ten months and counting. I can’t wait to leave Sacramento; this place is drowning my soul.


Friday, March 17, 2006

Being a guy from Massachusetts and living in California, sometimes I feel like my thoughts and opinions are far and away from the norm. I feel like I might as well be from Mars. I'm not saying I'm fucking special or something, I'm far from it and I know this. I decided a long time ago that the world went down the tubes, I have no idea why I still get angry.