Almost 31

In the words of the brilliant Hensleigh...  

"You're fuckin' young man.  My career didn't start till after 31.  You're doing fine."

But you wrote the frickin' Rock man.  I hope the career starts this year.  

Life as we know it, Arguing with Clint Eastwood's manager & some actress with cancer.

2008 pretty much went out with a whimper and 2009 roared in.  I actually survived the year by writing & getting paid for uncredited work...i.e. THUNDER ROAD 2010 or 11.  All is forgiven on that in regards to working with the talented Hensleigh on that.  I learned from his anecdotes of doing uncredited work on THE ROCK.

What I am grateful for is connecting with one of the most important people in my life; Amanda Loncar.  From Facebooking her in transit to the airport for my Xmas vacation back to Minnesota to our initial phone date the next day.  One should always embrace what they do in life, and I will never be one to not get a bit geeky around those with whom I respect in this industry.  I will admit to purchasing Amanda's tv series THE LOOP and enjoying it tremendously.  I devoured that series in one sitting.  FUNNY.  The one word that sums it up.  

Back to chatting with her, I slipped her a pilot I co-wrote about a year ago.  She loved it and immediately said she wanted to do it.  From here is where our friendship took off.  Checking in daily to see how her cancer treatment was going, making sure she was feeling okay and having my mom mail her christmas cookies to Arkansas for her recovery.  

I was blessed this past week to have been able to finally meet her face to face when she flew into LA for her follow-up at Cedars.  Having never met before, I strolled down the sidewalk with a sign that read FAMOUS ACTRESS as an icebreaker (strange is the situation, never having met, was me picking her up).  Dinner at Sushi Dan's followed by drinks at the Newsroom.   The next day was an early rise, going to pick her up and take her to Cedars.  Snapping pictures in the hospital and MRI room.  Waiting for her results.  Almost a year to the date of her initial diagnosis which was terminal.  Loncy has defied the odds and is on the road to remission.  God bless her.  I'm not one to preach, but thank God for this.  

A clean MRI was announced followed by tai from Toi, champagne and meeting her co-star from The Loop.  Laughter ensued and a meeting later that night with Richard Zelniker- the director of Timbaland's VINYL due in 2010.  

The next day was a short day, breakfast at Hugo's where she met Jeffrey Reddick followed by a stop at the Grove on her way to the airport.  I was sad to see this girl go back to Arkansas but happy she's healthy again.  I can't wait to start the development process on our pilot which she's producing (this hopefully will protect me from getting fired by the network since she has more clout than me...)

A few hugs and a blown kiss from her later, I unloaded my new friend's luggage and drove away.   Within 10 minutes of leaving behind this whirlwind 48 hour odyssey, I was on the phone arguing with Clint Eastwood's manager over the page length of a project my manager submitted to them.  He called me out on irresponsible writing.  Any other day, I would've made a big deal of this, but for the first time in my life, I actually fought for the vision, held my ground and didn't back down.  One cannot manipulate history, in this context the true story at hand, and editing just seemed to short change the concept.  I will eventually budge when the chips are down on this, but for now, thinking back to being in the MRI room with Amanda, life's too frickin' short to settle.  

Godspeed.

Almost time for a most 'Curious Case...'

I remember reading the production grid on the upcoming 'Benjamin Button' film and a note from one of the execs said 

"Script is 200 pages.  Can we trim it?"

That still makes me laugh.  Can't wait to see the film.  Last week, I caught Gran Torino and reminded me of the Hmoung population at Richfield High School in MN.  Oy, the december movie offerings.

And thank god this frickin' November is over.   Hated this month.  Moving onto December in T-Minus 1 hour & 43 minutes!

Channeling Mitchum, a Hollywood Animal named Hensleigh and getting your house in order.

Been a long while.  Just trying to decompress after a trying week, listening to some Peter Gabriel from the grand soundtrack of Virtuosity circa 1995 (highly suggest renting this brilliant Denzel Washington/Russell Crowe starrer).

I've been an anti-remake advocate for so long that when the opportunity arose to collaborate with the Hollywood animal named Hensleigh, the mastermind behind such tent pole pictures as The Rock, Armageddon, Con Air, Gone in Sixty Seconds and The Punisher, I was a bit intimidated at first.   Now, not so much.  The point of a remake is to simply make it better.  Embrace the original, pay your respects, dig in and make a brilliantly crafted and deserved remake to best the original.  Christopher Nolan has done it exceptionally well.  Now if only studios would pay the same respect as they rewind time and visit the classics.  

It was just over a year ago when I first encountered the Hollywood animal.   I grew up devouring his & his wife's films.  From The Terminator to Die Hard with a Vengeance...who would've thunk this opportunity would arise as I moved from Minneapolis to the west?  One hopes, but dreams are pesky things to grab a hold of and not let go.  Heeding his words of getting my house in order, a year to the day, the task was presented.  And I was finally in a place to accept the terms and begin.  

Life got itself together.  After dealing with struggles a plenty as most everyone out here has gone through, it's been well worth the wait.  Friends came and went, a kid like a little brother raced into my life - tugged on my heart strings and his life was unexpectedly extinguished far too early.   Soon after his beautiful soul of a mother gifted the world with another exceptional life and is finding her true calling and exposing the world to her creativity.  It's about time.  

And love.  Paraphrasing the brilliant Jack Kerouac, '...And I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a common place thing, but burn, burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "awww!"  

That's what love should always be like.  Nothing less.

Godspeed.

Bones & New Bev Midnights...a Howling good time.

I've just gotta say that I so love that theatre. It's becoming part of my weekly routine. Two, count them TWO films for a mere 7 bucks. Special midnight shows are usually a separate 7 bucks, but still...real popcorn with REAL butter (when they're not out) and cheap soda. You know you're in for a good film when 10 minutes into it, you hear the CLINK CLINK of someone's empty bottle of booze. Snickers usually follow along with a plea to not damage the new carpeting.

This past weekend was a great little film from Joe Dante -- his cult fave -- The Howling. An original print mind you. Before the film, my date of the eve, beautiful...

Wait, I should back up...I caught a viewing of Bones last Monday and was smitten by this actress. Something about her eyes and the obvious fact that the camera ADORES her in every respect. I snooped around IMDb and figured out who the blessing was and found her on Facebook. After bouncing a couple emails back & forth, we met for a midnight screening of The Howling. She'd never seen it and isn't a big fan of horror films. She managed through it with squinty & shielded eyes while holding my hand. Probably the best film experience I've had. Anywho...

Joe Dante introduced the film with Dee Wallace, Rob Botin and his editor in hand for some yucks before the carnage. Not sure if Tarantino was in attendance, we saw him briefly before as he came out for some air from the previous double feature, but all in all it was a night to remember.

Prom Night and Boston Public

Last week I posted over on Facebook how excited I was to be heading out to the Prom Night premiere at the Arclight. Strangely, my ex-girlfriend from 10 years ago posted a comment reminding me of our fateful prom night back in 1998. A bittersweet moment it was. Remembering our grand Prom, me just coming off of an awkward conversation a week before. We had seen Object of My Affection with Jennifer Aniston. Driving in my car towards her house, she spills,

I think I love you Jack.

GULP.

A cloud of dreaded silence hung over my head for what seemed to be an eternity.

What do you have to say about that? She asked and batted her eyelashes.

Thinking quick...The only woman I love is my mother. I really said that. Probably the last thing she wanted to hear. Oy vey.

Wow, the white elephant had managed to squeeze it's way into my Skylark. I was terrified to admit to Steph that I did love her. She had dreams of med school and I, well, I had no dreams at the time.

I knew I loved her but I didn't want to be responsible for stealing that portion of her life. Selfish on my behalf, there isn't a day that goes by where I don't wonder what if...

After the film, cheese in the best possible way, far better than the original...I'm wandering around with my friend, Barbara, the femme fatale of Hostel, proclaiming that I wasn't going to drink while explaining the customs of Prom to my date.

But open bar sponsored by Sony...come on, a writer's got to have a vice. Three drinks later and after chatting with Jonathan Shaech, a girl bumps into me.

Beautiful and well, unforgettable. So much to the fact that I blurt out...I loved you in Boston Public.

And she stared at me ...The lovely & always talented Jessalyn Gilsig turns around and smiles. After our lame intros and her finding out the exec of Prom was producing my project and I wasn't such a dork, we actually had a nice discussion. I told her how I used to watch the show after class at the University of Minnesota until the wee hours of the cold mornings. I've dealt with so so so many shallow people in this town and in that moment, standing beneath the sparkling lights of a Hollywood manufactured prom, I was able to grasp onto the roots that made me who I am. It was an endearing moment followed by pancakes at Denny's.

From the warped mind of David Arquette comes The Tripper

A little bit of a shameless plug for a film which I've been a fan of since last November. Even in H to the Wood, everyone supports one another. I give you my good friend's directorial debut...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2dLHt_-0j0

Death of a widescreen television and praying to the porcelain gods.

I was in the middle of a tivo-ed episode of Chuck today when the aromatic wafts of burning wires filled my nose and a second later, my television exploded.

Fuck.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

It took me 18 months to commit to a widescreen and another two years before it died on me. I think I may let the tv sit there for a while before I get a new one. I'm a masochist. Sue me fuckers.

It's been a while since I've visited ye old blog. A lot has happened. I went to NY and wandered the streets. It was kismet I guess since the last piece I wrote was set in the city that truly never sleeps. Getting a lay of the land was a great experience. It beats mapquesting areas and hoping that studio people really aren't that smart. Wait, ummmm...

I was in NY trying to gather some footage for the new film Everybody Wants to be Italian as it premiered at the San Genarro Feast. The film stars Jay Jablonski, Cerina Vincent and Marisa Petroro. The week was a blur and we all seemed to have a great time.

I totally geeked out there when, as I was lost, happened upon Delancey Street. Thinking back to one of my favorite films, Happy Accidents, I remembered the climax and boom, there I was:

Another strange thing happened...10 o'clock Jack emerged from the shallow depths of my drunken spirit and the next day, Jason Todd Ipson (a profoundly great director) dubbed me GP or Georgia Peach as I supposedly told a girl that I'd eat her like a Georgia peach while drinking in the meat packing district at 3am. Oops. No one really wants to believe what they've done before praying to the porcelain gods, but no it happened I'm afraid. Enter evidence labled Myspace message numero uno:Hmmmm...what else is new??? Tissue is complete. Probably the darkest thing I've ever created. Let's see if the studios bite. But alas, it's an intelligent story in the vein of Se7en and I haven't seen many of those lately. Fingers crossed.

Ciao. No TV. Early to bed.

Redfoot aka Zed: The usual suspect has been caught.

A buddy of mine called today.

"Jack, let me tell you what happened this weekend."

"Tell me-"

"Peter Greene came around-"

Let me interject and mention that Peter Greene the actor, Pulp Fiction, The Usual Suspects, Training Day, The Mask, used to live in my friend's apartment building. And he's fucking nuts.

"Margaret rode up in the elevator with Peter and his eyes were all shifty. She said 'Hello, Peter...' to no avail."

"Does sound like Peter-"

"I know, doesn't it? But the cameras show him wandering around the building, then he slipped down into the laundry room, put on a ski mask and proceeded to steal the license plates off of Flanagan's Lexus."

"What?" Coffee sprayed out of my nose-

"The guy's gone buggers. He stole Flanagan's license plates. And he's caught on camera. They're thinking about selling the footage to TMZ.COM."

I love this town.

Wagering my mother's soul.

I found out the other night that my mother, who's a truly good woman, has been reading my words here. Reeling back to my younger days, a piece of me recalled a time when I got busted stealing my father's Playboys. Oops.

Hmmmm...

I do feel kind of bad for airing out laundry on here at times. I've wagered my mother's genuine soul far too many times out here with various industry people. None have had to collect...yet.

Apologies. Guess that's the theme today. Just like at the New Bev last night. Some patron was sneezing up a lung during the climax of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and he belts out an apology to the audience and everyone cracked up.

The Hollywood Animal, an actress & an empty plate.

EXT. PATIO - CAFE MED

With the sun about to set, the patio bustled with Hollywood hopefuls, powerful executives and the spotlight seekers. An actress, a director and a writer sat at a table sipping iced teas-

HOLLYWOOD ANIMAL
I knocked Johnnny Knoxville's teeth out once at The Standard.

JACK

(laughing hysterically)

Really? Tell me that one--

And the anecdote continued from the lips of one of the industry's most powerful writer/producers. I sat in the patio of the sheik LA hotspot and listened to the Hollywood animal as he spun countless yarns of the business. Sitting to his left was another product of an age old icon, Samantha Lockwood, brilliant actress and daughter of the acclaimed Gary Lockwood.

As the animal and I dug into our plates of pasta, Sam sat with nothing in front of her until our server brought Sam an empty plate and set it down. She smiled and thanked the waitress.

WAITRESS

So you don't feel left out.

Quick with my wit, I threw a piece of bread on the empty plate-

JACK

That's all you get.

Sam nibbled away and shared her Knoxville story from her days on Lords of Dogtown. Nothing bad for the record, but just a moment in time from a very odd world that I'm immersed in.

It was in that surreal moment, with the most sincere grin and twinkle in the Hollywood animal's eye followed by the smile of the actress that I realized this is my life. Not a life wanted. But a life had and that is happening right now. Who would've thunk?

Conversation flowed like the mighty Nile and at the end of the evening, a very profound and life changing event transpired-

To be continued...

2007: A Myspace Odyssey & my stealth white car.

"Dude, your car's stealth."

"What?"

"Your car's invisble to cops and parking enforcement because it's white."

My friend went onto explain the potential invisibility that my car has as it circumvents the road rage of Los Angeles. Apparently cars that are black, silver, & red are prime targets on the road. People in white cars are invisible.

Great. I'm invisible.

Moving on. Myspace. Interesting place. I got an odd friend request the other day from a profile dubbed Spicy Grandma. I laughed a little and began going through the profile. All industry people. One stuck out...Sam Lockwood. Lockwood, Lockwood, Lockwood...the name rang a bell.

I bit and clicked. Actress, model, blah blah blah. Six-thousand some odd friends and counting. Fake page I thought..then I got an email from her. Back and forth a few times, and finally I asked about her name because it was sooooo familiar.

"My dad's Gary Lockwood."

A double dose of no fucking shit rolled from my finger tips. Her response...I swear to God. 2001: A Space Odyssey is one of my all-time favorite films. A classic. If you haven't seen it but pretend that you have, that's okay. Now is the time to really give it a look. Trust the Jack.

Flash forward a couple days later and after several conversations on the tele with Sam, I've been able to secure an interview with her father who's been out of the limelight for a couple years but is still alive and kicking. The link is coming soon--

Towards the end of the interview, I've likened Tom from Myspace to HAL from Space... Sam laughed and said that her father's response would be simply I don't have a computer.

That's Jack's Myspace Odyssey for the day.

I love Don Knotts. Thanks Don Knotts.

Those words were scrolled on the wall of a restaurant I grabbed a quick bite from this afternoon.

Interesting, no? Don commenting on himself as the rest of the wall has ramblings from Cynthia Nixon praising the food to Carmen Electra offering to spank the owner. Peculiar.

I was thumbing through this week's double issue of EW last night in between loads of laundry & kitchen cleaning and happened upon Peter Berg's The Kingdom. Giddy as a kid, that I am, to see what he and his neighbor Michael Mann have cooked up for with that insane cast of Piven, Bateman, Cooper, Fox, & Garner. Beyond the tales of hell during the production were the tragedies surrounding the film. There were three deaths.

One died on the way to work. Another died after having stomach cramps and upon going to the hospital, prostate cancer was diagnosed and he was gone within a week. The third passed away from an onset collision. The industry is family now, so I seeked out each on IMDb to see who they were and what they did. The third death struck me. His name was Nick Papac, 26 years old and had a decent list of creds before his demise. I went down to his message board and my blood ran cold for his mother was posting messages to her son. I couldn't help but comment and extend my condolences.

Odd that she was telling Nick of her latest adventures. I stared at her profound message for some time then happiness began to fill my heart. As painful as it may seem, her son died doing what he truly loved. There was no hesitation. No hindsight. No judgment on her part. Simply acceptance.

How many of us can say that about our lives? That we're doing truly what we want, day in and day out? I know my parents can't. Probably about 80% of my friends can't either to certain degrees. Hell, on some days I find myself saying wtf?

Going back to my headline of "I love Don Knotts. Thanks Don Knotts" --

Maybe Don had it right when he was here with us. Maybe we need to thank ourselves a bit more for where we are in life.

Hungry Cat, salad consumption six feet under and wicked witches.

One of the most underrated films of the summer has to be Stardust. Walking into it last eve, wondering how Matthew Vaughn, acclaimed director of Layer Cake, would tackle a screenplay by the likes of Neil Gaiman...all I can say is that I was impressed. Reading that Sarah Michelle Gellar had passed on the role that subsequently went to Ms. Danes, I couldn't imagine anyone else other than Claire nailing the role of a fallen star.

The film itself is being considered a massive failure in the eyes of industry elite and I've gotta say that it was truly poor marketing and a shitty idea to release this film in the dog days of August. Stardust is an epic people. November November it should've been the sweet month of November. Post Halloween & pre-Thanksgiving. Good job on that one Paramount. Brad Grey, television producer. I blame you for the failure of this.

From the opening sequence, one disconnects from reality and actually believes the world before us. Playing on our internal dreams and fancies of wanting that perfect someone to simply drop out of the sky and steal our hearts. Is it possible?

Love.

A profound word with so many connotations. We have the eternal love of blood, i.e. Billy Bob & Angelina, the abusive love, i.e. Ike Turner & Tina Turner, the wtf love Tom Cruise & Katie Holmes, the true love, i.e. Johnny & June Carter Cash, the teen love, i.e. Macauley Kulkin & Rachel Miner and the profound spiritually woven love...(insert your names here).

Let me digress to my days of lecturing at the college. It was a pre-Valentine's Day assignment. A bit abstract...write about love. a poem about love. My god, did those little fuckers groan! I was giddy as a kid on the inside. Happy to know most of the class was out of luck like yours truly when it came to that subject.

V-Day was upon us. I asked for volunteers to read their poems. No takers but one said I could read theirs. Looking it over, I stared at the kid and asked-

"You wrote this?"

He nods.

"Yep."

"Really? Your words? On your mother? I'm always wagering my mother and she's truly a wonderful woman. So, this is a big deal--"

"Mmmmmhmmm."

"Okay...What's love? What's love got to do with it? Got to do with it? Is love a second hand emotion...?"

By now the fierce people of the class were growing restless.

"I don't know professor Jack. I keep hearing this rhythm..."

"Sing it out for me, brother!"

The shy kid stood up and belted out Tina's tune and the class howled. The kid sat as we applauded his performance.

I don't think the word can ever be used properly. The definition seems to have been incorporated and corrupted through the ages. It's unfortunate. Remember a time when the word was almost a binding agreement? Now it's thrown around so loosely, vaguely, it sort of has lost its meaning. I for one am guilty of this crime of passion.

Wearing one's heart on their sleeve in Los Angeles is not the best of ideas. It's like drawing out your queen at the start of a chess match. Bad move. I am notorious for showing that side way way way too early. Not anymore. I have got my poker face on. Wait, hold on, where is it?

The great Danes resonated with me last night. Is love right in front of you or is it an idealized misconception? One's mind wanders towards the idea of spirituality and how it leads us, the denizens of Hollywood while providing us with a common connection and fucking Rachel Griffiths is staring at us throughout our conversation at the Hungry Cat. See the Hungry Cat that was with me below.

I couldn't help but overhear Rachel's heavy accent minutes before telling her husband how nice of a date it was for them. But then I noticed her taking notice of the conversation I was in the midst of. A collective thought of zen that seems to be the emerging trend in Los Angeles. Everyone's looking for that mental space. The break from the norm. I get my daily fix by working the shit out of myself either spinning or training with the hungry cat. That's officially her new nickname.

Growing up in the midwest and never having aspirations of the silver screen, well, conscious aspirations for I believe that my subconscious had these wishes lurking in my dreams...it's a surreal and obscure thing. Living and breathing your dream. After years of reading about the Hollywood storm, circling it's absolute chaos, I'm now hanging out in the eye of it. And it seems to finally be calming the fuck down. Breathe. It's just another path in life. Writing is rewriting and I'm in the middle of rewriting my life. Moving forward and watching this girl eat her salad in front of me and being intrigued by her consumption approach. I don't think even a year ago I would've paid attention to it.

Guess it's the little obscure things we take for granted that make us happy in this existence. Open your eyes or else you may never know what's in front of you. And please, stop texting while driving.

Peace.

A newborn with no name, the Griffin and a mad mad mad Hollywood Jungle.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."

Edgar Allan Poe

"My parents didn't give me a name until about a month after I was born."

I thought she was kidding. "Really? What did they call you until then?"

"I'm serious. They referred to me as baby until my dad called me his jewel and then Tiffany came of it..."

That's the jist of the conversation. More flowed, but I was stuck on that idea. A baby with no name. Guess Tif truly fits her, her soul deserves to be admired. And it will soon enough.

All I could think was Holy Wow as she grinned slyly (see her grin below. How can one not be smitten by that?)



Today's theme is detachment and acceptance. Sorry for being so blunt, but the past few weeks have been truly eye opening. Let me digress a bit. Back in July, my inside guy sends me an email about a screening of a film that has no track record. No IMDb, no Baseline studio system, no reviews other than this little diddy that's buried on the internet due to a poorly advised screening of the film at the AFM. Note to all those who aspire, DO NOT SHOW YOUR FILMS AT THE AFM...it's a meat market and any random critic can walk in off the street and bash your film. One may suggest that getting a film made is the difficult part, but the truth is, it's all about distribution. But then again, locking up foreign isn't that hard either. Trust the Jack.

Anywho...the film. So, I get this tidbit about a film that's completely under the radar and I utilize my little black book to locate the writer/director's contact info. Blah blah blah, a month later I'm sitting in a bar that he just opened, The Griffin, which there's one he has in Vegas too.

Hours before I had been privy to a test screening of his latest film. Welcome to the Jungle which is a cerebral mind-fuck of a film that plays on the mythos of what happened to Michael Rockefeller and his disappearance in New Guinea; Cannibal Territory 1961. The film itself takes place in the present day and has some extraordinary performances. The production value's absolutely insane and the pending conclusion, well, people were walking out while covering their eyes in disgust. This film is going to be an instant cult classic. I bet my mother's soul, and she's a great woman. I feel like I'm in the film INTACTO as I wager my mother and Max Von Sydow is hiding amidst the shadows.

Back to the screening. After it was all said and done, for the first time, I was on the other side of the curtain hearing comments from the audience that Hollywood tends to disregard. The experience was insanely interesting. I was able to disconnect from the material and engage an unbiased group while setting aside my own thoughts. From this, my writing is going to take a different turn in approach to its final destination. I think this will be a good thing. It's so very easy to get swallowed by the industry jungle here. One must be able to disconnect from there work--

Easier said than done. I got a call this morning about a project I wrote a few years ago with acclaimed screenwriter David Aaron Cohen. It was a great experience and I learned more working with him than I did while attending the AFI. The script was called The Maddening. Hearing the news this morning about David's blessing and the material going out left me giddy as a kid for a brief moment but then reality sunk in...

"I need the title."

"What?"

I found myself explaining that I had titled another project with the existing title based on a story I wrote before collaborating with Cohen. Did that make any sense?

Laughter ensued as we agreed to certain concessions. And I have my title.

I will part the daily blog with a photo-op of my good buddy Ryan Rotten as he sums up my thoughts of the politics of Hollywood...

And these are the days of our lives...where's fucking Johnny Drama?

I fucking hate soap operas. Despise the shit out of them. They're beyond annoying. But today, the days sunk in as I chatted with my mom back in good ole' minnesota.

Insert chuckle..."Aunt Kitty died."

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"Aunt Kitty died. Didn't I tell you?"

"Sorry. No. You missed that mark."

awkward silence.

"Did you laugh when you told me she died?"

I could hear my mother take a drink of something. A bit of pre-happy hour bliss.

"When did she die?"

a lonnnnnnnnnnnggggggggg pause. "This morning. Her name was Kitty...." snicker snicker--

Oh, the lies! My mother was lying. Not really good at it either, but she was trying to cover the tracks and my aunt's timeline. The conversation took a drastic segueway into the fact that my beloved aunt had a stripper's name. Sad but true. I loved Aunt Kitty. I have fond memories of her freezing her ass off in below-zero wind chill puffing away on cigs outside our house during the holidays. She always gave the coolest gifts. Aunt Kitty will forever be missed.

And next up, Lindsay Lohan is being sued for---

Drama. That's what fills life. This town especially. Who's fucking over whom...catching, receiving...

My thought is that living in Los Angeles, you're one of three things. You're either:

1.) Fucked
2.) A fucker.
3.) A mother fucking asshole.

Wonder what Borat would say given the options???

Within the back of my mind, that song by We Might Be Giants plays on a continuous loop--Why Can't we be Friends?

I've had the fortunate experience of being labeled all three. I've been fucked by producers. (Can I get a show of hands of those who also have?)

I've been called a fucker by a colleague. And I've been called a mother fucking asshole by an ex-girlfriend. Funny that she was the one who broke it off. I just happened to tell her something she didn't want to hear. Karma.

Once again I feel like Scorsese because I've lost the narrative thread. Sorry. Don't hate. Appreciate the next moment and breath you take.

Ground control to Major Tom...

I skipped yesterday. Not sure why. Hmmmm...where did the day go?

This morning after my ass shredding by the Tif, I ran over to my favorite production company in town bearing gifts of Red Velvet cake from Doughboys on third street. And some coffee beans. And now I'm blogging about it. Nice. Kind of retarded though--

Anywho, I was chatting with a buddy of mine, a director of a couple films, Unrest and Everybody Wants to be Italian. The process. The filmmaking process...and almost to the point of bashing ones head against the wall, the realization came out that nothing seems to ever get done in this town. Sad but true. Guess there's no real remedy to that concept. I wonder what Charlie Brown would do if the disgruntled young man were living and breathing.

My secret new addiction is Operator 11. It's a fusion website of myspace, youtube and MTv's the Real World. I suggest you all check it out. A hint is that you can link your live broadcast through your myspace page as a bulletin, real time, no delay. I truly believe that this is the site that's going to kick the living shit out of youtube and myspace. Check it out.

Unfortunately, I don't have anything else of excitement to say other than I love my new Coquette Productions coffee mug. Thanks to Bowland and DA for that.

The Biggest Loser

Come on, Jack, keep it together...

Andrea screamed this morning in the grueling class as she ripped us to shreds. Good times. My focus was off. I'll be the first to admit. But it was like old home week because a blast from my past was in there. Jillian Michaels, aka - the whoop ass.

In the summer of 2002, when I was homeless, couch hopping and attending the AFI, my friend & actress called me and said she was doing an infomercial and they needed some regular people. Apparently, the company had stacked the deck with actors & models and then me. The preliminary screen was daunting. I met with Jackie Warner of Bravo's Workout and Jillian who would later be the head trainer on NBC's The Biggest Loser. Truth be told, they intimidated the shit out of me. Threatening that if we weren't making weight cuts, we'd get booted.

Yikes!

And we commenced at the beginning of June that year. Pan Pacific Park just off of Beverly Blvd. I have to say it was invigorating. Three nights a week of wind sprints across the field, weight training and aerobic crap.

Those fucking lunges killed me. Soon after the rush set in. I was hooked. Running daily, hitting the gym followed by meets with the terrible two. It was brutal. I don't know how many times I vomited during the training. But it was good.

Within a few months, I was a new man. Then I broke my ankle while out running, trying to clear my head...clutz! I continued to train. I attended spin class, propped my cast and leg on the handle bars and spun my heart out.

2002 was my favorite summer out here. Seeing Jill this morn brought back a lot of great memories.

The days are getting shorter. Appreciate them all.

Peace

Blurred Reality & Myspace

Dreaming of my pending initiation into reality television, I have found myself more in tune with life itself. This morning before my ass whipping with the Tif, I stumbled upon an article in a magazine about a reality star's recent suicide. I never saw the show which aired in June on CBS to low ratings and subsequently cancelled. This evening I did a google search and found some tragic things about the past life of an extremely strong girl named Cheryl K. and her plight. She lost the love of her life to suicide back in June and struggled on. After posting random myspace messages around, she left us.

In this day and age of technology yet more disconnection from reality, a digital imprint seems to be the way of the future. Morbid. Haunting and deeply affecting resonance like this is everywhere.

Like this. The blog. Jack on a Blog. I have absolutely no idea who's reading this, if anyone is beyond my own eyes. Does it matter? I guess in foresight it does. Everyone remembers what they were doing when JFK was assassinated (well not me, but my parents), yet, no one knows what he was thinking before he left us.

Digital resonance. We all have a paper trail now. A receipt, movie ticket stub, a barista that serves us coffee...these are things of the past. Now it's about this. Our thoughts, words, actions, and posts. Creepy if you think about it. But it is a way for us to leave an imprint.

Imprint. Such an interesting word to me. We're but a blip on the evolutionary radar of this world. Where do we stand as individuals? Striving. For what? Whom? Ourselves and to better each and everyone of us? That's about as hard as dealing with Global Warming. But is it really?

Change is good. Patterns are comfortable but change instigates life. Life begins to complement us. Be it a hair color that changes your personality a little (sorry T, had to throw in your thought of blonde to brunette the other day) or to a change in lifestyle and relationships.

All I can say is we should all make tomorrow different and forget about five minutes ago.

Peace.

Wristcutters and the Criminal Mind of Mr. White is now paid a visit by Bobby Fischer's dad.

After clearing the space between my ears late last night, I stayed up late watching a gem of a film entitled Wristcutters: A Love Story (see clever artwork below). In my ongoing pursuit of borrowing films from various companies before they're released, I must admit my kleptomaniac guilt on this one. I had watched the film a while ago but decided to give it another look. For everyone else, the movie opens nationwide sometime this October. Wristcutters doesn't glorify the taking of one's life, but merely attempts a world of the hereafter with the same problems we face day in and day out. Sossamon and Fugit provide a textured innocence throughout as Shannyn's character explains...Me being here is an accident. I'm not gonna spill the goods on this film, but mark my words, it's destined to become the Reality Bites of this year.

A novel I am a fan of, Haunted by Chuck Palahniak, spins countless tales that are interwoven. One in particular deals with teen suicides. Sad story. The statistics don't lie. But the parents do...According to national statistics, teens that commit suicide by 'hanging'...something like 65% of them are actually performing self asphyxiation while in the act of ummm...and the parents are ashamed. Mind blowing, isn't it?

In a land of reaction to actions, I am stuck in this mindset today. Reading the trades headline of Harvey Keitel aka Mr. White, stepping into a starring role on CBS' Criminal Minds, I began to think of Mr. Patankin and what led him to react so harshly to the hit show and his abrupt departure. Well, there is always potential for a sequel to Alien Nation.

But alas, now it's Mr. Mantegna. How did Joe steal the role from Mr. White?

One person's loss is another's gain. Choices is the theme today. Where do we go from here?