Toxicity

You have to be prepared for a certain amount of criticism in this field. In fact, it’s best to prepare for a shitload of it. It may seem like people are attacking you, are trying to bring you down, but it’s rarely as vindictive as that. Usually the truth is much simpler – it’s easier to criticize something than it is to appreciate something. I’m not sure if that’s true everywhere. I’m also not sure I’m capable of seeing it any other way right now. This town is full of people who haven’t made it, and who never will. It’s full of people who have made it and burned out, and people who have burned out just trying. For an industry fueled by a collaborative, creative form, it’s alarming how much negativity swills around in the air. Maybe the horrible air quality is due to cars or industrial pollution, but I’m starting to think it’s really the toxicity expelled by the industry of Hollyhood.

Part of the problem IS that we look at this as an “industry,” and we look at it that way because it is. It certainly isn’t the dreamland all those actresses fresh off the bus way back when once thought it was. This isn’t a place where magic just happens (it’s never that simple, is it?), but it is a place where magic can be made.

I look at Hollyhood as a game. The finish is great, but there are a trillion obstacles in the way. You have to navigate them in order to succeed, and you have to be armed with the proper tools to do so.

There are a few people out here who want to help you. And there are more people who want to help you help them. And there are even more people who don’t want to help you at all. The trick is wading through these three groups and understanding what criticism is coming from which people. It’s something I’m still working on figuring out. One thing I have figured out is this – criticism from any of these groups can either help you get to where you want to go, or it can punch you in the stomach, spit on your face and tell you “I told you so.” It’s all in what you do with it.

I myself have been known to take the punches, and then wallow around in the pain to the sacrifice of “my craft.” It can happen, and it can happen in an instant. One minute you’re riding high on dreams and potential, the next you’re shriveled up on the ground as negativity beats you down. The “Pros” don’t let this happen, or at least they don’t let it happen for too long.

I am not a pro. I let it happen. I allowed myself to get my ass kicked, and now I’m stuck in the recovery process. I’m thinking the best way to deal with it is to write my way out, and I’m hoping that it doesn’t delay my progress too long, and that next time will be different.

Because there will be a next time. The criticism WILL come. And I will let it, because you can’t get anywhere by telling everybody to fuck off. You can’t grow. You can’t learn. But you also don’t get anywhere by letting the negative energy take over, or by turning what was meant to be constructive into something destructive. You have to know what to do with criticism, how to use it to improve.

You have to take it, but you also have to be strong enough to know that you are better than it. If someone tells you “this sucks” and you believe it, you’re done. More often than not, it doesn’t suck. There’s something wrong with it, but that can be fixed. “Sucks” is beyond repair. “Flawed” means it can be fixed.

It’s easy for people to bring you down. It’s harder to love yourself and your work enough to get back up.

It’s time to get back up.

Summer Blockbuster Smackdown - Week 10

I love summer movies. I don’t understand the people who don’t. To chastise the summer fare as “mindless popcorn flicks” with little to no integrity or intelligibility is both incorrect and pointless. We should be celebrating their inconsequential escapability! These films exist for two reasons – to make money, and to be fun. They don’t always succeed, of course, but why should we hate on them for trying? If you say you “hate” INDIE 4, I say there’s something wrong with you. I understand having problems with it, because there are plenty of problems to have. But did you not have fun? Did you not smile, or mutter a “whoa” or two? Or did you sit there and pout about how the film failed to meet the expectations you knew deep down inside it never could meet.

Summer movies defy standard criticism. We can talk about what they do right and what they do wrong, and we obviously can point out which we enjoyed and which let us down a little bit. But to write off TRANSFORMERS because it isn’t THERE WILL BE BLOOD…well, that’s just ludicrous.

Updated Summer Blockbuster Smackdown Standings:

1.) Iron Man

2.) Forgetting Sarah Marshall

3.) Get Smart

4.) The Incredible Hulk

5.) Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

6.) Kung Fu Panda

7.) The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

8.) Speed Racer

9.) The Strangers

10.) You Don't Mess with the Zohan

11.) Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay

Rocknrolla

Remember when Guy Ritchie was the shit?

There was a period during my misguided but nevertheless enjoyable years at USM in which SNATCH was the coolest thing in the world. I saw it in the theater with DANNYBOY, JD and ROOMIE DAVE and was blown away. When it came out on DVD, it was basically on permanent rotation in our living room (along with SUPER TROOPERS and I think FIGHT CLUB). Guy Ritchie was THE MAN…a poppier Tarantino with an eye for quirky, non-stop entertainment.

And then Madonna ruined everything. Of course, there’s more to the downfall of Guy Ritchie, but it’s easiest to blame Madonna, so I’ll do that (stupid Madonna).

Anyway, after several debacles, disasters and ghost comebacks (and one dreadfull rip-off…sorry people, but SMOKIN’ ACES was a painful entry in the “this could have been so awesome” category), Guy Ritchie is (potentially) back! Check out the trailer for his new back to basics flick, ROCKNROLLA, here.

And yes, that is THE PIVEN sporting a bar-brit accent…

Flavor of the week, what once was, and what could have been

I think American Hi-Fi’s self-titled album is a woefully underappreciated work of sonic alternative art. Its 1 part Foo Fighters (with a drummer-turned-band leader crafting post-grunge tunes), 2 parts Smashing Pumpkins (listen to the guitars, the structure of the breakdowns) and 1 part pop rock, like Lit with an edge. If this album came out in 1995, we’d remember it as a classic alternative staple. Alas, Hi-Fi hit it big just this side of the millennium mark (behind the still catchy “Flavor of the Week” single) and will forever be known as a band that drifted in on the back end of a wave long since past. Like Puddle of Mud, they’re still at it (a new album is due out this year) but I can’t help but wonder what might have been.

Meanwhile, Frank’s played two Hi-Fi songs in the last ten minutes. So for now, I’ll bask in their 2001 nostalgia.

“I still believe it when you say, it’s another perfect day…”

We asked them to "Beat LA," and they did...

The 2007-2008 NBA season ended exactly as it began tonight, with the Boston Celtics decimating the competition on their way to a record 17th championship. It ended exactly as THE RU and I predicted that it would last fall, exactly as it should, against the opponent we all wanted them to meet and beat.
There’s too much to say and nowhere really to begin, so I’ll just say this – with The Celtics joining The Red Sox and The Patriots as a championship force for the post-millennium era, Boston is, without a doubt, the greatest sports city in the country. You simply cannot argue against this any more. You just can’t.
In the end, KG said it best - "What can you say now?"
A big thank you to Pierce, KG, Ray Allen and Co. for bringing it all home.
Go Boston!

Dialogues with a Mad Rapper

There’s an aspiring NYC rapper who calls my office every morning looking to talk to “the mogul, The Red Baron,” citing new grand slam business deals and old school connections as an in to talk to “the man” (fun fact: THE RED BARON was a turntable master back in the early days of hip-hop before going Jay-Z business pro in cutthroat Hollyhood). Of course “the man” never takes his calls. I’m pretty much at the point where I just don’t bother telling him the dude is on the phone, and toss him on the phone sheet instead.

***In H-Town, the assistant is essentially the gateway. You don’t get to “the man” without going through us, and if we let you in when “the man” doesn’t want to deal with you, we catch hell. Thus, we’re pretty selective about letting you - or your script, or your demo, or biz propositions, etc. - past the pearly gates. One might think this would lead to a power trip, but it’s actually more an operation based on fear. It’s got to be legit, or we’ll catch shit.***

Anyway, since THE RED BARON never talks to him, THE RAPPER kills time talking to me. When his number comes up and I answer, it’s usually a 10minute+ conversation ranging from stories of THE RED BARON, old school hip hop, street lingo, public chronic bars, high time parties, East Coast vs. West Coast and baldness. When I don’t answer, he leaves an eargasmic freestyle message that’s usually so good I sometime purposefully don’t answer his call just to hear what he lays down (as I did this morning – once again, worth it).

Anyway, after I phone-checked him this morning he called back to shoot the shit. Apparently, THE RED BARON gave him a smackdown lecture about getting his shit together last week, so THE RAPPER spent the week rapping. He’s ready to lay down tracks and promises to bring back that “old school shit tangled with the new flow dangle.” He’s been doing this along time and nothing’s ever come of it, so I’m not sure anything ever will. I hope the pieces come together for him, and it will be awesome if I can help.

For now I’ll drop this nugget of truth he shared with me this morning:

“I look at rap like it’s in its Hair Band era right now.” Truer words have never been spoken.

The Adventure of Frank the Ipod, Day 3

Frank was a bit bi-polar today...but then again, he's bi-polar pretty much everyday. Except when he's drinking. I'm worried he might be an alcoholic.

Today's sample tracks:

1.) “Australia” by The Shins

2.) “Sweet Potato” by Imperial Teen

3.) “Shiver” by Coldplay

4.) “Love Steals Us From Loneliness” by Idlewild.

5.) “Hypnotize” by The Notorious B.I.G.

6.) “The People” by Common

7.) “Aly, Walk With Me” by The Raveonettes

8.) “The End Complete IV: The Road and The Damned” by Coheed & Cambria

9.) “Someday” by The Strokes

10.) “Livin’ On The Edge” by Aerosmith

Songs Today = 46 (189 total)

The Adventure of Frank The Ipod, Day 2

Weird day today...fewer songs, but a harder selection:

1.) “Hard Way” by The Kinks
2.) “The Bleeding Heart Show” by The New Pornographers
3.) “Up Against The Wall” by Peter, Bjorn and John
4.) “New Hope” by Blink-182
5.) “Ain’t No Reason” by Brett Dennen
6.) “What Is And What Never Should Be” by Led Zeppelin
7.) “The Way We Get By” by Spoon
8.) “Carlotta Valdez” by Harvey Danger
9.) “Hounds of Love” by The Futureheads
10.) “At Last” by Neko Case

I now view this is as a good way to learn about Frank too. Apparently he's a big fan of The Futureheads (interesting) and The Zep (duh...You can say a lot about Frank, but he's no fool.)

Songs today = 45 (total, 143)

My life at the movies (Summer Blockbuster Smackdown)

I’ve been writing weekly movie reviews for a small New Hampshire paper since the summer of 2001. Seven years and I don’t have much to show for it. It’s been picked up here and there by a few other small New Hampshire newspapers. Occasionally a reader will tell the publisher that he/she decided to see/not see a movie because of me. Sometimes I even get into a spirited debate with one of the few people I speak to that actually reads it. The only $ compensation I get in return covers just about the ticket, snack money, gas money and nothing else.
Yet I continue to do it, week after week, with no real aspirations to actually do anything more or grow it into a career. On the contrary, criticizing other people’s films probably isn’t the best way to get ahead in this town. And let’s face it - I’m a pretty blunt dude. I can be harsh. No good could come of this. In fact, I’ll just go ahead and keep those reviews off this blog.
I guess I do it for three reasons:
1.) It keeps me going to the movies (you’d be surprised how many people in this town actually DON’T GO TO THE MOVIES. That’s like being a sports broadcaster and never watching games. Or designing clothes and living in a nudist colony. Seriously.)
2.) I do it to keep writing and, more importantly, keep a writing deadline.
3.) I do it because I’m a creature of habit and change scares the shit out of me. Seven years I’ve been doing this gig. Seven years my too-good-to-be-true fiancé has been putting up with me basically dictating not only WHAT movies we see, but WHEN. It’s ridiculous.
But for now I’ll keep doing it, because not doing would just be weird. With that in mind, I offer you a quick and continuously updating rundown of the summer so far in what I like to call my Summer Blockbuster Smackdown. Updated standings:
1.) Iron Man
2.) Forgetting Sarah Marshall
3.) Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
4.) Kung Fu Panda
5.) The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian
6.) Speed Racer
7.) The Strangers
8.) You Don’t Mess with the Zohan
9.) Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay

Steady and awesome

My favorite Indie band, The Hold Steady, has a new album due out next week (June 17th) and I’d say it’s tied with the new Weezer disc for the Best Album I’ve Heard This Year title. It both embraces their modern-Springsteen lore (they even have horns now!) and branches out completely from anything they’ve ever done.
If I had to call it right now, I’d say “Stay Positive” isn’t QUITE as good as their earlier albums (“Boys and Girls In America” is a classic to me), but it might be one of those slow burns that’s better on the 89th listen.
Only time will tell if this one will live up to their truly underappreciated catalogue of great albums I can never seem to get you people to listen to (okay, I guess that isn’t much to live up to) but for now I’m really digging the free streaming available here.
Of course, I’m a completely biased source. Check it out for yourself. For you newcomers I recommend breaking in with:

Track 1 - Constructive Summer
Track 2 – Sequestered in Memphis
Track 5 – Lord I’m Discouraged
Track 8 – Stay Positive
Track 9 – Magazines
Track 11 – Slapped Actress

Or any track off their earlier albums.

The Adventure of Frank the Ipod, Day 1

Recently (and by recently I mean a few hours ago) I decided to try and listen to my Ipod all the way through. I’m doing this because a.) I have too much music I never get to listen to, and b.) Work has been a bit long and boring lately and providing myself with meaningless little tasks helps to alleviate the pain. Obviously this will take days, maybe even weeks. Inevitably, something will go wrong, my Ipod will reboot and I’ll have to start over. But until then, I’m gonna take a cue from THE BRU and toss off a few Ipod Blogs.

Today’s top ten favorite songs randomly played by my Ipod FRANK:

1.) “Like Eating Glass” by Block Party
2.) “Area” by The Futureheads
3.) “Atom” by British Sea Power
4.) “I Love Boosters!” by The Coup
5.) “Farewell to the Pressure Kids” by Broken Social Scene Presents Kevin Drew
6.) “John Allyn Smith Sails” by Okkervil River
7.) “Nobody’s Fault But Mine” by Led Zeppelin
8.) “A Favor House Atlantic” by Coheed & Cambria
9.) “Alive with the Glory of Love” by Say Anything
10.) “War Pigs” by Cake (sorry, BRU)

Total songs played = 95

There's no place like home

I thought I’d outgrown susceptibility to “homesickness” by my 3rd year at summer camp. Nope. I haven’t. Twenty years later, my immune system hasn’t found a way to kick it.
Increasingly since I’ve moved to the otherworldly Southland I’ve found myself longing for pretty much all things New England. New England people. New England sports. New England lifestyle. Even New England snow. I miss shoveling snow. Seriously.
Don’t get me wrong – there are plenty of things to be excited about in this town, and I’m not in it alone (thank God). But there pretty much isn’t a day that goes by that, even if only for a minute, I’d rather be “home,” defined as a place, a group of people, or a time (really, when you think about it, isn’t this what LOST is all about? Existing in a sense of belonging?).
I’ve been reading a lot of the SportsGuy lately (another transplated New Englander “living” in L.A.) and, what with the somewhat historic Celtics series, he’s been back to Boston a bit. The other day he wrote this:

"Walking around Causeway before the game, the street was effectively covered in green -- just guys in their teens and 20s happily walking around in green T-shirts and jerseys, randomly chanting "Beat L.A!" and "Let's go Celtics!" The bars were teeming with locals, many of them distracted by a timely Red Sox-Rays brawl that put everyone in the right mind-set for seven games against Kobe and the Kobettes. At the intersection in front of Causeway and Canal, there was a 25-foot replica of the NBA's golden championship trophy, with about 25 crazed Celtics fans flanking it and starting various cheers. Six especially creative Boston fans were walking around dressed like members of the '86 team -- Bird, McHale, Parish, DJ, Walton and Ainge -- wearing especially tight jerseys and shorts and corresponding wigs for each player. You always hear the phrase "happy to be here" about teams, but this might have been the first "happy to be here" fan base."

Homesickness just kicked me in the stomach and called me names.

L.A. is my office, but "Boston you're my home!"

I am a Celtics fan. I say this proudly, and with a great big gloating smirk now that I live in L.A. and the beloved Lakers are down 2-0 in a rejuvenated, exhilarating NBA Finals. But at the same time I say this, I say it with a chip on my shoulder. See, I’m what some might call a “plastic paddy” when it comes to the Celtics. In fact some people have called me that, or at least they would if I hadn’t just branded the term as it relates to Celtics fans right here on the spot (I dare you to find somebody who did it first! And if you do, I’ll ignore that evidence just like Jack ignored the Island disappearing right before his eyes! ‘Cause that’s just how stubborn I am).
Those people called me other things, but I think you get my point.
For those of you not familiar with the term “plastic paddy,” I’ll fill you in. My Irish buddy…from here on out to be known on this blog as…IRISH…we had plenty of other nicknames for him, but he hated all of them, and I can’t really remember them at the moment so IRISH it shall be…anyway, IRISH came to America Eddie Murphy style last August to pursue the same silly dreams of cinematic heroism as the rest of my transported crew, and THE GLOW was quick to induct him into THE ALLIANCE. In the process, THE GLOW was kind enough to describe me as being (among plenty of other horrible and image defecating things, I’m sure) the “Irish” guy. IRISH met me and quickly dubbed me a “plastic paddy,” aka “fake Irish.” I don’t have the accent. I’m not a pure blood (only a half blood). I can drink IRISH under the table any day of the week, but that doesn’t matter. I’m a replica. I’m not the real deal.
There are plenty of “plastic paddy’s” hopping the Celtic bandwagon this year, and although I’m a long term fan and bleed true Boston sports team blood, I could easily be lumped among them by anybody who wants to give me a hard time. See whereas I’ve always been a diehard Sox, Patriots and Bruins fan, I’ve been known to cheer for other teams in the NBA (not in place of, but in addition to).
Which brings me to a question I received three times over the past week, via text, gchat and phone – “So, who are you rooting for?”
Yes, in my horribly not so secret past, I committed what some might call a horrible sin – I cheered for the Lakers.
To many a Boston fan, cheering for the Lakers is like cheering for the Canadians, the Colts or – the worst of them all – THE YANKEES. And in the 60s, 70s, 80s and pretty much all of NBA history, I’d say it probably was. But as an 80s baby with a somewhat lacking (to put it kindly) father figure, I failed to develop the appropriate hatred for a team that hasn’t mattered to the Celtics in two decades. It’s easy to hate the Yankees – it’s a rivalry that matters EVERY SUMMER. You can say the same for the Colts, who’ve become a meaningful opponent for the post-millenium new look Pats. To a lesser extent, you can even say the same about those hooligans from Montreal – at the least they’re a division rival.
But the Lakers? The Celtics have played them about 2 games a season for the last 20 years. None of which mattered. They weren’t in our division. We never played against them in the playoffs (when we made it). A Lakers/Celtics game was like a game against the Buffalo Bills - IT DIDN’T MATTER.
I didn’t watch the Magic/Bird battles. I missed out on the glorious Bill Russell years. I came to age in a time where this “rivalry” simply didn’t exist, and I lacked the true history lessons in hatred necessary to keep it alive.
(The Sports Guy, bless his sarcastic heart, recently offered this nugget of factual knowledge – “Boston beat L.A. for the title eight straight times before falling in 1985. If that's a long-standing rivalry, so is Tom vs. Jerry, Andy vs. The Sistas and hammer vs. nail. Isn't it more of a ‘recent rivalry that was once a relentless butt-whupping’?”)
If it sounds like I’m justifying my decision to cheer for Kobe and Co., I’m not. I’m simply saying that I was misguided. I was wrong to go against my heritage, even if I didn’t inherit it properly. It was sacrilegious to cheer for a hated rival, even though they weren’t a rival. I blame the devil for enticing me with wondrous on-court action and excitement. I like to watch Kobe play. It was fun (unlike, say, the Spurs or the Pistons, who live and die by boring basketball).
Okay, I seem incapable of admitting I’m wrong here. I’ll just say this – THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT!
Regardless, this one thing I promise – I have always and will always prefer green over yellow, purple or any combination of the two. I know where my priorities lie.
Go Celts!

Double Feature Sunday

I reverted a few years yesterday. Faced with the choice of picking between two equally somewhat-appealing summer flicks for my weekly movie review, I chose to avoid choice and take in both. I looked up the times, found that KUNG-FU PANDA ended 4 minutes after YOU DON’T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN, and decided to see 2 for the price of 1.
Back in “the day,” this was an easier task to pull off. City cineplexes often offered multiple screenings of multiple movies ending at various times appropriate for marathon viewings (as opposed to the small town theater of my childhood, which had exactly two theaters, two films, two show times and one ever-vigilant guard keeping an eye on the “troublesome youths” with fear they would break into either a popcorn fight or an orgy at any given second). Going to the Lowes Boston Commons on a rainy Saturday afternoon used to be like paying a flat $8 fee for an All You Can Watch Buffet.
Then the theaters smartened up, realized the “troublesome youth” were cheating them out of easy money, and started coordinating movie times appropriately. Within a week, the games were over, the prices were jacked and Mel Gibson gained that much more financial support for his quest to own 99% of Malibu.
For whatever reason, the good cinema people in Culver City forgot to space their movies appropriately yesterday and I escaped back to the grand years of movie dorkdom. Sort of. After PANDA ended, I had to actually force myself into the theater next door to sit through two hours of ZOHAN, mostly because it was “free,” and less because I wanted to see it at that particular moment. By the time my four hours at the theater were up I was drained. Is this because I’m getting older? Or is it because the movies were kind of…boring?
I think it’s a little of both. An afternoon at the theater isn’t as appealing as it once was…or at least it wasn’t yesterday. PANDA was good, but not THAT good. And ZOHAN felt like a 2 hour sitcom I didn’t really care about. Neither film was bad. But neither managed to get my heart racing. All in all, it was a very blasé day at the theater.
But at least I saved 8 bucks.

The Balance...

As I said the other day, one of the problems I have with blogging is the associative self-importance that essentially comes hand-in-hand with sharing your thoughts with the world. Who the fuck am I to take up your precious 3 minutes? If you don’t know me, why do you care? If you do know me, you’re probably sick of listening to me anyway. And is anything I say really going to make a difference? Will your life change after you read these words? Will you be entertained? Pissed? Will you be (gasp) bored? Or even worse, more bored than you were when you first stumbled across these ramblings?
That’s my problem, and I’m trying to ignore it. As a writer you kind of have to. Otherwise, what’s the point? I have to BELIEVE I’m not wasting my time or yours when I sit down to put words on page. I have to BELIEVE in my words, that I have something to say...
Hollywood is filled with people who not only believe this, but get off on it. It’s hard to not view yourself as pompous when so many of your piers put across that very same self-image. I attend a weekly hybrid writers/actors workshop in which 10 or more people read, discuss, read, discuss some more and ultimately battle for the ultimate prize of intellectual acknowledgement. It doesn’t really matter what they’re saying – most of the time it amounts to “Listen to me! I know what I’m talking about! I’m THE SHIT!” (speaking of which, how did being compared to bowel movements and excrement ever become a good thing?)
Of course, not everybody who attends this workshop is looking for that recognition. Some of them come for networking purposes, or to see the friends their 60 hour work week keeps them from seeing. Some come to actually improve their craft, to put their baby out there for all to criticize and hope it doesn’t stumble, fall and puke all over itself like a sorority chick on a Saturday night.
At my best, I believe these to be the reasons I keep dedicating a good chunk of my Saturday afternoons to sitting in a classroom. But I know I slip into self-importance too. When I received luke-wam reactions (at best) and “I don’t get it” questions in response to a particularly complicated, intricate AND FLAWED screenplay everybody was kind enough to dedicate their time to reading, my immediate response was “no, you don’t get it you fucking idiot! Did you even READ the script? Pay ATTENTION!” Of course, I didn’t say this out loud, but that didn’t matter – my body language and tone as I kindly repelled their criticism said it for me. My words were great. They were the ones who were wrong.
Of course some months later, that same screenplay isn’t ready for the world, at least partly for the same reasons they pointed out. I both recognize these problems and continue to write off the people who “didn’t get it.” I’m both wrong and right, humbled by them and better than them, because if I’m too much of either one it’s a problem.
I’m generally consumed with antagonizing self-doubt, so much so that my fiancé and her parents once wrote down on a dinner napkin a promise to myself that I would one day recognize myself as talented (with a loophole that I would only do so after I’d completed a script I was proud of). They did this as proof, and they did it to make a point – believe in yourself, or you’ll never achieve anything.
But believe in yourself too much, and you’ll piss off everybody else in the process. I can be an asshole. I know this. I repeatedly kick the shit out of myself because of it. But I never want to be THAT asshole, the one who treats the world as a show written/directed/produced/acted/blessed by himself.
So fuck you, pompous dude. Get off your high horse. To everybody else it looks like you’re riding a donkey.

In the beginning, there was this...

I’ve toyed with the idea of starting a blog for the last few years. Actually, there’s an aborted three-entry fetus or two sneaking around the internet that you can only find through creative google searches or email-hacking espionage. I did it because a friend was doing it. I did it because I need to write more. I did it because for a brief minute I thought I had something important to say to the world, only to the next minute be humiliated by such a thought. Thus, in a fit of self hatred (compounded by an ongoing battle with laziness), the blogging would cease.
At some point since I’ve started at my “new media” obsessed job in “new media” obsessed Hollywood, I realized something – every douche, jerkoff, all-star, genius, sex maniac, movie geek, sport nut and their uncle has a blog these days, and most of them are better off for at least this one, critical reason – in this insanely over-caffeinated world where uber-info is at our fingertips (and where we’re pissed at how INCONVENIENCED we are when it isn’t), we’re almost DEFINED by who we are online. Facebook pages, Amazon accounts, podcasts, blogs whether whiney or witty – all of it presents to the world who we are. We do it for the reasons listed above, sure, but we also do it because if we don’t, someone else will.
Two months ago I started this job. Because I’m in a good, generally communicative relationship, I tell my fiancé about this guy I work with. A few days later, when she’s bored at work, she finds his blog. “That’s awkward,” he says when I relay the news. It is, but it isn’t. She could have found a picture of him in 8th grade glee club. THAT would be awkward. Instead, we found an insightful blog and both respect and better understand a guy I otherwise would have thought of (and thus, to some degree defined) as “gleeclub dude.”
Of course, we could have hated his blog. But that’s the chance you take, I guess. And isn’t it better knowing?
Anyway, it’s when reading an entry in this coworker’s blog (that in turn cited a posting from Seth Godin’s blog) that I decided to “define myself.” Kind of. Sort of. In a world where it may or not matter. For you to read or not read. For you to judge or not judge.
Like all writing, the best blogs have a theme. Tucker Max is an asshole. The Sports Guy is a sport guy. I don’t have a theme yet, so I’ll just write random things that define me (that is the point, right?) until a theme pops up. For now, I’ll say this:
I never really had nicknames growing up. My name was always sort of a nickname in itself. At some point last fall, a buddy of mine (heretofore known as HAVOC) decided I needed a REAL nickname. He tried on (and continues to try) a series of titles and expletives, a few of which stuck (Bheeler is a favorite…shouldn’t take much for you to figure that one out). The one I’m rambling towards derives from my initials – “Weapon of Mass Consumption.”
I think the inspiration for this first came from how bitchy and single-minded I sometimes get when I need food (disturbingly, this makes me a lot like my house cat), but I actually think it’s a pretty appropriate point for this blog. I’m a consumer, in the most American sense of the word. I consume movies, music, TV, pop culture. I consume horrible energy drinks, two tons of pizza every year and various alcoholic beverages that may or may not be worse for me than either of the first two. I consume friendships and relationships like life-sustaining meds (though I’m not a big fan of real meds). I consume hate, anger, love and affection and to that extent have earned a reputation as “emo.”
I consume time. I consume life. So I’ll write about it.
For now, that will have to do.