Happy New Year to everyone.
2008 is the year shit's gonna hit in earnest.
Be safe. Don't drive drunk like an asshole. I don't wanna lose anymore friends.
Cheers,
Mike
Friday, December 28, 2007
Shock Value
My friend JJ sent me a CD. It's a compilation of the demos we recorded when we were playing together in a band called Shock Value.
Good ol' JJ. If you're out there buddy, here's a big "thanks man" from me to you. Just in time for the holidays and everything.
Hearing these songs after a lotta years, I can't honestly say we were a great band or anything... it's pretty apparent why the whole rock star thing never happened for that group.
But there's also some cool stuff, too. With the music and songwriting, we were trying to do something a bit more ambitious than a lotta other bands gigging around at the time who were just playing Pearl Jam covers. Fuck those guys... even if we did cover Pearl Jam once or twice.
The recording is hissy and scratchy. We were probably the last generation of bands recording shit on analog. We were also probably from the last generation of bands ever to try to get our shit out there without a web presence, and songs cut on a Mac with Garage Band.
Do bands still pass out flyers? I'm not talking about label street teams, I'm talking bands. I've passed out flyers.
This CD -- what it lacks in musicality and recording quality, it more than makes up in memories. I vividly recall cutting all of these tracks, and playing them a bajllion times in front of empty rooms. Every once in a while we'd get in front of good-sized crowd and the shit would just ignite. It didn't happen much -- just often enough to keep me chasing that dragon for years.
When I came out to H'wood to make the film career happen, I made the conscious decision to leave music behind. I couldn't split my efforts. It was 100% or nothin', either music or film. And it's working out. I think mostly because I'm a better writer and producer than I ever was a bass player. :-P
Still, though... a part of me never left music behind. It's strange that NOW, at THIS stage in my life, I'm working as a music supervisor on a feature. You can take the dude off the stage, but you can't take the... that doesn't really make sense, forget it.
Come the day I have some disposable income, I'll probably pull together a basement set-up, record shit and stick it on the internets a la Liam Lynch and MC Lars.
Ultimately, the music thing paved the way for what I'm doing now. Most important, I spent years getting together with a bunch of people to create a single piece of work -- in this case, a song. Collaborative art for the sake of commerce. And film is that as well, just on a much bigger scale.
Which is why I totally understood from day one getting and applying notes to scripts, getting ideas from everyone, being one piece of the equation. When I started out working as a PA and grip, it was no big deal to haul around, set-up and breakdown equipment. It's what we did for every show.
Sometimes I run into writers and directors who get huffy about taking notes, or even listening to other ideas. They have the auteur thing in mind, where they imagine themselves going into a little room and spinning gold like Rumplestiltzkin and it's the job of everyone else in the world to fall down in worship of the genius and that's it.
Fuck those morons, it's obvious they never played in a band.
If music did anything for me, I learned how to take a dream and turn it into a goal. For most people, going to Hollywood and trying to start a career in the entertainment industry is this airy-fairy dream. Sometimes people come out and give it a shot, and run right back home. This is because they're still in dream land. They're disappointed when they get off the plane and someone isn't standing there with a Rich and Famous contract for them to sign.
Please.
The difference, of course, is goals involve work. Long hours of unending toil. Running up the side of that hill again and again and again and again and a-fucking-gain.
On a side note, I'm totally all about Guitar Hero and Rock Band as party games. But, at the same time, I wonder how many fewer people we'll have in the world who pick up a real instrument and learn how to play. Are high scores on these games a replacement for playing guitar? Or a gateway?
Not to say I was ever a bass maestro. But I honestly feel that, for all the bullshit and heartache that went along with it, my life is better overall for having played in bands. While a lot of other people just fucked around, I was going to band practice, playing shows and hustling CDs.
These days, I'm going to development meetings, giving pitches and hustling scripts. Different court, same game.
Good times.
Good ol' JJ. If you're out there buddy, here's a big "thanks man" from me to you. Just in time for the holidays and everything.
Hearing these songs after a lotta years, I can't honestly say we were a great band or anything... it's pretty apparent why the whole rock star thing never happened for that group.
But there's also some cool stuff, too. With the music and songwriting, we were trying to do something a bit more ambitious than a lotta other bands gigging around at the time who were just playing Pearl Jam covers. Fuck those guys... even if we did cover Pearl Jam once or twice.
The recording is hissy and scratchy. We were probably the last generation of bands recording shit on analog. We were also probably from the last generation of bands ever to try to get our shit out there without a web presence, and songs cut on a Mac with Garage Band.
Do bands still pass out flyers? I'm not talking about label street teams, I'm talking bands. I've passed out flyers.
This CD -- what it lacks in musicality and recording quality, it more than makes up in memories. I vividly recall cutting all of these tracks, and playing them a bajllion times in front of empty rooms. Every once in a while we'd get in front of good-sized crowd and the shit would just ignite. It didn't happen much -- just often enough to keep me chasing that dragon for years.
When I came out to H'wood to make the film career happen, I made the conscious decision to leave music behind. I couldn't split my efforts. It was 100% or nothin', either music or film. And it's working out. I think mostly because I'm a better writer and producer than I ever was a bass player. :-P
Still, though... a part of me never left music behind. It's strange that NOW, at THIS stage in my life, I'm working as a music supervisor on a feature. You can take the dude off the stage, but you can't take the... that doesn't really make sense, forget it.
Come the day I have some disposable income, I'll probably pull together a basement set-up, record shit and stick it on the internets a la Liam Lynch and MC Lars.
Ultimately, the music thing paved the way for what I'm doing now. Most important, I spent years getting together with a bunch of people to create a single piece of work -- in this case, a song. Collaborative art for the sake of commerce. And film is that as well, just on a much bigger scale.
Which is why I totally understood from day one getting and applying notes to scripts, getting ideas from everyone, being one piece of the equation. When I started out working as a PA and grip, it was no big deal to haul around, set-up and breakdown equipment. It's what we did for every show.
Sometimes I run into writers and directors who get huffy about taking notes, or even listening to other ideas. They have the auteur thing in mind, where they imagine themselves going into a little room and spinning gold like Rumplestiltzkin and it's the job of everyone else in the world to fall down in worship of the genius and that's it.
Fuck those morons, it's obvious they never played in a band.
If music did anything for me, I learned how to take a dream and turn it into a goal. For most people, going to Hollywood and trying to start a career in the entertainment industry is this airy-fairy dream. Sometimes people come out and give it a shot, and run right back home. This is because they're still in dream land. They're disappointed when they get off the plane and someone isn't standing there with a Rich and Famous contract for them to sign.
Please.
The difference, of course, is goals involve work. Long hours of unending toil. Running up the side of that hill again and again and again and again and a-fucking-gain.
On a side note, I'm totally all about Guitar Hero and Rock Band as party games. But, at the same time, I wonder how many fewer people we'll have in the world who pick up a real instrument and learn how to play. Are high scores on these games a replacement for playing guitar? Or a gateway?
Not to say I was ever a bass maestro. But I honestly feel that, for all the bullshit and heartache that went along with it, my life is better overall for having played in bands. While a lot of other people just fucked around, I was going to band practice, playing shows and hustling CDs.
These days, I'm going to development meetings, giving pitches and hustling scripts. Different court, same game.
Good times.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Query of the Day
My favorite part is the PS.
"Dear Mr. Agent.
Perhaps you would like to take a look at my recently completed
Screenplay called [title removed to protect the innocent].
It's a crime story -a young gangster joins the military to avoid jail time. After his
service he seek the truth through the priesthood, when his protégé get murdered by
The mafia' He forced against his will to return to the world of violence.
In addition to this screenplay, I've written another completed romantic
Comedy Screenplay.
If you are interested in reading [title removed to protect the innocent], contact me at the
Above e-mail\phone number and I'd be happy to forward you a copy.
p.s. let me show you what I worth."
"Dear Mr. Agent.
Perhaps you would like to take a look at my recently completed
Screenplay called [title removed to protect the innocent].
It's a crime story -a young gangster joins the military to avoid jail time. After his
service he seek the truth through the priesthood, when his protégé get murdered by
The mafia' He forced against his will to return to the world of violence.
In addition to this screenplay, I've written another completed romantic
Comedy Screenplay.
If you are interested in reading [title removed to protect the innocent], contact me at the
Above e-mail\phone number and I'd be happy to forward you a copy.
p.s. let me show you what I worth."
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Fun With Kidney Stones
I was heading into work Wednesday morning when I got a little twinge in my left side. I ignored it and kept going.
By the time I got to the office, the twinge had settled in to stay. It very swiftly amped up from "twinge" to "discomfort," and from "discomfort" to "pain." I drank a water and tried to walk it off. No dice. It got worse.
I called Chi-Li and said I was leaving, I had to get to a doctor or a hospital or something. She offered to drive me. Five minutes later, we're on our way to Ceder-Sinai, which is just a few blocks from the office.
I get to the ER and sign in. The pain crosses the threshold between "ouch" and "holy-fucking-shit." It feels like someone snapped an alligator clamp on the left side of my guts and started pulling. Damn, it hurt.
A nurse takes my temp and my blood pressure. They tell me to hang out until I'm called.
The waiting room is full of people just sitting and quietly hanging around. I'm the only person there in obvious distress. To their credit, the nurses keep the line moving. But this pain is getting out of control. They call this old man. "What's the matter, Mr. Johnson?" "Oh, I guess I feel a bit dizzy."
"A bit dizzy?!" Motherfucker! I run up to the nurses and yell, "I'm in some real trouble here!" They were about to admit this woman. They put her on hold and rushed me in. As Hagakure tells us, a lot of situations can be handled by just yelling at people.
"Will you be okay on a gurney in the hall?" I didn't care. Anything that got an IV in my arm. I yank off my shirt and they stick a needle in me. A doctor comes up. I give him the low-down.
"Sounds like a kidney stone."
Here's the thumbnail on kidney stones: your kidneys form these little stones made of calcium and acids and evil. They're so small that you piss them out without ever noticing. Sometimes, one gets big enough to give you hard time on its way out. Even then, you usually don't find out it's there until it has to turn a corner half-way down the tube. It bumps around and inflicts agony. Hence, what I had.
They ask me where the pain is, on a scale of 1-10. I was tempted to say, "ten." But this kid down the hall was screaming like he was getting vivisected. I felt weak in comparison, so I said, "seven."
They gave me a drug. The nurse came back. "Where's the pain?"
"Five."
Better, but I was still lying on this gurney, gritting my teeth and rolling around in pain. It fucking SUCKED.
They gave me more of the same. The doctor came back and asked the same question. I told him: "three." He asked if I wanted him to knock the pain out completely. I didn't bother telling him that was what I was hoping for in the first place.
He stuck some morphine in me. The pain went away. Everything was good. Until it ran out. The second that drip stopped, the pain screamed right back to a "five." I waved my arms.
They gave me more morphine. The doctor gave me an ultrasound. He wanted to look at my guts and make sure it was a kidney stone, and not something more serious. He muttered: "Your aorta's where it should be."
"That's always a plus." Him: "Yeah, a BIG plus."
This security guard kept wandering over and making sure I was cool. Did I need anything? Did I have enough drugs? Friendly guy, sure... but he wasn't asking anybody else.
He comes by and asks what I do.
"I've got a kidney stone."
"Nah, man, not what you have," he said, "what you do."
"I work in the film industry."
Mystery solved: I was wearing black shoes and dark blue slacks, so he thought I was a cop or an EMT. Even after he found out I wasn't part of the gang, he was cool. He told the nurse I was going to make him "the next Tom Cruise."
He asked if I wanted to switch for a while, with him lying on the gurney full of drugs, and me in the uniform watching the patients. I didn't tell him that I'd recently played a prison guard in a feature because I fit the uniform, and the director thought I look like a Nazi.
The nurse gave me two tabs of Percocet. Man, that stuff was the shit. Warm and fuzzy, feeling no pain. Why didn't I get that in the first place?
They kept me around on painkillers for a while, to see if the stone would pass. Of the many things I expected to do with my day when I woke up Wednesday morning, sitting around a hospital for six hours waiting for a little rock to shoot out of my dick wasn't one of them.
I asked the doctor if there was a pill or something I could take that would kill the stone. He said the only real cure was drinking lots of fluids, taking painkillers and time. The nurse gleefully told me patients frequently said it was the worst pain they'd ever felt. "It's like the child-birthing process for men," she said. The doctor said, "I've heard it feels like a razor blade when it comes out." Merry Christmas.
After it was obvious the stone wasn't coming out right away, they discharged me. Chi-li came and picked me up. They told me to ask her to drive slowly and carefully. The ER was filling up with car accident cases. It was raining in LA. For a city that deals with major disasters like forest fires and earthquakes, Los Angeles is a complete pushover when it comes to standard weather. They're so used to year-round sunshine that even a drizzle gets the reporters on the news for a "Storm Watch." No one knows how to drive in it. When I went to Best Buy to get some gift cards, I saw two car accidents in five minutes.
While I was sitting on the gurney in the hospital, I saw a British couple come in. The woman kept asking if she was in Los Angeles. She got banged on the head, had a cut over her eyebrow. They had been in a cab that hydroplaned through a red light and got broad-sided by a truck. Luckily, I watched them both walk outta there a bit later.
It was interesting to just sit around and watch the rhythms of the hospital: nurses leaving and coming onto shifts, the non-stop flow of patients, the cop who came by to get a report from the truck driver and cabbie, etc. The staff was fantastic, very friendly and professional. Dr. Sam Torbati took care of me. He was great. Gold star for Dr. Sam.
I got discharged. Chi-li dropped my off at the CVS by my place. I scored the generic version of Percocet. Total cost: eight bucks.
I went home and ate more drugs. I slept in two-hour increments. It was terrible. Ken called me the next morning and told me not to come in... I was laid up, and the town was dead because of the holidays and strike.
I went to Ralphs and bought a ton of lemons. I heard the citric acid dissolves the kidney stone, either killing it completely or at least making it easier to pass.
I hung around all day, drinking water with lemon juice in it, ate drugs, slept and fucking suffered.
Here is a public message to my kidney stone: FUCK YOU, KIDNEY STONE. FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU.
Yesterday, I got on a plane and came to AZ to hang with my fam for Christmas. I felt like total shit by the time I got to my parents' house. But I ate more drugs, crashed out... and woke up today feeling great.
I don't know if the kidney stone passed or not. It feels like it's gone, but I don't wanna jinx it. I've got a bit of a twinge back there right now. But is that just because my kidney's been through the wringer? Or is it still complaining about the unwanted guest? We'll see.
Take my very sincere advice, and don't get a kidney stone.
By the time I got to the office, the twinge had settled in to stay. It very swiftly amped up from "twinge" to "discomfort," and from "discomfort" to "pain." I drank a water and tried to walk it off. No dice. It got worse.
I called Chi-Li and said I was leaving, I had to get to a doctor or a hospital or something. She offered to drive me. Five minutes later, we're on our way to Ceder-Sinai, which is just a few blocks from the office.
I get to the ER and sign in. The pain crosses the threshold between "ouch" and "holy-fucking-shit." It feels like someone snapped an alligator clamp on the left side of my guts and started pulling. Damn, it hurt.
A nurse takes my temp and my blood pressure. They tell me to hang out until I'm called.
The waiting room is full of people just sitting and quietly hanging around. I'm the only person there in obvious distress. To their credit, the nurses keep the line moving. But this pain is getting out of control. They call this old man. "What's the matter, Mr. Johnson?" "Oh, I guess I feel a bit dizzy."
"A bit dizzy?!" Motherfucker! I run up to the nurses and yell, "I'm in some real trouble here!" They were about to admit this woman. They put her on hold and rushed me in. As Hagakure tells us, a lot of situations can be handled by just yelling at people.
"Will you be okay on a gurney in the hall?" I didn't care. Anything that got an IV in my arm. I yank off my shirt and they stick a needle in me. A doctor comes up. I give him the low-down.
"Sounds like a kidney stone."
Here's the thumbnail on kidney stones: your kidneys form these little stones made of calcium and acids and evil. They're so small that you piss them out without ever noticing. Sometimes, one gets big enough to give you hard time on its way out. Even then, you usually don't find out it's there until it has to turn a corner half-way down the tube. It bumps around and inflicts agony. Hence, what I had.
They ask me where the pain is, on a scale of 1-10. I was tempted to say, "ten." But this kid down the hall was screaming like he was getting vivisected. I felt weak in comparison, so I said, "seven."
They gave me a drug. The nurse came back. "Where's the pain?"
"Five."
Better, but I was still lying on this gurney, gritting my teeth and rolling around in pain. It fucking SUCKED.
They gave me more of the same. The doctor came back and asked the same question. I told him: "three." He asked if I wanted him to knock the pain out completely. I didn't bother telling him that was what I was hoping for in the first place.
He stuck some morphine in me. The pain went away. Everything was good. Until it ran out. The second that drip stopped, the pain screamed right back to a "five." I waved my arms.
They gave me more morphine. The doctor gave me an ultrasound. He wanted to look at my guts and make sure it was a kidney stone, and not something more serious. He muttered: "Your aorta's where it should be."
"That's always a plus." Him: "Yeah, a BIG plus."
This security guard kept wandering over and making sure I was cool. Did I need anything? Did I have enough drugs? Friendly guy, sure... but he wasn't asking anybody else.
He comes by and asks what I do.
"I've got a kidney stone."
"Nah, man, not what you have," he said, "what you do."
"I work in the film industry."
Mystery solved: I was wearing black shoes and dark blue slacks, so he thought I was a cop or an EMT. Even after he found out I wasn't part of the gang, he was cool. He told the nurse I was going to make him "the next Tom Cruise."
He asked if I wanted to switch for a while, with him lying on the gurney full of drugs, and me in the uniform watching the patients. I didn't tell him that I'd recently played a prison guard in a feature because I fit the uniform, and the director thought I look like a Nazi.
The nurse gave me two tabs of Percocet. Man, that stuff was the shit. Warm and fuzzy, feeling no pain. Why didn't I get that in the first place?
They kept me around on painkillers for a while, to see if the stone would pass. Of the many things I expected to do with my day when I woke up Wednesday morning, sitting around a hospital for six hours waiting for a little rock to shoot out of my dick wasn't one of them.
I asked the doctor if there was a pill or something I could take that would kill the stone. He said the only real cure was drinking lots of fluids, taking painkillers and time. The nurse gleefully told me patients frequently said it was the worst pain they'd ever felt. "It's like the child-birthing process for men," she said. The doctor said, "I've heard it feels like a razor blade when it comes out." Merry Christmas.
After it was obvious the stone wasn't coming out right away, they discharged me. Chi-li came and picked me up. They told me to ask her to drive slowly and carefully. The ER was filling up with car accident cases. It was raining in LA. For a city that deals with major disasters like forest fires and earthquakes, Los Angeles is a complete pushover when it comes to standard weather. They're so used to year-round sunshine that even a drizzle gets the reporters on the news for a "Storm Watch." No one knows how to drive in it. When I went to Best Buy to get some gift cards, I saw two car accidents in five minutes.
While I was sitting on the gurney in the hospital, I saw a British couple come in. The woman kept asking if she was in Los Angeles. She got banged on the head, had a cut over her eyebrow. They had been in a cab that hydroplaned through a red light and got broad-sided by a truck. Luckily, I watched them both walk outta there a bit later.
It was interesting to just sit around and watch the rhythms of the hospital: nurses leaving and coming onto shifts, the non-stop flow of patients, the cop who came by to get a report from the truck driver and cabbie, etc. The staff was fantastic, very friendly and professional. Dr. Sam Torbati took care of me. He was great. Gold star for Dr. Sam.
I got discharged. Chi-li dropped my off at the CVS by my place. I scored the generic version of Percocet. Total cost: eight bucks.
I went home and ate more drugs. I slept in two-hour increments. It was terrible. Ken called me the next morning and told me not to come in... I was laid up, and the town was dead because of the holidays and strike.
I went to Ralphs and bought a ton of lemons. I heard the citric acid dissolves the kidney stone, either killing it completely or at least making it easier to pass.
I hung around all day, drinking water with lemon juice in it, ate drugs, slept and fucking suffered.
Here is a public message to my kidney stone: FUCK YOU, KIDNEY STONE. FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU.
Yesterday, I got on a plane and came to AZ to hang with my fam for Christmas. I felt like total shit by the time I got to my parents' house. But I ate more drugs, crashed out... and woke up today feeling great.
I don't know if the kidney stone passed or not. It feels like it's gone, but I don't wanna jinx it. I've got a bit of a twinge back there right now. But is that just because my kidney's been through the wringer? Or is it still complaining about the unwanted guest? We'll see.
Take my very sincere advice, and don't get a kidney stone.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
McDonalds
Yesterday, totally out of nowhere, I got a hankerin' for McDonalds.
I thought I hadn't eaten at McDonalds in years. Then I remembered scoring some breakfast there when I helped Krister move. But it was such a hazy memory, and it wasn't the primary burger/lunchtime meal component which is the backbone of the franchise. So when lunchtime rolled around, I headed down the street to the one on Wilshire.
I ate a Big Mac and fries. I felt like complete shit the rest of the day. After work, I ran some holiday-themed errands and went home to write. I still felt like shit.
The moral of the story is: Morgan Spurlock wasn't lyin'.
It's not like I'll never eat at McDonalds again. I'm a fucking American, after all.
But it'll probably be after a long enough time that I've forgotten about how shitty I felt all day, and get another random hankerin'. Or help somebody move, either/or, I guess.
I thought I hadn't eaten at McDonalds in years. Then I remembered scoring some breakfast there when I helped Krister move. But it was such a hazy memory, and it wasn't the primary burger/lunchtime meal component which is the backbone of the franchise. So when lunchtime rolled around, I headed down the street to the one on Wilshire.
I ate a Big Mac and fries. I felt like complete shit the rest of the day. After work, I ran some holiday-themed errands and went home to write. I still felt like shit.
The moral of the story is: Morgan Spurlock wasn't lyin'.
It's not like I'll never eat at McDonalds again. I'm a fucking American, after all.
But it'll probably be after a long enough time that I've forgotten about how shitty I felt all day, and get another random hankerin'. Or help somebody move, either/or, I guess.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Bad Guys
This is a gang of hardcore thugz, badass g's straight from lockdown.Why am I putting this up on my blog? Because I'm in the picture.
No, really, it's true. I know it's hard to pick me out.
Here's a hint... I'm the second guy from the left.
The other three gentlemen played the bad guys in HITTING THE BRICKS: Celestin Cornielle (Rocco), Enrique Almeida (Tiburon) and Luis Moncada (Rudy). Set pic by Dave Lockard.
They were fantastic, very talented and professional.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Rhiannon Meier
According to this article in Variety, and this article in today's Reporter, Rhiannon Meier died in a car accident on Saturday.
I met Rhiannon when she was working at Blue Star. She took over the development position left vacant when Lauren Kisilevsky moved to Beacon. I pitched her a couple of horror projects. Nothing took, but she was cool and friendly and the door was wide open.
I had lunch with her in May '05. She was full of energy, very smart and bubbly and ambitious. She loved movies and loved what she was doing.
She loved a novel we have, THE FLY KING. Rhiannon couldn't get it set up at Blue Star without a screenwriter and a take, but she was absolutely interested, loved the novel and wanted to see it get done. We tried a few strategies but, again, it wasn't in the cards.
She said, "I totally want to work on a project with you! We just have to find the right one!" And she meant it. So I kept hunting and developing, sending her books and scripts.
Finally, in January '06, I got my hands on a Japanese horror video game called RULE OF ROSE. It hadn't been released in the U.S. yet, so I was a bit ahead of the curve. I pitched Rhiannon on doing a feature adaptation and she flipped for it.
I tracked down an executive who worked in licensing for Sony Computer Entertainment, the publisher. She happened to be in LA for E3. It seemed karmic. We set up a meeting with the executive at Blue Star's office.
She was just as optimistic, energetic, smart and fun in person. The meeting was fantastic. After it was done, we talked about hanging out sometime.
Over the next six months, Rhiannon and I tried to get RULE OF ROSE set up at Sony. We came up dry. It was disappointing, but you can't let stuff like that get to you. We just thought it wasn't meant to be on RULE OF ROSE. We'd keep looking and developing until we found the project we'd get set up together.
Meanwhile, we kept in touch. In June '07, I noticed a mention online that Rhiannon had a new gig, over at Red Wagon. I sent her an email congratulating her. She called me the next day and we caught up. She was just as happy and excited as I'd always known her. I told her I'd keep my eyes open for something that would fit with Red Wagon.
And this past Saturday some fuck killed her.
I was pretty rocked when Bob Clark died -- again, from a drunk driver who walked away from the wreck unscathed. But at least I could find solace in the fact that he'd lived a long and full life, that he'd have a lot of wonderful movies to leave behind as his epitaph.
This... just tears me in half.
My prayers go out to her family.
I met Rhiannon when she was working at Blue Star. She took over the development position left vacant when Lauren Kisilevsky moved to Beacon. I pitched her a couple of horror projects. Nothing took, but she was cool and friendly and the door was wide open.
I had lunch with her in May '05. She was full of energy, very smart and bubbly and ambitious. She loved movies and loved what she was doing.
She loved a novel we have, THE FLY KING. Rhiannon couldn't get it set up at Blue Star without a screenwriter and a take, but she was absolutely interested, loved the novel and wanted to see it get done. We tried a few strategies but, again, it wasn't in the cards.
She said, "I totally want to work on a project with you! We just have to find the right one!" And she meant it. So I kept hunting and developing, sending her books and scripts.
Finally, in January '06, I got my hands on a Japanese horror video game called RULE OF ROSE. It hadn't been released in the U.S. yet, so I was a bit ahead of the curve. I pitched Rhiannon on doing a feature adaptation and she flipped for it.
I tracked down an executive who worked in licensing for Sony Computer Entertainment, the publisher. She happened to be in LA for E3. It seemed karmic. We set up a meeting with the executive at Blue Star's office.
She was just as optimistic, energetic, smart and fun in person. The meeting was fantastic. After it was done, we talked about hanging out sometime.
Over the next six months, Rhiannon and I tried to get RULE OF ROSE set up at Sony. We came up dry. It was disappointing, but you can't let stuff like that get to you. We just thought it wasn't meant to be on RULE OF ROSE. We'd keep looking and developing until we found the project we'd get set up together.
Meanwhile, we kept in touch. In June '07, I noticed a mention online that Rhiannon had a new gig, over at Red Wagon. I sent her an email congratulating her. She called me the next day and we caught up. She was just as happy and excited as I'd always known her. I told her I'd keep my eyes open for something that would fit with Red Wagon.
And this past Saturday some fuck killed her.
I was pretty rocked when Bob Clark died -- again, from a drunk driver who walked away from the wreck unscathed. But at least I could find solace in the fact that he'd lived a long and full life, that he'd have a lot of wonderful movies to leave behind as his epitaph.
This... just tears me in half.
My prayers go out to her family.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Query of the Day
My favorite part is the fact that this is a script about a guy who finds Atlantis... but he spells "Atlantis" wrong.
"Mysterious disappearance of several military planes in area of the Bermuda Triangle entails a circuit of improbable and stunning events. One of pilots is John Mason at the last instant avoids fatal trap of the Bermuda Triangle, but he is immersed in a coma. Skilled doctor of reanimation is Richard Graffield decides to make experiment with revealing the reasons of a coma of John Mason who has survived in a mysterious trap of Bermuda Triangle. He invites professor Hedberg who is a progressive figure and the innovator in the field of electronic sensory-scanning and feelings diagnostics. Professor Hedberg agrees on experiment and comes to hospital. But at first use of the video-navigation scanner a participants of experiment make inconceivable jump in the time and a space, they becomes witnesses of the real events which happened in the Atlantes Civilization many thousands of years back; hardly later they also get to know the full reason of catastrophe of the Atlantis. Intrigued professor Hedberg decides to finish the research which now throws light not only on the reasons of a coma of John Mason, but also gives a certain caution off possible catastrophe... Professor Hedberg and girl assistant Jane comes to Tibet, where enshrined in their opinion the secret message of Atlantes to people of the future... After some extreme situations they find out this secret and receive a key for rescue off new planetary catastrophe, which can happen, as the strategic Network already is under threat of start of a nuclear arsenal... At the last moment all gist of human existence, secret of great Atlantes, and also their fatal mistake becomes clear and simple. And people of our Civilization should correct this mistake..."
"Mysterious disappearance of several military planes in area of the Bermuda Triangle entails a circuit of improbable and stunning events. One of pilots is John Mason at the last instant avoids fatal trap of the Bermuda Triangle, but he is immersed in a coma. Skilled doctor of reanimation is Richard Graffield decides to make experiment with revealing the reasons of a coma of John Mason who has survived in a mysterious trap of Bermuda Triangle. He invites professor Hedberg who is a progressive figure and the innovator in the field of electronic sensory-scanning and feelings diagnostics. Professor Hedberg agrees on experiment and comes to hospital. But at first use of the video-navigation scanner a participants of experiment make inconceivable jump in the time and a space, they becomes witnesses of the real events which happened in the Atlantes Civilization many thousands of years back; hardly later they also get to know the full reason of catastrophe of the Atlantis. Intrigued professor Hedberg decides to finish the research which now throws light not only on the reasons of a coma of John Mason, but also gives a certain caution off possible catastrophe... Professor Hedberg and girl assistant Jane comes to Tibet, where enshrined in their opinion the secret message of Atlantes to people of the future... After some extreme situations they find out this secret and receive a key for rescue off new planetary catastrophe, which can happen, as the strategic Network already is under threat of start of a nuclear arsenal... At the last moment all gist of human existence, secret of great Atlantes, and also their fatal mistake becomes clear and simple. And people of our Civilization should correct this mistake..."
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
HAPPY NINJA DAY!!!
Today is Ninja Day.
The Ninja from Ask a Ninja is having a live event.
Unfortunately, I shall not be in attendance.
I have a meeting tonight with a finance company I've been trying to crack for a couple of years, can't miss the opportunity.
But please, everyone enjoy Ninja Day.
Hopefully, I'll be able to do it up next year.
The Ninja from Ask a Ninja is having a live event.
Unfortunately, I shall not be in attendance.
I have a meeting tonight with a finance company I've been trying to crack for a couple of years, can't miss the opportunity.
But please, everyone enjoy Ninja Day.
Hopefully, I'll be able to do it up next year.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Query of the Day
My favorite line: "Will he stay sober enough to complete the task..."
I also like how the spelling of the main protagonist's name changes.
"Sawyer Barlet Drunk chavanist/racist Head of History Department and on the verge of divorce, discovers who he was in his previous lives.
Genre: Thriller/Horror
Location New York.Germany and Salem
Sawyer Barlett discovers that he is the Guardian of the Blue Crystal. It opens the door to his five previous lives.His x Girl friend discovers she must accompany Sawyer on these journeys as his Guardian. He must defeat the devil in each of his previous lives or the world is doomed. Will he stay sober enough to complete the task and does he have the strength to win."
I also like how the spelling of the main protagonist's name changes.
"Sawyer Barlet Drunk chavanist/racist Head of History Department and on the verge of divorce, discovers who he was in his previous lives.
Genre: Thriller/Horror
Location New York.Germany and Salem
Sawyer Barlett discovers that he is the Guardian of the Blue Crystal. It opens the door to his five previous lives.His x Girl friend discovers she must accompany Sawyer on these journeys as his Guardian. He must defeat the devil in each of his previous lives or the world is doomed. Will he stay sober enough to complete the task and does he have the strength to win."
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