Monday, December 20, 2010

PIPLOWSKI on the Hit List!

I know this happened last week, but I realized I'd posted about it on facebook but not here... Samurai MK Alex Drummond's action/comedy script YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, PIPLOWSKI made it to #9 on the 2010 Hit List.

It bears mentioning that PIPLOWSKI was the first script I took wide under Samurai, working for my own company. We got a lot of attention on the project, so I'm not surprised to find people still talking about it months later. I deeply believe in this project; I know it's a movie.

Now let's rock 2011...

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Stir Crazy

I am a restless dude by nature. That doesn't mean I'm always moving around or anything. But, unless I'm writing, sleeping or watching a movie, I am almost never home. Work and meetings keep me out of the lair most of the time. Even if I'm just reading scripts or working on notes, though, I'll typically hit a coffee shop. Over the past year, my daily migrations have become defined by wi-fi connections. Since I live in Los Angeles, they are plentiful.

I once had a conversation with a friend in which he described how awesome it would be to have a big house in the middle of nowhere, with a great kitchen, and a kick-ass rec room with a giant TV and shit. I told him all of that sounded cool, but I'd much rather have a smaller place that's within walking distance of restaurants and theaters. I need to get out, do new stuff, and not sit around staring at the same walls.

This accident I was in gave me a severe ankle sprain, though. I can't ride. Shit, I can't walk without crutches. I'm getting better; the recovery is continuing apace. Everything I have heard and read, though, warns against getting impatient and rushing to get off the crutches. The only true cure for a sprain is rest and time. If you deny yourself either, you'll just fuck it right back up, ironically lengthening the recovery time. Since I want to get back into action as soon as possible, I'm heeding these warnings.

That said, I have been forced for the first time in a very, very long time to stick close to home. Luckily, I have my own business, and the work of that business is primarily done with a laptop, an internet connection and the phone. Thus: not only is my work unaffected, I'm actually getting even more done than usual. The inability to wander around LA has increased my personal productivity on all fronts.

Which is all well and good, but it's a situation that is antithetical to my nature.

By week three, I was REALLY going nuts. This past week, however, I feel as if I've turned the corner in terms of the mental game. Every day, I read HAGAKURE, and I have been focusing on that samurai discipline to help get my mind off what I don't have -- the ability to go out -- and acclimate to what I do have, which is a golden opportunity to get shit done without distraction.

Sure, I miss the gym. But I'm doing so many push-ups that I'm getting a definition I didn't have before. No, I can't write at hipster coffee houses, but in the past thirty days, I've finished a polish draft of one script, done a page-one rewrite on a second and gotten close to wrapping the first draft of a third... All while hustling and developing Samurai MK projects all day.

My point is: sometimes life throws you into a situation that seems like a pain in the ass. But if you stop crying about it and just adjust to the new normal, you'll likely find benefits you would never have otherwise noticed. Not to say I have no longer have any interest in my motorcycle, my gym and coffee shops, but if it takes another month before I'm walking again, I'll be okay.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Michael Michael, Motorcycle...

The short version: I got into a motorcycle accident.

The slightly longer version: Two weeks ago, I hung out with a friend of mine in Culver City. I parked in the garage next to Trader Joe's. When it was time to leave, I got on the motorcycle and started down the levels. Normal stuff.

On maybe the third level, I took the corner about ten percent too tight, and ten percent too fast. The bike angled a bit. I stuck out my foot to correct myself. This isn't a big deal, especially at low speeds. But this time, my boot folded out from under me, and the bike went down.

I stood up and quickly realized that my right foot was sticking out at a ninety-degree angle from my body. I hopped over to the wall and kicked it back into place. Balancing on one leg, I brought the bike back up. I still thought I could ride it out of there; the right foot controls the rear brakes, which are nice to have, but only control about thirty percent of your total stopping power. While nice to have, they aren't absolutely necessary. 

I was able to ride down to the first floor. As I slowed, by instinct, I touched the floor with my right foot. It flopped around, completely unmoored from my leg. Uh-oh.

I stopped and called my friend. Luckily, he was able to come back and help me out.

It's a bad sprain. There is no pain, and not that much swelling. I can move everything. But it's going to take a while before I can stand on it, much less walk. Meanwhile, I'm in a boot/splint thing and jumping around on crutches. 

This certainly won't keep me from riding -- I love it too much to ever stop. But I also realize in many ways I was very lucky. I didn't break my leg. I didn't wreck my bike. And I'm glad I had my first real accident since starting to ride with a light bike like my Honda Rebel, as opposed to a big Harley or something. I only have to get bitten by the dog once. That's not to say I was getting cocky and hot-dogging around on it, but when I climb back into the saddle it will be with even greater caution, and respect for the inherent risks. 

Meanwhile, thanks to my lack of mobility, I'm getting that much more work and writing done. Silver linings and all of that...

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Happy Birthday!

I've been so busy, I forgot to notice that yesterday, 10/16, is the one-year anniversary of leaving my gig to start Samurai MK. So far, so good... Happy birthday!

Thursday, September 30, 2010

The Old "Spider in the Laundry" Trick, Eh?

It's been so hot lately that I've already run through my entire stock of clean short-sleeved shirts. Rather than suffering through today in a long-sleeve, I got up early this morning to do some laundry.

As I was throwing clothes into the washing machine, a medium-sized spider bumbled out from deep in the laundry. I was not pleased by this. I had heard from other people that spiders like laundry, but this is the first time I had ever witnessed it.

The bad thing about having a spider in the laundry is... well, hell, spider in the laundry. Lucky I didn't go the lazy route and just dig something out to re-wear, huh? Gross AND creepy-crawly.

The good thing about having a spider in the laundry is I was able to wrap a shirt around my fist like an impromptu boxing glove and literally beat the shit out of the spider until it was dead. I have killed many spiders in many ways over the years, but until now I have never been in a situation in which it was feasible to end its life by serving up a banquet of knuckle sandwiches. The experience was just as magical as I ever hoped it would be. (Though if my landlord ever reviews the video from the basement security camera, he might wonder why I suddenly get into a fist fight with my clothes). Good times.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Spiders (CONT'D)

I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I glanced over and saw a spider had built a web between the bottom edge of the shower towel hanging on its hook and the floor.

It wasn't a significant spider... probably just a cellar spider, the kind that sometimes plague my apartment in droves. Nevertheless, this would not stand, man.

I rolled up a little wad of toilet paper to use as a combination smashing/disposal device, poised over him, made ready to crush the spider against the wall...

...and it ran up to hide in the folds of the towel.

DAMMIT.

I wasn't going to dry myself with a bespidered towel. Nor was I going to throw it in the laundry basket, free to run amok in my closet. No, suddenly this was a SITUATION, and I had to deal with it.

I shook the towel, hoping it would fall out. It didn't. I shook it harder. No spider. I took the towel off the hook and spread it on the floor. Caught in the open, I'd easily be able to spot it, right? Nope... the spider was yellow, the towel a light green, and it was nowhere to be seen. I flipped the towel over. Same deal.

I couldn't full-on slap the towel against the floor, because then the spider could go flying into the apartment proper, and that just wouldn't do. (Besides, I needed to see a body... If it could hide in plain sight, until a corpse was delivered I would never 100% believe it wasn't in the towel, and chaos would ensue). So I instead engaged in a maneuver I'd like to call "aggressive flipping," roughly turning the towel over and over, hoping to shake it out without sending it airborne. Nada.

Sometimes, the way to solve a problem isn't to just keep blindly attacking it. You have to step back, get perspective. I hung the towel back up on the hook, left the room and checked my email.

I went back into the bathroom, hoping that with a fresh set of eyes I'd see the spider. I didn't.

But then I gave the towel the most gentle of shakes, and the spider dropped on a line down to the floor and took off at a full sprint... for my shower!

Caught in the open, it had no chance against my fury. Let's just say that, somewhere in the world, there are weeping spider parents.

I'm a little baffled by the spider's tactics. Why didn't it flee during the other phases of my operation? Perhaps aggressive flipping made it just cling harder to its position, refusing to come out. But when I nudged the towel, it thought, "Please God, I can't handle another round of aggressive flipping," and made a run for it. Who can tell the minds of arachnids? Not I.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

On Perception

I haven't written anything here in a while because I've been busy as hell. But something's been on my mind, and I think I can keep this short...

It's impossible to describe how much I love riding a motorcycle. I'm able to transport myself from one place to the other, but everything I've always hated about driving has been removed from the experience. In exchange for freedom, there is an increased chance of getting killed. But while everyone dies, few people are free, so it's a trade-off I gladly make.

Now that I'm not in a car, I've observed a few things about drivers who are. For example, I've noticed how long it takes people to notice a green light. I used to count: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand... It typically takes about three full seconds before the cars start moving forward. I've gotten up to five, and once -- seven. (I won't count the guy on Hollywood Blvd. who NEVER noticed the green light, as I feel the pot smoke billowing out of the windows was a mitigating factor).

This weird beat drivers take to notice a green light is the primary reason why I lane split through stopped traffic to get up to the line. But sometimes the other vehicles are too close together, so I have to sit and wait for the herd to move.

My theory is, when the light turns red, everyone in cars finds something to keep themselves occupied, and they get so wrapped up in whatever they're doing that only half of one eye is on the light in front of them. This is understandable. When I lived in Des Plaines, IL. I never knew when a quick run to the store would turn into watching a train go by for twenty minutes, so I kept books and magazines in my car. I get it.

Whereas on the bike, there is no stereo to play with, no texts to send, no calls to make. There is only the road, and it's that focus on the road that keeps me alive.

Which got me to thinking about perception. In one of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, Watson comes right out and asks Holmes how he got so intelligent. (It might even be the very first one...) Holmes explains that he actually isn't smarter than anyone else; he just puts effort into noticing the world around him.

To paraphrase, he says to Watson... "You walk up the same flight of stairs every day to get to your apartment. How many steps are there?" Watson can't answer. Sure, he's been going up that same flight for years, but when he's actually climbing the steps, his brain goes into autopilot and his mind drifts elsewhere. Watson isn't thinking, "One step, two step, three step, four step..." He's thinking about a patient or a case or bills or whatever.

Sherlock also says that he doesn't fill his mind with information he doesn't need. He sees thoughts and memories as tools, and doesn't want to have to sift through clutter to find them. For example, he says he doesn't want to know how many planets there are in the solar system, unless it affects a case.

That's a little extreme, but Sherlock's an extreme dude. He spends his free time walking the streets of pre-GPS/Google Earth London, memorizing the stores, the intersections, the distances. London is as sharp in his mind as it is in reality. It's a tool he wants in his brain.

I think the same thing applies to the green light. Riders aren't quicker off the line when the light turns because sitting on a two-wheeled vehicle turns you into a brilliant genius. It's only because, in the absence of the "living room" aspects inherent to a car or truck, perception is forced to be completely focused on the road.

I've found similar analogies since starting my own management/production company. When you're the name on the door, there is no longer any such thing as showing up at a certain time, punching a clock, doing your thing, and leaving. The work day becomes active, rather than passive. While the hours are longer, I have more freedom in deciding how to spend them. For example, if I'm unable to get to the gym until the middle of the day, I can still go and sneak in a workout, since I'm not tied to a desk. On the other hand, I'm typically reading scripts during times when nine-to-fivers have been able to shut down for the day.

I'm okay with that. The periods I've been unhappiest in life were consistently when I felt like I was in a rut, that there was no forward motion, nothing was changing. When one day seems the same as the one before it, I become depressed. I start to wonder if this is what being a ghost is like, just hanging around, having nothing to do with the world. Ennui makes me miserable.

The opposite is true when my perception is focused on the road in all areas. I know where I'm going, I know how to get there. I'll hit a few curves and red lights along the way, but that's the nature of the road. In fact, the obstacles are gifts, because they exist to keep you on your toes, and reward you for keeping your eyes and mind open. If traveling was always just going in a straight line at the same speed until you arrived, it would be easy to go into autopilot, which isn't what's wanted.

I'm actively involved in the journey, and the only person who's going to make sure I arrive -- and don't get killed along the way -- is me. And it bears mentioning that the place I'm going is AWESOME.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

I Lost My Father

He passed away early this morning. He stopped breathing, and the staff wasn't able to revive him.

I'm running out to Arizona this afternoon to help my mom through this. Ironically, once again, I was going there, anyway... though this time to finally bring him home from the care facility. Unfortunately, he didn't get to make that trip.

I'll probably be back in LA sometime next week.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Frazetta Has Passed

The greatest artist alive in my time is gone. 
May he find monsters to slay and women to woo in the afterlife.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Update

Holy shit, have I been busy.... busy enough that I haven't really had a chance to throw something up for a while. My apologies.

I was running back and forth to Arizona for a while, spending time with family. It cut into my work to a degree, but not as much as I thought... I've found I can be pretty productive in hospital rooms and airport gates. Besides... It doesn't matter how hard you work if your goals are empty. If you're not doing it out of a solid place grounded by love, what good are your efforts? So you can buy shit and look cool? Whatever.

On the Samurai MK side, I'm still working THE COOLKIDS, BLOOD SHY, NIGHTMARE EARTH and YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, PIPLOWSKI.

MISSING is still alive, and the writers are coming into town for meetings in a couple of weeks.

I'm prepping the next round of scripts and books for the market. I got spoiled with all of the development time I was able to devote over the holidays. Developing during the sell season is a much different animal, and I found myself making turn-around estimates that would have applied in the winter, but in the spring have little to do with reality. Fine, lesson learned, and I'll just work that much smarter and harder.

Meanwhile, I wrapped the fifth rewrite of my action-thriller EXTRADITION and, after four drafts of the treatment, I finally got the green light to execute the first draft of WE ALL DIE ALONE. I'm really excited about ALONE... it's another action-thriller, this one set in the world of the Chicago political machine in 1972. The research has been a lot of fun.

Even with everything else going on, I still write an hour every night. How could I ask my writers to put in work I couldn't or wouldn't do myself?

In my slender leisure time, I finally beat MASS EFFECT 2 (awesome), read DROOD by Dan Simmons (not as good as THE TERROR, but damn does it have moments) and listening to a lot of old Slayer. I never get sick of '80s metal and punk. I know that, if there ever comes a day I don't like this music, I've become a pale reflection of my true self, a ridiculous sell-out chump staggering around a Bizarro version of life. In a very real way, my emotional reaction to REIGN IN BLOOD is the canary in the coal mine that passes for my soul.

Well, that and THE ROAD WARRIOR.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Shuffle

I'm still a big fan of the album. I think that, when it's well-crafted, and the songs are ordered in a certain way -- either by creative strategy, or by accident -- the sum of the whole is greater than the parts. 

I think the perfect example is Slayer's REIGN IN BLOOD. Taken by themselves, there are a few very strong songs, like "Angel of Death" and "Raining Blood." But, on a song-by-song basis, it's no match for something like Metallica's MASTER OF PUPPETS. 

As an album, though, I find REIGN to be the stronger of the two. It creates a mood. It creates a world that you live in while it's playing. "Raining Blood" is about on par, on a song-on-song basis, with most everything on PUPPETS. However, after I listen to the entire album, "Raining Blood" becomes something incredibly more powerful than it otherwise would be as a stand-alone song. 

This is the main reason I'm not that big on iTunes and buying singles and whatnot. I'd rather go to Amoeba and buy cheap-ass used CDs. I realize they're becoming an outmoded medium, but I still find the album to be the more interesting form.

However... just to experiment, I've been spinning tunes on "shuffle" this past week. And suddenly -- I get it. What I lose in the smooth build of musical chapters an album provides, I gain by hearing songs outside of their usual placement. I'm running into some really cool and interesting juxtapositions along the way... Slayer to Pailhead to MC Lars to Fear Factory to Ice Cube to Dragonforce to Jay-Z to Minor Threat to Tenacious D to the Bloodhound Gang to the soundtrack to ROBOCOP to AC/DC and on and on and on...

The songs and artists are different. But at the same time, I'm finding commonalities I hadn't before noticed. 

Now... I realize that, in 2010, discovering the joys of the shuffle feature is a little like finally figuring out how to use a microwave. 

I bring it up only because, at the same time I'm approaching music in this way, I'm shopping two very different spec scripts. One is an action-comedy, the other a thriller. They're both very good. There is some crossover in terms of commercial approach, but not much. 

It's interesting to approach the town from two directions and, along the way, finding out the different needs of the various companies. I get a clearer idea of where the town is at in this specific moment in time than if I'd just been shopping one or the other. 

I've found it's always valuable to appreciate things for what they are, but also to try seeing things from different angles. By inviting a fluidity of thought, the collected perceptions become a sum that is greater than the whole.  

Thursday, February 18, 2010

A Little Bit Better

I woke up this morning and ran scales on my bass. I've been doing this for about a week now, just jumping on it in my first minutes of wakefulness, and I like how it starts the day.

I'm still taking my time, progressing up the major scales, slowly getting my basic skill set back.

But today I realized that I was just playing the scales... I wasn't taking the time to understand the notes that built them. The fretting is great for bringing back muscle memory, and the work helps rebuilt hand strength and dexterity. Yet... if I don't know what I'm playing, it's just going through the motions.

I started over again, this time going slowly, saying each note out loud as I played it, finding the commonalities between the scale structures. I re-ran the scales in different ways that I'd learned while I was at SIU. There was a period of time that I was pretty strong in sight reading and understanding the building blocks of music. These days, I'm still mentally counting frets. Paying attention to the notes and taking it slow still helped, though.

I worked... and worked... and worked... and then I went to the gym.

I took yesterday off, and apparently my body used the time to rebuild itself a bit, because I was able to hit some goals I haven't been able to achieve since I'd gotten back from the holidays. Not saying I'm going to the Olympics anytime soon -- this is a very slight, incremental improvement. But shit... I'll take anything.

While I worked out, I listened to Strapping Young Lad's The New Black. I hardly heard it, though...  I spent the whole time mentally running the same scales, paying attention to the notes. I visualized the fretting, and after a half hour or so I was able to silently name the notes up and down the majors from E to C, where I stopped.

I came home and, just to try something out, I picked up my bass. And I played the fuck out of those scales.

When it comes to music, learning your scales is the most fundamental of exercises. It's the pathway to learning everything else.  But interestingly, there isn't an analogy to scales in writing. Of course, there's structure, grammar, spelling, etc. But that's a bit to the left. Those are rules, not exercises.

The closest comparison to scales I can think of is kata in martial arts. There may be something similar in other sports... would those be drills? I've never been a sports guy, so I wouldn't know.

Also... Directing? Editing? Not really, or at least none of which I'm aware. All of those are run by rules and inspiration, not exercises. For instance, there's a "grammar" to direction, but I'm not sure that going out and shooting wides, OTS and ECUs counts as the directing version of a "scale." And do improv and breathing exercises and whatnot count as the actor's version of "scales?" I don't know.

It's interesting to me that music has this unique bridge between a very physical activity - sports and martial arts - but is considered an art. Like a physical activity, it relies on muscle memory.

As Hagakure tells us, we should be better today than we were yesterday, and better tomorrow than we are today. For a long time, I only applied this concept to writing and producing. Now I'm seeing that it's possible to apply this basic concept to every area of my life.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Music is Life

After a long absence, I've gotten back into music. 

I'm not even approaching songs, yet... I'm rebuilding my skills from the ground up, playing scales a hundred time a day, woodshed stuff like that.

But let's look at my instrument, the bass. Specifically, the electric bass. Even more specifically, a Fender Jazz Bass.

There are many, many ways to interact with this thing that produces nothing but noise: smashing it, throwing it, jumping up and down on it, whatever. Even if you actively tried to make music with it, unless you developed some skills, it would still sound terrible. Noise. 

This isn't just some object. It itsn't a punch bowl or a jackhammer or a tire iron. It's a musical instrument. But the only way to find the music within this inanimate object is to handle it in a very specific way -- in this case, placing your fingers on the frets in sequence and striking the strings with your other hand -- and to do so with a degree of skill... skills which take hours and hours of effort to develop.

My point is... a bass is a bunch of pieces of wood crammed together, not unlike a piece of furniture. But it doesn't function as furniture. Its only function is to make music. And yet, that music will only come if the manner with which you interact with it is very specific in nature. 

It makes me thinks of us, as human beings. We're a collection of cells, not unlike a lamp or a rock. You say we're alive? Okay... what's the difference between us and an ape or a pig? You say it's because we have intellect and souls. But what good do those things do us if we don't use them? What if you're just a biological machine that does nothing but consume beer and make babies? 

Within each of us, we have the potential for music. But, like an instrument, we must be handled in a very specific manner. We can't be broken in half and jumped upon, and be expected to create notes. No... we have to be touched, and with some skill.

This, I believe, is the function of love.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Mike's Good Deed for the Day

So the majority of my life right now is consumed with the task of selling a spec action-comedy called YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, PIPLOWSKI, by Samurai MK client Alex Drummond.

I got up at seven am to update my submission list. I brewed coffee. I got to work. It was hectic, as these things are... but I don't mind. Taking a script wide is my very favorite thing about this job. It's the same level of energy as when I used to play in bands. It's the dragon I've been chasing for the past seven years. Win or lose, I love it. And it certainly helps to get behind a project in which I believe.

That aside, I was taking calls until about 7:30 tonight. It was fun, but I was beat. I'd been on the phone and staring at a screen all day. I needed to look at something besides pixels.

I went to the gym. But it was during prime time... There were no lockers, and the place was packed. I've gotten spoiled by the ability to go at three in the afternoon. Four months into self-employment, and I'm already a ruin.

No sweating for me, at least until tomorrow morning. I admit, it pissed me off. I've already become a gym rat, addicted to a daily infusion of naturally produced endorphins. So it was straight to the booze. Nothing crazy, just a glass of red, and home.

I walked back to the bike, and there was a dude with another Honda Rebel parked right next to mine. Same basic make, maybe a couple of years older. Anyway, the battery was dead.

He asked me, "Do you know where the fuses are?" Fuck... fuses? I don't know shit about motorcycle maintenance. I'm not that guy. I'm a total civilian when it comes to that kinda thing. Pop a hood on a car, and I'll nod and say something like, "Wow... looks you got an engine, all right."

HOWEVER - in this laser-specific situation, I was able to be of assistance. This is because, when I got back to Burbank after the nightmarish Christmas during which my dad almost died, my bike was dead, and I had the iPhone and was able to youtube up a little video on how to push-start a bike, I push-started my bike and was on my way.

Anyway, I ask this cat, "Did you try push-starting it?" He's like, "huh?" And like I'm some fuckin' expert (if your last name is "Preus" or "Ratkovich" you're probably laughing at me right now) I tell him: "Shift into second. Run your ass off about a hundred feet. Hit the starter. It'll start."

He does that... and it ALMOST starts. He does it again... and VRRROOOM!!! Again, like I know what I'm talking about - and in this specific case, kinda do via personal experience - I tell him, "Drive it around a bit to charge it and you'll be cool!"

He yells, "Thanks, man!" And he takes off.

That's Rebel riders helping Rebel riders, my friends.

But this whole thing isn't some cheesy bullshit like I'm paying it forward or masturbating my ego because, for once, I can give someone some advice in a mechanical situation and it actually works.

No... It's for the same reason I go to the gym every day. Doing that won't make you indestructible, but that daily effort will help you avoid really avoidable problems. You try to do a daily allotment of good in order to hold off the day-to-day type of bad. I think it's the same way with how you deal with the world as a whole.

Hagakure tells us there are four rules to affix in your heart before you make ANY decision. The fourth - and biggest - rule is to act with compassion.

And the thing is... I think if you just try to put some good out there when you can, it's like going to the gym... It doesn't make you bullet proof, but you're avoiding the really avoidable type of bad that's out there. Besides which: why would you want to do bad? What joy does that give you?

Shit, I'm flawed like everyone else. If you look long enough at anyone, you'll find the bad and the crazy. But that's no excuse. You should always try to be better.

Sure, you can't be a chump. There are people who take advantage. Once in Chicago (and it's weird because this is another Mike-the-mechanic story...) I hung around at B-Boy's old place watching Hong Kong action movies. I split late. It was night.

I was walking down Irving Park road, back to my car. I passed that gas station right under the Kennedy off-ramp, and some dude was there. He said his car had broken down. He said he "needed a hose." And -whaddaya know? This hose cost twenty bucks. Could I spot him twenty bucks?

I knew this guy was full of shit, so I decided to fuck with him. I told him I didn't have twenty bucks, but he was in luck... I was an ASC certified mechanic, and I'd be HAPPY to take a look at his car for him, free of charge! "Where's your car, dude? I'll help you out."

And, you guessed it, here come the excuses... "No, it's okay, man. I just need to hose." I'm like, "You sure? I don't have anything going on. I'm happy to help. Lead the way!"

He "talked me out" of helping him. What a sack of shit. If you're gonna be a con man...? Learn some new tricks, besides the same crap people have been using for decades. The other one I love is: "I've got my kids in the car, and I ran out of gas..." Yeah, blow me.

My point being: it's the real world. You have to use discretion. But discretion doesn't have to turn you into Scrooge. Lemme tell ya... when it comes to fixing motorcycles, 99.99% of the time, I am not the guy to call. But in this .01% situation? It made the black and bitter lump of coal that passes as my heart happy to help.

Ride on, noble Honda Rebel rider! Ride on!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

On Habit Forming

It was really rainy and shitty outside when I woke up this morning, even moreso than yesterday. Despite the bleak exterior, I was still able to get work done, thanks to my RoboCoffee 109 and some '80s metal.

The weather got worse. Lightning! Hail!

Now... since getting back to LA, I've been hitting the gym almost every day. I've been doing this not only as holiday bounce-back (literally and figuratively) but, thanks to my father's health issues, I've become very aware of that whole scene. I'd rather spend time in a gym now than a hospital later.

My energy typically dips in the middle of the afternoon. In the past, I'd try to make up the difference with caffeine. These days, I go to the gym, and the shot of energy sends me working late into the night. Now that I'm self-employed, I work even longer hours than ever, even including the writing. But that gym time makes it possible in a painless way.

My point is, noon came and went. The weather got even worse. Not worse by the standards of the real world, mind you, but LA-worse. Still, though... the idea of getting on the bike in a lightning storm was a little daunting. I considered skipped the gym today.

The idea filled me with a severe depression.

Then I thought... what? Huh? After only three weeks, I'm already so deep into this habit that not going to the gym is sad-making?

Apparently. And, as if the world REALLY DID revolve around me, the rain petered out, and the sun came up. I went to the gym.

But my boots and jacket were on already, anyway. Shit, I'm from Chicago. A little rain ain't gonna stop me.

Friday, January 15, 2010

You've Got Another Thing Comin'

Song lyrics are nothing but poetry in another form.

I've been catching up on '80 metal in a big way lately, and I've tripped over some songs that are actually about something real.

For example, Judas Priest's "You've Got Another Thing Comin'."

I've lived my life my this ideas contained within this song for the past seven years without knowing it. Or DID I...?

Monday, January 11, 2010

I Picked Up My Bass Again

For years, my Fender J sat in the corner collecting dust. I picked it up every once in a while, mostly just to run scales and goof around. It was an exercise in pain, for both my fingers and my ears. I'd gotten rusty. I was never exactly a virtuoso in the first place -- I think at my high point, I was what you might call "pretty good." These days? I just fucking suck.

But between starting my own business and this whole thing with my dad, I've been looking to reboot core aspects of my life, get back to roots, set aside the bullshit and just focus on what I came to LA to do: sell books and scripts, make movies and work.

That part of my mental game was coming together. But there was something missing... I couldn't put my finger on it. Until, completely at random, I picked up my bass. I ran scales again. This time, though, I wasn't just going through the motions. I worked to hit the notes, shore up my basics, actually play the music.

Tonight I ran E major one hundred times. It sounds small, and it is, but I haven't put in that kind of woodshed work on the bass since... shit, forever. I used to practice for hours every day after school. I played electric and upright in college. And now to go back and do that kind of practice again... It felt strange at first, but familiar. It was visiting the block you grew up on. It felt good.

I'm going to take it slow, just a little bit every night. I've found it's better to own one scale than to rent eight. Tomorrow I'll work up F major, the night after F#, and so on until I get to the minors. Rinse and repeat.

Though it doesn't have as direct an application as, say, journalism school, the lessons I learned in music have been endlessly applicable to writing, developing and producing. How could I spend so much time concentrating on the tree, while forgetting the roots?

For a long time, I ignored my bass, because I thought I had to devote every waking second of my life on the film career to get things going. But I've found that sometimes you have to go all the way around the world to come home, literally and figuratively.

Mr. Coffee

I got a new coffee maker from my parents for my birthday. Unfortunately, it's sat in its box the whole time since I got it about a month ago.

Until today.

I got back into town last week and, before I could go gallivanting around buying coffee, I had to nail down work-type stuff. Then on Sunday morning, I hit the Hollywood farmer's market and scored a bag of beans (the non-magical variety) from the coffee stand guys. I've been scoring cups of this coffee every weekend I go there to stock up on veggies, and I've fallen in love.

Point being, today I finally had it all: the machine, the beans, the will and the time to make this coffee happen. Long/short: it was a damn good cup o' joe. But I think it could be better if I used filtered water...

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Back in LA, and the Wonders of Technology

It was hard to leave my parents with so much still unresolved. But I've started a company, and I have a job to do. I stopped in at the acute care facility to see my dad on the way out of town. He's finally out of ICU, and he was with a physical therapist when I showed up. Still not exactly playing eighteen yet, but the arrow's pointed in the right direction.

I landed in Burbank and wandered out to the longterm lot where I'd parked my bike. It was dusty, but otherwise fine. I jumped on, flipped the ignition, and... nothing. Not even a click. It was dead.

Even when a vehicle is off, there's a slight drain on the battery. Since my bike has a smaller battery, just two weeks was all it took to kill it. And I knew all of this, but remember when I pulled into the lot two weeks ago, I was racing to AZ to see if my dad was going to live or not. I was distracted. Battery cables weren't on my mind.

I asked a shuttle driver if they could send someone out to give me a jump. He came back and said they didn't have the right cables for a motorcycle. Huh?

I knew I could call a tow truck. But then I'd be sitting there for a million years waiting for him, and I'd get raped for money I didn't want to spend on somethig that would take the driver all of ten seconds. Shit, nothing could be easy, could it?

Then I thought... Wait, isn't there a way to push start a bike? I'm not exactly Mr. Mechanic, I didn't have the first idea how.

So I pulled out my iPhone and googled "how to push start a motorcycle." This led me to an instructional video on YouTube. I sat in the bike and watched the video. It seemed really easy. I put the bike into second, ran it down the parking lot for a dozen yards or so, hit the starter and... Voilà! It started!

I shifted it into neutral, got my stuff together and rode it around the lot a few times to charge it. Then I went home. Amazing.

At any other point of time in my life, this would have been a massive, expensive pain in the ass. But I was able to reach into the air and pull down the little piece of knowledge I needed to help myself in this situation.

My script IMPLANT is about this kinda thing, the ability to download whatever skills or knowledge you need into your head. There's even a scene in which the protagonist downloads a mechanics program so he can hot wire a car and escape. And here, I'd just done something very, very similar (pull down information so I could start a vehicle and leave a parking lot) in real life. We've reached the stage at which story elements that are considered "sci-fi" have a shorter and shorter shelf life.

I think that's pretty cool.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

An Update, Blockbuster and Jennifer's Body

My father is getting moved to an acute care facility today. It wasn't clear if we'd be able to make this happen while I was still in AZ. But luckily he's stable, and a recent procedure went well, so we can. He's still in critical condition, but I'm taking any little victory we can get.

He's under heavy sedation at night. I bring my laptop along and work while I'm at the hospital all day, so at night I've been taking the opportunity to catch up on movies.

I rerouted my Netflix to my parents' house. But the holidays have played havok with the post office, so I'm only intermittently getting envelopes. (I watched season two of DEXTER). Red Box is cheap and convenient, but NEVER has anything I actually want to see in stock. And then we got a coupon in the mail, with an offer for a month of rentals at Blockbuster for two bucks each, instead of the usual five.

Despite the hard time I often give Blockbuster, both of the reds failed me, so I went with blue.

Blockbuster always seems to have a billion copies of new releases, which is what I wanted. And two bucks is obviously more than a dollar, but I'd rather pay two bucks to watch a movie I want to see than one dollar to settle for something else. Good job, Blockbuster. Now THIS is a business model that actually makes some sense. But I also think it's a temporary measure. The wiser course in the long run may be to push the well-established Blockbuster brand into a VOD delivery system. If they could put a box in the home that delivers any movie or TV episode at any time -- the direction in which we're headed -- before their competition, they'll have a shot at longer-term survival. Netflix is already way ahead of them in some ways, and Blockbuster is reacting instead of innovating. But shit... if they don't at least try, within ten years they're going to be like typewriter salesmen in 1980.

I rented JENNIFER'S BODY.

JENNIFER'S BODY is a mystery to me. It has Megan Fox on the cover, the marketing promised nudity, gore and a lesbian make-out scene, writing by Diablo Cody, and was an R-rated horror-comedy.

Despite all of this, it underperformed rather badly.

Now... horror-comedy is REALLY fucking hard to sell, almost on par with drama. I know this because I love horror-comedies. EVIL DEAD II, DEAD ALIVE, RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD... these are some of my favorite movies of all time. I'll let the grad school guys sit around and talk about how brilliant CITIZEN KANE is... I'll be over here watching ARMY OF DARKNESS. When I first moved out from Chicago, it was my sincere goal to get some horror-comedies made. I wanted to add to the pantheon. But I soon found out that it's extraordinarily difficult to get one of these things set up.

And by "found out," I mean I tried for fucking years, without success. The problem is they're very difficult to market. And, if you can't convince people your horror-comedy is the movie they should see on Friday/Saturday night over something that's easy to understand (for instance, a high concept comedy with an A-list star), then they don't.

With that in mind, JENNIFER'S BODY's performance should come as no surprise. But it opened very close to ZOMBIELAND, which fucking killed. This also is an R-rated horror-comedy. So the question becomes... why did ZOMBIELAND perform above expectations, and JENNIFER'S BODY below? Is it just a whim of fate? Or is there a factor we're not considering?

I digress: I'd read a bunch of reviews of JENNIFER'S BODY online. They were overwhelmingly negative. They must have watched a different movie... I'm not saying it's perfect, but I was entertained.

Megan Fox is primarily known for her role in the TRANSFORMER franchise. If you really look at those movies, though, she barely has any screen time. It's hard to get a handle on her at all. (Besides Michael Bay's famously simple direction, "Just look hot.") I thought she was great in the title role. Playing a bitchy high school girl is something she can pull off.

And I really liked Amanda Seyfriend. Between MEAN GIRLS, MAMA MIA! and this, she's played three vastly different characters, and I bought her in all three movies. She's beautiful and talented. I didn't think all of Diablo's lines stuck the landing, the narration was unnecessary and I don't believe the framing device added anything. But this is a movie in which a crappy indie emo band sacrifices a girl to Satan in exchange for stardom, and they sing "867-5309" while committing the murder.

That's a fun night at the movies.

Transformers 2, and Red Box

Last night, after visiting hours were over, I wanted to grab a couple of more movies. I'd been doing some low-level bitching about Blockbuster, so my mom said, "Why don't you go to that Red Box thing? Your dad likes it a lot."


Sure, what the hell? We've got 'em in LA, of course, but there I typically just rely on Netflix.

I went to Albertson's. There was a Red Box. It had a large board showing mini posters of the available movies next to it. The Red Box has a touch screen interface. It was easy to understand, but I was still dicking with it minutes later. I couldn't understand why I wasn't able to find the touch screens for the movies I wanted, until the obvious dawned on me - they were out. Every one. Okay, score one for Blockbuster, which I knew had a bajillion copies of every recent release.

So thus did I get TRANSFORMERS 2, a difficult title to type on the iPhone.

Red Box charged me a buck for this rental, plus tax. It should be noted that Blockbuster is in the same strip mall, about four doors down. They would have charged me five bucks, plus tax, for the exact same movie. In their defense, I would have gotten the movie for five days whereas Red Box wants it back within 24 hours. It's still a buck a day. But if you're the type to sometimes have movies sitting on your counter for a few days before you watch them (which I very much am), there's Netflix.

This is why Blockbuster is fucking doomed. Their core business model is no longer competitive. They're getting their asses kicked by a combination of red boxes and red envelopes. I suppose if I had to watch a non-new release RIGHT NOW, they would fill that gap. But how often does that occur? For me, a couple of times a year, and even then I usually hit a local place like Rocket. It's simple supply and demand. And, once VOD becomes ubiquitous, they're going to be in the horse and buggy business. Blockbuster is a brontosaurus wondering why it's gotten so cold lately.

Anyway, T. (I'm not gonna keep thumb-typing it out). I liked it about the same as the first one, in similar ways.

Bay's considered to be a guy who's an action maestro, and not much good at anything else. My experience with both T movies is the exact opposite. With each, I kinda enjoyed the hyper goofy first acts, with unexpected moments of actual comedy. In the second act of each, we get one really cool Optimus Prime fight. And the third acts are non-stop action, which I ironically found dull.

In the first one, the climactic fight was so fast cut and weirdly staged I had trouble tracking what was going on. For me, it was a lot of shots of something punching somebody, and then something else (maybe?) blowing up. It was hard for me to connect, and so I just watched the images flash by like I was in the summer popcorn version of the CLOCKWORK ORANGE treatment, sans vomit.

In the sequel, the climactic fight involves Shia trying to run a half mile across a battlefield to revive Optimus Prime. It's the longest half mile run in cinematic history. Bay pulled way back on the cutting, so I was able to track the sequence. I just didn't care. It's one long series of booms, like a fireworks show that goes on for four hours. I started watching Phantom Menace videos on YouTube, and glancing at the movie from the corner of my eye. A giant robot is trying to blow up the sun. How do you make that scene boring? Watch this movie and find out.

It also has a weird, shifting tone. The humor is very, very broad, almost infantile at times. And yet we get some salty language, and an overtly sexual come-on scene and drug references. I wasn't offended, just confused as to how those pieces fit with the nosepicker sense of humor. Who was this movie for?

I realized that Bay makes movies without theme. They aren't talking about anything, beyond yelling short sentences at the audience. "Sexy!" "Gross!" "Boom!" "Uh-oh!" He has an admirable respect of the military, but even that's very surface level, like a long Go Army commercial from the '90s. For instance, we're given a government bureaucrat who has no function except to make the military guys look cooler and smarter than in juxtaposition. Is our military so insecure that we need to give them straw men to beat up in summer franchise movies?

But critiquing Michael Bay films is an exercise in futility. The guy gets movies made, and those movies make billions, so apparently he's giving the general audience what they want.

I expect a third movie to come along, I expect it'll be more of the same, and I expect civilization will continue unaffected.

Up

Last night, I stopped by Blockbuster on the way home from the hospital. I'm still not exactly a big fan of the place, but it has its uses. I needed a break to recharge, and watching movies is the best way to plug my head into the wall for a while.


I got UP. I spent the entire movie kicking myself for not catching it in 3D. It's a beautiful movie, beautifully told.

I was struck by the image of our main protagonist literally dragging his past around behind him. And he's very similar to the villain, Muntz, a shadow version of himself. They're both men who have taken their flying houses to this waterfall in South America. But while Fredrickson has done this for love, an attempt to give his wife the adventure they weren't able to share while she was alive, Muntz is there for a negative purpose, to prove to the world he's not a fraud. Alone with his unquestioning servitors, his mind has curdled. He is a reflection of what Fredrickson would have become if he weren't motivated by Ellie's memory.

This is especially telling given that Muntz was a hero to our guy and his wife. But while their perception of the adventure Muntz embodied was filtered through their good souls, the reality was much more flawed, and became dangerous in time.

He's very close kin to the villain in THE INCREDIBLES.

I love Pixar movies because they aren't afraid to create entire worlds around their stories. I always give big points to a movie that gives us something we've never seen before, and a guy wandering around a jungle with a floating house tied to his back with a garden hose while being menaced by a pack of talking dogs... Well, not too many of those around.

But it's not just weird for weird's sake. The setting and narrative are organically crafted, effectively selling us on every turn. It's more of a reflection of the unusual paths the human heart takes us than anything else.

It also offers an excellent example of how to maintain a character who has very little screentime, in this case Ellie. Not only is she a consistent character throughout, she even has an arc - long after she's gone! It's a lesson in master level storytelling.

UP is a strange and wonderful movie. I would go so far as to call it a perfect movie.

The Exorcist

I got very close to losing my father on Christmas Eve. It was one of the hardest nights of my life.


Alone and in the darkness, I was assailed by regrets. Every shitty thing I'd ever said, every time I could have done better and did not... they came for me. They had claws and fangs, they carried whips and knives, and they outnumbered me a million to one.

Since we've turned this corner, I've been able to relax a little bit and consider what happened that night. So naturally I started thinking about THE EXORCIST.

It's generally acknowledged as one of the scariest movies ever made. It's also one of my favorite movies of all time. I find new things to love about this film every time I watch it. I own the book, and I've read it at least a dozen times. There are differences, but the film retains everything it needs from the novel, giving this multi-layered story a visceral aspect that cold words on a page cannot offer.

I love this story because it discusses something I consider to be a deep truth.

Whenever you start talking about THE EXORCIST, the first things that come up are all of the crazy shit that happens to the possessed girl, Reagan. But this is only the surface of the narrative.

Several years ago, I saw an expanded version of THE EXORCIST in the theater... it was one of the last movies I watched in Chicago, before moving to LA. Again, Reagan's creepy spider-walk scene got all of the attention.

However, the true heart of this film is in one of the other scenes that been previously cut, a scene that exists in the novel. In act three, Marin and Karas take a brief respite from the exorcism. (Conducting these things is hard work). Karas wonders aloud why a demon would come to torment a little girl who never did anything to anybody.

Marin says the demon's true target isn't Reagan; it's after the people around her. It wants to show them that they have been abandoned. There is no help, because they are unworthy of love. The demon is trying to get them to see themselves as vile, and thus lose their faith in anything higher, be it a loving God, or just their capacity to do good.

Father Karas had just lost his mother. Not only did he lose her, but she died in poverty. He's a smart guy, a psychiatrist, hence his involvement in Reagan's case. He could have easily gone into private practice, made a lot of money and given his mother the best of medical care, ensuring her a longer and happier life. But instead, he chose the priesthood, and so she lived a pitiful existence in a tiny apartment. It was days before anybody noticed she'd even gotten ill, and she finally dies alone, ranting in the poor house. It's heartbreaking.

He's tormented with guilt. Her death has caused him to question everything, including his faith. And that's why the demon goes after him. This man, who had so much faith that he'd given up so much to follow his path... if THIS guy is wavering well, shit, the demon can break anybody.

In the novel, whether the demon is an actual supernatural evil is much more in question. The climax occurs behind a closed door, whereas in the movie we actually see the demon rise out of Reagan. But the effect is the same... as a metaphor, the demon is the external representation of the internal demons borne by Karas and Reagan's mother. They're faced with their greatest weaknesses, and cannot see themselves as anything but the most evil and vile of creatures, unworthy of love and unable to do anything good.

The demon first speaks to Karas in the voice of a bum he refused to give money. He's a smaller guilt. Later, it appears to Karas in the form of his mother, the core guilt driving Karas. She asks the question Karas asks himself: "Why you do this to me?" Karas loses it and screams, 'You're not my mother!"

This is true on two levels... he knows it's a demon posing as his mother, but he also knows that it's just a reflection of the worst part of himself, a dark mirror held up before his soul. His real mother loved him so much that she would never ask that question, but in that moment he cannot see that. He only hears his own thoughts, repeated back to him by the demon.

There are lots of romantic comedies talking about "love." I don't hold anything against them; they're entertainment, a fun night at the movies. Popcorn.

But there is another love to be found in THE EXORCIST, THE GIRL NEXT DOOR and, in a more recent example, THE ROAD. It's the love found in the midst of ugliness, the worst possible circumstances. It's easy to talk about love when you have a couple of yuppie douchebags trading witty one-liners... not so easy when the characters are fighting for the lives and souls. Yet in these darker movies we find a stronger and more pure emotion, a lone flower in the midst of a barren winter field.

And in that way, aren't the demons there to help us see that? In JACOB'S LADDER, Danny Aiello's character tells us that the demons aren't our tormentors... they're our servants, helping us to strip away illusions. It's a painful process, of couse, but nothing worth doing is easy.

So my demons were able to help me see what I didn't understand when I was younger, that these differences we create for ourselves - particularly with the people we love - are so often nothing but petty illusions, and only by clinging to them do we make ourselves vile.

Spoiler in case you're one of the few people who hasn't see THE EXORCIST...

In the final moments, Karas sacrifices himself to save Reagan. In so doing, he proves he is capable of doing good, committing himself to a noble act. He shows the people who attend his death that the demon is wrong. It's a victory. His soul is saved.

No matter what mistakes we've made, or how often we've failed, there is nothing preventing us from continuing to try to do better, revealing our guilt over past sins as only so much weight we carry for no other reason than to give our demons tools to use in our darkest hours.

I wish some lessons didn't come with such a high tuition. But again... would we value them as much if they didn't?

Not Exactly A Christmas Miracle, But I'll Take It

Yesterday, we visited my dad and stayed with him through the morning. The doctor hoped to remove him from the machine that helped him to breathe - the first tiny step toward recovery. He was strong, it looked good. They took him off, and he did it. Whew. The next step would be to give him some tests, see where we were at, and figure out the pathway to recovery. All good.


Good enough that my mom and I went out for lunch, and home for a minute to grab some stuff before heading back.

But as well pulled into the driveway, mom's cell rang. It was the nurse on duty. While taking my dad down for the tests, he stopped breathing. He crashed. They rushed him back to his room and got him hooked back up.

The nurse asked if my dad had a living will (he does). Because, if he could never breathe on his own, if he could never leave a hospital bed... Now we're thinking, shit, are we suddenly having this conversation?After it all looked so well?

We rushed back to the hospital in terror. My dad was out. Unmoving. Unresponsive. I sincerely thought he was going to be gone within the hour.

Eventually, he woke up. He was very weak. I stayed as long as I could. They took him down for more tests.

Christmas Eve was a dark night of the soul. It was an experience I wouldn't wish on anyone. The up-and-down of the days before had been bad, but to repeat the roller coaster - and with even bigger stakes - was torture.

Morning came. I'd been through so much the day before that I woke with an odd feeling of calm. It wasn't that I was no longer worried about my dad, far from it. But it was like my emotional nerve endings had been cauterized. Simply put, I lost my shit yesterday, and today I got it back together.

We got to the hospital ready for anything.

A new doctor was there, Dr. Castro. He said that my dad hadn't lost the ability to breathe. Quite the opposite - everything is stable and strong. But the stoke had made his throat seize up, which happens sometimes. A simple tracheotomy would do the trick. And after that, high hopes.

Dammit, really? All of that over a tracheotomy? Man...

I've already taken two spins on this ride, so I'm not setting exactly dashing through the London streets, looking for a goose to buy for Tiny Tim. But... after the bleak Christmas Eve we suffered, I can at last feel like it'll be a Merry Christmas.

On Health

For obvious reasons, health has lately been a frequent topic of conversation among my family.


The generations before ours didn't think much about it. If you smoked two packs a day, drank a six pack every night and had donuts for breakfast, a burger for lunch and meat and potatoes for dinner... that was just normal.

My mom smoked and drank. My dad quit smoking a long time ago, but he drank and ate whatever he wanted.

And I lived a pretty typical Chicago lifestyle... Pizza, dogs, burgers and beer. I was a vegetarian for several years, but I smoked and drank like crazy the whole time. Yeah, that made sense.

I smoked about two packs a day for thirteen years. For a long time, it was one of my defining characteristics. I can't begin to describe how glad I am that I quit. These days, it's hard to even imagine the activity. I lit rolls of tobacco on fire and sucked on them? Just because? Bizarre.

But even so... When I left my longtime position to start my own company, now that my time is my own, I decided to devote some of it every day to repairing the damage I'd done. For years, I survived on ramen noodles and fast food dollar menus. That same small amount of money would have gotten me organic produce from the farmer's market, but I just wasn't used to living like that, so I didn't. I barely exercised. When time got tight - which was a constant situation - exercise was the first thing to go. And drinking...

It's a journey upon which I'm just now embarking, within the last couple of months. And changing a lifetime if personal and cultural habits isn't easy. But avoiding health problems is worth so much more than the fleeting pleasures of one more beer, the extra large order of nachos.

You don't have to live like a monk, eating one green pepper a day, drinking nothing but water and spending three hours a day on a tread mill. But these bodies in which our minds reside are complex organic machines, with a lot of interacting parts that easily wear out and break. The time we spend taking care of them is rewarded by time we do not spend lying in a hospital bed while our families stand around in an agony of worry.

Healthy living won't create an indestructible force field around you. Jogging every day won't stop a bullet, and eating an apple instead of fries won't prevent a genetic precondition. But why not try to prevent the things you can?

I recently had a lot of trouble with my laptop. I got a new one. Though a MacBook is well regarded for its performance, and an extended warranty protects it, I fully expect to replace it in three or four years. Until cloning technology is perfected, we don't have that luxury.