So they're shooting an episode of 24 on campus -- given the date, I'd guess it was the premiere. Which is cool. Limos and cop cars and motorcycles parked on Trousdale (the big pedestrian thoroughfare of USC) -- so when you see the press chasing the President up to the door of a large brick building, know that that was the same building where I saw Margaret Cho a few years back.
To my credit, I guessed that something was going on about half a mile away, when I saw the black Mercedes SUV parked next to a fountain. You know anyone who drives a black Mercedes SUV? Because I only know of them. And they work in a town with nine letters in the name.
I need tea and to get to work. Bookslut chat tonight! And tomorrow, reunion!
One thing that came out of this weekend was that I spent four days with a number of people whose comic book collections are far better than mine.
And they didn't mind sharing.
So I finally got a chance to read things like 100 Bullets and Electra: Assassin and the last book of Dark Knight Strikes Again -- but what's been sticking in my mind is Y: The Last Man.
It's really the most astounding book. It's apocalyptic, but not; it's funny, touching, sad, and shocking. There are little moments I keep recalling, certain panels that spring to mind in full detail. Amazingly well-defined characters, with so many strong women and one boy of a man left among them.
It's not perfect (the "Twenty Minutes Earlier" device gets used an awful lot, and it, you know, SHOULDN'T) but it's just such a strong, interesting take on the "last man on Earth" scenario, with the focus on rebuilding the world in the aftermath, finding solutions, mourning and hope.
It's quite a thing. Everyone should read it -- or at least check out the sample pages at Salon. Because who knows? Three days later, you may still be thinking about it.
successfully toss a novelty bottlecap into a large bucket in order to win a pack of Battlestar Galatica playing cards
make any new connections to help me on the path towards being the hottest comic book writer in the industry
avoid making a squealy fangirl of myself in front of Michael Chabon
avoid making a squealy fangirl of myself at any other point
stay awake through the Eisners
eat real food.
And now, I have to work straight through the next three days, go to a family reunion, and avoid wanting to die. Fortunately, Comic-con taught me that I don't need TV or internet to survive -- I need money to survive. Thank you, Comic-con, for reminding me.
It seems I got a ton of hits off the LXG thing I wrote last week, which is just awesome beyond the telling of it. Thanks again to Jessa for linking, and thanks to everyone else for stopping by (presuming, of course, that you bothered to come back).
If anyone out there is a member of Total Fark -- is there some way for me to see what the hell people at Total Fark were saying about the LXG thing? Because that'd be swell.
There will be more Comic-con later. Much more. One word: jpgs.
Ten minutes spent establishing the not-peril that Europe's in ("It could lead to a WORLD WAR!"), mostly via spinning news headlines. SPINNING NEWS HEADLINES. Because there have been no advances in film since 1936.
"Why, hello, you league of extraordinary gentlemen. Pardon me while I take this opportunity to introduce myself fifteen minutes into our little story here. My name is the Fantom -- I will be the villain for this picture -- you know this, because I look oh-so-intimidating in this oh-so-shiny metal helmet. Do not worry about such things, though -- for although I seem to be a reference to either an obscure series of French novels or an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, in an hour it will make absolutley no difference."
Development meeting #1: "What this flick needs is another white male." "But how will we tell him apart from the eight other white males in this movie?" "He's American!" "Brilliant!"
When I say shaky-cam, I don't mean handheld family movie shaky-cam. I mean Saving Private Ryan on crack and Red Bull shaky-cam. The camera? It SHAKES.
Development meeting #2: "You know what's hot? Women who kick ass. This movie should have one of those." "Well, Mina Harker..." "Who the fuck is Mina Harker?"
Tom Sawyer: "Miss Harker is very attractive. I would like to have sex with her. I'm American, after all." Dr. Jekyll: "Miss Harker is very attractive. I would like to have sex with her, but instead of doing that I'll stare at her intensely and run away every time she looks at me. Chicks dig that." Sean Connery: "Miss Harker is very attractive. But I'm old and don't want to sleep with her, so I'll just treat her like a big talking fern." Dorian Gray: "Miss Harker is very attractive, and I'm the only remotely appealing character in this movie. We should have sex." Audience: "Wait a sec -- weren't you in Queen of the Damned?"
The Duke from Moulin Rouge: "Bwahahahahaha!" No, really.
Development meeting #3: "So the Harker broad was in Dracula? What is she, some kinda vampire chick?" "Hey, boss -- vampire chicks? Hot."
On the set: "Hey guys? We're gonna do that big iconic shot of everyone putting their hands together. You know, from the comic book?" "Are we going to do the shot overhead, so that we can see the effect of all those different hands joined together for one cause?" "Eh. Who cares?"
Moral of the story: it's been three decades since Goldfinger. And no one cares.
About twenty minutes into this movie, I tried to fall asleep so that I wouldn't have to keep watching it. But when I woke up, it was STILL HAPPENING.
Poorly made beyond compare. It should have been a Masterpiece Theater special; it should have been ANYTHING but a big budget American film. No. No. No.
My schedule for the next two weeks: July 14th-16th: Office Job (Los Angeles) July 17th-20th: Comic-Con (San Diego) July 21st-23rd: Office Job (Los Angeles) July 24th-27th: Family reunion (Lake Tahoe) July 28th-Aug. 1st: Office Job (Los Angeles) August 2nd: My next day off
Granted, I'm not bitching about how I have to go to Comic-Con. Comic-Con is what we call the glorious highlight of my entire life (or at the very least, a fun weekend away). There's just an awful lot to do in the meantime -- friends to have drinks with and screenplays to cover and screenplays to write and reviews to write...
Today, I at least managed to accomplish a few things -- read five screenplays and covered three of them, wrote a page of screenplay, answered a lot of email, wrote thank you notes for graduation presents, did accounting and organizing things, finished reading a book... I'm now going to start filling out my application for the Sundance TV Lab and watch one of the many Katherine Hepburn movies now resting on my TiVo. Holiday, perhaps?
These are very busy days ahead. But last night, I got to eat at Fresh Choice, the greatest buffet restaurant of all time. An experience so powerful, it deserves its own entry.
So my laptop power cord bit the big one, and I'll have to buy a new one at some point. ::sigh:: Now I know where some of the graduation checks are going, at least... Perhaps should hit eBay and see what I can find, deal-wise. Or, you know, not.
My Bookslut column for this month is now online -- not the best I've done, but certainly fun. We love Fight Club, yes we do...
I'm still trying to figure out what to do for the next one, as it's a big month for the 'zine and also the one-year anniversary of my Madam status. Perhaps a round-up of some sort -- the seven worst adaptations ever? The seven best? I don't know why we're going with the number seven. It's just lucky. And prime!
Time to go poke the roommate into leaving NOW -- we're going to see Oakenfold at the Hollywood Bowl. My first time for both artist and venue -- all signs point to awesome!
It's horrible and bad. And I'm no good at it. I've wasted four years of my life on this crap and now I'm going to have to find a real job as an accountant or something. Except they make you go to school to be an accountant, and so I'm screwed.
I should move home and live with my parents and work at a video store. Clearly that's all I'm good at, even though it makes me want to kill myself.
Seriously, I have no idea what I'm doing. I've written two pages that suck AND it's really bad. I have no disciple, no style, and no fucking chance of ever doing this for a living. Why do I even bother? Why do I even care? I'm poor and fat and no good at writing and that'll never change ever. I SUCK. SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK SUCK.
Step 2: Dance Wildly to Dance Music Remember: Don't wake up the neighbors, who are sleeping (lucky sons of bitches).
Step 3: Sit Back Down Without thinking too much about it, write shitty five pages. Read them over.
Step 4: Get Off the Ledge Realize that writing talent still exists, although extremely dilluted and pathetic. Keep on writing.
Repeat as necessary.
You know why they tell you to write every day? Because if you don't, you start to suck at it.
So a year ago today, I wrote about my love for this country, and for the most part nothing's really changed. Well, perhaps my favorite Americans have, though Grandma's caramel corn is still the best.
I'm currently boondoggled by a new screenplay idea I'm working on. I want to write it fast and good, but it'd probably be wise if I knew who the protagonist was ahead of time.
Yeah. Three pages written last night, including one page that I can actually use. It's a start, at least. I'm accounting myself for twenty pages a week on this idea, so don't mind me if this space becomes a bit of a log for my writing progress.
It's a great idea I have. The character just isn't there yet. And she NEEDS to be there. The character is everything, after all. Everything.
Time to shower and do some work before getting me some BBQ. Or the veggie equivalent of that, at least.
The fact that I have today off? And that I don't have to spend this weekend (or any other weekend, ever again) at a video store? And that I have some TIME to do the things I need to do, and still have some fun?
Yeah. I can't even deal with how happy I am about that.