The makers of Troy? That movie with the WORST score of all time? Yeah. They rejected Gabriel Yared's original score (click to news to listen to excerpts) for the crappy refuse at the bottom of James Horner's trash can.
God, I hated that score. God, the Yared score so much better.
So go and listen. And then don't go see the movie.
The Day After Tomorrow comes out... the day after tomorrow!
Yeah, you can thank me later.
I've gone from being incredibly freaked out by this movie to bland indifference. Which isn't the sort of arc you'd expect filmmakers to aim for, except for the fact that I wasn't going to go see it during the freak-out period and now a friend of mine is doing a ID4/DAT party on Sunday that I'll attend. But for my friend, not for the movie.
Though we'll see, the day after the day after the day after tomorrow, how I feel about it. *g*
So it's worth noting that this month marks the two-year anniversary of GFB. Crazy, huh? So many different looks, so many different entries... But it's been here, everpresent in my life, for so long. Thick and thin.
I've been rereading past months recently, on occasion, whenever I feel like looking back towards times when my life seemed to be going so much better -- or so much worse. And in truth, I'm just grateful for the record. I never journaled much in high school, and I feel like I've lost something from those years as a result. College is different. College I remember because I've been putting it down (in Livejournal first and then here). And sharing these experiences with the big scary internet has just made me want to write even more, capture more of the moments I find myself lost in.
I've been trying to figure out a way to commemorate the past two years, as it's a landmark and landmarks are worth noting. But all I've come up with is one idea, which is to ask those who've come by if there's an entry they ever particularly liked. And it's the only idea I don't particularly hate.
So browse the archives, if you like, and in the comments for this entry nominate your fav GFB rambling for a Ultimate Top Five list. What's in it for you? Perhaps, if you nominate the winning rambling, there could be a prize of some sort. Everyone likes prizes, right?
Feel free to participate even if you've only lurked previously. (It'd be cool to find out who's lurking, at any rate.) I have to admit, I feel a little bashful over this idea. But is it egotistical to ask people to say what of your writing they've enjoyed the most?
This weekend, I did a lot of knitting, made a big spinach lasagna, and mopped the kitchen floor.
I also drank Too Much Tequila and danced inappropriately at a club until the room started to spin.
There should be balance, in all things.
Attention all Gargoyles fans -- ABC Family has started running episodes at 11 and 11:30 Saturday and Sunday mornings (with the exception of next weekend, I think, due to Digimon Weekend or whatever).
Gargoyles and DS9. It's 1995, all over again.
Yesterday's to-do list was pretty disasterous, especially since no writing was done. Part of it was simple laziness; part of it was the fact that I'm undermotivated/overwhelmed by the coverage work remaining and the outlining stage in which the po-mo rom-com is mired. That's part of why I'm really enjoying my increasing abilities as a knit-bitch; there's a lot of simplicity to be found in yarn and needles and the easy to accomplish goals. It's all just one row after the next. No worries about act breaks and character motivations and conflict. Easy. Numbing and easy.
But knitting isn't what I want to do with my life. Knitting is just a part of it. A small part. It's what I do while I watch TV -- and I want to watch less TV and WRITE more TV. I want to write. I need to write.
I don't need to knit.
Tonight I'm gonna trip back to the way I spent a lot of my pre-England weekday nights -- home, dinner, coffee shop for a few hours of writing, home again to knit and watch a movie before bed. The writing tonight will be all Bookslut and coverage, but the movie will probably be one of the two bad romcoms I Netflixed for inspiration. For, after five months of work on this screenplay, I definitely need to remember why I'm writing it.
Finally cleaned out the sidebar, adding the blog of someone I actually know and Chez Miscarriage. Also, removed Love Medicine from the reading list (I finished it about a week ago -- not bad, but I might want to reread it in an attempt to keep all the characters straight in my head) and added The Edible Woman (the only Margaret Atwood book I've never read), which I started last night, and Astonishing X-Men, the first issue of which comes out on Wednesday.
I also added Stitch n' Bitch, which I'm reading through in an interactive fashion -- namely, I skim it until I come across a skill I don't have yet, and then I do whatever companion project goes along with that skill. So far, I've learned how to purl, how to add funny bumps and alternate knit/purl stitches, how to make balls of yarn (real legit ones) and how to increase. After learning how to increase, I came up with an idea for a cute knit headscarf -- as I've never invented a knitting project before, it's a bit scary, but the project itself is actually going pretty well. The only catch? I have to learn how to decrease at the end of it. I don't figure on this being hard to do -- but it's still something new to learn.
Seriously. There's no time. No time to do all of the things I want to do, all of the things I need to do, and all of the things in between.
My nightstand is a nightmare -- in fact, the to-be-read pile has overflowed into a new pile next to the nightstand, where the magazines and graphic novels and books all hang out and sing sad songs about how they're not being read.
I've developed a new habit of using the iCal to-do list to jot down story ideas and writing projects I want to tackle. I prioritize them as best I can. But there are SO MANY ideas, so many different things to explore...
My eBay yarn arrived the other day. And I can't wait to play with it...
And I have friends who ask me to do fun things, like go out drinking and go out dancing. I like dancing. I like drinking. I like my friends.
And I like being skinny! I've lost two pounds over the past week, due to actually going to the gym regularly and not eating like a pig all the time. I'd like to lose two more, if possible -- but it requires more gym time and grocery shopping and heck, maybe even some sleep?
Sleep. Yeah. I remember that.
Hey, and screenplay coverage! Which earns me money!
Then there's the Netflix queue. And Star Trek: Deep Space Nine reruns. Learning how to play video games with Eric. Researching Aztec culture. Mopping the kitchen floor.
And the WRITING. Oh, the writing, the whooshing sound of deadlines. Need to start doing some research...
And this blog, and the upfronts, and the job that actually has kept me hopping the past few days. There's just so much happening. And I feel so alive, so active, so content... I just wish there was more time for all of it. For all of these things that I want and need. But I'll probably be whining about that until the end of all things. It's the way I like living.
Though... summer is finally getting started.
Which means that maybe it's time for a few changes.
Work's pretty busy. I may not get to commenting on the CBS upfronts until tomorrow.
Tonight, SO MANY THINGS are happening. Like, me covering two screenplays in two hours. Like, Astonishing X-Men #1. Like, the series finale of Angel. Like, Game 7 of the Kings/Wolves series.
How to explain my concerns over Game 7... Well, it's kinda like having a friend who you're really fond of. And then watching that friend being thrown into a gigantic pit of man-eating tigers. It's not that I don't think the Kings can win -- but it'll be a helluva game. And if they do win, then they're up against the Lakers, and that'll just be PAINFUL. Especially since this is LA, and LA will be sure to rub the Kings' defeat in my face.
But still, if Bibby and company can handle it, then I can too.
God, I couldn't care less about their sitcoms if I tried.
And the only drama I'm at all interested in is Jack and Bobby, which has the pedigree of quality known as Greg Berlanti and Thomas Schlamme. (Man, that was quite the rhyming sentence, huh?)
No way The Mountain can compare to The O.C., and that's not shooting high to begin with. I remain convinced that Josh Schwartz's writing is the only thing that kept The O.C. from meeting Fastlane's fate. Well, that and the pretty pretty stars, though Adam Brody doesn't look nearly as nice as Peter Facinelli shirtless.
This is the first year in a long series of years that The WB is genre-less. No Buffy, no Angel, and the two genre pilots they had in production -- Lost In Space and Dark Shadows -- didn't make it. This really is a bold new direction. And by bold new direction, I mean "giving the adolescent girls whatever they want."
But as much shit as I'm willing to give the Frog, I will say this -- I haven't done any math yet, but it would appear that their fall schedule is much heavier on the scripted series than NBC or ABC. Only one night has a regularly scheduled reality show (Studio 7) -- the rest of their shows are variety, sitcom, and drama.
LAX intrigues. It intrigues for one reason. His name is Blair Underwood. But perhaps there will be more to it.
Scrubs remains at 9:30 Tuesdays, after the unproven Father of the Pride. Which leads me to wonder -- has NBC just given up completely on their best sitcom ever leading a night?
Revelations sounds really good -- and I don't just say that because of my apocalypse fetish. (I say that because of my John Rhys-Davies fetish.)
I don't honestly care one way or the other about Joey, except to say this -- Drea de Matteo as Joey's sister is great casting.
When NBC announced that they'd be remaking The Office, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt -- if only because of my deep love for Steve Carrell. But after reading the plot synopsis, all hope for it succeeding has vanished -- if I wanted to watch the exact same storylines redubbed into bad American, I'd... Well, who the hell would want to do that? I'll just pretend it doesn't exist, and continue my quest to acquire the British Christmas specials, at any cost.
CRAZY FOR YOU -- Welcome to the funny and highly unusual courtship of New Yorkers Nate (Josh Cooke, "Century City") and Marni (Emmy winner Jennifer Finnigan, NBC's "Crossing Jordan"). On the surface, they couldn't appear more different; Nate's the heir apparent to a long line of geniuses whose mental ability has caused them all to go insane. Then there's Marni, an occupational therapist and perpetual optimist, who ponders whether to take one more dip in the city's dating pool. Somehow, they meet and ironically find a connection that could become love. Although he's negative to a fault, she's likewise positive to a fault, so these total opposites may just be made for each other. Now they just have to figure that out if they don't get in the way first.
This show loses. My god, does this show lose.
If the futon critic doesn't end up collapsing in pain with the server traffic it'll get this week, I'll hopefully be able to do commentary like this for all the upfronts. Because I love the upfronts. So much potential for great television. So much potential for disaster.
See, I'd spent the eight semesters of my collegiate life in sneakers, bopping back and forth from class to class in utter comfort, but sneakers wouldn't go with the dress I was planning on wearing underneath my robe. So I had purchased a pair of nice dressy heeled sandals on the Tuesday before my graduation, forgetting that my toenails were an absolute mess.
So at 10:30 that sunny Friday morning, I walked to one of the eight nail salons in my neighborhood and got my toenails painted. Then I got my hair cut.
And then I walked across the stage of the Shrine Auditorium and shook a bunch of hands, my name blaring over the speakers, my feet aching in my new shoes, a dazed smile on my face.
I've been out of school a year now, and I joked the other day about how I'd done nothing with my life since. That's not entirely true. I've learned how to work, how to live, how to be a grownup. How to take care of myself. How to be alone. How to be with others. How to combine passion with persistence, how to make the work work. How to follow through. How to befriend.
It's not easy. I fuck up all the time, and I make mistakes, and I fall down on all my jobs. I spend too much time being unproductive and not enough time doing the other thing.
But I chalk it up under learning how to live. And that's something.
We came to work early today, my office and I, putting together a little potluck breakfast and hiding in our bunker. The campus is chaos, see, filled with happy families full of pride -- all the fractured branches of the family trees, coming together to celebrate four expensive years of hard work.
My graduation day was a good one, a happy one; I've rarely felt so special and loved. And I was so relieved to be done with it all -- to turn my attention to the writing I wanted to do, and the jobs that would support it. After a year out of school, a year without midterms and deadlines and all-nighters, I'm more convinced than ever that formal education is something that should end at some point. The protective barrier of student status -- the cheap movie prices, cheap housing, shifts at part-time jobs that never last more than an afternoon -- is a great thing. But I like the regularity of my life now, December and April no longer climaxes of stress and study, weekends no longer haunted by the feeling that there was so much left for me to do. I feel like I belong to the world, like I belong to myself. Being a student meant dependence on so many factors. Now, I just depend on myself, and I get through it.
This morning didn't start out so great -- managed to scrape up my car getting out of the garage, despite the fact that I've been backing out of that garage for THREE YEARS now with nary a scratch to show for it. Thus, a little black cloud of "Oh, crap, body shops" and "Oh, CRAP, MONEY" has been hanging over me all day, and I'm sick of it, but I LOVE my car and this is just another thing to get done.
So, that's most certainly a pain. But at lunch today, I drank water, ate pretzels, and sat on a bench beneath a tree to read a comic book. It was a little too warm. Purple blossoms, just like the ones on my street, beneath my feet. Stillness echoed.
I'm not looking forward to the body shop fracas that's due to ensue. But on a day with purple flowers and superheroes at lunchtime, it's hard to hate the world quite so much.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is looking on the bright side.
Thoughts upon one Jessica Jones (first in a series, I'm sure)
Bendis made me fall in love with him, and Alias, at the 2003 Comic-Con; he spoke so passionately about his lead character that I developed the nearly irresistable urge to kiss the top of his head and tell him thanks. (Didn't get around to it last year, but it's a fun goal for this year's Comic-Con.)
The only problem I had with the first two issues was that Pulse Jessica looks NOTHING like Alias Jessica (I literally did not recognize her at first, and had to reread several pages; it's the hair, comic-book-girl straight rather than the thicker, wavy locks that looked air-dried, careless). Oh, and, well, Issue 1 is nothing but set-up and Issue 2 is nothing but backstory. It's cool set-up and interesting backstory, sure, but I'm looking forward to Issue 3 (which comes out this week). I have hopes that something might actually happen.
So Jessa's probably better off waiting for the trades. But for another reason entirely.
Had a better time at Prom In Space than I did at my actual prom.
Went to the gym twice.
Called my mom and wished her a happy mom's day.
Saw Das Roomie -- and even spent time talking to her!
Failed to complete any real work except for reading a sizable chunk of Poppy Z. Brite's Liquor (it's not goin' on the sidebar, because it needs to be finished SOON) and covering one screenplay (leaving me two more to do tonight).
Bought 70 oz of yarn on eBay for $18.
Finished a nifty little knit practice square, using knit/purl alternating to make a fun lumpy heart pattern.
Attended a BBQ and a friend's concert, both of which were great fun.
Deleted undone items from my to-do list
Added new items to replace them.
What I saw:
Van Helsing. Blanket statement: "Man, I sure liked [insert element here] a lot better in the original version." This includes Tarzan rope-swinging, Blade II's light bomb, the LOTR/Indiana Jones map, Q as portrayed by David Wenham, and, well, the first ten minutes.
Game 2 of the Kings/Timberwolves series -- the first game of the playoffs I've been able to see all of. Sadly, my love for a sports team truly is a curse upon their abilities to win. I'm watching Game 3 tonight while finishing up my coverage -- hopefully, my boys will be able to triumph over the jinx that is me.
Batman: Mystery of the Batwoman. Not a lot of mystery to it. But Batman fans should check out the DVD, because it contains a five-minute short entitled "Chase Me." And "Chase Me"? Is AWESOME.
The Survivor: All-Star finale, the outcome of which brought me real happiness.
But also watched part of the reunion segment.
Lost interest in ever watching reality TV ever again.
What whiny bitches.
What I drank:
Ice chips at kareoke (I get superthirsty when I sing
A Java Chip Frappuccino (I had a Starbucks coupon saved up)
So much diet Coke at the BBQ and the movie
So much "punch" at Prom.
What I didn't do this weekend:
Seriously. Maybe got twelve hours the whole weekend -- insomnia combined with busyness combined with noisy neighbors combined with distractions -- which means I haven't slept more than six hours at a time for a week now. I'm taking the week off from booze and soda as a result -- I may also start hitting myself over the head with blunt objects. Perhaps that'll help.
I'm also attempting a half-assed sort of diet. It consists of "not eating crap at all hours, and instead making a bit of an effort to eat food that's actually good for me." I'm getting back into my gym rhythm, too. If I lose another 1.5 pounds, see, I'm allowed to buy a gym-appropriate swimsuit. And then, rather than working myself into a blistering heat on the cardio machine, I can do laps in the gym pool. POOL.
It's all about rewards, see. I'm a carrot girl, through and through. Not because the stick doesn't work -- but when I earn that carrot, it tastes so damn good.
This Wedneday, I went to a friend's house to watch the season finale of The OC. I mention this because it lead to me sitting in a room with five guys, drinking and shouting about how much the episode sucked. (And it was LAME.)
Anyways, another guy came over, and he brought up the racial/sexual harrassment lawsuit filed by a writer's assistant against several staff writers on Friends. Specifically, he brought up the fact that excerpts from the lawsuit were available at The Smoking Gun. So the guys looked them up. Much hilarity ensued, including the crowning of Greg Malins, staff writer, as their glorious new king. They emulated Malins' antics, and I laughed most heartily, indeed. Because you know what? It was funny.
The issue itself isn't quite so hilarious as the Smoking Gun excerpts -- it is a real thing, to be alone in a group of men and hear them laughing about women, and to feel uncomfortable as a result. But honestly, I think Chuck Jones said it best: "No artist can be conservative. You're always adding to art. Liberal, new and original ideas are generated." I'm not saying Malins is an artist, but he is a man working in a creative environment. He's an asshole, sure. But a funny one. And to be told what you can and can't say? It's such a fine line.
I never want to be offensive or to hurt and insult others. I still don't. But I do want to write funny and be funny. And what I'm figuring out more and more is that we laugh at the bizarre, the offensive, the stuff that pushes us just a little bit over our limits. Because everyone has limits, and what's funny is the stuff that we don't talk about, that's still taboo.
The Friends lawsuit is such a messy and complicated thing, with both sides vaguely at fault and neither of them really to blame. I think that treating others with respect and kindness is imperative above all else, and I feel bad for this woman, especially since the race issue is a whole lot different than the sex issue and I don't know enough to say anything regarding it. But I also wonder why this woman would want to work in comedy. Why she stayed so long. She'd had other writing assistant jobs before -- she couldn't have not been aware of what a writer's room is like.
It is a trade that really does involve sitting around and making really foul jokes. And I'm completely serious on that front. In college one semester, I was a writer/producer on a student-produced sitcom, and we would make the most WRONG jokes in the world... that would eventually lead us to the right ones. And I heard the same sort of thing coming from the writers' room of the network sitcom I interned on later that year. Sitcom writers say the darnedest things. They write comedy. The last thirty years are saturated by comedians who push the boundaries of what we're allowed to say. And why? Because it's funny.
Which is why, the next day, I sat down with Photoshop and made comedy for my friends who had made me laugh the night before. Interested in funny? Even if it's potentially offensive vaguely inside-jokey-funny? Okay then. Go look at the Smoking Gun excerpts. And then:
Perhaps one of the few items of proof that in high school I spent nearly all my time with goth-esque drama nerds is that to this day, I like Nine Inch Nails a fair amount. The Fragile is one of my favorite sit-around-and-sulk albums.
But that doesn't make this any less hilarious. Oh no.
Batman, see, is AWESOME. Batman is a superhero who kicks ass. But he's rich and looks great in a tux. He's also totally smart. And funny! In a deadpan, I'm-scarred-by-witnessing-my-parents'-brutal-murders sort of way. In short, Batman? He's dreamy.
In my office, it's winter, the A/C blasting, my cardigan snug around my shoulders. The space heater I got in January warms my feet, the fan whirring on and off as the air changes, the temperature declines. My need for heat varies by the minute.
When I step outside for lunch, I feel a hint of a heavy humid breeze. But ice takes time to melt.
On my street, it's spring, for the sun still shines when my evening commute ends. There are trees in my neighborhood, surprisingly many, and yet it's only the trees on my block that bloomed into royal purple blossoms last weekend -- only the trees on my block that drift, sway.
Petals float downwards with lazy grace. I get out of my car. I breathe in.
In my apartment, it's summer, roaring fans and evaporating bottles of water and sweating swearing skin. The heat sneaks up behind me, without my noticing, as I sit at my computer in my work clothes -- I strip down, hasty, desperate for the shower. But drying off is a momentary thing; it takes mere moments for me to feel the walls closing in again, a charred smell oozing out from the burning inside and out.
I slurp a popsicle loaded with whole fruit; the label says tropical and the tropics are here. "At least it's a dry heat." But even dry heats burn.
In my mind, it's fall as I pack up my computer, pack up my notes, grab my wallet and keys. The timer has gone off. I'm cooked through.
I walk to the coffee shop down the street, walk towards the blended espresso that will make me regret only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. The treads of my sneakers dimple the fallen blossoms, but I'm thinking about plot points and things to research and character character character. I'm thinking about outlines and scenes and pages and text. Words. New projects, new ideas, fresh starts with old characters and new. It's the first day of school, every single night.
And I laugh as I wait to cross the street, as I watch the sun dim and the cars speed by. Because they say there are no seasons in Los Angeles. But every day is a year for me.