The Wind in My Eye

LOST has a new ARG (Alternate Reality Game, for the uninitiated), and it's a weird one...

Each week or so, a new piece of art is revealed online, and available to buy, but the location of the website (its web address) is doled out through real-world clues and locations. It's kinda neat. Here are two of the very best (and subsequently very sold out) pieces of art:



You can find out more here:

Damon, Carlton and A Polar Bear

Idiot Control Now

I'm starting to not like watching movies.

Shocker, right? Here I am, a self-proclaimed film buff/lover/sycophant and I've suddenly lost my passion. It's sad, I know. About as sad as a clown losing his funny, or a lumberjack developing a chainsaw allergy.

I scroll my Netflix queues, and I find nothing that interests me. I know of three or four movies I'd like to see in theatres, but I'm too cheap to buy a ticket.

Movies have become disappointments. The critical darlings end up being too boring, obscure or inaccessible, and ultimately bring me down. The blockbusters get me going, but they're like a sugar rush: all energy, no nutrition. Occasionally (read: Rarely) I find a happy medium-- The Dark Knight, for instance, a film that floored me once and still floors me today. I continue to admire its pacing, its bravado, its audacity, and its depth. Rarely does something that pulpy become something that profound.

But most films are disappointments. Not in the "Oh, that wasn't what I expected" sort of way, but more in the "Oh, it's over, so now what" kind of way... I sense a deeper issue at hand, but let's not delve into that right now. Most of the time, I sense the futility of filmmaking when I watch a film. I see it as the short-lived box office success it will be, the millions of dollars on DVD it'll make, and the countless ads on TNT when it airs. Soon, any film I want to see will be reduced to something as common as reruns of Friends or Sex and the City. Ten years from now it'll be Bargain Bin fodder at Walmart and Blockbuster. So, why care? Why make the effort anymore?

I actually don't have an answer to that. You could flog reason after reason why movies are awesome my way, but believe me, I'm aware of them, so save your fingers the typing time and write something else. I'm just kinda pissed off. I'm tired of feeling this way about film. I'm tired of trying to find something that will enrich me AND entertain me, but that seems to be so impossible to find. Old movies, new movies, what have you. I feel like I've exhausted what's "Good" and all that's left is "Just Okay" or "Not a Chance". Or winners of the Palme d'Or...

The only solace I find is in television, where the game changes weekly, and the thrills are seemingly never ending. New shows every fall and returning shows refreshed with re-invigorated storylines and characters; a fresh start on familiar ground. It's exciting, and it's alive. I want to feel this for film again. I want to feel like cinema is this growing entity that is constantly getting better, as opposed to constantly proving me right. I don't feel like that. All I see is retread after retread, and all I feel is mixed emotions and loads of disappointment.

All in all, it sucks.

Sting, Debbie Reynolds and God...

This picture actually occured on my brother's Facebook Friends Suggestions page... Amazing...

Casen Face

- I'm writing this post from my email. I've been curious about this little feature for some time now, so here it is. I don't know about formatting, so this may look funky.

- My keyboard's been funky too. It was attacked by my nephew, and the spacebar got cracked (yo!). It now has a nice, hairline boo-boo going down the middle. It still works, but it makes a weird noise when I hit it. Also, and far more unexplainable, is my "j" key has become super duper sensitive. I touch it, barely, like this -- jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj -- and it just goes crazyjjjjjjjjjj. I noticed this yesterday when I was trying to type an email, and I kept typing superfluous j's everywhere... It confused me, and I jjjjjjjjjjjjj -- see! I just rested for like two seconds, on the the keys with the little nubbins on them, and it typed crazy j's! WHA!?!? Annoying.

- I've been playing more and more video games lately. Pathetic. I often convince myself that whenever I become addicted to anything, that Helen Mirren is also addicted to it. I can't help but think that she's not at all above those kind of things. Meryl Streep too. Is that weird?

- My over-a-year-in-the-works short film finally showed up in Provo this last week. It didn't go as well as I'd hoped. What did I learn? I'm not a sound mixer. That's all.

- Project Runway and Flipping Out are back on TV. Yeah, judge me all you want, but I can't resist those shows. They're among the three reality shows I watch (and I don't count anything on Food Network as reality), so don't get all feisty. Flipping Out is like a bad yet watchable sitcom, and Project Runway is like watching art students forced to make really cool art in 24 hours. Mad Men is also back. So all in all, pretty perfect, TV-wise.

- I had Kneaders in Utah, and it made me miss Provo food... Which trumps San Diego food, by the way. By far. It's probably the second thing I miss about Provo, the first thing being my friends and family. Sandwiches... *Drool*...

- This post is disappointing. I'm disappointed in it. My apologies.

Purity of Essence...

I think it's normal for film folk to question on a daily basis their career choices. We have picked something so chock full of uncertainty and without the promise of ANY career to speak of, so it's only natural, right?

Right now, at this moment in time, I hate film making. Right now, there is nothing more frustrating and maddening than the circus of inconsistency and mayhem that is film making. And, I think I hate it.

Details aren't important. They'd only do a disservice, actually. Suffice it to say, my choice of pursuing screenwriting must be kismet or written in the stars or whatever because I don't think I could have handled whoring myself out as a Set P.A., or making some bad Sundance hopeful thinking I'd hit it big with a seven-figure distribution deal with Fox Searchlight. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be happy believing my career as a director was meant to be, and "It'll happen!" being my mantra each and every time I wake up unemployed, poor and in the habit of dodging my landlord.

Anyway, I'm pissed. I'm tired. I'm being completely irrational. Who cares? Sure, screenwriting isn't any better, but at least I like it. At least I enjoy doing it, as opposed to the fallacy that is film making. Film making is like every bad group project you ever worked on in high school, where everyone acts all into it, but they really couldn't give a crap.

Or maybe that's not entirely true. My point is, I'm glad I know where I stand in the world of cinema. I'm glad I've figured this out now, and not later. Now, I can focus. I can breathe. But not yet. Not till after the 25th. Until then I hate film making, and all of its cousins and brothers and nephews. So until then, humor me, and don't write encouraging comments below...

Yours forever,
Habdash

A Look Into My Fridays...

A glimpse at things to come:

Single City...

I just couldn't take much more of that stretchy nonsense. It made my blog look gnarly, and I hate gnarly.

So, here's the vastly improved HadDash, complete with über-cool lowercase post titles, a little wider width, and a header that doesn't look like the picture ate the right portion of the border (yeah, you may have not noticed, but it was like nails on a chalkboard for me...)

I'd wager that the majority of you folks don't care, won't notice, or won't come back. That's fine. Whatever. Blogs are simply a means for vain people like myself to post things they think others will find fascinating. Whether or not people read them isn't much of a concern.

Yeah, not really...

It's not like I can magically produce twins and post adorable pictures of them... Or move to London, develop a totally legit swearing habit AND blog about raptors...

Or can I?

I'm pretty sure this was funnier in my head...

He Tinks He's A Whar-wulf...

Here's two bits of photographic awesome:

The Ocean Walker

Guess what?

I'm the guest writer for today (Friday) over at Daily Pre-Script-ion, a blog started by a few of my amigos, Spencer and Eric.








The blog is just like it says: two guys writing one page scripts everyday for a year, and they invited me to be their first guest writer. I feel honored. And touched. But mostly honored.

So, thank you Eric, for stroking my ego all the way up there in the San Fernando Valley... And thank you, Spencer, for not saying no when Eric asked me, because I know how much you despise me...........

I love you guys.

Enjoy.

Daily pre-Script-ion - Day Fourteen

P.S. - I'm towards the bottom of the page, but please read the others as well.

P.P.S. - You'll also notice that my script is longer than a page. That's because I broke the rules. But, that's what I am. A rule breaker. A rogue. Story of my life, right?

It's New To You...

We're no longer a fixed width blog here at the HabDash, so give me your thoughts on this new stretchy redesign...

gracias...

pm/pm...

For the past little bit, the convenience store chain, am/pm has had the slogan, "Too Much Good Stuff". Recently, I saw an ad of theirs that stated quite clearly that "You Can Never Have Too Much Good Stuff."

So...

- If am/pm is Too Much Good Stuff,
- And their current ads dictate that You can never have too much good stuff,
- Then doesn't that logically indicate that You can never have am/pm?

Ergo...
am/pm,
You've just been proof'd...

The Gold Violin

Thank you Dyna Moe. And AMC...

Mad Men Yourself

Whinging About

I failed to mention in my last post another good thing about this trip: seeing family. They've been great hosts, and good company, and it's always great to see them, even if I was constantly longing for a good spit-up in order to ease my nausea.

Old Gregg

I'm in Utah right now, or the Motherland as it might as well be known, and I'm not in the best of spirits. Since Wednesday, I've had a mild flu-like symptom bug of some kind, rendering me pretty useless. Naturally, I'm convinced it's that pig disease that's been so much a part of the pop culture zeitgeist these past couple of months, but I've googled the symptoms, and I should be fine.

I don't think I would mind too much if our trip didn't involve so much driving. So far, we've driven a least one hour every day since Wednesday, and that's frankly too much for this invalid. Couple that with two days in the (hot) sun, one at a very reflective lake (The Bear! Lake), and what you get is a very ruddy, flu-filled face that hurts when I smile. Or wince. Or raise my eyebrows suspiciously...

The best part, however, is that my little neph-ew, Craisin (né Casen) is with us, which has made my flu seem pretty inconsequential. The kid smiles all the time, even when he's half-asleep, and it just melts my feverish heart.

We also caught the newest Potter flick, which was great, but it was unfortunately showing at the worst movie theatre I've ever been to (thanks a million, Cache Valley!). If the cinder block walls (!) weren't enough, then how about cramped stadium seating? Or the shoddy sound system (someone needs a lesson in acoustics)? Or the woman sitting behind us who had obviously read the book, and insisted on telling her friend exactly what it all meant. And when I say "it all", I mean every plot point. To be fair, that last one technically doesn't count against the actual theatre, but still, it made it hard to enjoy the film, really, which is a strike in my book.

So, a summation:
Swine flu?
Driving
The Bear!
Babies
Harry Potter and the Half-Finished Movie Theatre
and finally, Burning Man-Face.

Overall? No fair, but it's been okay.

Jihaddy...

You wanna? Yes? Yes?! Check it...











White Men...

Everybody Betray Me.

My Xbox 360 died yesterday. The dreaded E74 error, in case you're taking notes. Microsoft has kindly agreed to fix it for free, so the poor Box is now on its way to Texas for a look-see. As for myself, and my constituents, we've resorted to mourning its temporary vacation. In light of it all, I will say that the silver lining is the hope that we will take advantage of its time away to rid ourselves of its addictive grasp. Maybe, perhaps, I'll actually get something done.

Oh, Hi Mark!

My latest running mix, featuring thirty-three minutes of continuous fitness favorites:

- Chaiyya Chaiyya Bollywood Joint* - Sukhwinder Singh and Sapna Awasthi, featuring Punjabi MC

- Such Great Heights - The Postal Service

- Live and Let Die - Paul McCartney & Wings

- Let's Go To The Mall - Robin Sparkles

- FutureSex/LoveSound - Justin Timberlake

- Don't Say Nuthin' - The Roots

- Apocalypse Please - Muse

- New Skin - Incubus

*Video from the Bollywood film Dil Se. My version of the song is from Spike Lee's Inside Man. Similar, but not the same, but I LOVE that video, so, yeah...

You're Tearing Me Apart, Lisa!

Things I learned/remembered while cleaning out my Gmail inbox:

- I once applied for a job as an assistant editor to a man (Ben Unguren) who would later become a professor at BYU, and for whom I would be his very first TA. Weird, eh?

- I received an ORCA grant that I never took, nor actually ever wanted, for a documentary project about Islam in Paris. Our funds needed never matched the grant's award amount.

- I used to write copious emails to a friend (hi Nephi) back and forth, wherein we would review the latest movies we'd seen. I enjoyed them thoroughly.

- I got cleared to register for TMA 291 (Film History) before I was ever in the film program.

- I used to sing in the French Choir. It was actually kinda fun.

- I used to write to a girl from France on a pretty regular basis. And no, it's not what you think.

- I actually used to keep in contact with mission friends.

- My Facebook account started on March 4th of 2005. Back then, it was called thefacebook.com. Old Skool.

- I remembered how much I hated TMA 112.

- I almost applied for school at CUNY in New York.

I'm still not finished, so I'm sure there's more to learn and reminisce about. I'm just amazed that all of this was recalled simply through emails I'd received.

Picture Book...

My little brother likes to collect odd, yet unbelievably hilarious pictures and GIF animations. Here are a few for you to enjoy:

Heeeeey....

I'll post more, if you so desire...

Beep Beep, Beep Beep, Yeah!

I've been doing a lot of thinking; a bit more than normal, but not quite enough for it to get me anywhere, but amongst my thoughts I've come to this odd, yet profound conclusion about my life: With all the hoopla often associated with H-Wood and it's glamtastic lifestyle, I've decided that, in spite of my current detest for mediocrity, I really just want to be successful. I really only want to provide, not prosper. I want to tell a story or two, get some foldin' money, and be on my way. Find a niche, give it a whirl, then slowly drift away into old age.

I'll cop to being enamored with fame at one point in my life, wondering at what age I'll win my Oscar, and whether or not I'll have kids by then. I often imagined myself back in France, showcasing my film in Cannes, while, merely three days later, seeing posters for my film adorning every bus stop sur les Champs-Elysées. But, as I think about all of that now, the only word I think of to describe all of that is nice. It would really be nice. That's about all. Pretty vanilla, right? The thing is, I've managed to find fulfillment and joy in things other than fame (since I have yet to experience it), so I know my life can be complete without it. So, why seek it? Why worry about it? I certainly want to get where I need to go, but why choose the path least followed, when the well-worn one is just as wonderful. Robert Frost certainly meant well with his poetry, but I feel like I'm already taking the road less traveled, so why run through the weeds just to find something that may never be there? There are just too many metaphors to wade through before I manage to find myself content with something that's as fickle as a snowstorm in the Sahara. Why chase something that will undoubtedly let you down at some point?

Case in point: Johnny Carson lived 30 years or so in the television spotlight, arguably the best host late night television has or ever will see, but the moment it was done, poof, he was gone. He knew it all meant nothing. He didn't live the rest of his days Norma Desmond style, hoping Leno or Letterman would ask him back for his legendary close-up; he just disappeared. He was done, and part of me wonders if deep down, he'd been begging for it for a long, long time. I'm sure he was proud of what he did, and loved every minute of it, but he knew what mattered.... Can I just say it? Wonderful. It just sounds so wonderful.

But, I don't want to be Carson. I really don't. I just want to be successful. I don't think it's too much to ask for, right? I'm convinced I'll find it. Yeah, you can say that I'm only shooting for the moon instead of the stars, but I just have this one thing to say to you: It's still outer space, right?