But I still shop at The Gap

As a general rule I do not watch reality TV. It's stupid. It's not reality at all and it's stupid.

But I make two exceptions.

America's Next Top Model and Project Runway are stupendous.

Catty bitches, drama queens, melodrama and also some models. Plus, cool pictures and dresses you can decide whether or not you'd wear.

But by far the best thing about these two shows is the ability you have to judge people based solely on the out-of-context editing and bizarre creative choices they make.

I don't even know how to sew a button but I know that silly dress with the rosettes and plastic shredded strips is damn tacky. My nose looks like a toucan's beak on camera, but I know that girl needs to elongate her neck more, okay?

I love how in the Project Runway season premiere the guy with the flattened out Flock of Seagulls haircut called the Hippie Lady weird. He was kind of right though; she's a whack job.

I have also come to the conclusion that everything is better if Tim Gunn is involved. We should let him take over planning for the Iraq war. Everyone would put down their guns and concentrate on ways to look fabulous in fatigues.

Too bad these shows are on networks that don't interact because a crossover episode would be awesome.

Just how awesome is Captain Awesome? Very.

I would like to take a moment to expound upon the brilliance that is Captain Awesome.

If you've been watching Chuck, and you really should be - it gets better with every episode - you already know about Captain Awesome.

He's played by Ryan McPartlin, previously seen on Passions, North Shore, Living with Fran and a number of other TV shows. As you may have guessed by his picture, he is a Ken doll. But never has a frat boy so... well, awesome.

He's a doctor. He's an athlete. He knows how to dance. He can dress himself. He always says the right thing. He's freaking hot.

The reason he works is because he embraces his preppiness and he loves his girlfriend, plus he's really nice to people who aren't as awesome as he is. I guess in the end, that's it. He's unapologetic about his complete perfection but doesn't think of anyone else as beneath him. Plus, he says exactly what he means at all times. In this week's episode he told Chuck he needed to be having sex with his girlfriend when it's what everybody was thinking but nobody was saying. Later, when his girlfriend went bat-shit crazy thanks to an assassin's poison and started yelling at him for wearing tight shorts while jogging, he simply raised his eyebrows and waited for her to finish while casually asking why she was so mad.

Nothing worries this man.

So good on you, writers of Chuck. You managed to invent the perfect man. Too bad he's not real.

Questions about the strike

I kept asking people this on the picket line yesterday and nobody knew a complete answer so I'm going to post it here and see what people think.

Best Week Ever and The Soup are still on the air. Why? Best Week Ever ignored the strike completely this week, but The Soup's Joel McHale mentioned twice that the producers should cough up residuals so the writers could go back to work, so clearly he supports the strike. But he's at work. I don't get it.

Myspace is holding some kind of short film contest. A guy emailed me yesterday asking me to vote for his movie which mocks reality television. He says it's a way for him to support the strike because if he wins he'll forgo the development deal that may come with the prize, and in the meantime he's poking fun at the networks.

I'm not really sure how his winning a contest is a boon for striking writers. I think the guy may be trying to make himself feel less like a scab if he wins. Which brings me to my next question, is that scab work? If you have a finished film and you sell it to a studio, does that qualify as crossing the line? It's not writing work, it's selling a completed piece of work. Then again, it is filling time for the networks.

I know the Disney people have worked out the kinks in their fellowship, but what about other contests? What if a contest includes a development deal or a studio first look as a prize? What happens to the winners now? Does the prize get put on hold until the strike is over or do you have to become a scab to claim your winnings?

And what about Ellen? From what I gather about the situation she's in a hell of a bind. She's a member of both the WGA and AFTRA and while WGA expects her to strike AFTRA has a no-strike clause in her contract. So how can she possibly do the right thing?

There are many topics. Discuss.

EDIT: For more info on The Soup and Best Week Ever in relation to the strike, go here.

My day on the line

Last night I made three batches of black bean spirals to take to the picket line today. Most of them are back in my refrigerator because there was so much food that nobody wanted my damn appetizers even though mine were home made and the cookies and muffins were store-bought. But whatever.

I live within walking distance of Paramount but I know a bunch of people who work at Warner so my theory was that I'd go up there and not be totally alone as I marched. But one friend didn't answer her phone last night or today, another friend was off the lot on a shoot at the ranch, another friend couldn't get time away from her office to come out, and Maggie was only able to picket during her lunch at 12:30.

I did get to see Maggie for a bit - always an improvement on whatever situation you're in - but in the end I probably should have walked to Paramount and saved on gas and time. Next time I will.

At least I didn't get a ticket. I was a bit concerned since I parked near although not in front of a hydrant with no red zone paint, have no front license plate and my car sat there for three hours in a two-hour zone. But no ticket. I believe I have upped my karma points on the picket line.

I did meet a few nice people there in my red UTLA shirt. David Madsen, a feature writer and novelist who listed many a film he wrote that has been bought and stuck on shelves all over town. He was particularly nice and hopefully one day I'll cross his path again and he'll remember me as the little teacher who marched back and forth with him across the street.

The staff of Gossip Girl was there (in the middle of the top picture). You knew who they were because they were the loudest, prettiest little writer cheerleaders on the line. They kept trying to get chants going, but I think most people just wanted to talk while we walked around.

Then there was this kid beating on a drum:He's about ten. Somebody asked where they'd seen him before and he said, "Oh I've been on Heroes, Lost. You may have caught my work on Gray's Anatomy."

He makes me feel inadequate.

Patton Oswalt was there being very loud and ringleadery. He's following me around, I swear. He was at a completely random party Lead Actor held once. When I asked Lead Actor about it he had no idea who Patton Oswalt was or how he knew about the party. And there he was today, walking with Charlie Hayes and some surly old guy from Hill Street Blues.

Also, the honking. The glorious honking. I honked before a bit as I passed Paramount, but now I will honk with wild abandon. The honking gave us something to do in the form of waving and cheering, but it also made us feel useful and supported. And at Gate 2 it was nuts. Teamsters, Priuses, random people in random cars all honking and waving. One old lady pulled over and handed us cookies and lollipops. The Vitamin Water guys came by with a speaker and shouted encouragement as they handed out their product.

Good times were had by all. Even though it was hot and boring and far from my house, I'm glad I went. I didn't hand out any of the ten business cards I made, but who gives a crap. I felt like I was part of the team anyway.

Keep on fighting the power, everybody

There's a new petition to sign stating that you won't download anything off the network websites. Please sign it, and then don't download anything off the network websites. If you download anything off those websites you're helping the studios and hurting the writers.

If you have a Myspace, there is a virtual picket line going around. Replace your default photo with a picture in support of the strike.

Anyone who wants to join a picket line can find the schedule here.

I will be out of work tomorrow because of Veteran's Day so to honor the men and women who fought for our rights I'm going to go practice my First Amendment right to assemble and bitch. I'm making black bean spirals today to take out and share with the group. I figure if I've only got one day on the picket line I'll make the most of it. If you're up at Warner on Monday I'll be in my red UTLA shirt handing out appetizers. Union solidarity!

Isn't this nice? One silver lining to this whole strike issue is that it seems to be bringing all kinds of people together. I'm not in the Guild but I kind of feel like I am these days. On a normal day you have to either screw somebody or kill somebody to next to an A-list writer, but during the strike all you have to do is show up at the studio gate with cookies. It sort of melts away that barrier between the successful and the aspiring. How American of us.

On an unrelated note, I finally got around to writing a logline for Bamboo Killers:
Four people - one emotional couple with sexual disfunction and one sexual couple with emotional disfunction - face their insecurities as they spiral toward each other until they end up on opposite sides of a dangerous plot that appears to be an innocent night of board games.


[EDIT] I realize by the comments that I need to explain a bit what the script is. It's a series of chapters - one on each of the four people in this story - that all have different plots. Each chapter builds up to the final chapter, which is the only full story where the four people are in the same room at the same time. One is a boxing story, one is a story about shoe shopping and lesbians, one is a story about attending an office seminar, and one is about being mugged at Venice Beach. In the fifth story all the characters are together in a room presumably playing a board game, but you learn toward the end that there's a lot more going on than the game. All of the previous stories have been leading up to this final chapter.

I'm trying to convey all this in the logline and I'm having difficulty. Suggestions?

Can't touch this

This is a scary story. Be prepared. The events that follow may be too frightening for the average human mind.

This is the story of my first internet date.

You may remember Sad Emily from several posts ago, Sad Emily was sad before because she got her heart broken into tiny bits that were then thrown into a furnace and burned into oblivion. It's okay, I'm over it kinda, but it happened nonetheless.

So fast forward a bit and I decide it's time I moved on. But I don't feel like doing the whole bar scene all over again - see last Saturday night for reasons why - so I decided to give old web dating a try. If nothing else it would be a story.

Here is that story.

I met Web Date on the corner of Sunset and Detroit in Hollywood. I already had bad feelings because I was meeting him on the corner of Sunset and Detroit like a hooker. I saw two men headed my way - a short dude in a stupid shirt and a cutie in black. Guess which one was my date?

When we met up he was completely wet because he just got out of the shower, then ran down the street to meet up with me. Yeah, buddy, that's attractive. I unfortunately opted for heels, which made him super short by comparison. A good start for everybody.

We went to some bar called The Woods. It smelled like untreated wood. I asked for a sour apple martini and he ordered the same.

Okay boys, here's a tip: We drink the martini. You drink a beer.

He spoke about his job pushing paper about as enthusiastically as a Star Trek fan talks about team sports. He supposedly used to be a boxer but when I started discussing Mike Tyson's technique he had no idea what I was talking about.

I was already imagining the Blind Date bubbles over my head.

We left the bar and went to a karaoke / sushi bar in the Highland Mall. That's when he started touching.

My family is British. My grandma met my grandpa in the USO, my mom can't cook, and we don't generally hug. Once I tried to hug my grandma when she wasn't expecting it and she dropped like a wet rag in a kitchen sink. I am the same. Unless we know each other really well, don't touch me.

But Web Date kept touching me. My arm, my back, my neck - ugh. I finally straight up told him to stop touching me, to lay off, at which point he asked if he could to touch my face.

I was trying so hard to get away from him that my elbow knocked a full beer and a mixed drink off the counter. I had no idea the drinks were there next to my elbow, but I had $8 in my pocket I was prepared to give to the drink owners after I apologized. But when my profuse apologies came, all I got in return was a disgusted look of disgust that was clearly very disgusted so I kept my money in my pocket. Fuck 'em. I didn't knock it over on purpose. You don't have to be ass-hatty.

Anyway, Web Date, who turned out to be a smoker which his profile clearly said he was not, said he wanted to kiss me before he sucked on his Lucky Strike. It was the attack of the soaking wet tongue. I couldn't escape.

He begged me to take off my hooded sweatshirt (and by that I mean literally begged), which by now was zipped up as high as any hooded sweatshirt could possibly go. I nearly zipped my neck skin up into the hoody.

No cleavage for you.

My body language was as uncomfortable as I could make it, but Web Date kept touching me so I finally told him again to stop touching me. He immediately tried to touch my face. I slapped his hand away. He called me "baby".

He bought me a rum and coke without consulting on whether or not I wanted this drink. I passed and made him drink it.

He karaoked a song - I don't remember which one - and destroyed it by screaming the lyrics as loud as he could. I karaoked Pearl Jam's "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" and had some difficulty starting on key, but picked it up after a bit and kind of nailed it. One of Web Date's karaoke friends came over and told me he could get me a recording contract.

Oh, Los Angeles. You are consistent.

Web Date explained to me that before our date he'd watched some porn and masturbated and even ejaculated, which is great since he usually has a lot of trouble ejaculating.

Super. This guy is everything I've dreamed of and more.

Web Date kept trying to kiss me. By now I was actively putting my hands up to block his moves. When I denied him he went over to some Asian girl and flirted with her, presumably to make me jealous. I was grateful.

Web Date went out to make a phone call and I thought briefly about escaping but since I have yet to become a complete bitch I decided to tell him I wanted to leave. He offered to walk me to my car. On the way out he tried to slip through a "personnel only" door and I used it as an excuse to keep moving. I raced down the stairs and onto Hollywood Boulevard, moving as fast as I could to get back to my car. I checked behind me and he wasn't there. Whew.

Then, suddenly, a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there he was, panting from his run to catch me. He was drunk and sang some song about girls and pubic hair.

We came to his street. He asked me to come back to his apartment to have sex. I said no. He tried to kiss me. I pushed him off. He tried again. I pushed him off again. Then I ran for it, watching his drunk ass crying out to me in the distance.

I hope he made it home. I also hope he never calls me again.

Scabs

These are some ads I found on Craigslist for all the idiots who think this strike is a good opportunity to make some money. Can't you just smell the desperation and self-loathing?

1)
Ridiculously talented writer looking to teach a few billionaires a lesson. Sure you can pay $500,000 to Schlock Rosenworm to re-write an action sequence or Ted Stryker $150,000 to "punch up" a comedy over the weekend, but all they do is pawn it off on me for a 10% vig. With avarice getting the best of everybody, if you ACT NOW, you can cut out the middleman.

I've co-written scripts with Hollywood's top scribes, and unlike most of these alcoholics, I've got my sh*t together: Pitches, Pilots & Scripts, Oh My!

Note: I will not write for John Stewart. That #%^$@! owes me money ;)

Writing samples available by request only to legit email. Meetings in NYC next week and LA two weeks, unless same day R/T provided on Netjets, Marquis or private air (please no Cessnas!).


2)
is Craigslist an unlikely place to find a great script?

yesterday, maybe..but today you've found one.

I am the executor of the estate of an amazingly talented
playwright and I am taking this striking opportunity to
present this material to someone who can truly make a difference.

Already critically acclaimed, this masterfully wriiten work by an
African-American woman is epic in scope and universally appealing.

If you are a producer with vision and intuition then look no
further.

I await your email for more details.


3) Does your script need a polish, a punch-up or a page-one rewrite? Now that the WGA's on strike, who's going to massage the kinks out of your latest draft?

I graduated from Eastern Washington University in 2002 with a Bachelor's Degree in Film. That year, I also received the "Excellence in Screenwriting" award for my Senior Thesis script.

Since I moved to L.A., I've had one project after another fall through, thus keeping me from achieving any screen credits and making me eligible for membership in the WGA. I have, however, come very close to winning more than one screenwriting competition; two of my scripts made it through several rounds of the Nicholl Fellowships in 2006 and I was a finalist in the Screamfest L.A. contest that same year.

At any rate, I'm talented but astoundingly unlucky. Regardless, I view every setback as an opportunity, including this Writers Strike. Although it doesn't affect me personally (I currently work in advertising), it is going to diminish Hollywood's output for the time being, and I absolutely love movies. It's why I've been writing scripts since I was 16. And it's why I'm approaching you as a hungry writer.

Samples of my work are available upon request; please make sure you can download Final Draft documents on your PC. I've written in a variety of genres, but comedy, action, horror and sci-fi are what I prefer. I'm available for meetings in the evenings and on weekends. No deadline is too soon, no page count is too high.


4)
I can do the work of ten of these pampered WGA types. You have a TV show or movie that needs new material during this strike? I'm your man! I am an experienced writer in several genres who is looking to break into the industry. Don't give in to the WGA's demands! There are plenty of talented writers out there who can do what they do for less money! Give us a chance!

Frank TV does not suck

Last night I attended a taping of Frank TV. I fully expected it to suck because. I was pleasantly surprised.

There was an empty seat next to me during the taping. It bothered me the entire show. Nobody seemed to notice or care and it was the only empty seat in the house, right up in the second row. After many minutes of obsessively trying to catch the page's attention, I scooted over so I was halfway between the seats. It was uncomfortable but made me feel better as a person.

Frank was actually pretty funny. I think this was the third episode or so, so if you happen to catch it - I think Tuesdays on TBS starting in a week or so- I am "geography girl". I don't know if I made it on camera because the guy in front of me was 9 1/2 feet tall, but when I cheered at the mention of Jacksonville, North Carlina - you know, the way you do when somebody mentions your state on TV - Frank looked at me and said, "Are you from Jacksonville or just a fan of geography?" then referred to me as "geography girl" later at a mention of Hawaii.

So yay, I kind of was on TV without actually being on TV.

Frank had a lot of trouble with the lines. When one didn't work there was nobody there to fix it so he just kept trying things and didn't seem very satisfied with the the results. I actually thought he did very well. I didn't have to fake most of my laughs. The sketches were hit or miss, but the improve was really good. And that dude's impressions are eerily accurate.

In line before the taping I met a woman who's been a seat filler for ten years. She's been to every major awards show in existence and once got invited to the private after party for some rapper who saw her at the show. She gave me advice on the best way to fill seats. She said I'll probably hop all over the place at the AMAs because the younger and more photogenic you are the more you move, which is why you don't bring a bag any bigger than a clutch. You're not supposed to talk to the celebrities you sit next to but they often talk to you. We both decided to hope I sit next to John Mayer and wow him with my beauty and intelligence. Hey, John Mayer, my body is a wonderland.

Education, picket lines and seat filling

Today was a marvelous day. I took my senior English class to Glendale Community College where they behaved like angels while the nice Glendale people showed us the lovely campus and fed us all undercooked cheeseburgers and Doritos. Not only did they rope in a few of my kids with their wiles, but they convinced me to drive up there for a few classes as well. They offer a cinematography class that looks better than any at all of the other community colleges in the area. Unfortunately they don't offer a lot of night classes, so I think I'll wait until March and take cinematography and beginning Spanish.

I forgot how much I liked school before I had to take all those stupid education theory classes.

Yay school! I loves the learnin'!

Yesterday on my way to the gym I passed two groups of strikers. I take Van Ness, where there are gates for Raleigh studios and Paramount, both within walking distance of my house so if they're out there Monday when I'm off work I'm going over there and bringi confectionery treats. Yesterday I honked, cheered and waved. The people at Raleigh studios looked so bored in their lonely little corner of LA. When I cheered at them they literally jumped up and down with excitement that someone noticed them. The car in front of me honked and cheered for the Paramount people, which made me feel kind of like a follower when I did it too. Still, they appreciated the support.

Now I have to go to a taping of Frank TV in Burbank.

I signed up with Audiences Unlimited to be a seat-filler. I haven't seen anything worth sitting in for so far. They literally couldn't pay me to sit through 'Till Death - they offered me $15 and I turned it down. But if I go to Frank TV tonight I get to go to the AMAs and maybe sit next to Beyonce while Jay Z is in the bathroom. And if I'm johnny on the spot with the empty chairs, I might just be invited to seat fill for the Oscars. That's when I'll pull my zombie script out of my black organza skirt and slap it into Clint Eastwood's lap.

I think it's time Clint embraced the genre.

I worry a little that I'm crossing a picket line. But I'm not going there to work and the picket line will actually be finished for the day by the time I get there and if I don't go the company will be pissed and maybe I won't get to sit next to Tom Cruise for five minutes while Katie tries to escape through the bathroom window until her guards catch her and drag her back in while I hear why I should join the church of Scientology. I'd hate to miss that.

What do you think? Is it wrong for me to go to the taping? I mean, I'm going anyway, but still. Am I a sinner?

Raw awesomeness

I finally watched the raw footage from Game Night on Sunday. It was kind of surreal to watch a movie filmed in your apartment while you're sitting on the couch in your apartment watching it. Malkovitch Malkovitch.

My actors are so pretty. I mean amazingly pretty. And I saw all kinds of facial expressions I hadn't seen when we were shooting and they made me laugh so hard I drooled a little. That's a good sign, right?

There are a few things I wish I'd done better. I wish I'd changed a word from "calculus" to "physics" because my Chinese actress had a hell of a time pronouncing it. I wish I'd insisted on Writing Partner pushing forward more when the gun is aimed at his head - he's making a manly statement of confrontation, but he's leaning back away from the gun as he does so.

There also may or may not be an audio problem. When Lead Actor yells "blow dart!" at the top of his lungs it distorts. On every take. But Editor said that may be a result of the DVD compression, and even if it doesn't we can borrow the equipment to record it in my apartment so I won't have to pay for an ADR session.

Ha ha. Blow darts. Never stops being funny.

I still have to find an actor to voice the Chinese dad, but I suspect my actors can help me with that.

I want to make an edit of all the times I said "action" and "cut" because I have a couple of times where I say things like "No, wait! Not action! Not action!" or "action......Oh, sorry, I didn't say it loud enough. ACTION!"

Man, I can't wait for the rough cut.

Dance, Dance, fools

My Grandmother called and left a message for me on Saturday. Imagine a high pitched, really posh British accent as you read it:

"Emily, love, I was wondering how you've been impacted by the writers wanting not to work or not working or the striking or whatever they're doing. I was wondering if you could use it to get in there and, you know, jump over them and take over."

She's kind of a massive Republican, God bless her.

Anyway, onto the meme about music. I was one of the first people to get tagged but my dallying has made me one of the last people to respond. Nonetheless, I get a meme, I answer it, even if I don't do it right away.

The topic is to name a song that inspires you to write and copy some of the lyrics.

As I have previously mentioned about thirty thousand times, I'm into action. So when I write action scenes I have to get into it by blasting an awesome rock song. "Keep on Dancing" by No Doubt is my favorite. But that's more about the beat than the lyrics.

When I wrote my first screenplay I had a death scene that ripped me up to write. I listened to "My Immortal" by Evanescence repeatedly as I wrote that scene. I mean like nine times in a row.

But lately? I just keep on the background music, usually a mix of rock or a mix of mellow stuff depending on what kind of scene I'm writing.

But the one song that consistently gears me up to write when I'm exploring the marital problems of my protagonists via zombie killing is "Dance Dance" by Fall Out Boy. Lyrics:

She says she's no good with words but I'm worse
Barely stuttered out
"A joke of a romantic" or stuck to my tongue
Weighed down with words too over-dramatic
Tonight it's "it can't get much worse"
Vs. "no one should ever feel like.."

I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I'll write them
So you need them just to get by

Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you'd love to lead
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me

You always fold just before you're found out
Drink up its last call
Last resort
But only the first mistake and I...

I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I'll write them
So you need them just to get by

Why don't you show me the little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress, love

Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you'd love to lead
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me

Why don't you show me the little bit of spine
You've been saving for his mattress (mattress, mattress)
I only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me

Emily and the jingle boy

I've been tagged with the music meme by pretty much everybody, so my response at this point is 1) yay! I'm popular! and 2) dammit!

I will get to it tomorrow. Today, however, I want to discuss boys.

Last night I went to a bar in Silverlake and talked to a very cute Boy. Yes, he was a boy. A young, Jewish blond boy with a very Christian name who was confused about his life and way too young for yours truly, who still looks so young she could pull in a freshman frat boy if the lighting was right. It makes meeting people my own age a little difficult but I'm not complaining. Don't hate me because I have good genetics and never took up smoking.

At any rate, said Boy is a musician who writes jingles. I always wanted to meet someone who writes jingles. It sounds so interesting. Like, how do you keep making company names into catchy tunes without rolling your eyes all the time? And I'd like to meet that guy who wrote that "...where you won't get a lemon! - I wouldn't have gotten a lemon?" song and smack him because it gets stuck in my head and it's annoying. The El Pollo Loco song I adore, simply because it sounds like it should keep going but doesn't. I'm sad that they've started taking it off the commercials. I sing it every time I pass a Pollo, which is daily because there's one across the street from my school.

But I didn't end up talking about any of this with Boy because he was too busy trying to figure out whether or not he would cheat on his girlfriend last night. He may not realize it but he owes me a favor. He spent so much time talking to me that at the end of the night he didn't have time to find a girl who would help him in his quest. Hopefully he'll figure out what's wrong with his relationship before he runs off and nails the first sexy girl he can get.

At least he was honest about having a girlfriend.

He said, almost immediately after telling me that he moved out here with her right after college, "Have you ever avoided doing something bad and then regretted it? Sometimes it's good to do bad things, right?"

I was not wearing my teacher cap at that moment. I feel I should have had a better answer, but at the moment I just wanted a cute boy to buy me a beer. I told him about how I almost got married and sealed my fate as a good girl in an unhappy marriage. I'd wager he's struggling with the same issues right now. He seemed kind of sad, like I was, stuck with a girl he no longer loves the way he used to. I wish I'd given him better advice. Then again, he probably wasn't actually looking for advice, just an excuse to not feel guilty about cheating.

He told me one interesting thing I didn't know. I asked him if he could do his work during the WGA strike and he said yes because jingle writing is covered by SAG.

Huh?

He agreed it was odd, but there it is. Did you know that? SAG? That makes no sense.

Man, I hope Boy talks to his girlfriend about their problems before they end up married and miserable. If he ever breaks up with her he can give me a call. He may be young but he is damn adorable.

What went wrong with Lions for Lambs

Last night I went with Scribe and another Friend of ours to see a free screening of Robert Redford's new film, Lions for Lambs.

I adore Robert Redford. I've never supported the war in Iraq, even from the beginning, and I love war movies. Love them.

But this movie was a complete disaster from beginning to end.

You know how you have a character who needs to express his feelings but you can't have him talk to himself so you put him in a psychiatrist's office so he can still talk to himself but at least somebody else is there too so it's not so obvious that he's talking to himself? Know how that's bad? Well....

There are basically three stories in this film:

1) Two soldiers are stranded on a plateau in Iraq, stuck several feet from each other by injuries they sustained when they fell out of a helicopter. Now they talk and occasionally shoot at hazy targets in the distance as they wait for rescue, not moving the entire film.

2) Meryl Streep is a reporter who sits in an office with Tom Cruise the senator while he unfolds the new GOP plan, already begun, to make Vietnam-like offensive in Afghanistan, the offensive the afore-mentioned soldiers are a part of.

3) Robert Redford, the former political science professor of the afore-mentioned soldiers, sits in his office lecturing a lazy frat boy on why he should come to class more often.

We have three stories, all about the way the decision-makers talk a lot and don't do anything while the real heroes go off and die bravely because of the stupid decisions their leaders make. And yet 99% of the film is two people in various locations sitting around talking. It was pretty much one of the most boring movies ever.

The Korean film Tae Guk Gi was about the same thing, but that film wrenches your soul from your body, it's so amazingly sad and beautiful. The Australian film Gallipoli is about the same thing but leaves you so incredibly angry at the stupidity of the military leaders you want to throw things at the screen and scream. Both films succeed because the soldiers see what decisions people around them should be making and make actual sacrifices for other people while their leaders commit lazy, greedy, ignorant acts.

Lions for Lambs has chosen to replace all that heart-wrenching drama with a lot of boring CNNesque debate.

During the Q&A Michael Carnahan said he originally wrote this as a play and when he decided to make it a film script he "didn't want to change anything" because it pored out of him, outline free, and he wanted to keep to his original ideas in tact. He also said he loved the idea of these boring rooms where boring people sat and made major decisions about thousands of men they never see. So he put his boring characters in boring rooms where they talked about the decisions they'd already made. And nobody has any real backstory. Nobody. There's a scene at the end where the editing and music told me I was supposed to be crying but I really didn't see the need.

Basically, this film took a self-righteous hammer and slammed it into my skull for the longest 88 minutes of my life.

You may ask, well Miss Emily, what the hell would you have done that was so much better?

Glad you asked.

One of the many problems with this film is its lack of urgency. All the major decisions have already been made when the film opens so everybody's just kind of debating or reacting. We need some urgency. So here's what I'd do keeping the same basic format:

1) Two soldiers stranded on the plateau. One of them trapped, one of them injured but capable of movement. They know the Afghans are coming, so they make a plan to defend themselves that involves doing some incredibly risky and brave moves, especially on the part of the guy who can walk. But he's going to stay and help his friend when he could just run and hide. You could have the same outcome for the scene, but instead of empty dialogue over distance you could show the relationship between these guys through their actions.

2) Tom Cruise is in on a meeting with some major political players to decide what to do about the failed Afghan offensive. Do we abandon the soldiers? Do we go in even though the offensive didn't work? How do we spin this politically? While our boys are dying on a mountaintop, the political leaders in Washington are discussing economics and public relations and trying to make a decision we know will directly affect the soldiers. So instead of simply discussing an offensive that has already taken place, we'd be making a crucial military decision that will have an effect on the outcome of characters we know.

Meryl Streep can still be the reporter trying to get the story, but this time instead of being handed a story she doesn't like, she could be actively working to get the truth of what's going on in Afghanistan.

3) A cocky college boy's fraternity brother decides to join the military. Cocky college boy wants to talk his friend out of it. As we see this one boy making this decision, we see the outcome of that decision on the plateau in Afghanistan and the idiots making policy in Washington and cross our fingers that the boy will decide to finish his education instead of run off and die.

Lots of people will say this film is deep and important. These are the same people who lauded the emperor's clothes.

Assorted thoughts

Last night I finally received the raw footage from the Game Night shoot. I haven't watched it yet because I'm scared I'll hate it. I can't imagine the basket case I'll be when I get the rough cut.

Know what really sucks about the WGA strike? All the people who have nothing to do with it who won't be able to work. Half the people I know in this town are PAs on TV shows. I guess they'll be lounging in two weeks while the rest of us are trudging into work. I hope they've got money in savings. It certainly will highlight how important writers are, though, won't it? Writers stop working everybody stops working. Except Vince "scabby" Vaughn, anyway.

Yesterday I asked my students to list things that make America different from other countries. One of my students said, "By America you mean California, right?"

One of my yearbook students is dumb as a freaking tree stump. Yearbook relies on you to be able to think on your own and do various creative tasks without being given specific orders but this kid asks me what to do every five seconds. I mean everything. I can say, go get pictures of classes and the kid will come back ten minutes later with two pictures on the camera and ask what to do next. It takes every ounce of restraint in me not to scream in frustration.

[EDITED TO ADD] I have taken a little bit of heat from a few self-righteous people about the "dumb as a tree stump" comment so I will elaborate on it for a second. (I'm NOT talking about IM Anonymous, but people whose comments I've not approved because they were personally insulting.)

I am a bit blunt at times, and since I know the child will never read this I opted for style over political correctness. Perhaps I should have said "incapable of independent thought." If this student limitewere in my English class I'd go out of my way to make certain he or she understood the material, regardless of mental capacity. But in yearbook the entire class is built around the idea that the students create the book and put it together themselves with my limited guidance. This child has been on yearbook 9 weeks now and still has not figured out how to think for his or herself. If the kid were a scrawny little boy who couldn't run very fast, we'd expect him to be lousy at football and frustrate the coach. And how many coaches do you know who would let him play on the team? So lay the hell off.

[END OF EDIT]

I took my second period seniors on a walking field trip to LA Trade Tech yesterday where we learned about welding and cosmetology and other assorted jobs. Several of them got a little more interested in passing high school when they saw what they could do with a blowtorch. We all went to McDonald's afterward where my 3 three hundred pound boys decided to ride down the slide and crawl through the tubes in the playpen. We scared away all the children.

I'm glad it's Friday.

Halloween with the royal court

Man am I sleepy. Again. Last night as I was waiting for my Friend to pick me up I heard trick-or-treaters in the hallway. I panicked. Mine is an apartment building with - I thought - no children and I had no candy. I rifled around and located a tiny Snickers, a tiny Almond Joy and a ring pop left over from the Kickin' it Old Skool party I went to like a year ago. After that I was eying the apples, which would no doubt have made me an enemy for life among the children.

Fortunately they never showed up at my door. They did, however, wander in adorable droves around my neighborhood.

Friend and I went to the WeHo Halloween street carnival and wandered around. Once more she was dressed as punk rock riding hood and I was dressed as a boxer, only this time I put on my gloves and held them up as I walked down the street.

For some reason this made me very popular. People took pictures with me and of me, and about eight million men and women tried to punch either my glove or me. One drunk guy actually tried to fight me one-handed. He seemed somewhat surprised when I blocked his shots.

Several people tried to convince me to punch their friends in the face. I declined. On guy dressed as Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver) asked me to show him my best left hook so I threw a right cross and nearly caught him in the jaw. I have difficulty following directions.

But the queens - the queens were lovely. It's a land of gay men in the entertainment industry - there's no better place to see elaborate costumes poured onto insanely skinny and tan male bodies. I especially liked the Transformer Transvestites. And why are trannies always so damn tall? Don't short men ever like to put on women's clothing?

The only people in the crowd not having fun were the self-righteous fundamentalist Christians who stood in the median holding up signs admonishing us all for our sins and ordering us to repent immediately. Lighten the hell up and have a good time, fundies. There were several Jesuses in the crowd; surely that's a sign that Halloween is okay, right?

The best thing about walking up and down a street full of queens in costume is the overheard comments I can now use in a script. My favorites:

"....a blow job in this outfit?"
"No. Fuck that. Fuck a fucking clown, man."
"I think I was just molested by a drag queen."
"Yeah, but that's a fucking football referee. That's a fucking gay sport. Soccer's a real sport, man."

On the way out through the ridiculous amount of traffic we drove right past a gay couple dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and a Boxer. We were so excited we tried to roll down the window and explain the awesomeness of the situation of them being the gay male version of us but the car in front of us moved forward, and when you're stuck in post-West-Hollywood-Halloween traffic and the car in front of you moves, you advance your ass or someone will ram you. So those dudes will never know.

All in all, it was totally worth the stupid traffic and $20 valet parking in the ghetto lot up the giant hill. I was really glad I was wearing tennis shoes.

James Cameron has more money than you

I was watching The Directors on Reelz channel recently and they were featuring James Cameron. And he told a story I keep thinking about as a lesson for us all.

When he was filming Titanic the budget began to spiral out of control. The studio told Cameron he'd have to cut some of the things he wanted in order to save money. He said he'd rather give up his salary than compromise on his film. They took his salary.

The budget kept spiraling so the studio told him he'd have to give up some of the things he wanted to make the film cheaper. Cameron said he'd rather make no money at all from the film than compromise and back a bad movie so they could have his entire back end profit. They agreed-

Except they didn't think this big-budget period piece love drama would make any money, so they never bothered to put the new deal in writing.

James Cameron made a few dollars there, I think.

He had such faith in his film that he was willing to give up all his financial gain. He was making Titanic out of love, and whether you like it or not, he was right about its appeal to the masses. Cameron could have compromised and kept his paycheck and made a mediocre film the world forgot. But he stuck to his guns.

Of course, he already had some money. He wasn't you or me with our paltry paychecks and hopeful daydreams. He'd made Aliens.

Still, that really says something when the director is willing to put his money where his mouth is. He must have felt so vindicated, especially when he realized the studio never signed that contract taking away all his profit.

Oh, the Tom Cruisanity!

I don't remember last year's Halloween very much on account of the Jello shots, but this year I stayed aware of my surroundings enough to not puke all over Venice. Jello shots were continually handed to me but I put them in my pocket and handed them to others, and just stuck to my Solo cup of red wine.

Many people balked at my cup of wine and were convinced I'd be a mess by the end of the night. Dusty the punk rocker who was so skinny his pants were falling off told me he'd look like Brad Pitt by the end of the night if I drank the whole cup. I told him I couldn't wait.

What people didn't seem to realize is that I can take out a whole bottle on my own and still be completely aware of my surroundings.

I was a boxer, as you can see. And yes I realize I keep my hands too low. I pay Trainer to tell me that so you lay the hell off. Also, this picture is post-party so keep that in mind as you examine the frizzy hair and odd chin behavior.

The Friend who went with me was punk rock riding hood, possibly one of the most well clothed girls at the party, except maybe for the girl dressed as a rubix cube. But Color of Money Tom Cruise was enamored.

These six guys all went together as Tom Cruise - Color of Money, Collateral, Mission Impossible, Top Gun, The Outsiders, and Risky Business. Color of Money Tom Cruise was all about my friend, so Collateral Tom Cruise served wing man duty on me. I knew there would be trouble when I commented on the fake gunshot wound on his stomach and he said, "It's not real. It's a Halloween costume."

"Really?" I said with my biggest dose of sarcasm. Great. I'm blond and I'm a boxer with a southern accent so I must also be an idiot. I decided at that point that he was kind of douchey.

Collateral Tom Cruise convinced us to go dancing. Despite his doucheyness he was quite attractive albeit a bit too tall for me - the Tom Cruises were all over six foot - so I allowed a wee bit of the grind to go on. I'll take one for the team. Friend and Color of Money Tom Cruise were getting along swimmingly until Collateral Tom Cruise leaned over and told me how worried he is about his friend because he has a thing for Persian girls.

"She's Pakistani," I said.

"A Persian girl broke his heart. He needs to stay away from Persian girls."

"But she's Pakistani," I said. "She's not Persian."

"I just worry about my friend. I mean, I always do okay but he has problems with girls. Especially Persian girls."

"But Pakistan is not Persia. And really she's from Jersey anyway."

He chose to react by grinding.

He asked me if I was a real boxer. I said yes, I love boxing and take kickboxing lessons. That's when he dropped his hands off my waist like I was a radioactive leper. Figures. He's a banker.

Then Friend and Color of Money Tom Cruise left to get in the bathroom line and I turned around to get my boxing gloves, which I'd left on the ground. When I turned back Collateral Tom Cruise was escaping from the dance floor. That's when I decided he was not only douchey, he was a douchey ass face.

I was way more interested in the Cop I met in the bathroom line. He was in character the whole time and refused to take off his mirrored sunglasses. But after he left the bathroom I never saw him again.

But I was happy that Color of Money Tom Cruise and Friend really hit it off, so when we told him we were leaving I fully expected him to ask for her number. He hugged her and said she was great and then nothing. What is that about? Why do men do that? You invest all this time and all these cool dance moves in a person and then they disappear forever because they're too scared to ask for a number.

On the way out we caught up with Outsiders Tom Cruise struggling not to puke all over himself on account of the Jello shots and Mission Impossible Tom Cruise scoring a chick way out of his league. Top Gun Tom Cruise was completely surrounded by women at all times, as well he should have been.

I wish I'd danced with Risky Business Tom Cruise. He was not a douchey ass face and he had very nice legs.

How I spent my weekend - year two

Suggestion number one for the Expo organizers for next year: don't schedule the Expo on the same weekend as the Halloween parties and preceding my first day back at work after an eight-week vacation.

Good gracious, I am tired.

I was recognized Saturday by a blog reader. Hi, Jane! I feel so loved.

Saturday and Sunday I went to Expo to practice my psychofance (psychofancy? psychofaniness? psychofantasia?) by spending almost all my time sitting in on Bill Martell's classes. I sold his CDs - he nearly sold out. That man is filled with wisdom, but by Sunday afternoon I kind of gleaned every ounce of it from him so I went to listen to Bill Goldman's wisdom instead for a while. His motto: "I don't know what I'm doing."

Lots of stuff was better than last year. The volunteer situation was a disaster. I feel vindicated.

I was going to take Tim Minear's class finally after missing it for two years, then he canceled. What the hell, Tim Minear?

I also tried the Open for the first time. For those unfamiliar with it, the Open is a contest where you sit in a room with a pencil and paper and eight million other writers and you have an hour and a half to come up with a scene that fits a given prompt. Unfortunately I didn't make it past round one, not because my story wasn't good, but because I ignored part of the prompt. Yep. The teacher who constantly nags kids about following directions missed out on round two because she failed to follow directions. I'm such a hypocrite.

It's a shame, too, because I honestly think I could have done an awesome job with the final prompt. Alas. No $5,000 prize for me.

I was going to post my entry, but it contains the coolest idea for a chase scene ever, so I'm going to keep it to myself and use it in my eventual Pushing Daisies spec.

Saturday night I was at the Halloween party until 4 am, of course. I'll tell that story tomorrow. It involves several Tom Cruises, Amy Winehouse and a cop.

Apparently Terry Rossio mentioned the dramatic irony debate in his interview and it got a big laugh from the crowd. I wish I'd been there.

Last night I hung out in the bar for Joel's annual post-Expo drinkathon, where I mined Bill for more advice and met some very excellent new people. I met many bloggers and when a laptop appeared we briefly considered passing around the world's fastest meme, but then opted to just drink instead. I only intended to stay an hour, but ended up being one of the last to leave because I was enjoying the company so much. I met Red Right Hand, The Rouge Wave and Shouting into the Wind among others, and it turns out those are their real names. Who'd have thought?

Red Right Hand did not realize when he met me that I would drag him all over the Expo as my partner in crime. Do not underestimate Emily's ability to persuade you to do things you didn't know you wanted to do.

So after everything I was in bed around midnight and had to be up 6 hours later. My body is not prepared for this. Trainer wants me to run today. I will not run today.

Fortunately I know my students already so they sort of shrugged off my exhaustion. I've got some very cool ideas this semester that I will share at a later date and I managed to gather just enough energy to explain them to the kids before the bell saved my poor, worn-out frame.

It's my planning period now. I think I'll go down to the car and take a nap.

Halloween pregame

Last night I went to a friend's house and hung out with eight actors. I'm exhausted from all the damn drama. Can't you people ever calm the hell down?

I love actors, but eight of them in a living room pretty much performing Anchorman from beginning to end is a bit much for me to take.

Today I'm back at work. The new principal makes everything better. I mean it's like some happy fairyland in that school. Very weird. You ask for things now, you get them. I'll be teaching SAT prep next semester because I asked. It's like an alternate universe.

At one point today while I was frantically copying dollar bills for a thing I'm doing the first day, one of my new coworkers explained to another one how he was trying to make a music CD to accompany the screenplay he just finished. I'm 99% sure it was his first script.

You should be proud of me. I kept my know-it-all mouth shut. I'll wait until I get to know him before I tell him what a massive waste of time that is.

I'm excited about Halloween. This is my favorite holiday because you get to wear in public things people aren't supposed to wear in public and the parties are always plentiful and massive. Earlier this week I had no party to go to. Now I've been invited to three. Yay!

This year, however, I am forbidden from touching the Jello shots. I'm prepared for any surprises though because I'm going as a boxer. It's a great costume. It's comfortable and has pockets, and I can keep my camera inside my glove where it will be padded in case I drop it. Plus, I defy some dude to grab my ass when I'm dressed to kick his.

I'm tying my gloves together with a shoe lace so I can hang them around my neck. I'm also taping up my hands, but I've never done that before because I usually use Mexican wraps so the tape job could look sloppy. I'm also a little concerned that people will simply think I'm Sporty Spice.

I'll probably spend most of my night at the same party as last year, but this time there will be no vomiting in the bushes, hay bales, the side of the road or Friend's toilet. There might be a bar brawl, but I'm prepared for that.

Also, don't forget to come see Bill Martell at the Expo and say hi to me if you like. I'll be there tomorrow and Sunday.

I will most likely be hungover on Sunday, so don't get mad if I seem disgusted with the world.

The Namesake

I didn't write anything yesterday because I spent the whole day trying to figure out why Firefox keeps eating all my CPUs. Still no satisfactory answer. In the meantime I'll just keep rebooting the computer every time I use it. It's remarkably annoying.

Anyway, last night a Friend and I went to see the Creative Screenwriting screening of The Namesake followed by a Q&A with the director, screenwriter and two of the stars.

I was really excited to see this film when I saw the previews, then somehow when it came out I completely missed it. It came and went and even though I wanted to see it I didn't even realize it was out. So good job, studio publicity machine. You really botched it.

Here's how else they botched it. The previews had me convinced this was a film about an Indian-American who discovers some secret about how he got his name so he goes on a trip to India to figure out the story behind it, some secret from his dad's past that helps the boy understand his culture.

That's not what this film is at all.

It took me a little while to accept that. It's like when you order Sprite and get water. For a second your tongue rebels against the unexpected taste, but then you get used to it and remember how good water is. I kept waiting for the boy in search of his identity story to start and then I had to accept that this is not that film. Once I did that, it was a pretty good movie. I laughed, I cried, I asked my Friend, who is Pakistani-American, to explain some of the more subtle cultural references.

The film is about family. First it follows a newly married couple as they emigrate to the US. Then it's about their son and his bizarre name and how he copes with being different in a majority white American culture.

Even if your parents aren't immigrants - and mine aren't - the teenage rebellion and annoyance at doing what your parents want you to is relatable to everybody. But if your parents are immigrants, this is your film. Friend teared up several times as events reminded her of her own experiences with her family. During the movie her mom texted her and Friend rolled her eyes. At the end of the film she was all remorseful and ready to call her mom first thing in the morning.

The director, Mira Nair, is exactly the kind of director I aspire to be. She's fast, efficient and considerate. She had 11 days to get all the footage in India and she did it by being organized as hell. In one day of shooting she had 13 set-ups and it sounds like she did it all without pissing anybody off. Amazing. And what a crew she must have had to get that done.

All in all it was a quiet film, not at all what the studios promised in the trailers, but a good film all the same, and it made Friend and me have a long, philosophical discussion while she drove me around searching for my car in the parking deck. It also makes me glad I'm going home for Christmas.