1078.84. No. Thank you, West Hollywood.
It’s always such a difficult thing…catching up after being away. Though it’s been but a week, it always feels longer. Is that good or bad?
Naturally, the longer I venture away from the nest, the shittier it becomes. Twigs and berries all ruffled about. I want to say so much that instead…I opt to say very little or nothing at all. It’s the same reason I don’t believe much in catch up friends. Why put in so much work to always end where you began? But that’s for another day.
It’s Sunday…so me not speaking would toe the line of personal blasphemy. Let’s not touch that.
I was driving to work on Saturday…early evening. For any of those of you who know, XM radio is road trip road head in a convenient plastic receiver. Especially in the infinite radio abyss that is Los Angeles. There MIGHT be 1 station in town that doesn’t make me want to eat out of dog curbing refuse bags.
Do you ever hear a song and wonder how they got away with it? And right after, wonder what’s happened to the unapologetic, melodramatic rabble that used to glide through our airwaves? Well, that was my exact thought pattern as the early beats hit on Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is.” Wow. Pick that one up on I Tunes and re-discover a side of yourself that went extinct sometime over the past 6-14 years. The part that becomes re-born when that chorus drops. Where you actually reach out in gesture to the lovely lady waiting on red in the range next to you and seductively mouth, “I want you to show me,” and not care. That’s what I’m talking about.
Soon after, I crashed. No, not my car. Nothing like going to work for 13 straight days to kill a buzz. Then, nothing like trading a few words with…and let me preface by admitting these namedrops will be both shameless and unprofessional…Bill Murray and Joaquin Phoenix to help get you through running 100 covers.
Okay. Maybe that was a little misleading. By trading words, I mean…”Well, Mr. Murray, it’s a Japanese Cucumber with a white bean puree and heirloom tomato. Chives, EVO, Balsamic.” Usually, he talks shit about everything I bring to the table. This time, all I got were his eyes…which are the most hilariously tragic things you have ever seen. I am well aware of my habitual choices to use polarizing comparisons, but that’s it…dead on.
He was sitting with a gentleman that was partially to blame for the post I was supposed to write in between this and the last. A cat that was part of the heyday SNL crew. He wrote. That’s where the two of them originally hooked up. He was also the screenwriter for the second greatest Christmas/holiday film ever made. #1 - A Christmas Story. Any guesses on #2???
When I get really inspired, I tend to think irrationally. Or…not irrationally, but something else. I’m making that sound like it’s a bad thing. Irrationality. In truth, I don’t believe there should be any other driving force behind our thoughts or behaviors. We should all be foolish fools, all the time…all the way.
But I have a problem. My greatest “thing” is my fear of being “that guy.” My, oh my…how the quotes are flying this post. If you don’t know what “being that guy” means, then it is very likely that you have either recently, or quite frequently “been that guy” at some point in your life. It’s not something to shoot for.
It would mean asking him to talk shop on turf where it’s completely inappropriate to talk shop. It means that I would have to ask him the most clichéd question there is to ask. How do I write for SNL? Do I do it, or let it lie? Although he may have been asked by one thousand wannabes, he has never been asked by Reilly Smith. In the end…that’s the conclusion I keep coming back to…
So I may write a short letter…or nothing at all. Don’t know yet. I wrote a sample sketch this week to show some quick chops. You know, something fresh and not from the pile. It’s like flipping a coin at this point. I’ll let you know if I ever decide to be that guy. Sometimes, you just have to plug your nose and swallow, you know?
Regardless, I’ll post the sketch up here sometime soon. I think it could be pretty good. And, it’s SNL season again. In case any of your haven’t noticed, it’s still fucking great. It’s ALWAYS been fucking great.
Well, that’s odd. A HUGE tangent. Let’s call it stylistic. Back to the music…
I got home Saturday night and went after Foreigner. How could someone get away with singing a song like that today? It certainly didn’t stop there. When Lou Gramm left, he came out with a chart topper that raised the level of my query to exponential proportions. Ever heard the song, “Juke Box Hero?” Of course you have. Come up with a song like that today and you better be ready for constant, relentless, unstoppable sessions of shitkicking. Taking your dog for a walk? Shitkicking. Grocery shopping? Shitkicking. Donating food and clothes to your local Salvation Army? Gratitude for your generous contribution…then shitkicking. I mean…of course everyone dreams of being a jukebox hero…even today. I understand…and even sympathize with this notion. But you don’t come out and say it. Come on, dude. Lou got his, I know this.
So It’s Sunday night. With this one, I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, so maybe it’s best to cut loose.
I saw 4 movies today. That’s right, 4. This is my life, what can I say? Here’s a quick wrap…
Best Movie: A History of Violence – Solid…notably strong individual performances. One after the other.
Best Movie Moment: Serenity – Must see if you like sci-fi. Surprisingly very good. Fresh tone. Surprisingly…very good. I said it twice.
Most Overdue: Hotel Rwanda – Overdue. Nothing off-guard here. This may sound dick, but to me, there’s no sexy in truth. Cheers to a journalism major.
Ordinarily Pretty Good: Corpse Bride - Safe, entertaining…eh.
At least now I feel caught up. Maybe this week, we can get down in it…that is, if you don’t mind. It’s been two weeks and I’m 50 pages through the be-all, end-all script (at this point in my career). Last week was a tough one…but I have a feeling this one will fly…
And all of it will soon.
Nope. Sorry. Not in the mood to try and close on a pathetic clincher…not tonight.
Dumpy tucker mast, bounce bounce.
