LA is congested as fuck.
When I was 16, I used to go out for no reason. I’d drive along the streets, the coastline of my hometown. It’s laughable compared to the coastlines out here, but it was home. Home. That word still holds so much.
I get bottled up in the head and heart…and learned early on that it helped to get out and drive through some black, alone.
Hold that thought, memory intermission…
Remember that kid from the neighborhood? You know, the one NOBODY liked. Since severing him from the group would cause an uprising in the neighborhood contingent of mothers, a revolutionary role was born into late 80’s hoods.
The Guinea Pig. Ours held Coke in his mouth while we dumped Pop Rocks.
You know, to see if his head exploded. What?
There was always a kid with glasses who swore to God it wasn’t a myth. Everyone knows…you swear to God, and it’s case closed. So when Guinea Pig lived, we all pretended he was the coolest. But who really meant it? Sure as fuck wasn’t me.
Kids are cruel…
…
In college, I’d take off and drive the back farm roads of Central Illinois until road ran out. Often, I’d snap out and realize I was 60 miles off campus. It was great.
Then I moved to Los Angeles. The roads here are different. Shocker.
Despite all the shit I talk, this really is a gorgeous city. I don’t know how to explain it. Insert a profoundly resonant description that works for you. Then, I wont have to worry about whether or not you follow.
Fine, I’ll do it. Fucking brats.
Something along the lines of…romantic mysticism. That’s it! LA has got this romantic mysticism that’s difficult to convey, easy to talk shit about and impossible to turn your back on.
Let me tell you about my new route. I drive west on Sunset into Beverly Hills. This is always around midnight on weekdays. Usually once a week. Cars are sparse, thoughts rampant.
I head North on Coldwater Canyon and begin the slow climb. About 10 minutes later, there’s a famous little 2 way known as Mulholland Drive. Yes, it was also a movie. If you drive it, you could understand why it could be anything it ever wanted to be. It’s the top of the world. The peak between the two true valleys of Los Angeles. San Fernando and, well…whatever the one I live in is called. The Bev Hills, West Hollywood, Hollywood side. I should know.
But the lights of the two sides, from this high up...should I say mesmerizing? Hypnotic? Some day…come see.
When I first got here, I panicked. I wondered where I’d get lost. Sure as hell wasn’t gonna be at Blow parties and during blackouts. Ain’t my style. Anytime someone gets worked up when they get drunk or drugged, I feel like their asshole rubs off on me. Honestly.
I’m not in the mood to afford shit like that in this short life.
So…I can’t tell you which route goes down as the best in history. After all, many others will come. They all served different purposes...pulled me through different battles. I’m just glad I’ve got one I can trust…one I can rely on. You have no idea the importance.
…
I took a drive Monday night. It’s my good stuff. My really, really good stuff. It’s been a while since I’ve had it.
The head swing I go through in this process is at times, damaging. I know this. I knew it coming in. I’ll know it going out.
In case this is your first visit, I’ll bring you up to speed. I moved out here to write movies. Without dishing cliché-ridden splurge, it’s what I love…period. So it doesn’t bug me that 97% of this city is currently “working on a screenplay.” Though, that figure may be a bit ballooned. I’m aiming to conquer one of the most daunting industries in the world.
What’s your fucking point?
I’ll be fine. You know those people who show up in commercials telling the youth of America to follow their dreams? That if they work hard and dedicate themselves…anything can and will come true?
Gotcha! What about Nelson…the color-blind, lisp-stuttering Puerto Colombian growing up in Flint, Michigan?
Last time I heard, he wanted to be an astronaut.
Last time I checked, his book report was on Curious George…in the 11th Grade.
For Nelson, it’s not gonna happen. The difference between Nelson and me is that I am one of those people. What can I say? I grew into a stone browed, relentless, restless, fuck everybody in a whisper and woo them with a smile son of a bitch.
Plus, I know I spit shit that’s aching to get out…now.
Let me let you in on a little secret…This was my mindset for the past 6 weeks writing this hope to one day be a movie. It went a little something like this…
Refuse distributing, pussy, worthless, clever-limp, thoughtless, heartless piece of nothing. You put all your eggs into this basket? Where are you going with anything? I need to drink more. What are you doing with your life? 24 and you’re wasting it away. Save Bangled Tigers. Eat Bangled tigers. Engage in battle with Bangled Tigers. You just spent a month on 90 pages that would barely qualify to serve as a beat rag…90 times over. And then sixty more that…you’re a talent hack, cocksucker. Bullshitter. Move to Lebanon. Did she just pull the earring trick on me? Move to Swahili. Fuck her, I’m throwing these out. Open a snack shop outside the San Diego Zoo.
Needless to say, something else prevailed. Something along the lines of a cooler mind. It’s beginning to click. If you read one of my posts from the vicinity of 6 weeks ago, it’s likely that I was preparing myself for this exact thing. This week, it finally hit me. It’s going to be good.
And I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing. And that’s how it works. The struggle, sweethearts. Of course, in reality…I can only really give you my PG-13…else I’m worried you would worry about me. Soft, soft readers.
And it got me thinking…the things that were running through my mind before I started this project. Before I started reading the anvil on my face research. Before I went to New York. Before I started writing.
I got a phone call one day from a little production company. Actually, really big. Not only really big, but they’ve done some amazing stuff. You know what, fuck anonymity. It was Drew Barrymore’s company. And what got me going is that they produced a little flick called Donnie Darko. One thing led to another…to another. Yada, yada, yada…my phone rings, it’s their head of development.
Looking back, I have no idea why she called. I would never, ever call someone like me. But, I can tell you exactly WHY I got that call. The shit that comes out of my mouth…the shit I give these people in letters and on the phone has to spin their heads. And at the end of the day, they might brand me a fool…but they know I throw my stones on the table. That or they put me on the Hollywood blacklist.
I think back…and this line STILL makes me laugh. I told her that when the script was all said and done, actors will fight for these roles…and there will be 6 of them. Mind you, at the time, I was unproduced, unrepresented and uncredited. I told her I didn’t want to take it anywhere else because I only wanted to work with their company. Oh, and I was 23 years old. Wait. I almost forgot the kicker. Since I was still finishing my last script, I was asking her if I could PITCH the idea. As in…she would buy it from me BEFORE I WROTE A FUCKING WORD. I hadn’t even thought of actually starting to write it.
Wait, what was I saying? I take it back. I would most certainly call a fucker like me. If only to check sincerity…and sanity. I was VERY sincere. Maybe even partially sane.
I love myself.
…
But here’s the thing. As crazy as that sounds looking back, I can’t really say that I was a fool. Now, I have a long, long way to go before this script is done…before I send it out. Since that conversation, I’ve learned so much shit…you could fill the Nina, Pinta and half the Santa Maria with it. I know the do’s. I know the don’t…’s
And as green as I was then, what can I say? I have the same feeling that when it’s all said and done, maybe…just maybe…look the fuck out.
Initially, I gave myself till around January 15th to finish. That sounds about right. Though, the last thing I’ll ever do is rush. From here, it’s all downhill. Though, it never really is. I have two months. Two months that will also take me to Chicago to LA to New York to LA to Chicago to LA.
And after January 15th?
Might as well be another foolish adventure…chasing the little things born of closed eyes.
