Just Precious...

One of my girls who looks out for all things good just sent this link to me. So that band I'm chasing down in Germany booked this below Italian TV show to promote the release of their album which came out something like 10 days ago. Apparently, the show's producers demanded that the band lip sync their song for whatever reason...and then likely got very serious about it saying something like, don't you know who we are peasant band...we're an Italian TV show! At least I'm guessing that's what happened because when the band members playing on your show decide to swap instruments and positions before they "perform", you're not exactly holding a storm of clout. Douche.

My Empty Words Were Growing Far Too Tiresome...

I've been walking around lately telling people something exactly like, well I'm far too good looking and far too charming to ever pay for any lodging in any city outside the confines of Los Angeles. I only say this because it makes the burden of having little money less of a burden. My intolerance for stillness is absolute and I haven't done anything to bury it for a long, long time.

So I decided to do something about it. Last week, I bought a ticket to Germany to land in town the day Muse lands. The boys are playing at the O2 in Berlin on October 29th and I'm gonna crash it. You can only talk so much shit about taking off and chasing something in a faraway country for a weekend for so long until you become full of shit and I can't ever let that happen. Sometimes, I get stuck waiting for a boat to come in before I get out and do the things that move me in this world and I'm ashamed to admit that because it's cowardly. I can't ever let that happen again. I wont ever let that happen again.

Arctic Monkeys...

Berlin On My Mind...

Adventureland...

Great movie. And it's not because I spent the summer after my freshman year of college working at a Six Flags in Jackson, New Jersey. I lived in a company house with 8 other baseball players from all over the country. We'd have bonfires of garbage because nobody ever came to pick it up and rave dance parties with the European kids who came over to work for the summer. To get let in, I'd ask them to bring their free park passes, given to any employee after they accumulated a certain number of hours on the job. We'd get blacked out and fuck this house like you wouldn't believe. There was a Czech girl Ieva, beautiful blonde, who was always begging me to have sex with her...to save her from the arranged marriage that was waiting for her back home. I never did...told over over and over that I was in love with some faraway girl named Clark. One morning after a banner party, I stood outside the McDonalds by the park entrance, right off the highway and made 600 dollars selling the Euro kids' passes to suspicious Garden State natives.

So anyway, it's not because of that. Although if I ever did see any of those guys again, I feel like we could laugh for weeks. Like the Saturday we all went to Home Depot, fucking drunk, to buy axes and chop down healthy trees. Fucking weeks. Anyway, I adore this movie because Kristen Stewart and Jesse Eisenberg are excellent and because the sum is a cut above what I expected. If you're going to watch the movie, don't watch this...but this is perfect...

This One Too...

The great thing about concerts and YouTube is that when a band is playing a song and you wish you could take it with you and see it again...there is now always at least one asshole recording instead of watching. The first time I heard Bling I won't forget. See, Sam's Town came out right after I left to go travel Europe. My iPod had already been fully stocked and I couldn't add anything to it until I met my girlfriend and her computer in Africa. So, I ducked into this tiny internet cafe in Athens and streamed the entire album out of Pandora and just sat there for hours, literally. This song killed the first time through. A couple of my friends had gotten back to me through correspondence that Sam's Town wasn't great. After Hot Fuss, I know a lot of people jumped off. And maybe part of that gave me the head of steam I got going in, where everything just worked, but I absolutely believe Sam's Town is one of the greatest albums ever made. This was brilliant...and now I can have it back. Thank you dickhead section J row F seat 8392!

And to you, beautiful asshole in the front fucking row...

This Is The Sexiest Thing I've Seen In A Long Long Time...

Madison Reese Is Pissed!!!

Because I mentioned her so glancingly on my blog last night. Maybe because I didn't do her enough justice on my blog last night. See, since that first and introductory post, me and Reese have been going back and fourth talking about the beauty and shit of the world. And she wondered why I didn't tell the world of her insanity or edge. She's fucking batshit, no doubt. I mean, she has to be to have held me this long. She absolutely deserves more, and deserves to know that I absolutely will always treat her with delicacy - and not only because this all started because of our mutual love for me. I am amazing - and we absolutely celebrate that! But I digress...because she's a talent in her own right - even if she's hiding behind shadows and names. At the end of the day, aren't we all? I certainly fucking am. She'll send me quotes from Kerouac and tell me they reminded her of me...she'll call me out and tell me I'm a cunt (I think she's called me a cunt...or something like it) when I step out of line and behave poorly in the world. If she doesn't write or respond for a good stretch, I'll wonder what I did...such a child.

How bout some of the best of Madison Reese - some scared and brilliantly interesting girl's alter-ego. She says she can't behave like this in the real world, that it only comes through e-mails sent to me. Fucking shame. But anyway, here...we hold up the Reeses...

I do hate people like you that can just be done with someone after a hang up----I will never know why yall do that—PERSONAL STORY ALERT—less than a year ago I stole my best friends boyfriend—yes I am the dirty mistress--im too addicted to the people I once loved to ever give up on them---because I choose to remember the good times and block out the bad---probably why I get stepped on and hurt by the same people over and over---im always gripping into darkness for control and coming up empty handed followed by I dive into cookie cake or vodka and cigarettes---either/or its disgusting and very Bridget Jones-esque---sexy?? I always just want what I cant have---it’s the inner 5 yo in me –but I also wont settle for less (hopefully?) than some great love story---because I am that asshole that believes The Notebook, Tristan and Isolde, and now Twilight are real---oh the shame in admitting that! A boy once told me “life is a lot less romantic than you think and the longer you believe that it is the longer you will be alone.”

I'm going to call you out---its what I do...why do you say your ex is so crazy?? what makes her so crazy?? did she throw shit? manipulate you??? key your car?? Did she live passionately?? did she lie and cheat and steal??? do you love her just because she is still beautiful or do you love her because she was always changing always challenging?? making you think you were never quite good enough....but then just when you thought it wasn't possible she would whisper sweet nothings in post coital bliss and you would think "i cant believe she mine I cant believe she picked me----no one has ever loved this openly and honestly and freely"

Don’t you get it? I am jealous of you! Jealous that you put yourself out there and you fight for what you want and you don’t take no for an answer. I call you cocky-you are- but I think the better word is confident. True confidence-you back it up with hard work and precision you take the steps to succeed but you somehow don’t seem desperate-what’s your secret?? I guess you are a breath of fresh air-I know I come off as a fan or a love sick school girl or some sort of admirer but someone should tell you---really tell you- without wanting anything in return that you have the makings of someone great---an don’t the great ones die young anyway? I didn’t mean to tear down something so rare- honest uncensored thought- I just wanted a reaction- some attention from you and I didn’t know another way----guess my “master plan” worked? Because even if you do make me angry at least you make me something! Its almost tomorrow and you will be over this girl “Madison” because deep down I know you wonder who I am- who I could be. Maybe im your fairy godmother sent to you to help you along in your success to test you the way no one else does.

She thinks she would disappoint me if I ever met her...maybe because I project poison on here sometimes...maybe because that's my shadow. When she says that, I'm ashamed of it. Somewhat. And at the same time, I am poison, absolutely. Saying anything but that would be deceit.

She sent me a picture of herself late last night. To me, it's fascinating...this dance that's so unnecessary but that I'll probably turn into a television show someday. Regardless of how one chooses to look at this situation, Reese has absolutely become a part of my life. And like Bob Greene wrote in the Sun Times or Tribune after he answered my mother's plea to get her children tickets to The Bozo Show in Chicago -- this wont happen a second time. At some point in my life, I decided the noble thing to chase would be no mask - to throw it all out there and sink or swim, give the best and worst of myself and lose any attachment to the consequence. Reese ain't quite there. That's fine. Maybe it's better that way - she knows me enough to know this wont be some movie romance. She knows. Regardless of anything and everything else, I think this is beautiful...a picture of my crazy bitch penpal. The second she tells me to take it down, I will. Until then, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to the wonderful, the beautiful (no matter what kind of self depricating shit she'll throw back at me), the motherfucking crazed Madison Reese...

The Killers - Hollywood Bowl - 9/16/09...

I said something crazy and true to my friend tonight, something like I mark my life through the shows I've seen, the amazing shows...the ones that turn my axis by degrees at a time and make me a little bit something else for having witnessed. Tonight was a little bit like that, no doubt.

I turned at another point and said something about Brandon Flowers that I've said many times...that motherfucker speaks to me - everything he says and does, the manner in which he behaves. I wrote him into my fucking book - actual Brandon Flowers into actual We Are The Dusk...because it felt valid as some form of tribute - to mark the times and to mark my soul. That. Mother. Fucker. Speaks. To. Me. When I meet him, I'll tell him. On the last song, he said something exactly like, okay...we are going to play this song as hard as we can - I hope you try and receive it as hard as you can. Fuck.

They played Dustland Fairytale and Sweet Talk...fucking Sweet Talk. Amazing. Sweet talk. I left with my boy and we grabbed some Thai and talked about the world and our night inside of it.

At some point, they played the cover of that band UB40's cover - which was Elvis, correct? - and he was singing something exactly like, I can't help falling in love with you. I wished I had someone to kiss...someone to make me mean it.

I haven't slept in days or so it feels.

Madison Reese is writing me right now. The Madison Reese. We've been trading blows for a month or two now. No idea who this girl is. She saw me on my birthday, a little more than a little tipped at Katy Perry and said nothing. Tonight, she told me she was going to find me at the Bowl and introduce herself or something like it. Never happened. There were 2 girls who thought they were coming with me tonight and I don't know what happened. I invent distance. I saw Hands lurking in the crowd and wanted to say hello. I texted her. I'm not sure what happened. I've been losing things lately. I've been drifting, working very had...very hard. My eyes are so heavy right now. That show was remarkable. I want to give chase. I want to give chase.

Muse - The Resistance...

It's been a long time since I took something up to Mulholland. Sometimes I wonder how many times I have left to take something up to Mulholland...like right now. I can think of nothing better to glide me through my winds and turns.

Got it. Go get it. The album. It's out right now. Go steal it. Or don't. I don't care. But if we're on the same page, I think you should. Feel like this is going to be a big week...

Things I Love On Sunday...

Bear Grylls...

Ellen Page...

The Life Aquatic...

Three Kings...

This was on AMC last night. I own in and have seen it quite a few times, but never found myself as impressed as I was this time with it. Absolutely fine. I've always liked Mark Wahlberg, I think he's got a vulnerable quality that's all his own - and it's the little scenes that show off what I'm talking about...but this one is absolute education in form...across the board.

Chan Marshall...

I am in love with. Been in love ever since I first heard her song. I was trying to explain this to the girl who was taking me to The Greek to see her tonight. Hadn't been to the Greek all summer - best venue I've ever known, just exquisite. Anyway, when she first waltzed out onto that stage and started that raspy soul sucking shit, I felt like I was falling into the floor. I wanted to meet her, tell her she wooed me, that she should be honored and that so few actually do. I felt like I was saying all of this out loud to my company - possibly foreshadowing lightly of what was to come between the two of us in real life. See, I had been seeing this girl long enough - or better...had enough of a connection and enough respect for her to know we had to talk. We were moving in separate directions and I could feel it. She was absolutely moving into the direction she should have been moving - towards me - and I was...well, standing still. I just wrote an e-mail saying something like, I've only gone on 4+ dates with 2 girls in the 5 years I've been in Los Angeles and loved both of them...before deleting it, as if it was supposed to be some form of consolation for my ending the night with words that led her into slamming my door and starting intentions of not behaving normally around me for the next 3 weeks. I was lucky to be with her. Absolutely and still...this is just how I behave.

I couldn't fuck her, just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't kiss her anymore. I couldn't do anything that wasn't absolute truth - even if she wanted me to and was asking nothing of me but to be present...or so she said...or so we all say. Today, I wrote my manager and asked him why the fuck he hasn't sold my rapture yet. He said something like Labor Day and then asked me why I haven't written my next outline. Over the next 3 days, on a sweet binge and out of spite and as a loving fuck you, I'm going to write my entire next script and drop it in his god damn face. Tomorrow, after a good 5 weeks off from running, I'm meeting Billy Mac to go for a run, to breathe in the shit and soot of these forest fires and start my obsession again with getting my 26.2 under 3:11. Fuck the booze I've been drinking and the weakness I've been consuming. This thing has to be done, both of them and everything and I was trying to explain to her that this was all on my mind and invading and that the invasion is unstoppable and she said something like that's just an excuse...that's all an excuse. Then she tried to lump my behavior into everyone else's, knowing how much it would piss me off to conjure such make believe - to group me into the fucking masses when we all know better.

It's not me, it's you. All I want is to speak and can't...

There is no one for me to play with.

Thank You Lindsey Long...

I was out to dinner at Hirozen last night with a dear old friend of mine - not Lindsey Long. We did sushi Omakase and finished our 4th round on Sea Urchin - have you ever had this? Fucking yikes. Takes a brave palate. Anyway, this has nothing to do with the dinner and more about a conversation we had when we were sitting down and of an e-mail I got from my former African Queen (Lindsey Long) a couple days prior. See, I always had something of a loose understanding with my dinner companion that I would give him any scripts I wrote before I gave them to anyone else. The reasoning was two parts, I think. The first is that I am wildly talented. The second is that he was humoring me. So we get down to talking and I'm telling him about this book I wrote and the response that's been coming in and of the big names that may or may not be taking a look at it. Then, I came out and told him the secret behind it - that isn't much of a secret but could definitely spin one's head if one would so allow...and he fucking turned on me. He dropped a word like juvenile and began to create these sticky scenarios of my flying to New York and going into meetings and the problems that would ensue and I started laughing and actually asked him if he was serious before getting serious and saying exactly - you haven't even read a page...you haven't even looked at it. He was really worked up and I was laughing in my head, asking myself if he was creatively bipolar and thinking back to the random e-mail Lindsey had so recently sent me that went something like this and by a guy called Kurt Vonnegut...

Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae.

When I managed to settle the dust, we agreed on the fact - which is pretty absolute - that a novel is either good or it isn't good...and that someone will either want to publish it or they won't want to publish it...and that I am absolutely fine with that, confident with that. This morning, I was thinking back to the encounter...still marveling in it a little bit. I thought if I could count on one slam dunk person to be in my corner, it would have been him. Not quite. Let me stress again - not one page read. This morning, I'm thinking he must've had a really tough time when he found out Santa Claus (or the religious equivalent) was a fake...and the tooth fairy...and the Easter Bunny...and Cinderella, Snow White, Pinocchio, God...

It's not my job to win world...just to be relevant in it.

Hemingway on Fitzgerald...

I was having lunch with Hands a couple weeks ago and well documented and she told me that I should read Hem's "A Moveable Feast." I forgot her reasoning, though it at the time seemed fairly profound. Also, I'm easily wooed by extraordinarily beautiful women who have previously wrecked me so of course I agreed. Eh, I drifted through the first 150 or so pages today, sometimes forgetting about what I was reading or thinking terrible things with all due respect like, I can slaughter this, when I came across a chapter titled Scott Fitzgerald...and the following passage...

His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than a butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later, he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.

It was worth the book...and the 40 that followed. Fuck. Talent on talent.

Time Bandits...

Every night on Tuesday night, me and some people get together and have a movie night. We rotate the venue across this fine town and take turns cooking/hosting. Last night was at my friend Steven's place in Santa Monica. He showed this...

I had to show up a little late and came in about halfway through. Crazy, crazy fucking movie. I couldn't stop thinking about it the whole time, about the dozens and dozens of times I had watched it as a young pup. This was absolutely one of the staples of my childhood diet. And I feel like any imagination I have or am capable of stems back to this movie...at least has to give it a nod. Just amazing. This previous clip is the ending - and that doesn't ruin anything - before we drift away and up and get a title card. Insane...and that's nothing. Fucking Gilliam.