My show interviews: with people is turning one year old just as I am turning thirty-four. I’m enormously proud of what me and my crew have accomplished in the margins of Cablevision’s more studious body of work. Interviews: with people is to Neighborhood Journal and Meet the Leaders as doodles are to a high schoolers copy of Sense and Sensibility.
In celebration of our longevity, I was given the go ahead to do a thirty minute special which is sort of a “best of plus alpha.” I’ll be posting the times and channels here when I learn more but expect it to air within September.
I have big news regarding the show but I have to wait until the powers that be get their ducks in order. Suffice to say, we about to blow up. Think of this as the calm before the storm and your chance to say, “I knew him when…
…his face was covered in birthday cake.”
Self reflection doesn’t cut it.
We look at ourselves in the mirror every day and we’re none the wiser come bedtime. If anything staring at yourself only leads you to doubt and/or cherish everything about your life. It’s too much. It’s too broad and it avoids confrontation. The problem with reflection is that the process can only show us what we bring to it. When I’m feeling vain, I see my face aging. When I’m feeling slighted at work, I will see the reflection of a victim.
That’s not helpful and it leads to “venting” and “self pity.”
Our goal should be to see ourselves for who we are in that moment, and in that context. From both the best seats in the house and from the cheap seats in the nosebleeds.
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No sooner had I declared Maya an unfeeling automatot than she exploded in glee at the very idea of soap bubbles. I have documented this startling development along with her first real laughter for all to see and hear.
Let’s all pretend Eddie Vedder is singing “Why deny all the bubbles when combined…” that is, if you can understand him at all.
Maya’s First Bubbles from F is for Film on Vimeo.
Time seems to pass differently for those on the inside of a project and those on the outside. For me, Ronson and F were my afterhours life for two years and I’ve felt they were mostly finished for at least one more year but for anyone I told about the project it probably seems like a lifetime ago. So I have good news, everybody…
The Courtship of Ronson Crumb starring yours booly will finally be premiering on October 7th at the world famous Tribecca Cinemas. We will also be showing the full 22 minute long F is for Film pilot either before or after the film. Unfortunately the event is by invitation only. If you’re my crazy stalker fan, the best way to get an invite is to comment on every single post here at utau-inu.com to, you know, get my attention. Anyway, I’m excited.
I like waking up early on a Sunday and beating the birds to the worms and the worms to the dirt. There’s something different about the air. I could never explain the science of it but sound seems to pass through it differently. Everything is clearer. It’s the difference between balanced surround sound and hearing everything come out of two dinky speakers. Perhaps my own physiology plays a part as well. I just seem so much more aware. A bee on a flower. Another bee on an almost identical flower. The way people seem like background art as they bussle about. A plane passes overhead. It seems so far away and yet, paradoxically, at the tip of my fingers. When I step out the door I find the detritus of a Saturday Night world. A handkerchief, a shoulderbag even a shoe. These are secrets that usually only custodians are privy to. The world went right on spinning past these lost items but in about 5 hours, some young girl, with mascara face art is going to wake up and wonder why she’s shorter on one side today. I know the answer and now so do you.
I like to have a mission on days like this. Today I’m going to buy bacon. This is ironic because at the same time I’m thinking that I need to exercise like this more I’m going to eat the fatty bacon like a cannibal pig. I buy “miracle bubbles” at the supermarket. I think back on the simple joy of being a kid, when joy came in a cheap plastic bottle for 37 cents. I want Maya to know that joy. I’ve become really good at blowing bubbles. Maya doesn’t understand it yet. She’s under attack from invisible pests that explode in wetness. We’ll try again later. Or maybe she never will. Takako, 32 years deep, is equally unimpressed.
I look at the magazine section in the supermarket. How does Sarah Jessica Parker get the cover of anything. Does any woman wake up and say, “I want to be Sarah Jessica Parker today!” I’ve been watching Mad Men on Netflix. I can’t help but feel that the ads in these magazines would disappoint Don Draper. I strategize. If someone catches me reading Marie Claire I’ll look at a sexy model and pretend she’s my ex and I’m pining for days gone by. Am I writing this way because Don Draper did in the Season 4 episode, Summer Man? Maybe I am. It doesn’t matter. We should all be a little more honest.
I thought about this on the walk back to the apartment. All the witty things I would write swimming in my head drowning in my head. I wanted to go on Facebook and say the perfect thing. Something bite sized. A crowd pleaser. Maybe, “Secret Sundays rule!”
‘Sup net peeps. This is Poe from Brian’s screenplay “The Dog Next Door.” The not-semi finalist for best original screenplay in Final Cut’s 2011 Big Break contest. Bummer, dude.
Anyway, he’s off being all emo in a sunless corner of his office so I’m taking over his blog.
Check this shit out. I want to fill myself with that. Lacey and I were supposed to go to one of these unholy shrines to grease and lard in Ohio but Mom in all her unwisdom moved us to the Dirty Jers. Then bitch totally went without me. I hope she got stains all over that tiered sequin mini she loves so much. God, she can be such a shifty Swifty. (Just Kidding LayLay. -I’d still do ya-) Oh and then weeping boy here goes and writes her out of the second draft. Like, no wonder he didn’t even qualify for the semis, Lacey is love.
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If you have never heard of Icelandic superstar pixie muffin Björk, you were never alive during the 90s. For all her intrinsic weirdness, Björk’s music in the 90s was always a reliable source of fifth dimensional electronic dance floor passion. It saddens me that this generation may only know her as the girl that wore the swan dress to the MTV Music Awards 2001 Academy Awards show. Well, I mean that’s a hell of a thing to be remembered for but it dismays me that her music has taken a backseat to her persona. Even though her music has always been in and around my life, Björk has never been mine except for my brief love affair with Lars Von Trier’s gutwrenching drama, Dancer n the Dark. All my friends owned her CDs so I never felt the need to be redundant in my purchases. I’ve always been threatening to dive into her work one day and this is that day.
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