| Gracias Papi! |
[Jun. 3rd, 2009|11:40 pm] |
"Grab that day by the horns and fuck it up it's ample ass!"
- text message from RMZ to a co-worker
Aye Caramba! It's June! It's June!
We made it through the worthless first five months of 2009! Let's congratulate ourselves...our wrists are in tact, our hearts still hollow, and our eyes still the blackest. From here until John Ebener rings out his sweaty yayo-coated denim by the light of January 1 morn, everything is gravy. Let's get shitty, let's get angry, and let's get hurt...in the best ways!
Summer 2K9...Fuck It. Let's Go. (official slogan) (copyright Ryan Matthew Ziegler)
I gotta say right now that I regret not hunting and pecking a few phrases for you good folks last month. May came in like a lamb...or out like a lion...or some fucking shit...and it just went by so fast I didn't get the time.
I will say right now...May 2009...a real solid, awesome month. I'm not gonna breach everything that made it so, as some things are just to personal and/or graphic for this family journal...but trust me when I say...it was a reeeeaaallll good month!
Side Note: This new Green Day record....isn't so good. I've listened to it five times at least...and I'm unimpressed. They've gotten too big for their britches since American Idiot. I loved that album...but I miss the way they use to be. Sometimes growth and maturation is the death knell for an artist. Look at Bon Jovi!
Side Note to a Side Note: That Bon Jovi song "Who Says You Can't Go Home" is one of the worst fuckin songs I've ever heard. It plays in every dentist, doctor, and optometrist office in the continental United States. I'm serious. You go into any one of the previously mentioned in any town, big or small, and at some point you will hear that song. I'm pretty sure grocery stores too.
Side Note 3-D: 311's new song is also unbearable. I hate 311 with a passion, and they get worse with every cheap tune. Fuck 'em.
Back to brass tacks...May...good couple of weeks. Summer blockbuster season started. A quick recap:
X-Men Origins: Wolverine - Mutants doing mutant shit, Hugh Jackman looking ripped and pretending not to be gay, and a few scenes with Ryan Reynolds wise acreing and kicking ass. It wasn't the best of the series...probably the worst...but it was fun when it needed to be and I didn't hate it. I liked the opening credit sequence that showed Wolverine and his pissy brother fighting in every single war that ever happened in the history of America. It's fun to see these characters placed in historical events. I woulda liked a scene where Sabretooth was at some rally with Harvey Milk blah-blahing into a megaphone and he just spin-kicks him in the stomach, knocking him into a crowd of permed bespectacled protestors. Then he would brush his hands together and mumble "I prefer my cereal dry."
Star Trek - I grew up watching the original cast movies, but I don't consider myself a Trekker in any form. I hate The Next Generation and Babylon 5 or Stargate Enterprise or whatever nerdstock stuff came out afterwards. But the trailers for the film left me with half a chub so I was really excited to see it. As of this entry, I've seen the movie twice...and I kinda want to see it again. I loved the Hell out of it. The music, the acting, the cocky grizzled Capt. Kirk...a pissed off conflicted Spock...Eric Bana with cool make-up and even cooler taste for planetary genocide...the hot green chick...just a fucking amazing production. There probably won't be a better movie this season.
Terminator: Salvation - This movie had my favorite trailer in a long time. The NIN song, coupled with a screaming Christian Bale and cool Terminators killing people with huge machine guns got me in the mood. Terminator 2 is untouchable to me...and the story was wrapped up...so every sequel afterwards is just other people's takes...million dollar fanfilms if you will. So I don't take offense at the weird turns this series is taking, or the rotating cast of John Connor actors. I like Terminator 3 good enough, and wish Nick Stahl had been brought back. Bale just grumbles and yells as Connor. The humans are weak. But the action scenes look pretty and young Kyle Reese is well-acted. A decent summer movie.
There's still a lot of big movies on the way, including the sure-to-be-dogshit Transformers sequel and that retarded looking GI Joe movie. I do love summer blockbusters, though. Even the ones I hate.
There's more to tell...a story of how I alienated a group of actors by being TOO good a psychopath in a film...and a few things I've been mulling over...but I'm much too tired and I got some movies to watch.
Stay close, lovers. It's about to get dangerous.... |
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| Fuck it. Get ready. |
[Apr. 15th, 2009|11:19 pm] |
"The world has no use for another scared man. Right now, the world needs a fucking hero. "
Standing in a Wal-Mart at 10:32 at night, reading a Kelly Clarkson interview in a magazine, makes a man feel really lonely. And a tad gayish.
But that's where I found myself this evening. Now I didn't trek to said store for that purpose. I went to purchase a DVD, but had no luck in that department. As I began my annoyed walk, dodging all the goddamn forklifts and pallets and bullshit that goes on at a Wal-Mart store after 9 pm, I glanced to my right at the magazine rack and Ms. Clarkson's beautiful visage caught my bloody eye. So I stopped and began to read the article and pine for this Mistress of Sweet Pop. Weight gain or nay, I'd marry her, no questions asked.
This is the first step in segueing from single man to weirdo living in a rented room mumbling to himself and ordering adult diapers from the pharmacy, only to oogle and freak out the sweet young lady who delivers them. I never really expected much more from life, though.
Hey, guess what?! I'm a Movie Star!
Or so I felt like the last two Thursday evenings, as I sat in two different theatres and watched The High Society sprawl out before me. Before I get into a play-by-play, lemme say right now: the movie turned out better than I ever expected! Shooting a movie in fits-and-starts, over seven months, doesn't usually yield a great piece of cinema. Nor does having to redub every line. And it's no secret to those who know me (or read this thing) that I was frustrated by both the script and the lack of room to improvise.
I still say the movie could have been amazingly funny had we been given more freedom to do our thing, but I also understand the difficulties in cutting together scenes that have been improvised when you only have one camera. So I let it all go.
But the look of the film, the sound design, music choices, opening credits....all stellar. The film plays, and in the end....I'm proud to be in it. Steve McClean and Chad Schurecht did an amazing job.
The first screening, April 2, was at the Nova 6 theatre in Moline, IL. The turnout was pretty decent, and people seemed to really enjoy it. This was my first time seeing the completed movie, and to do it amongst strangers, and on a large screen, was nerve-racking (though I would never let on). I'm still my biggest critic and there's a zillion things I would change about my appearence, but all-in-all I can watch it without too much cringing. Mikl, Gina, and Big Mike seemed to dig it. Big Mike even tried to get me to sleep with him, but I told him being a star-fucker isn't his style.
As much as I enjoyed the Nova 6 premiere, I had no idea what was ahead at the Chicago screening.
The Landmark on Clark was the host for the April 9 show, and I hadn't been there before. Turns out it's on the fourth floor of a big mall-type place in the north Loop. Sean, Sara, Jimmy and myself almost couldn't find it, even though we were standing right in front of it. A bunch of Illinois Valley creeps pretending to be big city folk.
As we stolled into Theatre #2 (which had a poster next to the door with my goofy face plastered on it) I saw the HUGE FUCKING REAL MOVIE SCREEN AND STADIUM SEATING and, as much as I hesitate to admit, my heart started beating really fast as my nerves ran up and kicked me in the balls/taint.
We took our seats amongst the rapidly growing audience, and I just gawked around the joint as the people poured in. By the time the movie started, nearly every seat was full. Amanda, Bea, Kevin, and Kristina (Kevin's date/Bea's roommate) showed up. Jasmine and two of her friends also came out and had to sit down in front due to the full seating. I apologized to them before the show, as they were about to have to crane their necks up at a thirty-foot tall Ryan for the next hour and twenty!
The movie started and people loved it. Lots of laughs, lots of claps. As I sat there, in this real movie theatre with my face projected big as life, I couldn't help but feel like....in a very tiny, miniscule way...my dream was coming true. I spent as much time watching strangers watch me on the screen as I did watching the film. It was almost enough to make me get some dust in my eye...but I won't admit that if you ask me. I thought about the little blonde kid sneaking out of his room late at night as his Dad snored on the couch, keeping the sound low on the TV as he watched countless horror films and comedies on HBO and USA...blowing off homework to watch tapes...going to the Apollo every Saturday night with his family and getting impossibly excited by all the images and trailers and the smell of popcorn and lemon cleaner...and now...it was that little kid's turn to be watched on the big screen.
The movie only ran for 80 minutes, but I wanted it to last much longer. I could have sat there forever. The Chicago premiere has definitely been the highlight of 2009...and 2008...
As happy as I was that night...there was still some bittersweet underpinnings to the festivities. As far as movies go, this was the biggest thing so far...and I had no one to share share it with. Don't get me wrong - I had great friends come out to support me and I am thankful for them being there for me...I won't forget those who were there at my beginnings, and when I hit it big, they will be the ones who are rewarded...but it wasn't the same not having someone there who truly understood what this little event meant for me...to squeeze my hand everytime I came on screen...tell me I looked handsome even though I looked down in shame...was proud to be on my arm as strangers shook my hand and congratulated me as we walked out...you know, that sorta support...but, those days will come...I believe it now as much as ever. I just gotta keep working, keep striving and keep my heart open. There's no quitting now. Any chances of me giving up, even that three percent that lingers in my brain, was blown to smithereens the second my name roared across that silver screen. It's an addiction, and there's no intervention in Heaven or Hell that can cure it.
I'm excited about my future...I have quite a few projects coming up...Chris Schrader's murder party movie...a trilogy of comedy shorts that I'm making this summer...and another little movie that I'm waiting to hear back on...
Next week I shoot on Andy Segura's short film for his Directing class that I wrote for him (see a few entries back for that family-friendly gem). More on that soon, as I'm positive it will be awkward and ridiculous and a test to see if I'm really a professional actor.
After the screening and all the congratulatory stuff and pictures and what not, we headed back to The Estate for a bit to have some drinks before going to some party a few blocks away. I was feeling no pain by this time and was in a celebratory mood so I went long. The house was crowded and full of smelly indie music nerds, but some smooth Dan Aykroyd vodka and the rumor that Alkaline Trio used to live there and practice in the basement kept me around. Sean and I went to the basement where the supposed evidence to this rumor lied:
A big piece of foam with the band's name/logo. The kind of foam, according to Sean, that would be found in a bass case. A bass perhaps owned by Dan Andriano?! Pretty flimsy evidence, but you know what? I want it to be true, so I'm gonna believe it.
After some heady libations and a lot of lame interactions, we stumbled back to the apartment where we all watched Warlock: The Armageddon (which I saw when I was a kid and I stand by).
Mikl and I hit up Observe and Report last night, and I loved every second of it. As far as I'm concerned, Jody Hill has a perfect record going. The Foot Fist Way, East Bound & Down, and now this film...the dude is amazing. Don't let the trailers fool you...it's a comedy...but not like anything you've seen recently. It isn't an Apatowian creation, despite the inclusion of Seth Rogen. This movie is more in the vein of Scorsese's King of Comedy. Or the funny version of Taxi Driver, which many critics like to say.
Danny McBride shows up in a hilarious cameo, Ray Liotta does some of his classic screaming, and Collette Wolfe (from The Foot Fist Way) turns in a sweet, heartbreaking performance as a barista with a crush on Rogen. She's friggin adorable.
I wonder if there are any magazine articles at Wal-Mart about her...
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| Wanna make 14 dollars the hard way? |
[Apr. 1st, 2009|10:35 pm] |
"You know that's how the plague started. Back in the day. From a little disgusting bird bath in someone's back yard that rats...made sex to birds in it and created a whole new type of AIDS."
Shit, son, it's April! And it's as cold as Edward Cullen's dick. To quote Peter Vincent, "I am not amused."
Lookie, lookie! Two vampire references right outta the gate! Though to be honest, Twilight wasn't much of a vampire movie. I'm not totally against deconstructing monsters and their mythologies per se, but what's the point of having vampires who don't have fangs, can hang out in the sunlight, and don't die from stakes to the heart? Pretty weak, Ms. Meyer, even for a paper-thin romance aimed at 14-year-old girls who have yet to become heartless succubuses (or succubai as I am fond of saying).
I watched the movie right after viewing Milk, and I felt more like nuzzling some balls after Twilight than after the two hour gay-a-thon (I mean that in a positive way). Side-note: While Sean Penn gave an amazing performance, it fell short of Mickey Rourke's turn in The Wrestler. Sigh. Maybe I'll remake Twilight, though my version will have the benefit of an awkward scene in which Edward earns his red wings...
Jesus, I'm ashamed of myself. In the best possible way.
Speaking of Jesus, the other day, as I was driving down by Loyola, I was stopped at a light next to a store called The Mustard Seed. A religious store to be sure, but one that seems to cater to the dirty hippie crowd. As I tapped my fingers to another ill-advised revisiting of St. Anger, I looked to my left and saw a framed painting in the window. It was a stunning piece of artwork. The subject was, of course, Jesus. But not just any old bearded Jesus. This was Black Jesus. Again...no big deal, really. I can hang with an African-American interpretation (but if you try to gimme an ethnic Santa Claus, I'm gonna scratch my chin and tell you to fuck off.) But, see, this Black Jesus had dreads. And tats. And he was fucking ripped, like Carl Weathers in Predator.
I smiled to myself at the thought of the painting hanging in my bedroom, but I could see the hefty price-tag fixed to the bottom of the frame, and I dismissed it. But I have a birthday coming up in a few months...
Speaking of speaking of Jesus, one of my bazillion duties at my job is to take one of the fellas I care for to church every other Sunday. I have nothing against religion at the end of the day. Whatever gets you through the night, ya know. But I always feel very out-of-place whilst in the confines of this Lutheran church. Every week, they do this bit where the audience (or whatever you call...us) is suppose to "turn to your neighbors and wish them Christ's Peace" (or Piece if you're thirteen and wanna make a dick joke at church....thirteen or twenty-nine...). Everyone gets up and wanders around for a few minutes, shaking hands and saying "Christ's Peace Be With You." Seeing as the guy I bring cannot speak and is wheelchair-bound, I just sit next to him politely and wait. Eventually a few of the braver souls will actually approach the scary weird guy in the chair and his grizzled, bloodshot guest. Church-Goer: Christ's Peace Be With You!
Ryan: Thanks. Nice to see ya.
The Curch Goer will usually then slightly frown and undoubtedly wonder why this black-hoodied asshole didn't wish The Son of God's Peace back to him/her. This happens probably four to five times during the interlude. And every time, it's the same reaction.
The thing is...I don't feel qualified to be wishing anybody Peace on Christ's behalf. I can barely find Peace for myself, let alone be responsible for other people's Peace. I'm sure Jesus was a swell guy and I have a comfortable relationship with the Creator, but I'm still not gonna vouch for him. Say I wished Christ's Peace to one of these gentle souls, and the next day they get diagnosed with liver disease. Or get hit by a bus. Or walk in on their significant other, balled up and sweaty with the milk man. They're gonna flashback to the last happy day they had...Sunday...and they're gonna remember the strange dude with the half-open eyes who smiled a horrible smile and wished them Christ's Goddamn Peace! And I will be the object of their hatred. I don't think I need that hanging over my head.
Last week, while the pastor (who wears a sweet headset and a not-so-sweet dress-smock-robe thing that reminds me of Obi-Wan) was talking, I was in the middle of deep contemplation (AKA hoping the service goes long enough that Wendy's will be open when it's over so I can get a delicious Biggie Fries before heading back to the house). Several minutes into this meditation, something he said snapped me back to the here and now.
"...for Christ's Sake."
What?! Did I just hear that right? Did this man of the cloth really just say "For Christ's Sake"?!
Yes. Yes he did. Though it wasn't said with the same inflection that us sinners use when spouting it. But it was still the phrase.
For Christ's Sake.
I looked around at the others. No one was smiling, or laughing, or even slightly amused. They understood the context. They heard the first bit. But all I could think of was how funny it was to hear the pastor say "For Christ's Sake" in church. The more I thought about it, the funnier it seemed. Then I giggled. Then I laughed. Then people looked at me. The Peace Wishers who were rebuffed by me shook their heads.
"I don't care, Mabel. That's the last time I wish that little peckerhead Christ's Peace!"
This church also really loves hymns. One of the first things I do when I arrive at the Lord's House and get myself and the guy I bring settled in (after scanning for the cute single mother with the mixed-race child) is look at the board at the front to see which hymns are to be sung. I count them. Six. Seven sometimes. This usually makes me give a large air blow, as everytime they sing a song, they stand. That means I gotta stand. The service is only forty-five minutes. That's a lot of sit-stand shannanigans in forty-five minutes. But two weeks ago...one particular hymn caught my eye and made me thank the Devil for Church. The pastor said "Everyone please open your Hymnals to number 254." I don't sing, so I stood and waited. The folk began to sing their praises.
"Laaaammmb of Gooooodddd..."
Yes, kids, they were singing a song called Lamb of God. LAMB OF GOD!! Again, I found myself laughing. But since the place with filled with voices big and small, I could raise my head to the Heavens and bellow my laughter. Church members who might have looked upon me at that moment probably saw a smiling, glory-filled son of God. Maybe they were even warmed by the sight of such happiness during the hymn.
After the song I frantically searched the hymnal for the Dragonforce number. No luck.
Tomorrow night is the first of two premieres for The High Society. This long, frustrating, stress-filled chapter of my meager life is about to close. Sorta bittersweet. Tomorrow's screening is at a joint called Nova 6 cinemas in Moline, IL. The Chicago premiere, next week, is at the Landmark Century Cinemas, which is actually a big first-run theatre. Exciting.
Let's have a drink and hope the movie doesn't suck. Or at least...I don't suck. Wish me luck, babies!
And Christ's Peace Be With You.
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| Filth. And a little Fury. |
[Mar. 25th, 2009|06:35 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | Dirty | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Heavens - Dead End Girl | ] |
The previous script was fucked with by Andy's professor, so I took it back. And wrote a new six-minute movie for him. My only stipulation was I get to play the lead. It's kinda sorta a companion piece to The Friendship Tip. Here's the goods:
INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM - NIGHT A smartly decorated, hip twenty-something living space. The walls
are adorned with framed movie and band posters. After a beat, the FRONT DOOR OPENS and in walks a twenty-six year
old man, neatly dressed. STU CHARNO. Accompanying our new hero is an extremely cute girl, dressed to
kill, raise the dead, and kill again. CARMEN LEE. Stu flips on the light. STU
The humble abode. CARMEN
Somehow this is exactly how I
thought your place would look. Right
down to the toys! She picks up a large, horned creature breathing plastic fire from
atop a DVD case. STU
That, my dear, is a Balrog. Tis no
toy. He snatches it away. STU
It's also not mine. That's the
roomie's. THIS however... He grabs a G.I. Joe from the same case. STU
This is a toy. I like to play with
it in the bathtub. Keeps me
company. I'm water shy. CARMEN
Cute. STU
If you're into plastic. The couple sits on the sofa. Stu grabs a remote control. STU
You sure you haven't seen Finding Neverland? CARMEN
No. My brother started to watch it
one night. Said he got five minutes
into it and then remembered he had
a dick. STU
I think I'd like your brother. His
dick anyway. He laughs. She sorta giggles. STU
I'm glad we decided to do this,
Carmen. I wasn't sure if...meeting
someone via Facebook was a good
idea. But this has been great. CARMEN
I agree. She leans in for a soft kiss. CARMEN
Matter of fact, you might have to
change your status to Stu is busy
getting laid tonight. He smiles HUGE. CARMEN
Let's watch the movie. STU
Sure. Let's...let's watch the
movie. They sit back on the couch. Stu hits play on the remote and the
movie begins. A beat. CARMEN
Kate Winslet's so beautiful. STU
Oh I know it. I'm a big fan. I'd
love to eat her ass. Carmen nearly chokes. CARMEN
Excuse me?! STU
What's that? It dawns on him. He laughs. STU
Oh God! Haha, wow, no, lemme
explain! My roommate Kris and I have
these, like...sayings for different
things. Kinda in-jokey phrases.
This is childish, I know,
but..."eating ass" means to act a
romantic scene. Carmen raises an eyebrow. STU
Like if one of us is doing a play
or something, and there's a kissing
scene or love scene, I'll be like
"Hey, I'm gonna go eat some ass today."
And Kris will go "Awesome! Get up
in it!" Real awkward beat. STU
Which just means he...wants me to
do good. I apologize. I forget that
other people don't know how we do!
I know it sounds dumb. CARMEN
No....I mean, it's kinda weird,
but...well, it sounds like you and
Kris get along pretty good. STU
We do. Besties. Fo' life. Heh. Awkwardness rules the night. STU
Hey you want something to drink? CARMEN
I'd like that. They go to the fridge. STU
Okay, we got some PBR, grape juice.
There's some wine left over from
Kris' birthday dinner last week. A
jug of jizz. Oh! Look at this! Ecto
Cooler! I got it off Ebay, this
guy... CARMEN
Wait, what? STU
Ecto cooler? Like...in
Ghostbusters... CARMEN
You said jizz. STU
Oh!! Oh boy! No, it's not...really
jizzum...semen...Kris is into
weightlifting and he makes this
protein shake stuff... I always say
it looks like he's drinking jizz.
Really, I'm sorry. We're kinda
crude sometimes. Carmen is nervously looking around. Stu is blowing it! STU
So, uhh...are we gonna do the Ecto
Cooler, or.. CARMEN
A beer is fine. STU
Super! He grabs two cans of the swill. Back to the couch. STU
Good movie so far, eh. CARMEN
It's not too bad. I love Johnny
Depp. STU
You can't go wrong with the Depp. I
like Ed Wood myself- Stu's phone rings. He looks at it. STU
Excuse me. He flips it open. STU
Well you smarmy cunt! What the fuck
is up! Carmen's eyes widen in shock. STU
The fuck you say! Hey that sounds
sweeter than lips on my peter in
the mornin. How's Barry? Last I
heard that child-molestin' fuck was nursing
a sore peckerstaff. Really? Well
good, tell him I said to be careful suckin'
all that black cock. I know how he
likes the Mandingoes. Okay, we'll kick
it this weekend. You
got-it-twat-it. Later butthole. He hangs up and goes back to the movie. A beat. Then: CARMEN
Who was that?! STU
That was just my mom. I'm having
dinner at their place next weekend.
My dad might have to have back
surgery. Carmen is appalled. STU
Are you okay? CARMEN
You called your mother a cunt!! STU
Look, no, it's okay. My family is a
little different. We have a fun
relationship is all. I know it
probably sounds weird, but...it
works for us. They're wonderful
people, Carmen. I can't wait to
introduce you to them! CARMEN
I'm gonna be straight with you,
Stuart. I really don't think this
is gonna work. Stu turns off the movie. STU
What do you mean?! I thought things
we're going good. CARMEN
I had no idea you had such
a...dirty vocabulary. STU
Carmen... CARMEN
The whole eatin...and, and the
protein jizz drink... STU
It's just Met-Rx! CARMEN
You call your mom a cunt! STU
She calls me faggot ass... CARMEN
I'm not from a world like that,
Stu. I'm just...I guess I come from
a different place than you. The couple sits in silence. STU
Look. I really, really like you. I
know I'm not perfect. I'm rough
around the edges. My eyes are
baggy. I don't have perfect teeth.
I snore in my sleep, I can't bench
anything above 65. Sometimes I
don't clip my toenails until they
are poking through my socks- CARMEN
Stu... STU
But when I'm with you...talking to
you...I feel like...I'm a real man.
When my ex dumped me, it was the
worst thing that had ever happened to
me in my whole life. It wrecked me.
But if she hadn't...I wouldn't have
been in a position to find
you...Carmen...you turned the worst
thing to ever happen to me...into
the best thing...because that
break-up allowed me to meet you.
So even if this is the last time we
are together....I will always be grateful
to you for that. Carmen has officially melted. CARMEN
Stu. That's the most romantic
thing...anyone has ever said They embrace in a passionate kiss that's looking like it's rounding
third and heading for home. They stop for a moment. STU
Don't you wanna...finish the
movie... CARMEN
Fuck Finding Neverland. Tell me
what you want to do to me! Kissing continues. STU
I wanna...lay you down...taste
you....every inch of you...until
you can't bare it...and then... CARMEN
Tell, oh, tell me... STU
Then I wanna crouch over you...and
shit on your chest... Hit the brakes!!! CARMEN
Did you just say...you want
to...shit on me? STU
Ummm... CARMEN
(smiling)
So what does that really mean? You
wanna wrestle me or something...cover
me in oil... STU
No...I really mean...I wanna shit
on you... The most awkward beat in the history of motion pictures. Stu smiles
sheepishly. Then: CARMEN
I'm into it. Let's go. STU
Awesome. They chaotically race for the bedroom. FADE OUT. FIN. Written by Ryan Matthew Ziegler
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| Six Minutes to Midnight |
[Feb. 27th, 2009|01:48 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | busy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Two Tongues | ] |
My friend Andy, from Columbia, just asked me to write him a six-minute comedy for his Directing class. This is what I banged out in an hour.
INT. SMALL TOWN PUB A run-down, darkly lit one-room pub. There are no customers to be found, save for a SOLITARY WOMAN sitting at the bar. Pretty in an uncomplicated way, the woman BERTHA (39) stares down at her drink. After a beat, the doors to this saloon open wide and in saunters HOWARD "HOWDY" EBENER (32). This old school bruiser sports a thin mustache and a tight flannel shirt. Cowboy boots are a must. He scans the bar and immediately zeros in on Bertha. He smiles a toothy grin and adjusts his hair, eyebrows, groin, shirt. He strolls on over and sits down next to her. Bertha stirs slightly, noticing the body next to her. Awkward beat as Howdy looks around. Note: All characters speak in a Southern drawl. HOWDY Howdy. BERTHA Hi. HOWDY That's my name. Howdy. Well...Howard, really. But Howdy is what I've been called since I was knee high to a grasshopper's dick.. BERTHA That's interesting. HOWDY Thank you very much. It's Apache. BERTHA Howard? That's an indian name? HOWDY It is. Looked it up...at the community college. Name origin is a hobby of mine. BERTHA Really. HOWDY Yes ma'am. Did you know that...the name Rosemary...comes from, uh...the old English name Marye...with an E at the end...and...the flower. BERTHA Yeah that makes sense. HOWDY It does. I probably didn't need to look it up, come to think of it. Bertha smiles and laughs slightly. HOWDY That's a real pretty smile you got there. I'd like to take it off ya and frame it on my wall. Put it above my toilet (he pronounces toilet "twallet.") BERTHA That's creepy. HOWDY I know it. It IS creepy. The twallet part is probably what yer referring to. BERTHA It's alright. I'll take creepy after the day I've had. HOWDY You had a bad day? I don't believe it. Angels don't have bad days. Howdy thinks this was a smooth line. Bertha frowns at him. BERTHA Seriously? HOWDY Well...I mean...Biblically speakin... His stutterings are interrupted by the arrival of the BARTENDER. BARTENDER Whatcha drinkin. HOWDY Old Crow. On the rocks. BARTENDER Comin up. Bertha looks at the drink being poured in front of Howdy. HOWDY It's the champagne of alcohol. BERTHA Wow. HOWDY So tell me about this bad day. BERTHA Okay. I work at the Dollar Bush. HOWDY I knew you looked familiar! Hey ya'll still got those Fun Dip things. You know the candy with the stick and the powder. Man I use to get fucked up on ludes and eat the shit out of those. Bertha just looks down. HOWDY I mean...so that's cool...the Dollar Bush...awesome... BERTHA Anyways. We've got these coupons for, uhh, laundry soap. Two for 3 dollars. Problem is we didn't get any of them in this week. So all day I had to tell folks we didn't have any. People can be so cruel when shit don't go their way. HOWDY Those motherfuckers. BERTHA I'm sorry you can't get your precious laundry soap today. Is that really a reason to call me a stupid bitch! HOWDY It's not! There's plenty of reasons to call someone a stupid bitch and I can tell you by damn sight...that ain't one of em. BERTHA So yeah. I'm drowning my sorrows. Howdy downs his drink in one swift gulp. HOWDY Well I wouldn't worry about it too much, Miss...I didn't actually get yer name... BERTHA Bertha Dundee. HOWDY I wouldn't worry about it Miss Dundee. Most of the folks in this town got a bit of the down syndrome in 'em. Real fuckin' potato heads.. BERTHA My brother Terence was born with Down Syndrome. HOWDY Which is a good thing about this town, I think...everybody's real gentle...I've never seen an angry retard myself... BERTHA I just wanna drink until I can't remember my name. HOWDY That's okay. You do that. And when your done...I'll be here to remember it...Bertha Dundee...the prettiest woman I've ever seen. Bertha looks at him. He's such a goofy idiot that he's almost cute. BERTHA You know Howdy. You're almost cute. In like a...scary kinda date rapist way. Howdy looks into her eyes. HOWDY Thank you. Nice beat. Then they both speak at the same time. BERTHA So where do you work? HOWDY I got some Magnum rubbers in my truck. BERTHA What?! HOWDY What? No. What..did you.. BERTHA I think I'm gonna go home now. Bertha gets up and heads to the door. HOWDY No, wait...Miss Bertha..Dundee... She's gone. Howdy sits and stares sadly at his empty glass. The Bartender comes by and fills it. HOWDY I always fuck things up! What's wrong with me? BARTENDER You should wait a little longer before you bring up yer condom size. HOWDY I should, I know it. You're right. After a moment, Bertha enters. Howdy spins around. BERTHA You wanna try again? HOWDY I do! He walks over to her and they start to exit. BERTHA Just do me a favor. Don't talk about your...penis...for awhile. HOWDY You got it, Bertha. They open the doors to leave. Howdy looks back at the Bartender and winks. The Bartender laughs very hard and pours a shot. The End. Written by Ryan Matthew Ziegler |
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| You shall be called...Blacula! |
[Feb. 25th, 2009|11:27 pm] |
"I can't talk to you with your titties hangin' out like cabbages."
Wow. Have you heard the new Blind Melon? The kid they got sounds just like Shannon Hoon. It's nuts. He kinda sounds like Perry Farrell too. What's the deal with bands that lose a lead voxer then hire a sound alike? Journey is guilty of that, too. And Creed...I mean...Alter Bridge.
Okay. Those are the only ones I can think of...so maybe I'm talking out of my ass...but regardless, if I were in a band and lost my singer, I'd want to get someone who sounds nothing like the previous throatman. Like hiring Sammy Hagar after DLR. Or that one dude after Vince Neil...the Hooligan's Holiday guy. Alice in Chains has a new singer and I can't wait to hear what he sounds like. I hope he isn't just a Layne mimmicker. If I wanted wannabe Staley I'd listen to Godsmack, or any number of shitty Illinois Valley nu-metal acts.
I ate some cucumber salsa a little bit ago and now my mouth feels like herpes.
Last Friday I spent a fucking year and a half finishing up ADR on The High Society. For those who don't know dick about moving pictures, ADR is basically re-recording dialogue that didn't end up getting captured good on the day. All movies have ADR sessions. But most movies don't have to ADR the WHOLE FUCKING GODDAMN MOVIE!!!! Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick, do you have any idea how frustrating it is to learn that lines you delivered over months and months of shooting were not recorded properly? I got so mad I hit Sara* in the gums with a label maker. I'm kidding, of course. I had Jimmy do it.
So I sat in a small room in Palatine with a pair of headphones and a monitor and recorded every line, noise, breath, and cough I did in every second of screentime. Plus, I had to make it sound as if it was actually coming out of me at that moment. It was exhausting and tedious, and I had to stop myself from pulling a Christian Bale on the filmmakers**.
Good news is the movie isn't quite as bad as I was worried it was gonna be. That's not to say it's a prizewinner. It has plenty of pacing issues, and it's still not as funny as it should have been with my ass involved.*** The director, Steve, is planning on a Chicago premiere soon. He's looking to rent out a movie theatre called Movico or something. In which case I will need a date. Like a real date. Potential love and/or Hot Carl interest. Problem is....I got no prospects. None! How the fuck does that happen you ask?+ Well, I just don't meet anyone. I work with disabled guys in a house for 13 hours a day, so meeting a woman at work is not possible. Jimmy was suppose to introduce me to this lovely looking young lady he knows, but then he shit the freckle bed and didn't do it. Now the girl has a boyfriend. That leaves my class at i.O. There's one or two possibilities in there, but aside from the work on stage, I don't do a whole lot of fraternizing in there.++
I think I've been single too long. How many times can a guy paint a crude Kelly Clarkson face on a pillow?+++ I'm running out of plastic baggies!
After the marathon ADR session and the retarded commute, I found myself in need of some McDonald's Coke, so I stopped in the McD's by my apartment. As I completed my order, I was confronted by a man who looked interestingly enough like Cliff Huxtable's dad. The following convo took place:
Grampa Huxtable: Hey there, son. You don't happen to have any change so I can get some coffee do ya?
RMZ: Yeah, sure. (I fished out two dimes.)
GH: Thank you! Thank you indeed. You know, I like you.
RMZ: Oh yeah?
GH: Yes. The way you carry yourself. You walk with confidence. I've always liked that about you.
RMZ: Thanks - wait, what?
GH: I haven't seen you at church lately. Why is that?
At this point my delicious Big Mac and empty cup had been handed to me and I began to make my way to the fountain to get my beloved Coke. Grampa Huxtable followed in hot pursuit.
GH: You feel alright? Why you ain't been to church?
RMZ: Uhhh...I got kicked out.
GH: Nooooo!
RMZ: Yeah. It was the shame. It was the shame!*+*
GH: I'll talk to the pastor about you.
RMZ: Would you really? That'd be fuckin awesome.
GH: I'd do it for you! You know why? I always liked you. You're alright for a black guy.
I love Chicago.
*Sara is one of the tricks I co-habitate with.
**I stand by Christian Bale one hundered percent. I hate techies.
***I'm super funny and extremely talented. Tell your friends. The slutty ones. Chicks.
+I'm super funny and extremely talented, remember.
++I'm shy.
+++ I apologize for the visual. You can substitute Jessica Biel if you'd like.
*+* Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 reference. |
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| Happy fuckin' Valentine's Day - Tom Atkins |
[Feb. 11th, 2009|11:12 pm] |
"Santa ain't the only one who's got a full sack!"
- Brian Johnson
Oh, AC/DC, how I love thee. The above quote is from their latest single "Big Jack." From what I can decipher, the song is about a fella named Jack who's on his way to...wherever AC/DC is...and they're pretty goddamned excited about it. See, Jack has a reputation as a good friend ("He's always got your back") and he "always likes to party" as long as the girls around him "like to play." He is apparently well-endowed as the Santa Claus line proves. I would seriously like to meet this dude.
I wished I could have been in the studio when Mr. Johnson or whomever penned the line. It's rare to reference St. Nick in a song that has nothing at all to do with the Yule. I stand by it completely, and wished more bands would do it. Not only do they reference Santa randomly, but it's also in a sexual manner. Brilliant.
It's Februrary 11. I have always thought of February as the asshole of the calendar year. You can't get any darker or abysmal than this wretched, frozen month. I'm glad it's so short. I also realize it's Black History month. I wonder if anyone has ever gotten pissypants about the fact that the month designated for closer inspection of African-American past and present is the shortest one of the year. I'm sure there's been angry essays about it from college kids.
February, or course, brings about Valentine's Day. I find this to be the most controversial of special days. People love it or fucking despise it. Cries of "Fuck that Hallmark holiday" can be heard far and wide, be it from the lonely hearts club or the sorry suckers who have to fork over a little extra green to take their lady out to dinner. I don't see what's so bad about the latter - you'll probably get laid out of the deal, and fuck, man, is Olive Garden that expensive? Come on.
I myself have never had a deep hatred for the day. I enjoyed the exchange of valentines in school. There was a great anticipation in the chance that you might pull out the little Strawberry Shortcake or My Little Pony paper valentine from the girl you had the crush on. Maybe she'd write more than "From Sally" on it (for the record I never had a Sally in any of my years of public education. I kinda wish I'd had as I would have used the Sally Ann Rottencrotch line from Full Metal Jacket ad nauseum. There was a girl who was of Indian descent (not Native American) who kinda looked like Lou Diamond Phillips in Young Guns, so I called her Chavez for years. Last I heard she's a female bodybuilder now! Wonders, man...). Anyways, maybe, juuuuust maybe, she'd write how cute you were or how she wants you to be her boyfriend! It never happened, unfortunately. Perhaps that is when the grizzlement began?
I use to overanalyze thse cards as well, even as young as 7 or 8. If I did receive one that said "Be Mine" I'd wonder if I was the only guy in class that got that one. Sometime later I realized that most of those packaged valentines only came with three or four different sayings, so mathematically speaking, several guys would have to get a Be Mine card. Bah!
As I got older and found myself with girlfriends (who'd have thought?), Valentine's Day got a little more dicey. I felt pressure to do something special or big. I must not have, because I can't...remember...any of them. The one Valentine's Day I remember most is the one where Big Mike and I went to the then-new Pizza Hut Bistro, and I used a gay voice most of the night. Then Andrew came over and we all watched My Bloody Valentine. Best V-Day ever now that I think of it! There's probably an entry about it in the archives. Go see, would ya? 2005. Get back to me.
This year, I am sans a ladyfriend, so the day has really nothing to offer me. I am not bitter about it or dreading it like many. I feel no desire to have an Anti-Valentines party. Though if I did have a girlfriend, I'd probably take her to a restaurant, write some poetry with lots of P. and V. jokes and try to get action. Whoo! What a ladykiller, eh.
I am happy to report that I actually bought some new pants tonight! I have tried every Wednesday for the last three weeks to accomplish this feat, and have always failed. But tonight I walked away from the mall with TWO new pairs of jeans. They only cost me 42 bucks! I feel good. I need to buy more clothes to accentuate my physique and attract a sugar mama or two. I think next week I will focus on shirts.
Living the dream, kid.
I saw The Wrestler last Friday night. Holy fuckin shit it's good! Mickey Rourke continues to be my guy! I love movies about loners and losers. The solitary guy, grizzled and beaten but not giving up. I feel I can relate. So much of my being wants companionship and love and all that shite, but part of me dreads the day that happens, as I will no longer be The Man With No Name...or Rocky Balboa...or Snake Plissken...
I also saw Taken. I really dug it. If you ever watched Hostel and thought "I wonder what would happen if one of the girls kidnapped by the agency was the daughter of Jason Bourne" than you need to check this out. Liam Neeson goes to Paris and just kills the shit out of every and anyone who even thinks about getting in his way. He doesn't fuck around for a second. Even the innocent, sweet wife of an old friend who is hesitating to give Neeson answers takes a bullet to the arm. I guess the U.S. version is watered down even! I look forward to the inevitable unrated DVD for even more brutality from Qui-Gon Jinn.
I bought Titanic for 5 bucks last night. I'm the pussy. |
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| There's More Than One Way to Lose Your Heart... |
[Feb. 4th, 2009|11:01 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | creative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Ballad of Harry Warden | ] |
"Beware of what you make fun of you little asshole."
Well Jesus Jumped Up Christ, it's 2k9 and this is the first entry! I have me a "real " journal these days which explains for the lack of intranet ones. I figured the dark shit in my noggin is too opaque for the likes of passive readers who stumble upon this, so I've been spilling my sweet guts in that, which sorta diffuses my desire to type up my comic misadventures here.
Okay, anyway, how ya been? How's mom?
I was sitting and thinking the other night (I do that from time to time) and I got to thinking about the VHS Generation. If you are unaware of what that is, it's the youngsters that were the first to grow up in a VHS world. If you were born between 1977 and 1985, you were the VHS Generation. The first group of people growing up in a world where you could watch any movie, anytime, in your own home. Many of us can remember those early days of going to the local mom & pop video store in our hometowns, walking down seemingly never ending aisles of colorful little boxes, each one promising adventure or horror, gore or boobs, laughter or sadness. It was always a special night when my Dad would come home to our tiny one-floor house on Cherry street, a stack of tapes under his arm. We were a movie family, always going uptown to the Apollo on Saturday nights to see the latest Rocky or Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. That theatre seemed like a palace in those days. It's a musty crumbling flophouse now, but in the 80's and early 90s it was my church.
Anyways, back to the point. In 2007, Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez made Grindhouse, their love letter to the low-budget exploitation movies they grew up watching. They not only made their own little nasty programmers, they tried to recreate the experience of going to those sticky theatres. As much fun as the project was...I wasn't of that generation. Oh I watched zillions of low-budget grindhouse-type of movies as a kid, but they weren't in theatres...they were at home on the couch in front of my parent's TV with the Sears top-loading VCR. That's what I think of when I think of my early days of movie obsessing. And as I've attended film school and began working with other actors and filmmakers my age, they too fell in love with film via video stores.
The advent of DVD has made the experience of watching a tape a thing of the past. Now we rent DVDs, watch special features, have crystal clear picture and sound. All the correct aspect ratios. Commentaries. No fast forwarding, no rewinding. Gone are the days of watching a wobbly picture and furiously tapping the tracking button, trying to get it fixed. Or doing the old fast-forward-to-the-end-then-rewind trick to fix a weakly spooled tape. We no longer have a slew of trailers for Upcoming Attractions to sit through before the feature. It makes me sad.
Don't get me wrong - as a filmgeek, I adore DVD's. The availability of beautifully restored movies from all decades is a dream come true and my DVD collection is my most beloved treasure. But there are days where I sit and wish I could go and rent a stack of tapes, chock full of bad actors blowing shit up and Slumber Party Massacres.
I want to make my own Grindhouse. For the VHS Generation.
Imagine going to Blockbuster and seeing a new release you never heard of, with impossibly cool cover art, the kind of thing Drew Struzan would have created for Spielberg or Lucas. The kind of art that promises the greatest thing you could ever feast your eyes on. You take it home and put it in your player. It starts up with no menu...just a black screen. Then a cheaply produced home video company's logo followed by a deep voice: "Coming Soon From Nine18 Home Video!" Then a series of impossibly long trailers for an erotic thriller with Eric Roberts and Shannon Tweed or a cardboard sci-fi epic with Frank Zagarino or Tim Thomerson. You try to skip ahead a chapter, but there are no chapters! You just have to watch these awesome trailers. Then the movie starts. As it plays, the audio wanes in and out and white lines often roll through the picture. When the movie is over, a video of some band you never heard of plays out the movie's big theme song. If you want to go back and watch the big sex scene or violent final battle, you gotta rewind or fast forward - again no chapters!
I have a check-list for what the film would have to have:
- Billy Drago, Michael Dudikoff, Henry Silva, David Bradley, Sho Kosugi, John P. Ryan, Ed Lauter and other straight-to-VHS heroes from my youth
- Ninjas
- a grizzled hero with amnesia
- a scene where a bear or shark kills a friend of the hero
- a body count no less than 75 on-screen
- street gangs
- no less than 5 different women who show their boobs, preferably in random sex scenes
- rocket launcher decapitation
- at least one child blown up
- lots and lots of one liners, with at least three that rhyme
The big thing that would make this VHS Grindhouse truer to form than it's theatrical inspiration would be the movie itself: a truly low-budget, starless, poorly-made, deliciously tasteless violence-and-sex-and-action extravaganza. The kind of beautiful junk you just don't get anymore in this age of direct-to-dvd shot-on-digital amateur shitfests. It would't be fucked with in post to make it look like shit: it would look like shit in production! But the BEST kind of shit!
I think a project like this would be a lot of fun and would do HUGE on video...er...DVD. And it would be cheap. I guess this goes in the journal right next to my other dream projects, like the Lon Chaney biopic and the Indiana Jones-style horror adventure movie set in 1930's Hollywood.
In real life news, Batman: Black & White is now online, in its entirety! Go to www.27thletterproductions.com watch it. I was 30 pounds heavier in it, but I stand by my performance, especially since it was pretty much a one-note character with none-too-exciting dialogue. I love the movie and can't wait to work with the same people soon on The Surprise Party.
I saw Frost/Nixon tonight. I loved it. Go see it and marvel at Frank Langella. Best performance since Masters of the Universe. Well...almost.
My training at i.O. is going pretty decent. I'm slowly getting my balls back, comedy wise. There's a few really funny guys in there, and more importantly, a beautiful young lady who has some chops. More on all this business later.
Later, crips. |
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| You look just like it was 1930 that night. |
[Oct. 28th, 2008|11:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Gaslight Anthem - 1930 | ] |
"We Belong Dead."
Halloween is only a few days away, and the spirit of the dead and rotting are invading my body these late hours. The nights are longer and colder. Burning leaves and itchy eyes. When I was younger the feel of fall depressed me, but I think that had more to do with hating school than anything else. As it stands now, it is my favorite time of year. Everywhere you turn is an homage to monsters, particularly the Univeral ilk. I've already been diving into my ritualistic movie watching habits. Though with my current living...schedule (?) it hasn't been as easy.
Although I've been living in Chicago now for over a month, I continue to keep my employ at Gateway in Princeton. So that sees me returning to the IV late Saturday nights or early Sunday mornings and working three 13-hour shifts, then trekking back up north Wednesday morning. As ridiculous and soul-raping as these shifts are, it's pretty great to have four and a half days off in a row. This has afforded me the unique position of being able to work a 40-hr work week yet still have four days off in which to work on projects, auditions, trainings, etc.
I don't plan on continuing this schedule much after the new year, as I want to get better pay and a bit more of a stable schedule permanently in the city, but it works well for now.
Speaking of the city, it has felt good to be there. The last go-around was so full of school stress and the extreme missing on my part of Ms. Angell that it was a rough time. But now...I don't have that pull anymore. Not to say my parents and sister and Gramma arent a reason for me to be drawn to Princeton, but it's not the same as when the person you are in love with is far away from you. Thankfully that whole business got squashed! I joke, but fuck, you gotta find the light sometimes. I've spent the last year of my life trying my goddamndest to do just that. I fail more than I succeed, but perhaps the light is actually found in the attempt. I don't know.
I DO know that I am in the midst of some sort of crisis. Self doubt has always been the little fucker scratching at the back of my head, but in 2008, he's gotten a megaphone and some steroids, and he's making damn sure I'm aware. I've never been this raw or self conscious in my 29 years of existance. I've always just known that the path I was on was the right one. The only one. And even though I still feel that way...I question whether or not I will succeed. I'm so tired of thinking "someday." I know, I know - I'm really just starting out, and I've started strong for a not-althogether-handsome yet funny dude from Princeton, IL. But I feel myself growing impatient. The disappointment of working my ass off on High Society yet being creatively stifled, coupled with being single for nearly a year now and the impending birth milestone has a lot of do with this latest panic. I have complete faith in the gifts I've been given. But aside from the comedy and filmatist aspects of my being, I feel inadequate in most ways. And that's a new feeling for me. I've never thought myself to be all that good-looking, but these days I can't shake the feeling that I'm practically deformed. I cringed when watching some of the rushes on High Society. I'm kind of dreading seeing myself on-screen at the premiere of Batman: Black & White next month. Shit, I'm thirty pounds heavier in that flick (it was shot last fall). And for an actor to be ashamed of his appearance...well, that's like a singer hating her own voice. It doesn't wash.
Regardless of this nonsense, I'm doing alright. This living situation has already delivered some odd and straight-up dumb moments. Trying to keep the whole fuckin thing from turning into The Real World is exhausting. I'm Mother Hen over here. I got a bit of an ego boost the other night when a friend of Sara's whose been over quite a bit asked me how I could possibly be single, after seeming to be generally interested in my ramblings. Then she touched my hand, and I realized at that moment that the fuckin walls have been erected higher than I thought. I'm turning back into the salty old pirate that I was before I met Ashley those years ago. Someone shows an interest in me and I immediately change the subject or ignore it. Now this girl is cool, but she's not my speed, so that has something to do with me not reciprocating the vibe. However with as little human physical contact I've had in the last 12 months, one would think that I'd just go with it regardless of not being that attracted to her as a potential relationship. Instead I just let her hand rest on mine for a few awkward moments before she took it back. Yeah.
Next month I start shooting on The Surprise Party, which should prove to be a hell of a time! I'm focused on the months ahead and getting my footing back, both personally and artistically. Things can only get better, and I'm up for anything.
Time to bust out some Halloween classics! Until we complain again...
Have a Happy Halloween!!
"You...make man...like me?"
"No. Woman. Friend for you." |
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| Cambot! Gypsy! Tom Servo! Crooooooow! |
[Aug. 30th, 2008|02:23 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  hungry | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Metallica - The Day That Never Comes | ] |
"Chalk up another victory to the human spirit."
Hellooooooo minions. It's middle of the nightstock....Friday. Er Saturday. Who can tell, really. The witching hour! Actually, the witching hour is supposedly the midnight hour. But that has never really seemed late enough for me to be an hour of evil and mystery - half the malls in America are still open at midnight. I like to think that 3:33 am is the minute where the spirits can rise and do their shit.
I'm drinking tonight. Which isn't all that unusual for this guy these days. I've drank more in 2k8 than in all my combined years of alcohol enjoyment. It's a dumb cliche, an excuse, and a fucking lame thing to talk about, I know. But it is what it is. The booze settles me down a bit, and that is no easy feat. But have no fear - I am too self-aware to become genuinely self destructive. Until I make a few movies that rock the collective asses. Then watch out!
It's been a month since the last installment. So much has happened!!
And for my next bit of complete horseshit...
Actually, there's been some events. Nothing groundbreaking. Still no fame (but I'm working on it). The love of my life has yet to appear and save me from all-night John Landis marathons in my underwear with a handful of Tootsie Roll pops and a jug of gin & tonic by my side. I'm actually starting to realize that singlehood may be better than relationship...hood. For all the happiness, loving, caring, sharing, and roadhead that comes with having a girlfriend, there's also a lot of disappointment. See, when a man is single, he's not in any position to let some lady down. He can go where he wants, see who he wants, make big life decisions, and eat chicken mcnuggets everyday for two weeks without disappointing his girlfriend. There have been times in my relationships where, for some reason, I have felt like I am slowly snuffing out some girl's dream of Prince Charming. Like they go home after being with me and watch fucking The Notebook or something and think "That's what I want, not Ryan and his dumb stories about finding a 5-dollar copy of Escape From New York, or his hee-haw laugh and bloodshot eyes." I knew I couldn't deliver a nice little house and two kids. I don't have a wardrobe worth a squirt of piss, and I tend to say weird stuff (like down syndrome people are really aliens in identical one-size-fits-all human masks. Dude, it's not that crazy!) I often felt like I was a training boyfriend.The guy that is there while they practice being a mate. Then once they realize the kind of woman they are, and what they require in a Mister, I am thanked for my time and asked to clean out my desk. Now before you call me on this, take note: of the three girlfriends I've had (shortest being six months, longest being five years), one is a happy mother, one is engaged (or married by now, fuck if I know), and the latest is, from what little I know, happy as a pig in warm shit with her current beau. And I remain a grizzled rat bastard.
However...what I'm getting at is positive. As my friends find themselves in argument after argument and break-up after break-up, I am sitting in the clear. I'm not accidentally hurting anyone's feelings. I go about my business writing, acting, making comedy, watching movies, getting sloppy, eating soup from the pan with a wooden stirring spoon, and through it all, there's no lady out there bemoaning my relationship with her, making plans to boot me, or wishing I would just change or give up my focus and dream. As a single guy...I am perfect. Maybe this makes no sense, or I'm not articulating it properly, but this isn't putting some horseshit "happy spin" on being single. I would love to be in a healthy relationship with a beautiful, funny woman (preferably one who likes to dress up like a chimp and call me Cornelius). I'm just saying that there definitely ARE perks to not being tied down. And I am recognizing them and sorta feeling lucky.
This is not to say I wouldn't jump at the chance to be in a new, exciting, Boogie Nightsesque relationship. It's just something I've been mulling over. I have a very high outlook on love and relationships in general, probably too high based on my failures in this arena.
In other news, I am STILL (siiiigh) shooting my role in High Society. We've been filming since June, when schedules mesh, and I have maybe one day left. Possibly two, but no more than that. I will be very glad when I am finished. I am happy and excited to be the lead in a feature film, albeit a no-budget indie, but I'm not sure the finished film will be what I thought it was gonna be. I've been quite frustrated with the material. When I read the script, it was apparent to me that it was the earnest work of young writers. Writers that, perhaps, needed to see a few more comedies before venturing out to make one. The dialogue and jokes were weak. It was full of potentially hilarious set-ups, which is why I wanted to do it once I was told I could improvise. I saw all the great possibilities for some truly stellar comedy. However, as the movie has progressed, I have been given less and less opportunity to do what it is I do. I feel like Eddie Van Halen hired to play on a record but only being allowed to play power chords. On more than one occasion, when improvising in a very weakly-scripted scene, I've been told that "this scene isn't suppose to be funny." WTF?!
The footage looks beautiful and the filmmakers are genuinely nice guys, so I haven't broken any balls. And, like all my heroes before me, I give a thousand percent in any project, regardless of the quality of the material. But I fear this movie will be slightly amusing at best and will get seen by a large number of people...and due to the script/direction...they won't see what I can do. I hope I am wrong. But I know comedy...I've written it, performed it, watched it, jacked off to it....I mean...laughed...at it...and this stuff just isn't funny.
Next month I shoot for two days on a short movie being made by my friend Chris Schrader, who also made the still-in-post Batman: Black and White. The film is about a troubled young man (yours truly) who impulsively murders his cheating girlfriend while his friends witness it whilst hiding in the next room, about to throw him a surprise party. The script is real fuckin dark, and I am excited to do this. There's nothing funny anywhere, and I get to just go apeshit and do my best Jack Nicholson-David Hess-American Psycho. I feel like with this movie, High Society, and Batman that I'm beginning to amass a decent reel. I love making movies! This is really it for me. If there's a destiny for each of us, than this is most certainly mine. I have sacrificed a lot of things in my short life, and continue to do so, to make this happen...and it's totally worth it.
I have fallen off the weightlifting wagon for awhile, and I need to get back on it. I'm planning on hitting it whole hog next week. I might only have two weeks until I move back to Chicago, and I wanna utilize my Met membership to its fullest. I'm gonna have to find a gym in the city, one that I can afford.
The summer is ending, and the big movies have all come and gone. Indiana Jones was like being kicked in the scrotum by the nice old lady who use to give you candy when you were seven. The Dark Knight delivered it's awesome yet slightly self-important bouquet of gritty martydom, and Pineapple Express and Tropic Thunder gently double-teamed me then held me through my night terrors. Now I'm counting the days until the Brothers unleash Burn After Reading. Make sure you see it with me. It will be a good time. I'll hold your hand.
I got some more simmering. Stay close.
Ryan
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| So lay your head on me... |
[Jul. 25th, 2008|11:53 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  blah | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Say Anything - Have At Thee! | ] |
"And here. We. Go."
Well, well. Hiya freakos, Ryan here. Bored. As. Shit. I'm also cranky. The venom deposits within my system never seem to be empty these days. Lots 'o different reasons I suppose. Melodrama and the Captain are inseparable in Summer 2K8. But it's all internal. A Douglas Sirk movie combined with Lon Chaney-style face pulling.
Since the last thrilling episode yours truly has found himself in more embarassing situations. As well as infuriating situations. And a few straight-up dumb situations. That's how I'm rolling now.
Let's start off with the Alkaline Trio show on July 9. As I had spent copious amounts of letters expounding on in previous entries, I was super excited to see my second favorite band bring the sweet rock-n-roll. I can safely say that their music is one of the few always comforting things in my existance. So standing amongst several hundred like-minded individuals and watching them play was pretty much the most anticipated event of my summer, if not the year 2008.
I woke up later than I wanted. Due to the lack of ink in my printer I had to go to the library to print out the tickets. While there I tried for a second time to check out It, but since I didn't have the actual library card on me this time, I was denied. The young librarian commented on my Dawn of the Dead t-shirt, which was unexpected but not unwelcomed. Had she been more my style, I'd have run some weak game. As it were, I agreed on the movie's awesomeness, threw a little shit at the remake (of course) and left with a wink.
With the freshly-printed tix in my paw I jumped in the sweltering ResDog. I grabbed some chicken fry things from the BK and hit the road. My iPod was charged a hundred percent and I couldn't help but feel happy as I listened to the Trio and sped down Interstate 80. Somewhere around the I-55 exit I got a call from Ben. Due to some shady bullshit, he wasn't gonna be able to make the show. I tried to get him to trek into the city anyway, as he was already in Aurora, but no dice. Disappointed, I bid him adieu and continued on my trek. Of fucking course once I hit Lake Shore I also hit some soul-sucking traffic jams. I blew up Jasmine as to see what she was doing. We decided to meet up in front of the HOB as I was gonna park by my old apartment and take the train downtown.
Anyway, to get down to brass motherfuckin tacks: the show was amazing!! The band opened with Calling All Skeletons, then right into Nose Over Tail. They probably spent 70 percent of the set playing B-sides and rare songs. Old School Reasons, I Lied My Face Off, Warbrain, Hating Every Minute. They only played one song off Maybe I'll Catch Fire, Good Mourning, or Crimson. The highlight for me was Armageddon. I adore that goddamn song.
The band says goodnight, heads off stage. I am giddy, okay. I turn to Jasmine, unable to stiffle my geekiness. All of a sudden I feel this intense wave of nausea and dizziness. Unsteady, but not one to show weakness, I try to ignore it as the trio return to the stage for the encore. As they banged out Bleeder, I started to really feel bad. I told Jasmine that I wanted to move toward the back for a little air, and as I reached the bar:
BAM! I was on the floor.
The next thing I knew some dude was asking if I was okay and Alk3 was in the middle of Radio (whooo!).
It took me a minute or two to realize that I has straight-up fainted. WHAT THE FUCK?!! I have never passed out in my life, aside from the occasional drunken mini-coma. As I sucked on a bottle of water that was thust into my grasp, the band finished up the show and said goodnight. So basically I spent the last two songs of the concert sitting on the floor by the bar, confused and stupid. Wonderful. Not only that, but embarassed as hell in front of this young lady.
Really? This is how the night had to end? Anyone got an extra break I could borrow? Jesus.
It didn't end there, though. Oh no, no, no. I got to my wobbly legs, trying my very best to make the standard RMZ jokery in light of this stupid, stupid turn of events. We hit the cool night air and jumped on the red line, which was a real pain in the ass as the red line is consistantly fucked up and half the downtown stops are closed. As we headed north toward Sheridan (where my car was), my once-trusted cerebellum decided to check out. My vision got blurry and my vocabulary went from intelligent and charmingly profane to incoherent. I made up a few words I'm pretty sure. As one point I looked at my phone and thought "What the fuck is this thing?" I was seriously that confused. I tried my best to remember what band I had just seen, but nothing came. I looked at Jasmine and I knew who she was, but her face was unfamiliar to me. Two things kept running through my failing head:
1. My head is probably going to explode Scanners-style.
2. I kinda wanna kiss this girl right now.
Yeah, that's Ryan ladies and gentlemen. His brain is taking a shit, he can barely speak coherent sentences, he's fearing instant death...and he's looking to plant a kiss on a dame. *air blow*
I make it to Sheridan without my brain leaking out of my ears and we start walking the mile or so to where I was parked. As we make our way, my brain starts to come back. Whew! I try to resume any semblance of entertaining wordplay...and then my right arm goes all tingly. Actually, it started in my hand, worked it's way up my arm to the right side of my face. Then to the left side of my face and then down my left arm. This whole process took about 15 minutes. I just kept thinking "Oh come ON!" Bad luck has always been sorta my thing, but this was just absurd and cruel.
We get to my car and I pretend that I am feeling one hundred percent. The tingling had subsided, replaced but the strong feeling of having something in my mouth that I couldn't seem to spit out or swallow. Luckily my mind had returned fully, as witnessed by the intense embarassment that was surging through my spindly frame.
We head toward her house near O'Hare. All the while I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I wasn't that hot at the show. I had eaten the chicken things earlier, which wasn't much but still enough I would think to keep my bloodsugar up. I drank one beer before Alk3 hit the stage, so I certainly wasn't drunk. So what the fuck?! Diabetes? My family is riddled with that foul shit. I should prolly get checked out (as I almost passed out AGAIN last Saturday on the High Society set...that whole thing will come in the next Chronicle. Dumb.)
We decided to hit up this diner near her abode and get some food. By now, the nausea had returned like Joe Victory. I had a little bit of soup and a few french fries, but I just wasn't having it. Which was too bad cuz I love diners and stuff. It was midnight by this point and we headed to her joint. I went inside and threw a few jokes in her family's direction, then started back to the Valley about 12:45. I cannot begin to express the disappointment and mortification (?) I felt as I drove. I tried to roust up Tim, but no luck. Ugh.
I went home and went right to bed. I must have been pretty exhausted as I woke up around 2:30, just enough time to take a fast hose down and get to work. I regailed my tale to my co-workers, who all thought it was the funniest shit since Police Academy 4.
So, I don't know. Summer 2K8 promised to get dangerous, but I didn't expect it to be this brand of danger. I admit to fearing some sort of impending stroke for a few days. Which also illicited some amusement from co-workers and friends. Now I am just wondering what has been causing these incidents. It's no secret that I've been burning the candle at both ends for some time now, with my job stealing 40-50 hours of my life every week, coupled with the strain of getting back to Chicago and this movie I've been working on. I plan on attempting a healthier, more sleep-filled lifestyle as soon as I can. But until then I hope I can curb any more possible weakass fainting spells. Christ. Bond never fainted.
I gotta work a twelve-hour shift tomorrow and Sunday. That is just depressing.
However, I was looking at my friend Kelly's Facebook page tonight and saw a comment that was left by Chris Schrader, a friend from Columbia who also directed me in his feature Batman: Black and White last fall/winter, which he is still editing. The comment was as follows:
"Black & White is about 50% done. And it won't be a moment too soon. I'm exhausted. Oh, and Ryan... sweet lord... he steals every scene he's in. "
That statement has pretty much made my weekend!
Until we meet again, childrens.
R |
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| Bu-bu-burned is the house!! |
[Jul. 9th, 2008|01:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  excited | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Alkaline Trio - Maybe I'll Catch Fire | ] |
"You've got a way of starting conversations that ends conversations."
Hey babies. I keep tapping my leg nervously and excitedly cuz this uncouth bastid is less than twenty-four hours from standing in the same room as three of his heroes as they bring the crack-rock-like rock that soothes the toothached soul. Yep, Alkaline Trio and I have a date with Hell, and it's cold and sweet.
The tickets state a 5:00 start time, yet Alk3's website says 8 pm. And the House of Blues site says 6 pm. So I am gonna be safe and hit Chicago at fuckin noon. Gotta be prompt and all.
The previously mentioned lass, codename Jasmine (partially cuz it's her real name) is gonna hit up the devilish festivities with me, which adds a little extra spring in my step. And if anyone ever sees me walking with a gleeful gait, I ask you to kneecap my sorry ass as to stop it. Ridic.
Also Ben is gonna be there, too. The night should be a decent offering of fine times and the prerequisite set of awkward exchanges. Hell knows I need a good time. I'm a morose motherfucker lately. My mind is racing all the time and the participants on the track are worry, remorse, regret, and lonlieness. Not my favorite drivers. But that's alright. There's some life changes happening soon, and for better or worse, my existance is gonna get more hectic and hopefully more dangerous. That basically means different things for me to be pissy-pants about.
My sweet shades somehow got mixed in with my dirty clothes and found their way into the washing machine, where I found them bent and missing a nosepad. Siiiiiiiiigh. I hope I can salvage the wreckage, as I love 'em.
I trekked down to the Land of Milk and Honey, AKA Springfield, IL with some kind gentlemen on Saturday. Marley's offered up the usual bounty of gorgeous ladies and cargo-short-loving douche bags. Good with the bad I guess. As planned, I got shitty on gin & tonic and swill. Jimmy Kinkin almost got into a fight when he interrupted some unecessary oral sex in one of the VIP booths that Marley provides. However, when the cockblocked nerd went to the bouncer, the bouncer seemed more annoyed by my making fun of the guy's JC Penney shirt than Jimmy's peeping-tomery. A cohort from Creative Writing class was also there with a new ladyfriend, who was hobbling 'round on crutches. Egon's brought some of the best rock and roll available for human consumption, as did the Pimps. The night concluded with me stumbling into an alley to spill some guts to my shoes and a drunk dial or two. I got home around 6:30 am and passed straight out. Not bad.
The trailers for Hellboy II look pretty great. It has peaked my interest in seeing Mr. Del Toro's latest picture. So I have the first film here and I think I'm gonna try it out and see what this is all about. Ron Perlman is enough to make it awesome, probably.
Until next time, stooges.
R |
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| I wish you'd just stop showing off for the rest of us that no one wants to love... |
[Jul. 2nd, 2008|01:16 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | Rocked | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Alkaline Trio - Agony & Irony | ] |
"We took a little person and got a...midget..er..uhh..a miniature cage..."
- Steven Spielberg making a hilarious flub during an anecdote for the Jaws documentary
I love Alkaline Trio so much. I'm sitting here on what is probably my fifth spin of the new record. In a row. Sure, it's a lot more pop oriented than any of their previous efforts, but it's still a hell of a listen. Skiba and Andriano are quite possibly my favorite lyricists ever. Well, next to Ed Vedder of course.
I have two tickets to the band's July 9 show at the House of Blues. I am counting the days. The past seven months or so haven't offered me a whole lot of things to look forward to, so when something comes along, I grab onto it and squeeze the fuckin life out of it. I invited a young lady I've been speaking with for a number of months. I hope she decides to come along. My friend Ben is going, so we'll have to hook it up. I'm not sure who the opening band(s) is, though Bayside did some shows with them earlier in their tour. That'd be fine with me.
Today was my day off work. I had every intention of getting up at a reasonable hour as to hit the gym and do some lifting, but I stayed up too late re-watching The Kid Stays in the Picture (an awesome documentary about Robert Evans, legendary film producer and cocaine-sniffing womanizer...a hero of mine) and I failed to get my lazy fuckin ass out of bed til around 4 p.m. Sexy, eh.
I shaved my homely mug and took a shower and headed to the Princeton library. They relocated to this big state-of-the-art facility that use to be a grocery store. So now they look like every other library in America. Until last year they were in this cramped moldy old building that I loved. I use to dig going in there because it felt like a piece of history. But it became too small eventually, and progress stuck it's shitty beak in.
I tried to check out Stephen King's It, as I hadn't read it since I was 12 or 13 and had the urge to revisit it's debauched and graphic pages, but I had overdue charges from a fuckin eon ago. Thanks to the fact that I have about 10 bucks to my name til Friday, I wasn't able to pay the charges and thus have to wait to check out the book. Cock.
A lady at work told me the other night that she has cancer. Awkward moments. I don't know how to react in such situations. I told her I was sorry to hear it. Then I thought "Fuck - does this mean a lot of shitty extra hours I will be forced to fill?" I admit it was a selfish thought to have in light of such an admission, but I don't know her that well and that was my honest thought. I hope she will be okay. She's a nice enough woman and treats me pretty fairly.
I 've had a few dreams recently where I'm making out with a number of my female friends. It's sort of weird for me. I wonder whats causing it. Probably being single and feeling a longing for some physical attention. Though in some of the dreams, I'm just being hugged or having my hand held, and they're as satisfying as the ones where I'm tied up and being whipped by a girl in a Chester A. Arthur mask. But its probably due to the fact that I spend time with these friends a lot, so they are already in my brainstem. And they're attractive chicks, dude. I'm only human.
Sometimes I miss just feeling another arm resting on mine in a movie theatre. I go to so many goddamn movies by myself (which I do even if I am in a relationship) that I can't help but notice the couples huddled closely a few rows in front of me. Then they turn and see my goofy ass sitting back row center with my huge soda and lack of companion, and I feel like a schmuck.
I got Diary of the Dead in the mail today. I'm the last of my friends who are into zombie films to see it. I'm hearing from half that it is awesome, and from half who are calling it dogshit. It's up to me to decide I guess. As anyone who knows me, or who has read any previous Chronicles know, I LOOOOOVE George Romero and his living dead series. I stand by Land one hundred percent. Now, although this is a Romero zombie movie, it's not a part of his series. In other words, it's not Night of the Living Dead part 5. But I am very curious to see how I will feel about this movie. Either way, it's gotta be better than that cocksucker remake of Day of the Dead. That movie made me wanna stick my scrot in a bucket of Orange Glo and have Billy Mays scrub them with a wire brush. Fuck it was awful.
I gotta work both July 3 and the fourth. I love Fourth of July, but I really didn't have any special plans to check out the ole Princeton fireworks. For the last ten years or so, I've went with Big Mike, but he's having some medical issues and probably wouldn't have been able to come. One year he and I drank some forties and stumbled our way to the park and then I almost puked as he ate four or five hot dogs. I think we then went to my house and listened to the then-new Slipknot record. That was a good Fourth. But, alas, I will be at the fireworks with the four disabled fellas I work with. They rarely get to go to events due to lack of staff so it will be nice to help them do that. I get outta work around 11, so I will either go home and watch Jaws (a Fourth of July tradition) or see what else is going on, party-wise. Saturday I'm taking a ride with my brothers in arms to their show in Springfield with the Pimps. I plan on getting real shitty.
I'm off to check out Diary of the Dead. Anyone who wants to do it up on the 4th after 11, blow me up. |
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| Shit. Piss. Fuck. Cunt. Cocksucker. Motherfucker. Tits. |
[Jun. 24th, 2008|12:14 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | discontent | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Falcon - Blackout | ] |
"Standing ovations have become too commonplace. We need to have ovations where people kick and punch one another."
Goddamn it. I truly mean that, literally. God damn it. Damn what? I'm not sure. But I'm feeling pretty shittystock. The hard part of depression is that you just feel real bad sometimes, and there isn't a particular, hard, concrete reason. I didn't stub my toe, or get a speeding ticket or anything. But I feel sad and lonely and kinda pissed off all the same. I don't dwell on my mental imperfections, and I have weened myself off self-pity, which was my favorite activity for a long time, so there's not much I can do about it but turn on the Alk3 and wait for it to go away.
I say these things here as perhaps an excuse for not having a whole lot of comedic stylings. I've been out of this journaling bidness for awhile and I have to whip myself up into shape. Perhaps being a tad more honest in my approach to these things will be more beneficial than coming up with a list of variations on the Shocker. Although...
George Carlin died last night. It's weird to feel such sorrow for a person who was not only in his 70's, but was not related to me nor was a friend. But regardless of those facts, I haven't been able to stop thinking about the man all day, and had a hard time watching some of his bits on Youtube. I grew up in awe of him. I learned how to swear and deliver a joke from watching his HBO specials. He spoke more truths to me than any teacher, pastor, or friend. I use to fantasize that someday, when I was an old man and had become sick of making movies I'd take to stages across the country and spout my brand of truth as he did, hilarious and honest. He didn't just do comedy. He spoke about real life and society in ways that no one else did, or at least, did and survived (can't forget Lenny.) He just happened to be fucking hilarious while he did it. There was no bullshit with George Carlin. No one before and I guarantee no one after ever did it like him. I was fortunate enough to see him at the Rosemont Horizon in 2006. He was 68 or 69, and he just killed. Inspiring to say the least.
He always reminded me of my Grampa. Or I should say that my Grampa reminded me of him. They spoke about life with a similar voice, never pulling punches no matter how many feathers it might ruffle. But wheras George had an entire world at his knee, all my Grampa had was a curly yellow-haired little boy who soaked in every word and adored him. Perhaps that's why this death is bothering me like this. He remimded me so much of my Grampa that with his passing, and my Grampa's eight years ago, there's no more men out there like them. The brand is finished. Unless you count me. I still have yet to be a Grampa. :)
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| The Chronicles of Rule, Part V: A New Beginning |
[Jun. 4th, 2008|01:21 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | busy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Bayside - Hello Shitty | ] |
"I hate snakes, Jock. I hate 'em!"
Well, it's been a long time, friends. The last real entry was almost two years ago. That's just stupid and ri-damn-diculous. Causes for the lack of writings? Has the Captain's life gotten so busy and spectacular and filled with beautiful, buxom, naked ladies and piles of cocaine and booze that he just hasn't had the time? Did he lose his typing fingers in a Teeth situation? Did he die in a hot air balloon accident?
No. To all of the above.
There's been some nude girls. And some cocaine. And a lot of booze. But not in the fun Hollywood ways that you may be thinking.
The nude girl was on TV. The cocaine was being done by rock stars in the same room, but I was too chicken to partake. I will attest to drinking the booze, though. Too much this year, to be honest.
Fuck it, though. The fact is The Chronicles are back. I realized that shit in my life seems a lot more interesting when I can come home and scribble about them. Plus, I am a big fan of self-reflection, and bragging, and soap boxing...and isn't that what internet blogs and the like are all about? I think so.
But, to recap a few things that have happened since we last spoke.
1) Ashley and I are no longer. I'm not gonna get into it all, though I'm sure it might be touched upon in future Chronicles. She was the one who brought the axe down, though, and it was definitely a hell of a blow.
2) I am on a hiatus from Columbia. I moved back to the Valley to finish my general education credits....alright, you know what, forget that. I moved back to spend more time with the aforementioned young lady. There it is. So that was a bad decision in retrospect. But what can you do? I at least got the classes done while I was at it. And made some new friends! So all was not lost.
3) I lost 30 pounds and have been lifting weights. Wha?! Me?! Yeah...and the results are pretty decent. My chest is looking sorta...manish? I've got a long ways to go, though. But I am in better shape than I've been in years.
4) I am moving back to Chicago this fall. It's looking like Sean, Kevin, and I...along with Jimmy Kinkin, who has never been in a Chronicle before. That will change very very soon. It will basically be the most ridiculous and awesome apartment in the city. I can't even fathom it right now. On top of that, I will be training at Second City. More on that in a future Chronicle.
5) Getting a job here proved to be difficult, so I found one working in a CILA home with four wheelchair-bound men. It's been a very interesting experience to be sure. But not a negative one.
6) I had a role in a Batman feature fanfilm last fall. It was a lot of fun and I got to do a lot of improv. I've seen some of it, and am quite impressed. I look forward to seeing the finished movie this fall. I am about to start shooting my first leading role! I was cast in a feature indie comedy called High Society. I am super excited about it, as there is even more room for improvisation!
So thats a basic quick recap thing. I didn't want to do it, but I figured I might as well. It's a good enough way to start off this new chapter of The Chronicles of Rule.
More to come! Stick around, muthas.
-Ry
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| The Friendship Tip (part three) |
[Apr. 25th, 2008|02:15 am] |
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JIMMY Nice ink! Judd slaps his forehead. VANESSA Thanks, Jimmy. I got that my senior year in high school. To remember all the good times. JIMMY I got a tat! JUDD Oh no. VANESSA Yeah? JIMMY Hells yeah. He opens his robe and lifts up his shirt. His hairy belly tumbles out. On his upper left pec bologna tit is a primitive, poorly scrawled word. Upside down. VANESSA What...is that? JIMMY I did it myself. Isn't it the balls! VANESSA I guess...umm...what's it say? JIMMY Monday! JUDD I'm just gonna step outside for air. I think I'll take the window, though... VANESSA Umm why? JIMMY Judd and I were watching Memento once, and I said "I could totally do that." So I went to Walgreens and got sewing needles and some Bic refills and just did it up. Since it was a Monday that I had the epiphany, I decided that should be the first one! VANESSA But it's upside down. JIMMY (thinking and looking down at it) Yeah. That wasn't intentional, really. But I still think it's pretty sweet. He laughs. A beat. His shirt is staying up. JUDD Pretty cool, huh, Vanessa. JIMMY I told Sally here that I'd give him one too, but he was being a D-Bag about the whole thing. JUDD The best part, and I'm sure you'll agree, Vanessa, is how the thin pen ink has all but disappeared. It's pretty much just an upside-down Monday shaped scar. Cool, right! JIMMY You don't need to judge. Turns to Vanessa. JIMMY Judd likes to do that. He's a judgmental dick most of the time. You better not take him to any of your lesbian parties. JUDD Jimmy, get the fuck out of here! VANESSA Maybe I should go. I don't wanna start any trouble between you two, and I have an early rehearsal tomorrow. She rises. JUDD No, you stay. Jimmy is just leaving. JIMMY I am? VANESSA I'm uncomfortable. JIMMY It's that extra weight you've got on your thighs. JUDD JIMMY! VANESSA Excuse me?! JUDD I can't believe you just fuckin said that! JIMMY What?! I didn't mean anything by it. I've got fat legs too, I'm just relating. We're relating here!
VANESSA I'm leaving. She grabs her jacket and heads for the door. Judd follows. JUDD Vanessa, please, let me explain. Jimmy's an idiot. I think he might be retarded! She reaches the door and turns sharply on her heels. VANESSA Retarded? It hits him. JUDD Oh fuck! I'm...I forgot you're the secretary of the Disability Club. VANESSA Three semesters running, asshole. JUDD Is there anything I can do to fix this? Bridge to Terabithia? She pauses. VANESSA Goodbye, Judd. She's gone. Judd sighs and slowly walks over to Jimmy, who's looking out the windows with a pair of binoculars. He slumps onto the floor next to him. A beat. JIMMY (looking thru binoculars) The Jazzercise lady is at it again. Judd pathetically looks up at Jimmy, who looks away and at him. JIMMY (softly) You can see her nipples through her leotard. Judd sighs again. JUDD Really? Jimmy smiles and hands Judd the Binocs. JIMMY Really. Judd takes them and looks through them. After a moment, Jimmy puts his hand on his shoulder. The End. |
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| The Friendship Tip (part two) |
[Apr. 25th, 2008|02:13 am] |
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JUDD So how was your rehearsal? Before she can answer, Jimmy shambles into the room. He stops and looks at the two of them. He stares. VANESSA And who might I ask is this large fellow. JIMMY I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Kinkin. Judd doesn't want me to come out here because he plans on trying to entice you into some weird poop sex stuff. Judd goes pale. JIMMY I'm just kidding. Don't mind me, I'm just gonna get something to eat. Judd, tell her about your hairy chest. Jimmy laughs and saunters over to the kitchenette. VANESSA Hairy chest? JUDD He's a funny guy. VANESSA A charmer, indeed. So you were saying? JUDD I was asking about rehearsal. Your ballet recital? VANESSA Oh, it's going so well! The choreographer, Anton, studied under Barishnikoff! JUDD That's impressive. I've had a little ballet training myself. VANESSA Oh yeah? Who under? JUDD Swayze. Taught me everything I know. VANESSA Wooow! Talk about classically trained. JUDD The Tijuana two-step, the Alabama Chicken Glide, the Superman Waltz - Reeve, not Routh. And I never put Baby in a corner. Their well-articulated flirting session is interrupted by a loud CRASH in the kitchen. JIMMY Oh fuck my balls! Hey Judd, you stacked the dishes too high, ya cunt. Judd's eyes widen. Vanessa is slightly shocked. JUDD Would you excuse me for a moment. He goes over to Jimmy, casually. That is, until he reaches him. Exploding quietly: JUDD What in the FUCK are you doing! JIMMY I'm making some dinner.
JUDD You can't just yell cunt when there's a girl present! JIMMY Says who? JUDD Everybody! JIMMY Bullshit. My mom says it all the time and she's a girl. JUDD Jimmy. Please. Just...can you ...take your food into your room and let us talk in peace? JIMMY I would, Judd, but I'm making Tuna Helper, and its not like I have a stove in my shoebox of a room, alright. JUDD No you're not making Tuna Helper! JIMMY I am making fucking Tuna Helper. JUDD That takes too long and it stinks. It's not attractive to have an entire apartment reeking of tuna. JIMMY Then tell Vanessa to shower more. He snickers. Judd's frustration in nearing its zenith. JUDD Fine. I'll buy you a pizza. JIMMY On top of the algebra and the 10 bucks? JUDD Yes. JIMMY Alright, alright. And look, I'll apologize to Vanessa about the cunt. JUDD No, just leave it alone. JIMMY Relax, bud. Order my pie and let me be a gentleman. Before Judd can protest further Jimmy wanders toward the couch. His demeanor is much softer than seen previous. JIMMY Vanessa? I'm really sorry about saying the, uh...the cunt-word...in front of you. VANESSA Oh, Well. That's okay, Jimmy. JIMMY This place is such a sausage fest most of the time I sometimes forget my girl manners. Judd, watching like a goddamn hawk, hollers in from the kitchen. JUDD What do you want on your pizza, Jimmy? JIMMY Whatever, sucka. He's smiling at Vanessa. Judd is annoyed more. JUDD Fine. Pineapple and garlic it is! Jimmy turns towards Judd. JIMMY I don't eat fruit on pizza! I'm not some faggot. Get me some MEAT! Vanessa stirs uncomfortably. VANESSA I don't know if Judd told you or not, but I'm Vice President of GLADD. The Gay and Lesbian Alliance? At school? JIMMY (sincere) So you get stuck eating a lot of faggy pineapple pizzas, eh. That's gotta suck. Judd enters. JUDD Thirty minutes. I'll holler for you when it gets here. JIMMY Good. He's not moving. JUDD Sooooo.... JIMMY Fine. I get the hint. You're about as subtle as Nancy Grace on the rag, bro. He starts to get up when he notices Vanessa's exposed ankle and a small butterfly tattoo. |
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| The Friendship Tip (part one) |
[Apr. 25th, 2008|02:08 am] |
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INT. MEDIUM SIZED APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - EVENING JUDD, 24, walks around his sparsely decorated apartment, straightening nd looking everything over. He is dressed casual but nice. He's visibly nervous. His cell phone rings. He answers it. JUDD Vanessa? Hi! Oh, okay. Well getting off the north side, you walk down a block until you see the KFC sign, and turn left there. My building is 918. I'll see you in a few minutes! He shuts his phone. From off stage a large, chubby, slovenly man in boxers, t-shirt, and robe enters. This is JIMMY KINKIN. JIMMY I just gave that toilet the business. You know those shits that explode out of you with such force that when you stand up, somehow you got shit on TOP of the seat? JUDD Jimmy, I need to ask you something. JIMMY I think I got some shit on the small of my back, too. How does that even happen? JUDD You gotta do me a favor tonight. JIMMY If it involves touching penises together, I'm gonna tell you right now Judd that I'm probably gonna say N-O. JUDD Vanessa is coming over. She's gonna be here in a minute. JIMMY Who's Vanessa? JUDD Vanessa, you know. From my American Lit class. We went out last week. JIMMY Was she the fat one? JUDD I need you to hang out in your room or something. Make yourself scarce. JIMMY What? JUDD I just need a night alone with her. JIMMY What're you gonna fuck her on the couch, Peter North? JUDD Of course not. We're just gonna watch a movie, maybe have some drinks. JIMMY Whaddya gonna watch? JUDD Jimmy... JIMMY What are you going to show her? What's the big deal? JUDD It's just...it's not important. JIMMY Is this it? Jimmy walks over to the coffee table and grabs a DVD case. JIMMY Bridge to Terabithia? JUDD She wants to see it. JIMMY No that's fine. Really. It got good reviews, you know. So did it hurt when the doctors removed your cock and balls, or... Judd grabs the DVD away. JUDD What do I have to do to get you to give me and Vanessa some privacy? JIMMY I got that Intro to Algebra project coming up. JUDD I'll do it! JIMMY And I want 10 bucks. JUDD 10 bucks? Theres a knock at the front door. JUDD That's her. JIMMY 10 bucks or I tell her about the time you drank all that Nyquil and you pissed the couch. The very couch you plan on inseminating her on. Another knock. JUDD Shit! Alright, fine. Now get out of here. JIMMY I better get it tonight. And no fuckin' Sacajawa dollars, either. Real cash money. JUDD Go! Jimmy walks off down the hall. Judd glances around real quick and heads for the door. He opens it. JUDD Hello, miss. She enters, taking off her jacket. Judd helps her. JUDD I'm glad you found the place okay. VANESSA Your doorman was very friendly. He invited me to a party. In his pants. JUDD Oh, heh, that's Diamond. He's a felon, you know. VANESSA That smooth talking gentleman? I never would have guessed. She leans in and gives him a hug. He is taken a bit by surprise. JUDD So let me give you the grand tour. He kinda motions real quickly towards the small room. JUDD Done. She laughs. VANESSA Nice. Judd grabs the DVD. JUDD And lookit here. He shows it to her. VANESSA Woooow. Somebody was being attentive in hopes of getting into my good graces. JUDD You're pants, really. But, good graces are nice too. They sit down on the couch. |
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| Santa's Got a Brand New Bag |
[Dec. 25th, 2007|12:50 am] |
Merry Christmas, Everybody!!
The Chronicles of Rule return in 2008. Now with more Venom!!
I promise. |
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