Done!

The play is done! Now comes the even harder and more time-consuming part: rewrites.

Lonely Day

Last night, I rode my bike around the neighborhood, singing along joyously to my iPod, and trying to take in every little simple pleasure I could think of, like breathing. I did a few laps around the large pond/small lake in Russell Creek Park. I stood up on the pedals as I rushed down a gentle hill, wind in my hair, belting the lyrics to "Angel of Harlem" by U2. I must have looked almost maniacally happy and carefree.

But then, inauspiciously, "Lonely Day" by Phantom Planet randomly came on next. It's a great song, but it's not a happy one. I listened to it anyway, not realizing that it was about to come true...

I could tell from the minute I woke up
It was gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day
Rise and shine, rub the sleep out of my eyes
And try to tell myself I can't go back to bed
It's gonna be lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day

Even though the sun is shining down on me
And I should feel about as happy as can be
I just got here and I already want to leave
It's gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day
It's gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day
It's gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day

Everybody knows that something's wrong
But nobody knows what's going on
We all sing the same old song
When you want it all to go away
It's shaping up to be a lonely day

I could tell from the minute I woke up
It was gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day
It was gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day

Everybody knows that something's wrong
But nobody knows what's going on
We all sing the same old song
When you want it all to go away
It's shaping up to be a lonely day

I could tell from the minute I woke up
It was gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely day
It was gonna be a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely
Lonely, lonely, lonely...

Everybody knows that something's wrong
But nobody knows what's going on
Everybody knows that something's wrong
But nobody knows what's going on

The Little Red Book

This is a play I have been working on, an original story by yours truly, although I realize that Back to the Future also deserves a shout-out:

It is May, 1989. Lee, a young intellectual attending Beijing University hears about protests that are going to happen in Tiananmen Square for the end of corruption and the beginning of democracy. Excited about the possibilities of a new, free China, he ignores the advice of his aging parents from another era, and participates. Filled with a hope and optimism for the future that he has never felt before, he marches with everyone and takes part in the peaceful demonstrations.

Suddenly, he spots an old, tattered copy of Mao's Little Red Book just lying on the ground. He picks it up, and the moment he touches it, he is transported back in time to 1967, at the height of Chairman Mao's Cultural Revolution. Soon discovered by a group of young Red Guards searching the towns for counter-revolutionaries and people disloyal to Mao, he is forced to pretend he is one of them. The Red Guards' youthful enthusiasm for being politically influential at such a young age disturbingly reminds him of himself, but their accusations and actions become increasingly unbearable and ridiculous, eventually resulting in deaths. Lee begins to enter a seriously dangerous and possibly fatal situation when he and a girl in the group, Fei, start falling for each other, sparking the ire and suspicions of the group's hot-headed and mean-spirited leader, Wong. Meanwhile, he flips through the Little Red Book at night, trying to get it to take him back to 1989, with no success.

In the climax, Lee refuses to take part in a particularly gruesome beating of an innocent man, showing weakness in front of the group and revealing his true sympathies. His suspicions confirmed, Wong vows to turn Lee in the next morning. That night, Lee and Fei struggle to make the Little Red Book take him back to his own time. She asks him to recall everything about the moment he touched the book, and he remembers the singular feeling of hope and optimism for the future, a new feeling he had never felt before. Unable to get that feeling back into his heart again, given his currently desperate situation, she comes up with an idea, leans in, and kisses him. With the book in hand and filled with another kind of hope, a possible new relationship with Fei, he is instantly taken back to 1989.

Once back, however, he finds that Tiananmen Square is not how he had left it. Martial law has been declared, international news cameras like CNN are nowhere to be found, and the People's Liberation Army and the protestors are apparently fighting a war in the Forbidden City, deaths happening on both sides. In love with Fei, Lee wants desperately to return to her in 1967, but the carnage he witnesses is too much, destroying the fleeting feeling of hope he had felt. Told that the soldiers were marching, but it was a protestor that fired the first shot, Lee is overwhelmed by the sense that militancy, whether from a Red Guard or a student protestor, is simply not a good political vehicle. In an ending that symbolizes the tragedy of how Tiananmen Square, with all its optimism, has come to nothing in terms of Chinese human rights and social change, Lee is shot to death by random gunfire, becoming just another one of the nameless thousands of victims that died there that summer -- his experiences also thus coming to nothing.

Built To Spill

I have just discovered Built To Spill, and I really, really like them right now. Their album There's Nothing Wrong With Love sounds like what would happen if Pavement's Slanted & Enchanted had a baby with the Flaming Lips' Transmissions From a Satellite Heart. Awesome.

Good Line

"I'm not flirting. I'm just trying to be interesting!"

The Curse of the Green Grass

Whenever I'm at school, worn thin by the demands of unreasonable classes which imposition such silly requirements as showing up, doing homework, and even participating in class discussions, I find myself extolling with my peers the virtues of just "sitting on your ass" and "doing jack-shit." In fact, I yearn with strong earnest for that day of the last deadline to pass, so that I may immediately commence with such underappreciated and neglected "sitting on my ass" activities, like checking my Gmail every three minutes, revisiting the same websites I know will not be updated again for at least another twenty-four hours, changing my AIM away message, organizing my iTunes library, or simply zoning out to Microsoft's eternally trippy "Starfield" screen saver while listening to the appropriate space-rock stylings of Pink Floyd, perhaps for the length of an entire album.

This gets old after about a day, at which point I begin to wish I was back in school again. This phenomenon is what I now term the cheery appellation of the Curse of the Green Grass. This expression is categorically derived from the adage, "The grass is always greener on the other side," and it is an affliction marked by its ingracious regard for the benefits of "the moment," and over-hyping of the former, now "contra-state" of affairs. I've been diligently performing all the "sitting on my ass" activities for weeks now, and all I want to do is go back to school -- I fail to appreciate the virtues of my current situation I had previously dreamed of with the hope of a soon-to-be-liberated P.O.W. In fact, I yearn for another tour of duty, back in the trenches where the action is, while I feel my brain slowly melt and dribble out my ear in this warped world of domesticity. I suppose the choice comes down to this: to have my brains blown out in a grand explosion, or to have them rot slowly from the inside and leak silently away? Indeed, school or home?

Some Quotes

I've been reading this guy's blog, The Martian Anthropologist, and he makes some great points in a consistently well-articulated way. I don't blog about politics are anything because I will never be half as good at it as this guy. Here are some quotes I liked from his blog.

"A man's ethical behavior should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties and needs; no religious basis is necessary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after death." ~ Albert Einstein

"Imagine a puddle waking up one morning and thinking, 'This is an interesting world I find myself in -- 'an interesting hole I find myself in' -- fits me rather neatly, doesn't it? In fact it fits me staggeringly well, must have been made to have me in it!' This is such a powerful idea that as the sun rises in the sky and the air heats up and as, gradually, the puddle gets smaller and smaller, it's still frantically hanging on to the notion that everything's going to be alright, because this world was meant to have him in it, was built to have him in it; so the moment he disappears catches him rather by surprise. I think this may be something we need to be on the watch out for." ~ Douglas Adams

And this quote by Hermann Goring, a member of the Nazi party tried for war crimes. From an interview with him:

Goring: "Why, of course, the people don't want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece. Naturally, the common people don't want war; neither in Russia nor in England nor in America, nor for that matter in Germany. That is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy or a fascist dictatorship or a Parliament or a Communist dictatorship."

Gilbert: "There is one difference. In a democracy, the people have some say in the matter through their elected representatives, and in the United States only Congress can declare wars."

Goring: "Oh, that is all well and good, but, voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country."

a simulation of thought

as a baby, she whistled when she spoke / and floated before she took a step / her tiny kiss drifted on a boat / to burn my eyes with watered lip

he does not really like his job / so he will welcome another a beer / junk bond trading to the top / after his smile's lost in fear

you're reading from the inferno / but only letters a and b / stick to your best manifesto / before you're in the barn with me

i took the river and never let go / followed it home to an open lake / but nothing was good on the radio / some day, we won't manage to wake

so life sits in a lonely cell / dressed up like a silver swirl / dreaming of the fireworks that fell / into the coldest part of the world

The Jungle

Blasting "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses while speeding down the I-10 outside downtown L.A. was quite possibly the best way to finish this SoCal vacation.

And when you're high, you never ever want to come down...

SECTION MISCELLANEOUS

- enjoyed my experince on X
- giant Brian, for one dollar
- "Vote for Pedro"... all day

"Anna (Go to Him)"

I just had a dream that I was playing the bassline to "Anna (Go to Him)" by the Beatles. Which is weird, because I only know how to play the melody. But now I'm going to have that bassline stuck in my head all day. And I don't even know how to play it. How very cruel.

Goin' Back to Cali

Being here has further spurred my desire to move out to L.A. A.S.A.P. I saw the old stomping grounds of El Monte, had an In 'n' Out burger for the first time in years, enjoyed actual hills as opposed to the flatlands of Texas, and re-appreciated KROQ, 106.7, the best alt-rock radio station in the country, way better than the EDGE in Dallas, or the non-existent alt-rock station in Philly. Don't even get me started on the weather and the palm trees. I love the Valley, even if it's the SoCal version of New Jersey. Maybe because it's the SoCal version of New Jersey.

And I don't want to hear a word about smog. I love smog.

Owen Wilson

I had a dream that I was talking to Owen Wilson. We were having a really good conversation about his films, and about writing in particular. I couldn't tell if he was just humoring me as just another rabid fan or if he was actually interested in our conversation. I asked him a lot of questions about how he writes and stuff. I don't remember any of his answers. But man, that dude's nose is really crooked.

Don't ask me why what happened early this morning triggered such a dream. I don't know. I just don't know...

A Very Philly Summer

In list form, and in no particular order:

- Taking shit from Housing: no blinds, room flood, roaches, a mouse
- Building a TV/DVD player stand out of two chairs from the lounge... genius
- The Walkmen concert in D.C., my favorite song, and the ear-destroying Nation
- Stealing a stack of little yellow sign-in cards
- Completely irresponsible shenanigans in NEW YORK CITY (see here)
- Qdoba + Coronas + Lime + Biopond
- Finding out that Nepal is always cool
- Deciding between orange and green
- Getting into the College of Arts & Sciences, becoming a film studies major
- Hookah-ing up with the girls in 1609
- South Street, Old City, etc.
- Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks concert, AFTER hearing the new CD (so indie)
- Summer rain
- Live 8/Elton John weekend
- Two surprise birthday cakes
- Seeing a secret garden, and a banana stabbed with sticks of incense
- Walking to/from 30th St. Station
- Easy Rider, a whole new perspective on the day
- "Are YOU READY TO DO THIS? LET'S DO THIS!"
- Hits & Misses, Vols. 1 - 4
- "You know what's wild? Everything."
- Lapadula and The Dry Cleaner, my first screenplay
- Destroying plastic, a printer, and fizzling a fire extinguisher
- The mysterious disappearing emo glasses
- You!

And now, I'm half of a college grad.

When Does Revising End?

It feels like I could revise/rewrite my screenplay forever. It never feels finished. I guess that's what Lapadula mentioned in class, that there is no such thing as a perfect screenplay. But the tricky part is knowing when to quit rewriting and just call it done. I don't really have a sense of that, maybe it comes with experience. But I keep going over my screenplay and I keep tweaking this, changing that, deleting this, rearranging that, etc. It kind of feels like when I'm editing film, too. I used to film random movies in high school, and whenever I got to the editing part, I could spend 10 hours a day for a week doing editing, cutting scene lengths, adjusting transition times, working on supers, fixing the sound, choosing takes, etc., and still continue messing around. Even when I look back now on films that I had already pronounced finished, I feel like changing things, re-editing. Whether it's screenwriting or editing, I can't seem to be able to find a sense of when to stop and feel, if not satisfied, at least satisfied enough.

People's Criticism

People give me criticism of two kinds: specific and general. I have to say that specific is much better, and in fact, the nit-pickier, the better. General criticism is helpful, but not when I have writer's block and can't really think of a "more clever structure" or a "twist ending" or a "more realistic relationship." It helps much more to say that this word or this line or this paragraph feels _____ and needs to be more _____.

Of course, I know I give terrible criticism, if I give any at all. For some reason, when I read my classmates' screenplays in class, I just can't think of things to say. This will probably hurt my participation grade, but I honestly have trouble figuring out how I feel about something, especially on just one, semi-cursory read. If I was allowed to sit down with it for an hour, and go through with a pen, I might have more to say, but the way we do the readings in class, I just can't come up with things off the cuff like that.

Wow

Wow. My screenplay went up in front of the class tonight (the last one of the night). I honestly did not know what to expect, so I decided to expect the worst. I was afraid people wouldn't be able to follow it. People wouldn't like John. People wouldn't understand the daydreams. The dialogue would not be believable. The John-Charlene dynamic would not work. The ending would suck. People would think there are too many characters that only have one line.

But I was very surprised by how much people seemed to like it. The cynical part of me still has all these doubts about the screenplay, and assumes that everyone was just being nice. But objectively, the reaction was definitely very positive. Lapadula even said it was a strong script with good descriptions and dialogue, only the premise is a little unoriginal. So I'm quite surprised and pleased with how my reading went.

Of course, I do still have my doubts. Particularly with my ending. But the deadline fast approaches, and I've been thinking about what to do with the ending for so long now, I really doubt this case of writer's block will break through in the next day. I wish I could come up with something, but I just can't. Everything else I've thought of sets a bad pall over the tone of the movie. And I don't want a freaky-weirdo movie, I want something ultimately optimistic. It's very possible that I won't be able to change much of anything in the next day or so. The script may just have to be turned in as it is, more or less.

Poetics & Style

This blog is about to be updated. The light from the moon shines over a marsh as a loon calls in the distance. A purple flood drowned the fire in my teeth the day your eyes turned blue. Jerusalem aged ten years today. No wonder that after the laughter that wafted up to the rafter, the Master found a faster way to generate joy. Please don't sell me unconditional love at full price. Melissa ate a peach in her basement as she did laundry. Innocent Vincent went into a panic. I found the exact colors for just the way you are, but ran out of paint. Electricity is the first different feeling inside 2 am diners. Call me calmly, I'll call you Yoko Ono. The American Dream lasts three full seconds. Every grain of sand in every beach from every ocean around the world deserves a name and the right to unionize. She's tangled up in abandoned love. Find time. A small black reptile named Mr. Downtown married the Queen of Invisible City on a 5th Avenue heartbreak. This blog has been updated.