To Los Angeles with Love

Normally Hollywood shuts down in December. I for one have grown accustomed to the tumbleweed blowing down Santa Monica Blvd. But this has been the busiest silly season of my stupid career. At least from a standpoint of feeling the pressure to write.

I did have the Widow to pull me through. What an amazing machine. It’s lightweight, lightning fast and stays supernaturally cool while writing or Warcrafting in bed.

Over December thru yesterday I spent many an evening sitting in bed with this little darling in my lap; writing either Alien Pig Farm 3000 or Clock Tower. As of yesterday I finished Pig Farm and I gotta say, what a blast to write. I really do love Southern comedy. Perhaps due to the fact that I’m a Southern moron. But in truth, the widescreen Widow can be a distraction. World of Warcraft looks un-freaking-believable. I can’t believe I’ve played this game as long as I have on a big square format. Oh well, live and learn.

I’ve been taking part in this odd little business for over ten years now and Clock Tower wins the golden ring for most challenging gig. The end result is unfolding into something quite wonderful, but the path taken to get to this point was pretty miserable. For the first time in ten years I honestly considered returning to the simple life of driving nails for a living. High highs and low lows. However the lows took me by surprise this time. Let’s keep the ol’ fingers crossed that the coming highs are proportionate.

Mel and I joined Allen as we ventured two blocks North to Don’s Christmas party. Now, I love a good Hollywood party as much as you do but there’s something refreshing about a good old fashion, “normal people party.”

Don’s a big collector of…well…everything. His house isn’t like a museum, it is a museum in my opinion.
I spoke with David Wohl earlier. Big Dave created Witchblade and Darkness, both of which are up for film versions. I figured he knew that but was passing the info along. I’m working with Dave and Brad on the Psychopath gig although we met back in the Demonik days. I hear Majesco has fallen on hard times so Demonik is on hold for a time. I would like to feel and show sympathy at a time like this. But I shant.

I have an idea and I’m assuming it’s an expensive one but I really don’t care. I want what I want. That old fart, Dean Riesner used to say, “I want everything I got coming to me.” Good man. Good rule to follow. I’m thinking when we build, I’d like to build a Starbucks on the back and/or side of the house. A private Starbucks as I think about it. You gotta have a Starbucks VIP pass and only I have the power to hand them out. Thus if you are a card carrying SB VIP then you can pop over, swipe your card and grab a Mocha anytime you want. By the way, she’s gonna need to be open 24 hours a day for those late night writing or Warcrafting marathons.
I’m also thinking the VIP Cards need to be fully satellite integrated. Thus if you tick me off, I can log in to Spacelab and revoke your pass with the click of a button. I would also request some special VIP Card enhancements in case you really piss me off, then I can toggle a switch and blow one of your limbs off in a nasty blast of fire. Oh, and the cards should also have the ability to listen in on your phone calls. That is all. For now.

Big fan of the ol’ Amazon. If you order early enough it sure is sweet. We did all the family shopping online again this year. I guess it takes the personal touch out of Christmas but how personal can you really be when the family lives on the opposite coast? Hey, don’t get me wrong. I ain’t complaining. You guys just stay where you are. I ain’t requesting a visit. I love you all dearly…from a distance.

Mel and I went out for PopTarts at 10 PM on Christmas Eve. Actually that’s not true. We went out much earlier looking for a nice sit down dinner. The pickin’s were slim but worth it. We ended up at the Whaling Station where they let you select and kill the cow before dinner. I let Mel kill the cow this time. You can choose from an assortment of weaponry. Mel chose a battle Ax with glowing runes which was used in the movie, Weekend at Bernie’s. Oh, and we had the fish that night.

Christmas morning rolled around and we, once again, spent way too much stinkin’ money. But Santa got me a 23inch widescreen. I think Mel got some diamonds and sapphires but who cares, right? She got rocks. I got widescreen DLP! Santa clearly loves me bestest.

After we buried the place under a pile of wrapping paper we popped over to Plumes in Monterey for some decadent coffee…

…and caroling. We didn’t order the caroling. Then it was back to the house where, oddly enough, I wrote into the wee hours. Writing is great, but like I’ve said before, sometimes it would be nice to just hit things with a hammer.

New Years Eve found us walking the streets of Monterey with the Peninsula residents. I’d spent the day writing and earned the night out. Of course, I’d earned the night out regardless. All work and no play makes Jack want to ax things.

I gotta think there aren’t a ton of places in the world where you can enjoy an evening of Rap within the walls of your local Wells Fargo.

And you can never go wrong by bringing in the New Year on coffee and free cartoons. Although we snuck away pre-midnight.

We drove out to the point where we sent the gold bands to sleep with the fishes. It’s a new year. A new life. And a new element on the periodic table.

Although I was officially commenced on Clock Tower a month ago, the real writing couldn’t take place until after another meeting with the boys and girl at Mayhem. But now that heavy lifting is out of the way, the magic may begin.
You know, they say that every cigarette you smoke is eleven seconds off of your life. Every eleven seconds spent in LA is three days off your life. Do the math.

Of course the lights are perty.
And I got a chance to visit with my buddy Patrick when we met Lou Arkoff at the Screen Gems to pitch a little jewel to Eric. I should probably hold off on the details but what I can say is this: it’s a period piece about two star crossed lovers in the gay porn industry who discover that Angela Jolie is a robot sent from a far galaxy to steal our women. Hilarity ensues.

We stayed in the Beverly Hills. Not for the snoot factor although I’m a big fan of snoot. And not for the five star conveniences of 24 hour room service and XBox 360 in the room. If you ask me, any hotel within farting distance of smog, drug dealers and/or traffic sounds should be punched in the skull for proclaiming itself five stars. No, we stayed there because it was centrally located to my assorted meetings.
My only regret?

I should’a jumped.

The moment we pulled back into town…hard to explain. It’s like finally getting the splinter out. Or finally setting the groceries in the kitchen after you clearly carried too many up from the car. Or that afternoon nap after a really good orgasm. Or the belch that follows a perfectly grilled steak. It’s like finding a twenty in an old pair of jeans. Or watching a football game in Hi-Def. It’s a burden lifted and a fresh breath of air.

We exist in a world where we can join Elliot and Allen for an afternoon walk.

We live in a place where you can play golf with deer and after 18 holes you can shoot the deer and dine on the tender beef without the sounds of multiple wafer thin wanna-be actresses regurgitating in the bathroom.
In Jesus name. Amen.