I hate Hollywood. I hate movies. Or rather, I love movies, but god damn do I hate making movies. Or I hate failing to make movies, which is what a job in Hollywood really is. Get up every day, go in to work early, leave late, and completely fail to make movies. Or fail to make a good movie, fail to make a movie that makes any money, fail to get a script where it needs to be, fail to get a director attached that would make the good version of this one in a thousand good script that you by some miracle managed to find and whip into shape, fail to get an actor attached who could do a role in this script with this director justice and who simultaneously “means enough at the box office” both in America and in certain oversees markets where we will need to presell foreign distribution rights to cover the anticipated cost of publicity and advertising or prints and advertising, whateverthefuck “P & A” stands for, or fail to get that actor interested at the exact time when he is available and the director is also available and a similar movie idea has just made enough money that people with financing, that it’s fresh enough in their memory that making this movie seems like a good idea to them, failing to get this fucking perfect syzygy aligned at the exact right moment so that this package can get together and stay together even though every single element of it, without any one of which you are completely fucked, and every one of which is completely flighty and mercurial and scared and constantly second-guessing themselves and being told do leave your movie and go do another movie by some other hustler who is way better at convincing these people to do things than you; who absolutely needs this person to do some other thing so they will make more money and have a nicer car and get laid more, and this person has no compunction whatsoever about lying, unlike you, which, let it be said, this Hollywood world has not completely stripped you of your humanity; you are still basically an honest person. Which is just another way of saying you are not completely committed to this job in a world where absolutely everyone else is and you really just don’t give a shit. This person got up five minutes earlier and got to the actor or director or financier you need five minutes before you and lied five per cent more convincingly so next time you better get up ten minutes earlier and lie ten I per cent more convincingly and be ten per cent less of a decent human being and suddenly we’re all working some mathematically impossible amount of hours in the day, all of which we spend hustling and lying and setting the best and most human parts of ourselves on fire and chasing some hot comic book that is exactly like another hot comic book that got made into a movie that was, while terrible, a movie that will help absolutely no one and be exactly no one’s favorite movie from childhood in ten years. But something made money last week so now we have to make a movie exactly the same as that one. Even if it’s fucking Kirk Cameron converting the Jews to bring about the apocalypse. Whatever it is. We just gotta get a movie made. Continue reading
Monday Part 2
4 JunWhy do I feel, on Monday morning, every Monday morning, like I’m headed in to see my fucking oncologist and there is a ninety nine point nine per cent chance that he is going to give me bad news? That it’s cancer of the dick, cancer of the ass, cancer of the face, that it’s too late, if you had come in earlier- that’s always a big part of it- if YOU had come in earlier. If YOU had done this and this and this, if you had read the fine print you would have seen that form 1052X is actually due three weeks prior to the main jury summons delay form and three weeks means we receive it three weeks prior, not that it’s merely postmarked three weeks prior, and by receive we mean it reaches the processing center, not merely that it’s entered the giant aluminum garage-door loading gate on a truck of undifferentiated mail- what good does it do us to have it then, sir? Continue reading
Monday
21 MayFucking monday fucking sucks man, always a horrible horrible day. The most you can ask of this day is that it is not quite as bad as you expected. Like, you swerve into oncoming traffic and a semi is coming and you think “oh shit, I’m gonna die.” Instead you are merely rendered a brain damaged quadriplegic, is what Monday is like. Or you avoid the semi but a soda can goes flying and hits you in the nuts.
I feel like fucking Garfield but I’ll say it: I hate Mondays. I have a case of the fucking Mondays. Tell me why: I don’t like Mondays, etc. That chick who shot all those people and was put to song by Bob Geldoff was really onto something.
New Book
delicioustacos 