So, Today I Stopped.

So, today I stopped. How many times had a looked over that bridge to the other side?

How many times had I crossed that bridge?

Very few, upon recollection.

I remember walking past it every day as a boy. As a young man.

But I always had to get to wherever I was going. It was so important to get to where I needed to go. I never took the detour over the bridge.

Yes, I know that people said that it would be so much more scenic and enjoyable. To be able to see the creek from that vantage point.

But I just didn't care. I was so focused.

So, I kept walking past. Sometimes running. Usually running.

I knew there was something in those woods and I was just the man to find it.

Day after day, I passed that bridge and scoured the woods.

Not one log did I not look behind. Not one rock unturned. I climbed trees. I dug holes. And when I finished climbing those trees I would take an ax to them. Determined to find what might be inside.

Eventually, I had chopped the forest down. It was a sad sight. Stumps everywhere. Rotted out logs. I had trampled all the foliage. Now, just matted-down, brown blankets of nothingness.

So, today I stopped.

I looked over the bridge. To the other side.

Was there a forest? No. In fact, quite the opposite.

Just a lone tree which had been there for ages. I thought for sure that the strong gusts of wind that bombarded this valley would have plucked this tree out of the ground all the way to it's roots, having no protection -- But, no.

This tree continued to grow. It grew tall and strong. And, unlike the trees from the fallen forest, this tree had blossoms. Blossoms of the fairest colors that smelled of flowers not yet imagined. I had never smelled anything like it in my life.

So, today I stopped.

I looked ahead of me. Ahead of me, my failed attempts. Lying there.

I looked across the bridge. At the tree.

How many times had a looked over that bridge to the other side?

How many times had I crossed that bridge?

Never once, upon recollection.

The blossoms were open. I could smell them from here. I could feel the aroma fill my lungs. I exhaled a breath and felt... alive.

I looked down. My bare feet in the dirt. I wiggled my toes.

Then turned.

The bridge ahead of me. And I took a step forward.

I could hear the stream beneath me.

I could feel it flow around me.

I could feel the stream inside of me.

And, for the first time in my life -- I felt content.

Fear.

When's the last time you felt it? Genuine fear?

When someone says the word "fear", my mind immediately goes to that of horror films. I think of murderers. Apparitions. Being trapped in a room by an ungodly creature -- But that's not real fear. That's just being frightened. That's a knee-jerk reaction to something you're processing. No, no. I mean FEAR.

Fear of death. Of life? Of commitment. Of people. Of love. Honestly, people can have deep-seeded fear about anything. That's what's interesting about the human race. What might stick to my very bones and keep me awake at night could be nothing but a second thought to everyone else.

Today, I felt it. Nothing creative either, nothing new. Just a plain old fear of failure.

I sat at my desk and could feel myself become more agitated. I'm working on some storyboards for a shoot I'm doing next week and I was having some trouble seeing how I wanted to shoot a certain scene. Over-the-shoulder two-shot, handheld dolly-type move, wide as they step into frame -- I was annoyed(and continue to be, FYI). I just felt like I wasn't "getting it".

And then it hit me. "Can I do this?"

My chest started to get tight. My hands started to feel tense and I needed to clench fists repeatedly. In my mind, I know that I can. That I am good at what I do and I love it, as well. I've always executed. But still my stomach wouldn't let up. And the struggle began. Inside myself.

No one will ever do as much damage to you as you can do to yourself, I'm starting to finally learn.

It's a vicious fight -- Trying to lop the heads off of your own fears. Some people lose. Scratch that, a lot of people lose. But some win. Nobody wins all of the time, but you learn how to fight back the next time it returns.

You can sit there. You can sit and think of all things that you've got going on in your life and choose to either file them under "Fear" or "Courage". It's completely up to you. People might look at you as if you were blessed, yet you may look into the mirror as if you were cursed. It's all how you choose.


I sat down to write because I didn't know what to do. I sat down to write in an effort to fight. This is my fight. My battle.

And I don't intend to lose.

Failed Expectations

I can't say that I have this for everything in my life.
There are quite a few things that I'm quite realistic about.
Career, friendship, my abilities as a man. As a person.

But there is one aspect of my life that I can't get a grasp on -- Relationships.

You've never met a more romantic, giving man.
And I think a lot of who I am as a lover, is because of what I've learned through film.
Damn films.

I've read articles before about the detriment to society romantic comedies are.
Well, I am the living embodiment of this exact issue.
I am all at once a cliche and a flawed creature.

I dream of love constantly. It's a part of me.
Dream of hours of sharing.
Of long stares and laughter. Of arguments and annoyance.
Of knowing glances and inside jokes. Of soft, passionate love making and downright, dirty fucking.

I find myself becoming one of those people who sits at a coffee shop and when I see someone walk by holding hands,
looking very much in love, I'm a combination of jealous and envious.

I'm flawed. And I know it. I've known it for awhile and I'm not exactly sure how to trace it back.

When I look at myself, I find this:

I fall hard. And way too fast. If I meet someone I have a "connection" with, the connection stays. Lingers. Even if it doesn't work. Which it apparently never has. I meet a woman and destroy that initial impulse in her that told her to give me her number. After she's done it, of course. I'm jumping, no no, diving in the "Honeymoon phase" before we're even dating. She's thinking "Hmm, he's kinda cute. And funny." And I'm thinking "We'd have cute kids."

I'm the chick. When the FUCK did this happen?

I'm at an age when all of my closest friends are married. And they have been for awhile. My besties, who I would literally die for. Dan. Bruce. They all got lucky. SO lucky. They found the perfect mate for themselves. And vice versa. Their wives, "The Stephanies" are so happy.

Now, there's a part of me that wishes that I was the guy on Friday night who rallied with his "boyz" and went out to rage. All the while screaming, "YEEEAAAGH, LET'S GET SOME PUSSY, BRO! FUCK YEAH! LET'S GET LAID! AND WASTED!" Sometimes I wish I was that guy because the bullshit that I'd be dealing with would probably be less than now.

I drag myself through the mud constantly. Simultaneously being the recruit and drill instructor. Running myself through my own little confidence course and when I slip off the rope and hit the water, I'm pissed. Hurt almost. Then I come to the edge of the water and starting yelling at my love-soaked self. "Get the fuck up, you! You get the hell outta that water and get back on my course! You hear me?" "Yessir." So I run back around and begin the course again, but I'm still wet. Still soaked. So, yes. I'm running the course, going through the motions, but when I get to that rope again, and look down -- I'm thinking, "I'm still fucking wet from the last time I ran through this."


Does this mean I need time? Time alone? I don't think so. The whole "You have to love yourself before you can love someone else"-thing isn't really a problem for me. I have love for myself. I sometimes have issues about feeling adequate. Fiscally speaking. My last relationship didn't help that one in the least. Dan tells me that when I get my first paycheck for directing that will all change. That it's not unique that I'm feeling that. A lot of people feel that.

There's a part of me that wants to skip forward. I'm trying to live in the moment. Enjoy the process. But I find that's it always a combination of enjoying "the moment" and wanting to move past it to "the good stuff".

For example: Right now is a very exciting time for me with my career. I've been pushing hard to achieve this goal for many years and approaching the precipice. One film is getting signed, one is getting financed, and my new project with Dan and Elwood is so exciting. Creatively inspiring. Fun. It's a wonderful time. But there's a part of me that is saying "Enough already, gimme a fucking premiere party!"

Similarly, I don't date well. I enjoy the little moments. The getting-to-know, the little laughs. The adoration. But inside, I'm going "Enough already, gimme the fucking wedding party!" I hate dating. I don't think I always did, but I do now. I love the excitement of first dates and all that, but there's a part of me that wants to skip all that. I was having a conversation the other night with a friend and we're were discussing how it's hard for men to prove that they're "men" nowadays. Everything has changed. Is that why I wish I had lived in the Old West? On the Frontier? Is that why I crave the mountains? Adventure? Because that's something that I have control over? More than nought?

Is the only way to prove that you're a man, to make money? I feel like that's wrong. I actually feel pretty strongly about that. I think being a man has to do with taking responsibilities for your actions. Being honest with others and yourself. Loving with your whole heart. Protecting the honor of the people you love with your everything, even death sometimes. None of these traits require you to have money.

I've gone off path onto a tangent. Back to it --

There is nothing more important to me than love. Love for my friends. Love for my family. It dwarfs my new car. My nice apartment fails in comparison. All of my belongings are but a mere breeze compared to the tornado that is love. And I feel like that tornado has been touching down around me for years. I'm prepped and ready. The windows and doors are boarded up. The cans of food are labelled and inventoried. I'm ready for love to touch down one last time. Touch down and sweep me up in it's funnel. Pulling me higher. And higher.

Into the clouds.

Knock Knock at the door.

Are you expecting somebody? Who the fuck is it?

I don't know who it is.

You're not expecting anybody?

No. Don't you think if I was expecting somebody I would have told you?

No. I don't. I mean, since when do you communicate with me?

Oh, fucking nice. Way to bring it all back around. Way to go. You know how I called you a dumb fuck? Yeah, well I take it back. You're a genius.

Just shut up, Leslie.

Don't tell me to shut up, "JOHN".

Knock, knock.

Oh yeah, you forget that someone's at your door?

Jesus Christ, lay off, will ya?

Fine. I'll lay off.


Silence.


Knock, knock, knock.


Silence.

John, if you don't answer the door, I will.

Goddamn it, shut up. Seriously. Shut your fucking mouth. Do you hear me?! I mean really hear me? Shut up. Just shut up.


Silence.


Who is it?



Silence.




Hello?




Knock, knock, knock.




I hear you knocking, who is it? What address are you looking for?



Silence.



John, who is it?


I don't know. Obviously. You can hear too.

Put your ear up to the door. See if you can hear something.

Okay.



Silence.




Silence.




Silence.




What do you hear? Anything?



Silence.



John, why are you looking at me like that? What did you hear? Why are you opening the door? Who is it?




John?

Lost and Found

I've found within myself that I am somewhat lost.

I know the path that I should be walking on but have somehow found myself drifting through an endless grove of mile-high trees.
Their trunks are straight. Rigid. And shoot straight up to the heavens. Branching out far towards the top.
I run my hand along their rough bark. My skin catches on the surface. Tearing my flesh.
I quickly run to the left, only to find myself once again on the path. Pea stones and rosemary.
I reach down and grab a clump of rosemary. It sticks out between my fingers. Like a handful of hair.
When I stand up I discover that I am in the forest once more. A giant redwood an inch from my face.
Because it seems appropriate, I slam my forehead into the redwood. It hurts.
I feel that surreal sensation of when you've been hit too hard.
I do it again. Again. And again.
I'm bleeding on to the tree. The redwood has become more red.
Until I turn around and run into the opposite direction.
Ah..., the path. Here it is.

This pattern happens again and again. Over and over.
The loss. The finding. The loss. The finding.
I know that I will stray off into the trees again. And again.
I will hurt myself. Again. And again.
And I will find my way home. Again. And again.

My First Film Review! "The Last Airbender"

Ok. I didn't really plan on doing this kind of thing on my blog, but the movie I witnessed today demands that I speak out. All I have to say is..., M.Night...WTF?!!!?!!! What the fuck are you doing? I mean, I hate to judge, but come on!

We all remember the first time we were watching "The Sixth Sense". When we laid eyes on that weird little genius kid for the first time? You know, he steps out the front door of his place, puts on the lens-less glasses? The kid who had more emotional depth than a "Monster"-ous Charlize Theron? Yeah. Goosebumps. Big ones. When he looked at the camera, he was looking at us and he was peering deep into our souls. Fuck that movie is brilliant. Or even the little kid in "Unbreakable"(my favorite, I don't care what anyone says). When he is sitting at the breakfast table and he and his Dad exchange those looks!! HOLY SHIT! A-ma-zing. "Signs" with Culkin and Breslin? Don't even get me started.

So, when I watched this movie today I didn't feel angry as much as I did sad. I felt as if someone I loved was dying a slow, painful death. And I either want one of two things to happen: A) He begins to heal and get better. OR B) He dies quickly to avoid any more suffering. For himself or the other people around him.

I think my biggest issue is this: Does fantastical have to replace quality? Meaning, let's take a look at "The Sixth Sense" again. In it's heart, where is all the money going in that film? The actors, right? Bruce Willis, Toni Collette? Of course. Because how many special effects are there in the movie? And of the special FX that they do have, they're not particularly amazing. Some lame bodies hanging in a school hallway? A kid with his headblown out? Mischa Barton puking up oatmeal and yogurt? No, the money went to the actors. And guess what? The movie fucking rules! Those people acted the shit out of that film. You overlook things like poor FX and Bruce Willis' hairline because the actors are so engaged! So truthful that it's impossible not to believe them. Once again, this is not unique for M. Night. The aliens in "Signs" were crap but the actors sold it. "Unbreakable"? The weights. We know they're not real, but they damned sure felt real the way that Bruce Willis was acting! "Lady in the Water?" and "The Village", no comment. They don't factor into this.

"The Last Airbender", however, M went all the way with the Special FX. Tons of CGI. Tons of greenscreen. And..., I get it. I understand. If you're doing an adaptation of a cartoon, you HAVE to spend on CGI shit. In cartoons you can do anything and if you're adapting to live-action you're gonna have to do that. BUT..., does that mean you have to skimp on actors?

From the first lines uttered, I knew I was in trouble. I honestly don't know why I didn't walk out, but I didn't. I stayed. These actors were horrible. And I know they're young so I don't entirely blame them, if at all. I blame M. What are you doing, M? You are that same director. That same one who wowed us all. How could you let these performances be seen? How did you not sit there on set and push these young actors to get a performance that was worthy? Did you think that by making some of the supporting actors gifted thespians(Cliff Curtis, Shaun Toub, even Dev Patel from "Slumdog" fame has some honest moments) that we would overlook the lead actors? Noah Ringer - This kid is an unknown in every sense of the word. And he should have remained that way. Buried. His only talent is that he moves well. But you can't tell me that you couldn't find a child actor who actually has depth AND can move well. Nicola Peltz - I actually don't think she's that bad. She seemed to have some great moments but I chalk it up to editing. There seemed to be an added/missing beat every time she would have a line. It made her performance come off as..."off". Jackson Rathbone - First of all, he doesn't deserve his name. That name should be owned by a villain in a Sherlock Holmes novel. More importantly though, he shouldn't be acting. I am embarassed to say that I've actually seen the first two "Twilight" films and I feel less intelligent because of it. He is in both of those. All he basically does is stand there with these huge, weird, psychotic eyes and say nothing. BUT I preferred him in those cases because he said nothing. In "Last Airbender" he has to speak, unfortunately for us. I didn't give a shit about his character one bit. Or any others. Except for maybe Dev Patel's "Prince Zuko". He's the only one that seemed to know what he was doing. Even Aasif Mondvi, who I loved from years back when I lived in NYC. He would do a little sketch comedy show called "The Associates" and killed it. Yeah. He's miscast. Are we sensing a theme here??

I'm not even going to get into the accusations about M being racist for casting White actors in Asian roles. The only reason that bothered me was because it took me out of an already crap movie. "Why are they the ONLY white people in their village of, basically, Eskimos?" I don't think M is racist. I think he's lost.

Take it back M. Take it way back. Take it back to where you excel - The family unit. Keep it simple, damnit. I haven't lost faith in you. And, obviously, based off the $70 million opening, others haven't either. But we won't hang on forever. We will only give you so many chances. As my parents used to tell me "Think before you speak". You need to think before you take on other projects. Think about what made you who you are. Sure, twists are great. But that's not what made you. What made you was your ability to make actors feel so comfortable that you evoked such incredible performances it brought people to tears. Literally. Your ability to edit those performances together seamlessly with breathtaking scores. Wow.

Do NOT let the opening numbers of this film fool you, M. I dare you to watch this film back to back with any of your early work. "Sixth Sense", "Unbreakable", or "Signs". I guarantee that you will see exactly what I'm talking about and will pinch yourself on the inside of your thigh saying "Damn you, M. Night. Damn you."

Let Me Be Free.

I'm trying, Lord. I'm trying.
My mind gets in the way though.
Of so many things.
Just living.

I find myself drawn towards the ground.
Just to lie down.
Anywhere I can.
Lie down.
Stare up at the clouds.
The sky.

My mind is a mess.
Fluttering thoughts of madness.
Sadness.
It Burns.

I try to focus on a swaying palm tree.
Focus on the reflection of the Sun on the leaves.
It's calming.
Soothing.

The tears come rushing.
Pouring from a well that I didn't know existed.
The tightness in my chest.
The gasping for a breath.
The twitching of my hands.
My feet.

I rest my hands on my heart.
Please, oh please.
Give me silence.
Give me silence.
Feel the breath in my chest and live in it.

Find the little things.
A flower.
A child smiling. Saying your name.
The sky.
A breeze.
A hug from a good friend.
The ocean.
A mountain.

I lie here. Alone.
And I wonder.
Let me be free.