No, it's not published, so it probably makes little difference to anyone, but here is what I wrote out after reading his opinion piece about news commentator Bill O'Reilly, which can be found at: http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090407/COMMENTARY/904079997
I don't enjoy hearing people badmouth O'Reilly, as most know little to nothing about him, and I've found him to be a truth-teller and advocate for fairness and justice over corrupt power and alliances with convenient lies and complacent evil. As to his "hated" reputation, I would say that it is what it should be if he is indeed advocating righteousness, as Jesus spoke in the Beatitudes that "Blessed are you when they revile and persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely for My sake. Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in Heaven, for so they treated the prophets who were before you." I know O'Reilly doesn't take a hardline stance for Christ in his public presentation (in fact I am wounded when he makes the modern fallacy that religion is personal and not the dominant, final judge of truth and how we live and believe, instead stating that his Catholic upbringing is what influences him and is what he abides by, which is a good thing, but he can be seen to avoid an all-out defense of issues based on Christianity, as he mistakenly argues that if the Bible has been used to advocate slaverly, then we can't use it as our litmus test and guide in contemporary issues outside of religion) but O'Reilly is indeed reviled and persecuted for a way of being influenced by the Church and intent on preaching truth and righting wrongs (serious wrongs like corrupt judges failing to do their duty in regard to repeat offenders and child molesters who, with their "disease" that can't be controlled, are found to commit their offenses upon release and create more victims, not the phony, so-called social justice of Progressive causes like freeing cop killers and legalizing marriage for sodomites and women who likewise turn to unnatural lusts).
Anyway, after my defense and polemics, here is what I wrote:
Dear Roger Ebert,
In reference to your article criticizing Bill O'Reilly, I think it should be pointed out that your criticism was neither apt to the occasion nor was it grounded in fair reasoning.
To begin, your photo is an enlarged photo of O'Reilly in a very unflattering pose, a heated moment taken probably from his argument with Geraldo Rivera, if I'm guessing correctly. This is smear, plain and simple, and I don't think I'm bringing up something you didn't know in saying this, but I know you would not sit silent if someone wrote an article on Roger Ebert headed by a picture of you, say, captured in the midst of your "confrontation" with another movie critic a while back, the incident where you tapped him on the shoulder and he took offense to your attempts at a clear line of sight. Apples to oranges, you might say, the arguments and quarrels in question are different, but the point remains that it would be wrong to depict you in this manner just as it is misleading to depict him in such a manner.
Recommending for him to see an old church Father of yours for counseling would likely not be a new experience for Bill, as his upbringing in Catholic schools saw him landing in trouble with the teachers many times. I disagree with the your suggestion (which I understand has a "tongue-in-cheek" element to it, he's probably not receptive to your wry therapy referrals) for reason that it is a condescending character attack that belittles him as psychotic. "What's the problem with that? This is Bill O'Reilly we're talking about," you might say. Fair enough, debase who you wish, but then what good is your argument outside of a bandwagon of companions who also wish to revile him uncritically?
Throughout your informal opinion piece, I thought the writing was uneven, not like your better articles with lucid insight and strong comparisons to other thoughts that seem to transcend a by-the-numbers film review. This became a problem when the logical points adopted the loose style of the rhetoric. Linking O'Reilly's current grievances with the Sun-Times (and other major city newspapers who have made it their business to take up a completely biased reportage) with such issues as the paper's history as a counter to the Tribune's anti-FDR/World War II involvement stance, and concluding "Therefore, O'Reilly, you must surely approve of that Hitler-neutral thinking, ho ho!" is a false practice. This is not his argument, his contention is with the current practice of your newspaper and others to make no apologies about a one-sided presentation of liberal columnists. Please, why not argue the merits of whether a paper should try and be "fair and balanced" with their columnists or whether it is their prerogative to do as they wish and feature exclusively liberal commentators and run politically slanted headlines and story placement? O'Reilly's hypothesis is that much of the major city newspapers' decline comes from their blatant liberal bias which does not mix with "the folks" (as he calls the public, or "fair-minded" Americans) and their preference for an honest and unbiased media. I might be so bold as to suggest that you take up the position that the newspapers are declining in revenue not because of lack of readership, but because of a shift to Internet news (as Leonard Pitts has written) and offer up that side of the issue for a much more enlightening debate. Perhaps, you could repeat your blog entry, the one I thought was very excellent, that ended with the line "The news is still big, it's the papers that got small." I remember that line like it was the end of a classic movie, and I think if you ever wish to write another screenplay, I would be eager to see something based on this sentiment/material from your history in the newspaper business.
There were other things in the O'Reilly article that I reacted unfavorably to, particularly the "below the belt" shot that likened him to a mouse that thought you-know-what about his manhood, which was a comparison inspired by some alleged statement of his about being more powerful than any politician. Why not fact check such a statement? As written, you've reported it as here say, so it is out of context and distorted from its original words at best. All I can say to all this is that you've clearly taken pleasure in scolding him in a sardonic way that I find to be hastily written in animosity, also unfunny, and muddied in message. Since when was it proper for a liberal journalist to call O'Reilly a journalist? Why stage your own show trial to provide opportunity for your fantasy to scold him and tell him he has lost touch with reality? My grievances that might not bother you, but I submit them as a check on a false judgment.
Sincerely,
Dustin Lilleskov
Cedar Falls, IA
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
40 A Penny for Your Thoughts
It occurred to me today (well, I had thought of it prior, but the words came fully today) that writing for a living operates according to the saying "A penny for your thoughts." If you aspire to be a writer, as I intend to make some living off of, then you're making your pay from developing your thoughts in long form. Other people pay the money- that eventually filters through to become your wages- because they want the pleasure, challenge, or plainly said "opportunity" to read through your private thoughts put on public display. There is of course some scale to this: the more esoteric a work the more central its basis in your personal thoughts and viewpoints, and the more commercial or plot-based a work becomes makes it more story or structure-based in order to fit the expectations of the plot line or genre. So, writing a by-the-numbers mystery causes the writer no need of worry that perfect strangers can look inside his private thoughts, but an original work might make the writer sweat if he becomes unsettled at the idea of other people critiquing his personal flaws and what he holds in his core.
Another curious thought to this is the existence of writers in a modern society. I'm a poor person to give the history lesson, but thinking of an overview of the process brings me around to see that the Industrial Revolution made possible the mass-marketing of today's book publishers (need factories, roads, and trucks to put a dozen copies of your tome in every store across the country), modern books before that were only possible by the landmark Gutenberg Press and its derivative developments (movable type and everything else through the ages), and I suppose I should consider all the banks and economies from publisher to novelist in order that the money can change hands from an unknown consumer miles away into the account of the writer. Without all this, I'd only be writing for myself or a limited, select audience; there's no way I could sell enough writing to support myself if a scribe needed to hand write every copy. I suppose I could be supported by a patron, or become famous posthumously like Emily Dickinson, and so avoid the system of a modern novelist, but then I would never have the knowledge of being well-read, and I would miss the opportunity to participate and respond to my culture and my readers.
In comparison to other professions, writing is remarkably independent (at least in process) when viewed relative to nearly every other occupation that relies on groups of people to run a business. It's not exclusive to writing, there are freelance people in many other fields, and writers still rely on editors, agents, and publishers to get their work out, and in the research process they'll consult many other people or written works. But the point I think of, is that if I were a construction worker, I might spend one year as part of a 12-man crew that builds multiple houses and buildings. As a writer, I've spent a year on one draft! That's a strange concept, that one man can work on something highly intellectual (and possibly influential) with his time, or he can join a team to produce concrete, tangible works. Quite a juxtaposition to think of the merit of spending so much time as an individual whom people will pay to produce high-quality literature they can read over, or as a member of a group who can actually move the physical earth around. I suppose a writer can direct people by transforming their minds, whereas physical labor can "only" transform space. Quite a thought.
Another curious thought to this is the existence of writers in a modern society. I'm a poor person to give the history lesson, but thinking of an overview of the process brings me around to see that the Industrial Revolution made possible the mass-marketing of today's book publishers (need factories, roads, and trucks to put a dozen copies of your tome in every store across the country), modern books before that were only possible by the landmark Gutenberg Press and its derivative developments (movable type and everything else through the ages), and I suppose I should consider all the banks and economies from publisher to novelist in order that the money can change hands from an unknown consumer miles away into the account of the writer. Without all this, I'd only be writing for myself or a limited, select audience; there's no way I could sell enough writing to support myself if a scribe needed to hand write every copy. I suppose I could be supported by a patron, or become famous posthumously like Emily Dickinson, and so avoid the system of a modern novelist, but then I would never have the knowledge of being well-read, and I would miss the opportunity to participate and respond to my culture and my readers.
In comparison to other professions, writing is remarkably independent (at least in process) when viewed relative to nearly every other occupation that relies on groups of people to run a business. It's not exclusive to writing, there are freelance people in many other fields, and writers still rely on editors, agents, and publishers to get their work out, and in the research process they'll consult many other people or written works. But the point I think of, is that if I were a construction worker, I might spend one year as part of a 12-man crew that builds multiple houses and buildings. As a writer, I've spent a year on one draft! That's a strange concept, that one man can work on something highly intellectual (and possibly influential) with his time, or he can join a team to produce concrete, tangible works. Quite a juxtaposition to think of the merit of spending so much time as an individual whom people will pay to produce high-quality literature they can read over, or as a member of a group who can actually move the physical earth around. I suppose a writer can direct people by transforming their minds, whereas physical labor can "only" transform space. Quite a thought.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
39 Some of the Worst Movies I've Ever Seen
Or ever been subjected to, if victimization is a fair description for a voluntary witness. But moving on, of course this "list" isn't complete, as my memory isn't absorbent enough to recollect many of the movies I've watched, not to mention the multitude of movies very easily forgotten due to their terrible production value (some movies, the recent "License to Wed" comes up, seem like watching footage not yet assembled in the edit bay and into coherent scenes where film and sound come together to look like an actual movie). So these movies mentioned will be the ones strong enough to leave a terribly painful lasting memory; some even haunting me after only a single viewing.
"Vanilla Sky" (2001)
I've maybe seen worse movies at the theater, but never one that stung me as much as this with the feeling of being wronged at having paid $7 +. I'd have to re-watch it to go into detail about the various offensive elements, but I refuse to do that, so I'll sum it up as the largest and therefore "best" example of the "It was all just a dream" plot that I've ever encountered. The non-chronological Postmodern story structure followed by this deflation equals a movie with no story that rambles and goes nowhere except to my anti-Hall of Fame.
"Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones" (2002)
"Star Wars" movies are supposed to be a true experience at the theater, but I don't even think Yoda's fight scene stirred me. When the trailers played for this in late 2001, I couldn't believe how pathetic and plastic the CGI Stormtroopers looked, but not even the excess of green screen "wizardry" could prepare me for the lamentable characters (Obi Wan after Anakin jumps hundreds of feet out of a flying car: "I hate it when he does that." Then Anakin pouting: "I hate Obi-Wan, he's holding me back!" or "You're sweet Padme, not like this coarse sand" or something to that effect). Basically, if I taught some kind of film class that needed to highlight the movies of the 2000's filmmakers seemingly oblivious to their computerized tackiness, I'd use this movie to explain the industry-wide flaw in one go. Just look at the bendy legs and wacky physics when Anakin flips off of whatever space beast it was he was chained to in the intergalactic arena. And maybe the least engaging action piece I've ever seen was the factory chase with the flying bug aliens (wow, when someone told me it wasn't an actual set, but a simulation, I could hardly believe it!).
"The Wicker Man" (2006)
I'd heard nothing but bad reviews about this, but the television commercials and Nicolas Cage intrigued me, so when nothing else popped off the store shelves, I decided to rent this one night and watch it with my mom. Big mistake! First off, the prerequisite bad production value qualifies this for a "worst" movie title, with my cardinal sin of incoherency being put forth by boring and unconnected scenes. Basically, Nic Cage bumbles around an island inhabited by a pagan cult of women trying to find a missing girl, but manages only to get more and more infuriated when they evade questions by talking in riddles or continuing their weirdo behavior. But his failure as a policeman to call for backup and and take on a case by himself surrounded by hostile and eerie natives isn't what made this the most disturbing movie I've ever seen (this includes "Saw"). It's the ending of a PG-13 movie that depicts the worst evil I've beheld on film when Cage is surrounded by the cult, mobbed, has both legs broken, head covered by a cage of bees which he is allergic to, then hoisted into the giant, titular Wicker Man to be burned alive to appease the ladies' god for harvest. My mom and I agreed on the disgusting nature of this and shudder to this day when thinking back on this finale which has left me shaken ever since, no lying.
"Mr. Deeds" (2002)
This signaled the beginning of the end for the Adam Sandler movies that I used to love as a kid. I couldn't believe this made it past the editing room. It must've been another rush job, and you can tell from the way scenes felt "silent" without music or proper pacing. The only funny part was when John McEnroe leaped 20 ft. in the air without explanation, just because of the absurdity of it. I don't even need to mention Sandler's hallmark "stupid" humor that everyone else has lambasted long before me.
"Aeon Flux" (2005)
It was in this movie that I got that feeling I wondered what felt like when I saw terribly dismal movies on TV or cheaply through the rental store- the feeling where I consciously realize I'm watching a bad movie I actually ventured out and paid handsomely to see. Slightly less terrible was the feeling of remorse when comparing this to the wildly free and original, excellently-animated source material. Don't bother with this hideous adaptation.
"Talladega Nights" (2006)
People laughed at this? Other comedies from this time period have been as bad; this one is my pick because I expected it to be better. I don't know where to pinpoint the start of the trend, but my beef is with comedies without plotlines that seem as if they could've been written on a Friday afternoon. The "Naked Gun" series is the perfect antithesis because it has fully developed characters living out an actual, serious script that deviates from the expected norm of cop dramas to form comedy. "Talladega" and friends are awkward ad-lib fests of banal, trite humor.
Honorable Mentions:
LOTR trilogy: the best part was when I went with some friends to the third one (their initiative) and fell asleep, saving myself over an hour of this hapless labor. Five minutes into the first I thought I might like it as a grand parable, but it sank for me with a lost plot and characters that didn't live up to potential. Hard to explain concisely, but think of the way the hobbits didn't function as lovable losers but instead as whining screw-ups with too much in the accent and melodrama departments. Just didn't like the way these movies were made.
Any of the partisan and pretentious propaganda from the left (the right doesn't have much of a foothold in the movie business) a la "The Contender." I don't need self-righteous preaching to defend the indefensible, thank you very much.
The underwhelming work of the Coen brothers. Count me as a non-fan, not necessarily an enemy of theirs, but a moviegoer who goes to see story and not off-beat bizarreness that's on one occasion Oscar-caliber dumb ("No Country for Old Men"). "Blood Simple" was the only work I liked with a Coen name attached.
Anything not immediately coming to mind, but without story, plot structure, professional standards, or conversely containing pompousness, sophomoric diatribes, subject matter that hinges on drugs or torture, and aiming to offend my sensibilities.
"Vanilla Sky" (2001)
I've maybe seen worse movies at the theater, but never one that stung me as much as this with the feeling of being wronged at having paid $7 +. I'd have to re-watch it to go into detail about the various offensive elements, but I refuse to do that, so I'll sum it up as the largest and therefore "best" example of the "It was all just a dream" plot that I've ever encountered. The non-chronological Postmodern story structure followed by this deflation equals a movie with no story that rambles and goes nowhere except to my anti-Hall of Fame.
"Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones" (2002)
"Star Wars" movies are supposed to be a true experience at the theater, but I don't even think Yoda's fight scene stirred me. When the trailers played for this in late 2001, I couldn't believe how pathetic and plastic the CGI Stormtroopers looked, but not even the excess of green screen "wizardry" could prepare me for the lamentable characters (Obi Wan after Anakin jumps hundreds of feet out of a flying car: "I hate it when he does that." Then Anakin pouting: "I hate Obi-Wan, he's holding me back!" or "You're sweet Padme, not like this coarse sand" or something to that effect). Basically, if I taught some kind of film class that needed to highlight the movies of the 2000's filmmakers seemingly oblivious to their computerized tackiness, I'd use this movie to explain the industry-wide flaw in one go. Just look at the bendy legs and wacky physics when Anakin flips off of whatever space beast it was he was chained to in the intergalactic arena. And maybe the least engaging action piece I've ever seen was the factory chase with the flying bug aliens (wow, when someone told me it wasn't an actual set, but a simulation, I could hardly believe it!).
"The Wicker Man" (2006)
I'd heard nothing but bad reviews about this, but the television commercials and Nicolas Cage intrigued me, so when nothing else popped off the store shelves, I decided to rent this one night and watch it with my mom. Big mistake! First off, the prerequisite bad production value qualifies this for a "worst" movie title, with my cardinal sin of incoherency being put forth by boring and unconnected scenes. Basically, Nic Cage bumbles around an island inhabited by a pagan cult of women trying to find a missing girl, but manages only to get more and more infuriated when they evade questions by talking in riddles or continuing their weirdo behavior. But his failure as a policeman to call for backup and and take on a case by himself surrounded by hostile and eerie natives isn't what made this the most disturbing movie I've ever seen (this includes "Saw"). It's the ending of a PG-13 movie that depicts the worst evil I've beheld on film when Cage is surrounded by the cult, mobbed, has both legs broken, head covered by a cage of bees which he is allergic to, then hoisted into the giant, titular Wicker Man to be burned alive to appease the ladies' god for harvest. My mom and I agreed on the disgusting nature of this and shudder to this day when thinking back on this finale which has left me shaken ever since, no lying.
"Mr. Deeds" (2002)
This signaled the beginning of the end for the Adam Sandler movies that I used to love as a kid. I couldn't believe this made it past the editing room. It must've been another rush job, and you can tell from the way scenes felt "silent" without music or proper pacing. The only funny part was when John McEnroe leaped 20 ft. in the air without explanation, just because of the absurdity of it. I don't even need to mention Sandler's hallmark "stupid" humor that everyone else has lambasted long before me.
"Aeon Flux" (2005)
It was in this movie that I got that feeling I wondered what felt like when I saw terribly dismal movies on TV or cheaply through the rental store- the feeling where I consciously realize I'm watching a bad movie I actually ventured out and paid handsomely to see. Slightly less terrible was the feeling of remorse when comparing this to the wildly free and original, excellently-animated source material. Don't bother with this hideous adaptation.
"Talladega Nights" (2006)
People laughed at this? Other comedies from this time period have been as bad; this one is my pick because I expected it to be better. I don't know where to pinpoint the start of the trend, but my beef is with comedies without plotlines that seem as if they could've been written on a Friday afternoon. The "Naked Gun" series is the perfect antithesis because it has fully developed characters living out an actual, serious script that deviates from the expected norm of cop dramas to form comedy. "Talladega" and friends are awkward ad-lib fests of banal, trite humor.
Honorable Mentions:
LOTR trilogy: the best part was when I went with some friends to the third one (their initiative) and fell asleep, saving myself over an hour of this hapless labor. Five minutes into the first I thought I might like it as a grand parable, but it sank for me with a lost plot and characters that didn't live up to potential. Hard to explain concisely, but think of the way the hobbits didn't function as lovable losers but instead as whining screw-ups with too much in the accent and melodrama departments. Just didn't like the way these movies were made.
Any of the partisan and pretentious propaganda from the left (the right doesn't have much of a foothold in the movie business) a la "The Contender." I don't need self-righteous preaching to defend the indefensible, thank you very much.
The underwhelming work of the Coen brothers. Count me as a non-fan, not necessarily an enemy of theirs, but a moviegoer who goes to see story and not off-beat bizarreness that's on one occasion Oscar-caliber dumb ("No Country for Old Men"). "Blood Simple" was the only work I liked with a Coen name attached.
Anything not immediately coming to mind, but without story, plot structure, professional standards, or conversely containing pompousness, sophomoric diatribes, subject matter that hinges on drugs or torture, and aiming to offend my sensibilities.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
38
I've been thinking about switching to short story writing after I finish my novel. I'm on page 152 of that, I'll probably crank out around 70 more pages before calling it good, but already I can see myself itching to turn from the long and tedious world of novel-writing into the more fruitful and results-producing realm of the short story. I'd like to try stuff with twists, sci-fi allegories and Twilight Zone type things to teach the vast number of ideas and metaphors I've developed without structure in my head.
One idea I've had is very dark, and I think I might title it "The Suicide Machine." Basically, it'd be pieced together from scientific journal entries (think "Flowers for Algernon" or the notes in the first two Resident Evil video games), and it would tell the story of an experiment that tested what it took to push a man past the breaking point and kill himself. I know, if taken literally it's very disturbing (that's part of the point), but I find it really fascinating to play with the idea of a man trapped in some kind of hyperbolic chamber with the voice of the scientist feeding into him via intercom, telling him all sorts of lies masked as controlled variables meant to deprive him of his belief in life.
Another thing I've considered is expanding, more like revising, a short story I wrote in a college fiction class. Everyone else wrote entertaining things that weren't far leaps from college life or stories meant for leisurely ingestion (for the most part), but I wrote a first-person account that told of some dystopic world where interpersonal interaction was distanced and awkward, very alien, and the routines seemed controlled by some mysterious outside force. In the end, it's revealed that the entire thing was the main character's perspective on his daily college experience, so you as the reader realize that bizarre chamber where everyone looks at him funny for speaking up was in fact just an elevator. I'd want to add to the richness of the first-person experience by playing up the imagery and making the language very stylized and efficient so that readers were really transported to another world. I think the whole story is very effective because it stresses the inhuman and isolated nature of modern life and the distance felt from one's peers if you refuse to tune in to their given rules.
One idea I've had is very dark, and I think I might title it "The Suicide Machine." Basically, it'd be pieced together from scientific journal entries (think "Flowers for Algernon" or the notes in the first two Resident Evil video games), and it would tell the story of an experiment that tested what it took to push a man past the breaking point and kill himself. I know, if taken literally it's very disturbing (that's part of the point), but I find it really fascinating to play with the idea of a man trapped in some kind of hyperbolic chamber with the voice of the scientist feeding into him via intercom, telling him all sorts of lies masked as controlled variables meant to deprive him of his belief in life.
Another thing I've considered is expanding, more like revising, a short story I wrote in a college fiction class. Everyone else wrote entertaining things that weren't far leaps from college life or stories meant for leisurely ingestion (for the most part), but I wrote a first-person account that told of some dystopic world where interpersonal interaction was distanced and awkward, very alien, and the routines seemed controlled by some mysterious outside force. In the end, it's revealed that the entire thing was the main character's perspective on his daily college experience, so you as the reader realize that bizarre chamber where everyone looks at him funny for speaking up was in fact just an elevator. I'd want to add to the richness of the first-person experience by playing up the imagery and making the language very stylized and efficient so that readers were really transported to another world. I think the whole story is very effective because it stresses the inhuman and isolated nature of modern life and the distance felt from one's peers if you refuse to tune in to their given rules.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
37 My Dinner With...
James Frazier (jfrazier57.blogspot.com) tagged me for this game.
My Dinner With ______. The rules are as follows:
1. Pick a single person past or present who works in the film industry you would like to have dinner with. And tell us why you chose this person.
2. Set the table for your dinner. What would you eat? Would it be in a home or at a restaurant? And what would you wear? Feel free to elaborate on the details.
3. List five thoughtful questions you would ask this person during dinner.
4. When all is said and done, select six bloggers to pass this Meme along to.
5. Link back to Lazy Eye Theatre, so people know the mastermind behind this Meme.
I look to famous or accomplished people all the time, trying to find the exceptional among them to study their character and how they're able to do what they do. But when the "My Dinner" game asked me what person from the film industry I would interview, I drew a blank. I watch a fair amount of movies and know a little about the goings-on of the business, but I don't usually single out individuals in film as true role models or types of icons or inspirations.
So, I thought about my options- what kind of angle I could take. Maybe I could be funny and toy with the game. I'd meet Clint Howard, Daniel Stern, Steve Buscemi, or some other oddball actor, and ask them questions that were highly inappropriate because they're comically deep and introspective. The other big idea I had was to go out with an attractive female actress- I could use the dinner as an excuse for a dream date.
But I think if I had to seriously meet with any actor director, I'd pick Sylvester Stallone. Seriously. I heard the motivational speaker, Tony Robbins, tell Sly's story on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywuse55qU2A), and the way he overcame hardships to break into the big time really inspired me.
Then my answer to question 2 would be a dinner at home. My place or his, but probably his place, he might find coming to downtown Cedar Falls, IA for dinner a little strange. So ideally I could drop by his lavish house, wherever that is.
3. What's the most important lesson your work in Hollywood has taught you? That life's taught you? What do you like most about making movies, and which of your films have you enjoyed doing the most/least? Do you think you'll transition into directing and writing full time, or do you plan on acting regularly all the way until retirement? And if I felt gutsy- your son, Sage, was in the movie "Chaos" which I haven't seen, but heard of via Roger Ebert's website- have you seen the film and what's your take on it and the controversy over its gruesome content?
4. The only two people I could think of to nominate for this exercise are Brian Kalina and Eric Bernstrom.
My Dinner With ______. The rules are as follows:
1. Pick a single person past or present who works in the film industry you would like to have dinner with. And tell us why you chose this person.
2. Set the table for your dinner. What would you eat? Would it be in a home or at a restaurant? And what would you wear? Feel free to elaborate on the details.
3. List five thoughtful questions you would ask this person during dinner.
4. When all is said and done, select six bloggers to pass this Meme along to.
5. Link back to Lazy Eye Theatre, so people know the mastermind behind this Meme.
I look to famous or accomplished people all the time, trying to find the exceptional among them to study their character and how they're able to do what they do. But when the "My Dinner" game asked me what person from the film industry I would interview, I drew a blank. I watch a fair amount of movies and know a little about the goings-on of the business, but I don't usually single out individuals in film as true role models or types of icons or inspirations.
So, I thought about my options- what kind of angle I could take. Maybe I could be funny and toy with the game. I'd meet Clint Howard, Daniel Stern, Steve Buscemi, or some other oddball actor, and ask them questions that were highly inappropriate because they're comically deep and introspective. The other big idea I had was to go out with an attractive female actress- I could use the dinner as an excuse for a dream date.
But I think if I had to seriously meet with any actor director, I'd pick Sylvester Stallone. Seriously. I heard the motivational speaker, Tony Robbins, tell Sly's story on YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywuse55qU2A), and the way he overcame hardships to break into the big time really inspired me.
Then my answer to question 2 would be a dinner at home. My place or his, but probably his place, he might find coming to downtown Cedar Falls, IA for dinner a little strange. So ideally I could drop by his lavish house, wherever that is.
3. What's the most important lesson your work in Hollywood has taught you? That life's taught you? What do you like most about making movies, and which of your films have you enjoyed doing the most/least? Do you think you'll transition into directing and writing full time, or do you plan on acting regularly all the way until retirement? And if I felt gutsy- your son, Sage, was in the movie "Chaos" which I haven't seen, but heard of via Roger Ebert's website- have you seen the film and what's your take on it and the controversy over its gruesome content?
4. The only two people I could think of to nominate for this exercise are Brian Kalina and Eric Bernstrom.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
36
For those of you "in the know," I'm writing my novel Broken Reflection at the moment. I'm 42 pages into it, at the start of the third chapter, and if anyone's interested in reading one of the first two chapters (either to edit, give advice, or just look it over) let me know and I'll e-mail it to you.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Thailand Saga- Part 9
The last week at Por.Pramuk Gym, we did almost all of our running inside, underneath the large, overhanging roof. This is because it rained so much that week and bad weather meant we ran laps away from the elements. Outside of this, our practice continued as normal. And I'd say the theme of the gym that week was about how things were returning to normal.
Buakaw, and also Saichon and Chokdee, had returned from their respective fights in Japan France the previous week. They didn't join in with our practice, however, as fighters normally take a week off after a big fight. This didn't stop the 15-year old fighter, though, as he took only about a day off before returning to the routine. As for me, I had a growing feeling that the timing was right for me to take my leave from the gym, reasons being my limited savings to pay for further weeks of stay, a Visa halfway to its two-month expiration, and an overall acceptance of the natural, or maybe it's better put as a "supernatural," timing of the trip as it fit into my life. So my last week at Por Pramuk I savored the time I had left, and even met an American who came to the gym, named Michael.
Michael was in the Air Force and he decided to spend his leave time, away from his base in Okinawa, at the gym. He came from the San Francisco area, originally, and had Thai parents. Mike was a nice guy, a little reserved, and did most of his socializing during the smoke breaks Ott, the Dutch guys, and he would enjoy after dinner or workouts. I got to know Mike some when he came along on our trip to Bangkok (this happened on Sunday, the day I left Por Pramuk gym). We joined Mr. Pramuk as he traveled for business in the capitol. Michael, Gata, and a new Japanese fighter went along to enjoy the city; I went to find a hotel to stay in until I could book a flight back home. So after saying my good-byes, I drug my suitcases out to the car where Gata and the other passengers helped me load my things into the trunk.
Outside of MBK, the tailor's, and the souvenirs, I killed time by going to movies. I saw "Die Hard 4" and "Transformers" that week, each at the late show discount price of $2.50. Movies were just as you'd imagine with a few significant differences. The most obvious is the Thai subtitles for the non-English speaking audience. The other two big differences are the assigned seating (you buy a ticket and the teller shows you a layout of the theater on his computer where you choose an available seat for yourself) and the minute in honor of the king before the movie. The "King's minute," (if I can informally dub it that) takes place during the movie previews. A screen of text asks the audience to rise in honor of his majesty, and choir music is sung over a montage of photographs showing the king interacting with different groups of Thai people. It was definitely a foreign experience.
Well, Friday night came, and as I had found a travel agent earlier in the week, I re-packed everything in my suitcases, asked the hotel clerk to get me a cab, and made my way back to the airport. It was a sweet drive there, I got a chance to reflect on my trip as we breezed along the dark city highways, and when it was finished I only owed the driver $7 for a 20-minute ride. The flights back went smoothly; I mostly watched movies to pass the time between Japan and Chicago. Sad to say, the worst part of my travels was when I arrived in America and the rudeness levels went through the roof on me. I really wasn't anticipating such angry people after my positive experience overseas. At O'Hare, I waited all day until my late afternoon flight to Cedar Rapids departed (talk about a fun time!). Then I suffered through the rudest, most menacing flight attendant I'd ever encountered (she picked arguments with passengers over carry-on luggage and verbally beat down hapless, benign ladies caught in her path). Soon enough though I collected my luggage in the Cedar Rapids airport and greeted my mother and grandmother, who drove me back to my house in downtown Cedar Falls where I unloaded all my new stuff, for people to see, and went to bed (jet lag!) while the rest of my family got a bite to eat.
It's November now, almost Thanksgiving, as I finish the "Thailand Saga." I'm working third shift in the Martin Brothers Warehouse for my "day" job. Meanwhile, I've found a literary agent interested in my complete manuscript- the synopsis of last post is what I sent in to them- so I plan to hustle a book out in an effort to get published. Hopefully, I'll have an extra source of income to fund none other than a trip back to Thailand. But before I go to work on my novel, I need to relate to you the most fun night I ever had in Thailand, my last night at Por Pramuk.
So, I knew I was leaving the next day (Sunday) and it would be my final night with everyone. Now there was a "disco" (nightclub) in town (Chachoengsao), fifteen minutes from the gym. I'd heard about the place, called "Dome" because the building was a dome, from the Spanish and Dutch guys who'd went out to party there before. I wanted a special night on the town with Ott, Saichon, and whoevere else elected to come with. We eventually rounded up all three Spanish guys (Pedro Leon, Raoul, and Mikah) to go with us (Ott, Saichon, and me) -so there were six in all. The first thing that surprised me about The Dome was the way Pedro casually walked up to the entrance with two bottles of alcohol in hand. I was surprised, naturally, when the doorman escorted us and our outside liquor to a table (assigned seating was a convenience of their bar that I appreciated) and mixed the whiskey Pedro bought with water and seltzer water. Apparently, bringing alcohol with you is customary as the bar makes money off of the water, seltzer water, and the popcorn they'd bring for you to snack on. This was how the drinks worked, but as we sat around doing nothing for the next hour, I wondered if it'd be as boring as every American bar. Soon enough though, some girls came out and danced on a raised platform around the DJ. It was okay; I thought the more entertaining element was the up-tempo music mix. After a half hour of that sidshow, though, and the real entertainment began. The Dome had a stage at the front of the house (right next to our table) with instruments set out beforehand. A house band came out to play with a rotating set of performers. They'd transition seamlessly from one to the other- female singer to male rock singer to rapper and even to a group of break dancers. The best part, by far, was when one of the lady singers came out onstage in a humorous clown get-up. She was wearing makeup and a short dress with a comically stuffed bra. I think the idea was for her performance to be both funny and alluring at the same time. As she sang, she moved from one end of the stage to the other, and as she walked by our area the rest of my group was of the opinion that she took an interest in me as they elbowed me and kidded me about it. I was still a little oblivious of it until the end of the song when she pulled me up on stage- in front of a house of several hundred Thai people! She asked me my name and where I was from, then said a lot of stuff in Thai that I had no chance of understanding. She came back to English though when she asked my age. I stammered at first and then she said something about me, probably joking about how I "didn't know my age." I was thinking of my age in Thai, though, so I was ready when she brought back the microphone and I shouted, "Yii-sip saam!" which means twenty-three. The crowd cheered, and Ott and everyone at my table went nuts. She had given me a "stage kiss" prior to this where she smeared make-up all over my cheek, but she gave me a real kiss as I returned to my seat.
There was one other major event at The Dome after this. As I was walking out with the group, I noticed Saichon and Pedro Leon were stopped at a table, being yelled at by some girl over who knows what. I don't think any of us had ever met this girl before. Pedro motioned for me to exit, so I waited outside for everyone else. About five minutes later, Pedro, Saichon, and the rest of my "crew" came out the door in a huge commotion. Dozens of bystanders surrounded them and a couple security guards were kicking Pedro and company out. Pedro had a small cloth he was holding up to his eyebrow at the corner of his left eye. Some big Thai guy had hit Pedro with sucker punch, and now Raoul wanted to go back in to find the perpetrator, but security wanted us out of there fast. The Thai security guards kept saying, "Okay, you go home. We take care. You come back tomorrow." They were repeating this over and over, and when one of the security came over to say this to me (he wasn't up in my face or anything- he was calm and just wanted to "spread the word" to our whole group) I took myself out of the situation even further by getting inside of Raoul and Pedro's car that Ott or Mikah, I don't remember which, had pulled up. Outside the car, the scene was still playing out full force. Raoul had gone from insisting that he go inside to find the guy ("I want to fight this man!") to demandinig immediate action because he didn't believe (naturally) that the security would do anything to find "the puncher" once we left. Raoul even changed his strategy. Now, he had taken off his shirt (I've learned from episodes of "Cops" that guys who take off their shirt, after midnight, mean business) and practically charging up to the door. When security got in his way he said, "Please, please" in a dismissive way that let everyone know he was fed up with them. His advance was halted though, and I think he summed up his actions when he finally said, "I want to find this man. If I find this man, I will kill him because Pedro Leon, he does nothing to nobody." It was like watching Al Pacino almost; while it happened it was exciting, and now after the fact it was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen.
Well, that does it for the Thailand Saga, at least for now. Hopefully, I'll make a little money to go back and stay at Por Pramuk for even longer. Then you'll have some more installments to look forward to.
The End.
:)
Buakaw, and also Saichon and Chokdee, had returned from their respective fights in Japan France the previous week. They didn't join in with our practice, however, as fighters normally take a week off after a big fight. This didn't stop the 15-year old fighter, though, as he took only about a day off before returning to the routine. As for me, I had a growing feeling that the timing was right for me to take my leave from the gym, reasons being my limited savings to pay for further weeks of stay, a Visa halfway to its two-month expiration, and an overall acceptance of the natural, or maybe it's better put as a "supernatural," timing of the trip as it fit into my life. So my last week at Por Pramuk I savored the time I had left, and even met an American who came to the gym, named Michael.
Michael was in the Air Force and he decided to spend his leave time, away from his base in Okinawa, at the gym. He came from the San Francisco area, originally, and had Thai parents. Mike was a nice guy, a little reserved, and did most of his socializing during the smoke breaks Ott, the Dutch guys, and he would enjoy after dinner or workouts. I got to know Mike some when he came along on our trip to Bangkok (this happened on Sunday, the day I left Por Pramuk gym). We joined Mr. Pramuk as he traveled for business in the capitol. Michael, Gata, and a new Japanese fighter went along to enjoy the city; I went to find a hotel to stay in until I could book a flight back home. So after saying my good-byes, I drug my suitcases out to the car where Gata and the other passengers helped me load my things into the trunk.
In Bangkok, Mike and I walked around, got a bite to eat, and went to get a $9 massage. Thai massages are great, it was two hours for under ten dollars and it makes your body feel great afterwards, very soothed. Throughout the day, Mike shared with me how he used to be stationed in Germany and spent his leave time there travelling throughout Europe. He made it sound very appealing and accessible, European countries are close enough to reach by cheap plane and train travel. He also said the food was great, Germany with its sausages and beer being his favorite. Late in the afternoon, Mike and I met up with Mr. Pramuk, Gata, and the new Japanese guy by the shopping center we parked at earlier. Gata grabbed one of my suitcases and led me to a hotel, just down the street, he had stayed at before. It was called the "24 Inn," and Gata waited as I checked in until he left. So I said goodbye to him, my last friend from the gym, took the elevator upstairs and got acquainted with my room- not unlike an average American hotel room.
Outside of MBK, the tailor's, and the souvenirs, I killed time by going to movies. I saw "Die Hard 4" and "Transformers" that week, each at the late show discount price of $2.50. Movies were just as you'd imagine with a few significant differences. The most obvious is the Thai subtitles for the non-English speaking audience. The other two big differences are the assigned seating (you buy a ticket and the teller shows you a layout of the theater on his computer where you choose an available seat for yourself) and the minute in honor of the king before the movie. The "King's minute," (if I can informally dub it that) takes place during the movie previews. A screen of text asks the audience to rise in honor of his majesty, and choir music is sung over a montage of photographs showing the king interacting with different groups of Thai people. It was definitely a foreign experience.
Well, Friday night came, and as I had found a travel agent earlier in the week, I re-packed everything in my suitcases, asked the hotel clerk to get me a cab, and made my way back to the airport. It was a sweet drive there, I got a chance to reflect on my trip as we breezed along the dark city highways, and when it was finished I only owed the driver $7 for a 20-minute ride. The flights back went smoothly; I mostly watched movies to pass the time between Japan and Chicago. Sad to say, the worst part of my travels was when I arrived in America and the rudeness levels went through the roof on me. I really wasn't anticipating such angry people after my positive experience overseas. At O'Hare, I waited all day until my late afternoon flight to Cedar Rapids departed (talk about a fun time!). Then I suffered through the rudest, most menacing flight attendant I'd ever encountered (she picked arguments with passengers over carry-on luggage and verbally beat down hapless, benign ladies caught in her path). Soon enough though I collected my luggage in the Cedar Rapids airport and greeted my mother and grandmother, who drove me back to my house in downtown Cedar Falls where I unloaded all my new stuff, for people to see, and went to bed (jet lag!) while the rest of my family got a bite to eat.
It's November now, almost Thanksgiving, as I finish the "Thailand Saga." I'm working third shift in the Martin Brothers Warehouse for my "day" job. Meanwhile, I've found a literary agent interested in my complete manuscript- the synopsis of last post is what I sent in to them- so I plan to hustle a book out in an effort to get published. Hopefully, I'll have an extra source of income to fund none other than a trip back to Thailand. But before I go to work on my novel, I need to relate to you the most fun night I ever had in Thailand, my last night at Por Pramuk.
So, I knew I was leaving the next day (Sunday) and it would be my final night with everyone. Now there was a "disco" (nightclub) in town (Chachoengsao), fifteen minutes from the gym. I'd heard about the place, called "Dome" because the building was a dome, from the Spanish and Dutch guys who'd went out to party there before. I wanted a special night on the town with Ott, Saichon, and whoevere else elected to come with. We eventually rounded up all three Spanish guys (Pedro Leon, Raoul, and Mikah) to go with us (Ott, Saichon, and me) -so there were six in all. The first thing that surprised me about The Dome was the way Pedro casually walked up to the entrance with two bottles of alcohol in hand. I was surprised, naturally, when the doorman escorted us and our outside liquor to a table (assigned seating was a convenience of their bar that I appreciated) and mixed the whiskey Pedro bought with water and seltzer water. Apparently, bringing alcohol with you is customary as the bar makes money off of the water, seltzer water, and the popcorn they'd bring for you to snack on. This was how the drinks worked, but as we sat around doing nothing for the next hour, I wondered if it'd be as boring as every American bar. Soon enough though, some girls came out and danced on a raised platform around the DJ. It was okay; I thought the more entertaining element was the up-tempo music mix. After a half hour of that sidshow, though, and the real entertainment began. The Dome had a stage at the front of the house (right next to our table) with instruments set out beforehand. A house band came out to play with a rotating set of performers. They'd transition seamlessly from one to the other- female singer to male rock singer to rapper and even to a group of break dancers. The best part, by far, was when one of the lady singers came out onstage in a humorous clown get-up. She was wearing makeup and a short dress with a comically stuffed bra. I think the idea was for her performance to be both funny and alluring at the same time. As she sang, she moved from one end of the stage to the other, and as she walked by our area the rest of my group was of the opinion that she took an interest in me as they elbowed me and kidded me about it. I was still a little oblivious of it until the end of the song when she pulled me up on stage- in front of a house of several hundred Thai people! She asked me my name and where I was from, then said a lot of stuff in Thai that I had no chance of understanding. She came back to English though when she asked my age. I stammered at first and then she said something about me, probably joking about how I "didn't know my age." I was thinking of my age in Thai, though, so I was ready when she brought back the microphone and I shouted, "Yii-sip saam!" which means twenty-three. The crowd cheered, and Ott and everyone at my table went nuts. She had given me a "stage kiss" prior to this where she smeared make-up all over my cheek, but she gave me a real kiss as I returned to my seat.
There was one other major event at The Dome after this. As I was walking out with the group, I noticed Saichon and Pedro Leon were stopped at a table, being yelled at by some girl over who knows what. I don't think any of us had ever met this girl before. Pedro motioned for me to exit, so I waited outside for everyone else. About five minutes later, Pedro, Saichon, and the rest of my "crew" came out the door in a huge commotion. Dozens of bystanders surrounded them and a couple security guards were kicking Pedro and company out. Pedro had a small cloth he was holding up to his eyebrow at the corner of his left eye. Some big Thai guy had hit Pedro with sucker punch, and now Raoul wanted to go back in to find the perpetrator, but security wanted us out of there fast. The Thai security guards kept saying, "Okay, you go home. We take care. You come back tomorrow." They were repeating this over and over, and when one of the security came over to say this to me (he wasn't up in my face or anything- he was calm and just wanted to "spread the word" to our whole group) I took myself out of the situation even further by getting inside of Raoul and Pedro's car that Ott or Mikah, I don't remember which, had pulled up. Outside the car, the scene was still playing out full force. Raoul had gone from insisting that he go inside to find the guy ("I want to fight this man!") to demandinig immediate action because he didn't believe (naturally) that the security would do anything to find "the puncher" once we left. Raoul even changed his strategy. Now, he had taken off his shirt (I've learned from episodes of "Cops" that guys who take off their shirt, after midnight, mean business) and practically charging up to the door. When security got in his way he said, "Please, please" in a dismissive way that let everyone know he was fed up with them. His advance was halted though, and I think he summed up his actions when he finally said, "I want to find this man. If I find this man, I will kill him because Pedro Leon, he does nothing to nobody." It was like watching Al Pacino almost; while it happened it was exciting, and now after the fact it was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen.
Well, that does it for the Thailand Saga, at least for now. Hopefully, I'll make a little money to go back and stay at Por Pramuk for even longer. Then you'll have some more installments to look forward to.
The End.
:)
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