messiestobjects

Boy, This Work Sure Is Hard.

So I was in Greenblatt's Deli the other day on Sunset Boulevard and this group of ladies sitting behind me were discussing a script that someone wanted them to make a movie out of. It was apparently about some boxer from South Africa during Apartheid, and during this conversation, I heard the phrase that made my trip to Hollywood complete: "I think there is definitely a market for a South African 'Rocky'." Ahhh... so Robert Altman. But it got even better as the discussion continued; they apparently forgot how marketable the idea was because she started to say that the guy would have to be flexible with his script as the "whole Apartheid thing has been done to death" and perhaps they could change it to a Muslim boxer, or a Muslim love interest because "that whole Muslim... thing... hasn't really been explored as much yet."

You can't make this stuff up, folks! Well... ok, they can, but I can't. I was so happy. That's really the best thing that happened to me on this trip. Although, if I was a sports fan, that wouldn't be true because I sat next to Kurt Warner on the plane ride from Newark to Pheonix. Although, since I had never heard of him until the guy sitting on the other side of me told me with barely concealed glee as we were getting off the plane who he was, I didn't get much out of it. I had had my headphones on and my face in a book for the whole trip, so I was confused as we began getting our luggage out of the overhead when some lady kept thanking him and how sorry she was to bother him but her son wouldn't forgive her if she didn't get his autograph (He was quite gracious about it), and in full earshot of Kurt, I turned to the guy next to me and said, "So who's this dude then?" After he told me, and ran down a list of Kurt Warner's football exploits, I was all like "Huh, that's wack, yo. But I don't watch football, so you're like, speaking gibberish right now."

I noticed while traveling from Newark to Phoenix to Santa Ana that every 4th person on the planes, in the airports, at my hotel here even, had a copy of the new Harry Potter book in their hands. Seriously. The front desk girl here is having a terrible time getting through it because although she speaks great English, it's not her native tongue but she's dying to find out what happens. Every time I walk by the desk she admonishes me not to tell her anything. It's all pretty funny. This is definitely going to be something that defines the 2000's when people reminisce 20 years from now. "So, where were you when the last Harry Potter book came out?" I just finished reading it myself, and I have to say that it's not what I expected, and it was pretty awesome. Definitely the most exciting one yet.

So otherwise, I've been to see the La Brea Tar pits, the big Hollywood sign, and I took a nice drive on Mulholland drive and a quick run through of Beverly Hills. Here's a picture of Hollywood High School. What's Lawrence Fishburne doing there with Elvis and Bruce Lee? Why is Dorothy so chubby? Who are all those other people? Is this the message we want to send to LA's young people?

I gave the Avenue of Stars and Rodeo Drive a big pass on the way to the Santa Monica Pier, which I could have passed over, also. Honestly, I can't figure out why rich and famous people like to live here. It's desert hot most days, the smog makes my eyes puffy, and the traffic is unbelievably insane. All that crazy talk about LA freeways is true. It takes about 2 hours to go 30 or 40 miles. Although, the Pacific Coastal Highway was nice. If I get time I need to go hit one of the beaches I passed. But, for my money, if I'm ever rich and famous, I'd live on Martha's Vineyard.

So here's a Sunset Boulevard billboard. I'd really like to know what the hell is going on in this Perrier ad. Um... no I wouldn't. Never mind. But I call this work of art 'Privilege', for obvious reasons. It all kind of ties together, I think.

Oh, did I mention that I'm here for work? I forget that part sometimes. Hee hee.

Seedy Underbellies Of Entities That Put Up Pretty Fronts

You know that thing that people do, where they accuse you of doing the very things that they themselves are egregiously guilty of? And then when it blows up they stand back and act as though they have gained wisdom about other people's Machiavellian motivations through the experience, yet seem to have no idea whatsoever that they are so deeply involved in denial and blame shifting that they've become a sanctimonious holier-than-thou asinine-hole? They do this because they cannot conceive of the possibility that they might somehow be the insanely wrong party. They do this in order to change the reality of the situation and avoid having to take a long hard look at their own behavior and questionable choices. It's all about the failure to accept responsibility, or even reality.

I hate that. Being on the receiving end of that crazy bat is really hard, too. I imagine that's what it's like to be a Democrat. You know, Republicans shout out the most insane babble about how the Democrats hate America because they want to stop the war, and when they try to point out to the Republicans that the war was based on lies, they sound all whiny and nit picky. How do the Republicans do that? Because they shout louder and insaner, and an audience loves that crap. The Democrats just hang tight and hope that reason will out.

Well anyway... I'm sorry to go on so. I haven't posted in a while because I've been bunched up about some things and I find it hard to write when I find the subject material I really want to rant about so personally distasteful. I know I shouldn't say the things I really want to say, and so it's not so much writer's block as writer's constipation. Christy, you're my spiritual ex-lax! I think I still need a good colon cleanse, though.

So, to change the subject, here's another picture of where I was last week!

This is a picture of Gay Head on Martha's Vineyard. What? No, I mean yes, really. Gay Head. Ok fine, here, I'll prove it:

Aside from the scenic and improbably named Gay Head, Martha's Vineyard also has other lighthouses and loads of gorgeous scenery and snooty people... and child molesters and wife beaters. It's a long story. The child molestation thing was borderline... it involves sitting in a brew-pub restaurant overlooking the ocean and watching this guy be overly patty with his 8 year old daughter. Nothing exactly over the line, but certainly uncomfortable and slightly inappropriate. There were about ten people at their table, so it was hard to decide if I should be beating him and calling child support, or just chalking it up to a weirdly affectionate family. I chalked it up and left, feeling uncomfortable.

Then that night, at about 3am, I was woken from a deep sleep in the charming New England Inn I was staying at in the town of Vineyard Haven on Martha's Vineyard by a loud crash followed by several muffled crashes coming from the room beneath me. I assumed that some drunken idiot had locked himself out of his room and after breaking his door down, was trying to make himself ready for bed. You know, drunkenly. I started to go back to sleep, when a loud moaning from the hallway roused me again. It was a woman, who sounded a bit like Moaning Myrtle, yelling "Oh my God! Somebody help me! Somebody please help me!" repeatedly. I dashed out of bed and threw up the sash... I had gotten a bit sunburned that day, swimming on the sunny Vineyard shore, and so when this lobster-red bald dude wearing nothing but his knickers came dashing gallantly out into the hall, he found a damsel in distress sobbing with her face in her hands at the top of the stairs and a cowardly man, all of a sudden backing off back down the stairs.

Long story short, we called the police after her husband took off with her car keys and all her money, and I didn't get back to sleep until 6 am. Grumble grumble. And just earlier that day I'd been thinking about how easy a job the cops must have on Martha's Vineyard. It all looks very charming and nice, but even paradise has a seedy underbelly, apparently.

Other than that sordid little adventure, I have nothing but positive reviews for the place. If you ever go, see it by scooter. You can zip around the island in a day and see some of the most fantastic beach houses you are ever likely to see, spectacular scenery right out of Norman Rockwell and/or Maxfield Parrish, get some beach time in on arcadian shores, (I really like that word. Arcadian.) and even, if you're very lucky, fight some crime.

The rest of my Martha's Vineyard pictures are up here.