Thank You, Internet

Mimi in New York. Wry observations, New York adventures, Nudity. Man, my blog sucks in comparison.

I'll also put this as a new link, to the right.

Square Two

Yesterday was a study in contrasts.

I had a meeting with my manager around 3 over Whole Foods tuna sandwiches. The topic was Get Low, the script I've been trying to get made for just over three years. I've written about it before, but all you really need to know about it that I've lived with the project since 2001, and for a while there it looked like it was going to get made and put me on the Hollywood map. Soon the phone would ring and I'd go to meetings and I'd get assignments and I'd start to make a living and I'd maybe even get a blurb in one of the trades. I would have "arrived."

Alas, as with so many things, what I anticipated and what actually came to pass have been pretty disconnected. The upshot of our meeting was that, despite my manager's efforts to drum up some money, despite the hard work of the producers, and despite the attachment of two Oscar-winning actors, apparently no one wants to make the thing. Now, this is not to say that it will never get made, necessarily. But the manager's advice was to more or less forget about it. One day if it gets made (which could happen; Unforgiven took twenty years) then it'll make for a nice story in my memoirs. But until then, move on.

So, I am sort of back to square one. Sort of, but not really. Square One would be no one knows who I am or cares. Square Two is maybe where I am. A few people know who I am and a few people care. And maybe that's all you need. Taking stock, in the recent past I've co-written a feature screenplay that is being tag-team rewritten as we speak, I've developed a TV series & pitched it (still waiting to hear from VH1), and I'm in the middle of finishing Air Conditioned Jungle, a script I've mentioned before. And so maybe having a few people know and care means that should any of these get in front of the right people, and the right circumstances crop up, maybe something will come of it. You know, you gotta just have so much faith to be a writer, let alone a writer in Hollywood, let alone an actor in Hollywood. Although if you're an actor you need to have faith plus a smoldering, rough-hewn charm that complements your six pack abs and white, white teeth.

The flip side of the wave of dread known as square two is...

Last night I was invited to a table read of the new pilot "Heist," a really cool show that will be presented to NBC. The first episode is to be directed by Doug Liman.

It was a full house, a large room in a tres moderne office suite on the West Side of LA, stuffed with catered Quiznos sandwiches, cookies, chips and many bottles of water. This being my first "real" table read, I noted the details. Scripts on blue paper for anyone who wanted, and pens everwhere you looked. The only thing they didn't have in spades were chairs.

So my writing partner Matt - the guy that introduced me to the producers, these same ones who are helping he and I get our TV pitch around town - ended up reading all the stage direction: anything that the actors were not supposed to read. He had a heavy duty job since the show is almost all action. There were some great highlights to the night. Probably the best was Seymour Cassel having a very tender bit with his fictional ailing wife. Short scene but powerful stuff from the Cassavettes stalwart.

The script ran long (it was about 55 pages, and for the purposes of a one-hour TV show that times out to 44 minutes of screen time, should probably top off at 50) so immediately after the actors left, the producers and writers (including Matt and I, pro bono) repaired to the production offices across the street and got to work on punching up the text. It was a genuine thrill for me. I was born to be among writers. All thinking, all problem solving, all creative, all funny. Just sort of a little tiny dream come true.

The producers don't really know me that well. I've only really met them a half a dozen times now, and never without Matt at my side. Still, they treat me just fine and hear me out if I've got a suggestion, and they even laugh in all the right spots. So it's a good situation. I even pitched a jokey bit of dialogue that made it into he finished script. And I'm kinda proud of that - maybe no one will ever see it except for NBC executives, but maybe it will get picked up and then suddenly a spontaneous idea hatched in the boiler room of an office park mainly to crack up the writers will actually get seen by you, dear reader/viewer. After things wrapped up, Mark, one of the two producers looked me in the eye and sincerely thanked me for staying until midnight to work for free on his script. Nearly brought a tear to my goddamn eye. That almost made up for him calling me the Italian Woody Allen.

So there you have the two paths that I walk right now. Lost in obscurity and well-liked by a precious few. It could be worse, much worse. It could be raining. Wait, in LA?

Former Boss's Dick on Chopping Block

This guy was the first boss I had in the business. He is an ornery, foul-mouthed man who was extremely fair and extremely funny and I have no doubt he said all the things listed below. But he doesn't have a mean bone in his body and I find it all hard to believe. So... just saying.

Fox News: Bad Language Isn't Illegal
By John M. Higgins -- Broadcasting & Cable, 11/8/2005

The lewd language of a Fox News Channel executive -- however tasteless -- does not constitute sexual harassment or discrimination, a lawyer for the network said Tuesday.

The lawyer was responding to a discrimination suit against the network filed by the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and targeting the head of the company’s promotion department.

The complaint contains a list of statements alleged to have been made by network vice president Joe Chillemi to employees in the 20-person department, roughly one-half of whom are women.

Offensive remarks attributed to Chillemi include saying that a pregnant woman had "tits" like "cannons"

Steven Mintz, a Manhattan lawyer hired by Fox, called the complaint "legally baseless", saying: "We don’t view any of the assertions in the action as either harassment or discrimination. This is a case involving bad language."

Mintz disputes some of the alleged statements, but would only address one of them.

The EEOC says that Chillemi used the phrase "as useless as tits on a bull" in front of women. Mintz said that’s not the precise language. The phrase is "as useless as teats on a bull. "It’s something that’s useless. It’s not a sexual comment." Asked whether Chillemi actually used that word, Mintz replied: "I believe that he said "teats" exactly that way. It’s something he used to say in front of men and women."

But Mintz also acknowledges that some of the language was correctly reported.

Still, while Fox does not encourage bad words in the workplace, Mintz acknowledges that it happens, "probably even at the EEOC."

The suit, filed Monday, charges that Chillemi routinely swore and made ribald remarks and comments that a freelancer in the promotion department found offensive.

The EEOC complaint was filed on behalf of Kim Weiler, a former freelance production assistant in the promotion department and other unnamed women she worked with.

The suit is based on allegations that during Weiler’s 13 months at the network, Chillemi regularly used obscenities and vulgarities and that the network retaliated against Weiler when she objected.

EEOC trial attorney Judy Keenan says that Weiler was not fired outright, but was “constructively terminated” by the hostility toward her after she complained.

"The general tenor of the case is that women were treated differently than men, and the predominant form was harassment," Keenan says. Adding that "We want to send a message that you can’t do this without consequences."

Mintz counters that there was no retaliation. The project Weiler was working on ended and she was offered another slot in the company’s viewer services department.

Further, Mintz contends that Weiler didn’t complain to anyone at the network, which has systems in place to encourage even anonymous reports of harassment problems.

Rather than "following company procedures of notification," Mintz says, "she opted to file a lawsuit instead. Which might be easier than going to work each day." Keenan contends Weiler did complain to human resources.

The suit seeks compensatory damages for any financial losses and emotional distress suffered by Weiler and her colleagues, plus punitive damages.

According to the complaint filed in U.S. District Court in New York:

--Chillemi routinely used gross obscenities and
vulgarities when describing women or their body parts
(referring, for example, to women’s breasts as “tits”
and declaring that something was “as useless as tits
on a bull”).

--He routinely used obscenities and vulgarities with
women employees that he did not use with male
employees (such as telling women that they had put his
“d--k” “on the chopping block”).

--Chillemi routinely cursed at and otherwise
denigrated women employees and treated them in a
demeaning way (including telling women not to be a
“p--sy” but to “be a man”, and referring to women as
being a “bitch”).

--He made a number of derogatory comments about
pregnant women (such as regularly stating that a
pregnant woman had “tits” that were “f---ing huge” and
like “cannons” or “melons” and the on-air talent’s
breasts needed to be “covered” or not shown when the
pregnant woman was being filmed).

--In addition, at a department discussion about a
segment on sexism in the workplace, Chillemi said that
in choosing who to hire “if it came down between a man
or a woman, of course I’d pick the man. The woman
would most likely get pregnant and leave.”

--Women in the Fox Advertising and Promotions
departments supervised by Chillemi were also referred
to in a derogatory way by a supervisor as his “Promo
Girls.”

The suit more broadly charges that Fox has discriminated against Weiler and an other female promotions employees by assigning women primarily to freelance positions with less benefits, less advancement potential and less job security and not
appropriately assigning women to full staff positions.

Allegations of sexual and age discrimination is a persistent problem in the TV news business, particularly involving on-air talent where looks are pivotal to a woman’s success. In a recent B&C cover story on discrimination, lawyers said that actual
complaints and lawsuits are declining in part because retaliation against a woman can be harsh and they can be blackballed by other networks and stations.

A copy of the Fox complaint can be found here:

www.broadcastingcable.com/contents/images/Complaint_20051107.pdf

Change in the air

Yes, a new look for old bigjob. Why not? This thing is, believe it or not, a year old. A new coat of paint was certainly in order.

And while we're at it, how about a link to a real Hollywood writer's blog. In case you want to read about someone who is actually successful.

Until next time...

VH1

A good day today, got back into Air Conditioned Jungle, the script/albatross-around-my-neck I've been trying to finish for about five years. It still sucks! But that's why God made rewrites.

I haven't looked at it since July, but after three days of reading through my notes, I've gotten a handle on where to begin with the next round of work. If there is a God he'll send me a sign - like I'll finish all the notes before Thanksgiving. The idea is to spend all of December doing two things: rewriting the script and going broke.

Yeah, here's the thing, kids. Dad's broke. It's getting real grim around here. Family members will each be getting an original sonnet in their stockings from yours truly because my sad ass won't be able to afford new sweaters for everyone.

UNLESS...

VH1, Video Hits One, decides to come through, to be the white knight I so desperately need. See, today, my writing partner and I pitched our show. We were hilarious and charming and personable and loose and on-message. And I think they might have thought so too. I think she (D girl) liked it. My partner's agent called pretty soon afterward and told us that she's going to recommend they buy the show. Repeat, she's going to recommend they buy the show. So, I don't know nothing about nothing... but it could very well turn out that I finally move some product around here. Let's hope it's in the next little while. I got my eye on the most darling matching Rudolph sweaters for everyone.

The Ugly Fence

So here's the fence, in all its ignominy.

Overheard on Friday: "Now my dog will stop biting people!"

Belly of the Whale, Part II

I had a rewrite assignment vanish recently, a "polish" they call it, where you take a pretty finished script and buff it up to a high shine. On the face of it, an easy gig. And it would have been my first. "Would have been" because it disappeard, which as The Dude would say, is a bummer, man. It was going to float me into financial security for the remaining few months of this year. But just like that it disappeared. More work to be done before I could buff it up.

Did I despair? Yes. But only momentarily - all the therapy is helping a LITTLE. I moved on, saw things on the continuum, got big picture about it. I figured something would come as it often has when I wonder how I'm going to keep the lights on around here. And then, sweet bearded moses, two things came in one day, two offers to write. One short term, one longer term, both affording me another comfortable month here in my palatial estate on Los Angeles's East Side. For about 21 hours I was feeling pretty all right.

Then they vanished. Two phone calls, both graciously slipping a pillow over the assignments and suffocating them. Setting me back at square one. And now I'm broke, hungry, and feeling the chill of December on its way. Um. So, if anyone needs a writer... you know... contact my manager.

Ah, I'm gonna have to sell my sperm, aren't I?

Essence of Vincent Gallo

Let no one say the man is not a giver.

Belly of the Whale, Part I

So the update on work stuff here in the land of diminishing returns is...

Get Low (aka The Duvall Script) is in some kind of limbo again. This is not a news flash or some new development, just the subtle wearing away of my confidence in the project. There was a time when I was told that they were still hoping to shoot it this year, and that the likely start date would be the first of November. That was sort of a drop-dead date for still getting it done within the year. Since the film is set in the south during the height of the summer, they'd now have to either shoot someplace outside the US where fall (or winter) looks like summer, or just wait until next year, when it's real summer. So what I'm saying here is that the window has closed.

There was a time, also, where I sort of had a timeline worked out, what with shooting, editing, scoring, mixing and all that nonsense leading up to the release. Needless to say the timeline was a tad premature.

So there it stands, off in the distance, a memory of a thing that never happened. I'm not upset about it (...I mean, shit, sure I am) but I'm more whiplashed. Even though it's taken up three years of my life and looks like it will take up more, I feel like the whole thing has whizzed by me at a breakneck speed. Not like, wow, time flew! but more like the way college just passes you by without you even feeling it...one day you're at your first kegger, next thing you know you're hugging your girlfriend farewell. Of course, the glaring difference is that I actually enjoyed college. But just to keep the metaphor going one more moment, I will say that amid all of the frustration and heartache and FREE LABOR and everything else, what came out of this experience was an education. There's no other way to see what it's really like inside the belly of the whale unless you go on in. And so I did. And maybe the movie will get made and I'll go further in, have all sorts of adventures in the lower intesitine, and eventually get spit out the whale's anus like every other writer that's ever walked The Boulevard of Broken Dreams out here. Until then, there is just the experience, the education, the knowledge, and, of course, the bitter, bitter resentment.

As for other projects, there are a few.

There's the Rock n Roll pilot that I've developed with my friend Matt. We're going in to pitch it to VH1 next week, and we've heard good things about their interest. Maybe they'll pay us to write it. That would be as best as we could expect. And we'd have a good old time writing it. Music will be played loud, as it should be when writing a thing about Rock n Roll.

There's also the script I've been working on with my friend Amy. It's been a pleasure to work on it because not only is it a great idea (hers) and a wonderful story (ours) but working with her gets me up to Santa Barbara at least twice a month to have some great home cooked (vegan) meals, play with her amazing and energetic children, and talk Peak Oil with her husband. Did I mention they live in a cabin right by Lake Cachuma? It's paradise. Literally, they live on Paradise Road.

Anyway, the script is pretty well done, in terms of a first draft, and as such, I'm going to take a break from it while she beats the shit out of it and gets it into readable shape. When that's kaput, I'll take a pass, we'll crack some champagne, send it to investors and wait for the money truck to arrive.

There are other things in the works, which I'll get to in Part II... Stay tuned.

Andrea Quotes

In what will become a recurring feature of this blog, here are some of the more memorable, if fragmentary, quotes I have overheard from my insane next door neighbor:

Andrea to mexican workers, apologizing (?) for yelling at them most of the morning - "I'm not mad at you guys, I was just itchy."

Andrea to her father - "Well, you're the one that had me arrested."

Andrea to mother/boyfriend/father - "Fuck you, I hate you. Fuck you, you ruined my life. You ruined my life, fuck you!!!!"

...more later...

Bad Fences Bad Neighbors Make

Crazy neighbor of mine has finally proven that, although she lives in arguably one of the trendiest locations on all of the USA, she is just a redneck in chunky black glasses and a Chrissy Hynde haircut. Trash knows no borders, it seems. She's been redoing the apartment complex of hers for about three years now, making my life and the lives of all those within a one-block radius a nightmare of screaming tantrums, drunken arguments with her abusive, drug-addled boyfriend, and family dramaturgy worthy of Eugene O'Neill. I hate her. Everything about her sucks. And now, the coup de gras, the erection this morning of a shiny new chickenwire fence separating our narrow little walkway from her property. The irony, of course, is that not that it's ugly and crude (beside our well-appointed older building, with the creeping vine and terra cotta paintjob, the banana tree and the green slat fence)... the irony is that WE'LL STILL FUCKING HEAR HER. She couldn't even have the heads-up to put up something wooden, so at least we'd have a fighting chance that the sounds of arguing/sobbing/hectoring-the-mexican-day-laborers would not have the werewithall to leap over the six foot barrier.

There better be some sound baffling going over that fucking metal atrocity, because if I am awoken by make up sex one more time, I'm going go all In Cold Blood on them, every last one of them. What I really need is CalTrans to come in and put up that cement shit they run along the highway to keep the neighborhood quiet. Andrea, I hope you somehow find your way to this post. Finish the job. Also, SHUT UP!

Thing is, see, I'm a writer. I need peace and quiet to do my thing. Yesterday, when they were drilling into the concrete in order to set the gleaming aluminum posts that - little did I know - would be part of the hideous new addition to the property line, I had to wear the earplugs I usually reserve for drumming. And don't even get me started about the dog, Bok Choy, who was delivered unto us from The Devil himself. Fucking hicks, Jesus.

All right, all right. Enough. I swear the next post will have SOMETHING to do with what's currently (not) going on with my writing career. Until then, I'll try and get a photo of this fence up so you can see it in all its shining unsightliness.

Look Closely

When I have a moment, there will be a newer, better post than this. But for now, enjoy my new namesake.