Events

I got up at 5 am Friday morning to head to Comic-Con before traffic got horrendous. My plan was to get to San Diego, find parking, grab breakfast and have time to prowl the exhibit hall for most of the day. And it worked. The drive was relatively painless, and I only had to wait in line for half an hour to get a breakfast sandwich at Subway.

I should interject here that I am one of those people who thinks Comic-Con has completely outgrown its fishbowl, and continuing to have it in San Diego is a disservice to the fans it claims to cater to. Of course, having to wait 45 minutes to pay $19 for a cheeseburger will do that to you… but that’s a blog for another day.

The fact is, I’m not a very good geek. I don’t care about meeting comic book writers or artists. I’m unconcerned with how the LGBT community is portrayed in genre fiction. I don’t want to know how to cosplay any Buffy characters. During a normal SDCC trip, I spend the majority of my time prowling the exhibit hall anyway. I just don’t have the patience to wait for hours to get into the ballroom or hall H to see 5 minutes of a film that isn’t coming out for a year, or listen to Shane Black answering questions only a fan would ask (i.e., retarded ones). Watching all this going on around me, I decided Comic-Con is just Burning Man for people who read books.

I would have skipped it completely, but this year I had two reasons for going. The first was to make face-to-face contact with as many steampunk craftspeople as possible to source props and costumes for the short I keep mentioning, and in that regard, I was very successful. The second was to attend the screening of Natural 20, a short made by my friends John & Brusta, which was screening in the SDCC Film Festival. That went very well, and they won best humor short.

Not the worst Black Widow at Comic-Con. By far.

As it happened, this was my first time being at SDCC by myself, and it was a fairly lonely experience. I would see something cool or interesting, and had no one to discuss it. Two years ago, Comic-Con was all unfortunate mother/daughter Silk Spectre teams, which Mischief & I mocked mercilessly. Last year, it was bad Baronesses. This year was a plethora of embarrassing Black Widows and Harley Quinns, and I couldn’t share the pain. Tweeting “Huh. Batman is 5’2″ and fat. Who knew?” just isn’t the same thing as getting to say it in the moment.

Since I had a spare professional guest badge, I had originally planned for D to come down with me for the day, but our mutual poor communication skills fucked it up. Then, when she realized I was there alone, Vega began threatening to come down and join me which wasn’t going to happen. Again, too high-maintenance for Comic-Con, and I wasn’t about to add that stress. So we text-fought over that for a few hours while I walked the halls.

Alice & 50 Baht arrived that night. I met them for dinner after the Natural 20 screening, gave them my badges so they could spend Saturday & Sunday at the con, and headed home.

I spent most of the weekend editing a piece I shot for a pay-per-view channel, although I did get talked into going to Vega’s house Sunday night… See this conversation to figure out how that happened. We didn’t end up making a screening of Savages, so Vega got to sit through Prometheus, which she hadn’t seen, with a butt plug about the size of a coke can stuffed in her. Scary movies get her excited anyway; as a result, I don’t think she could even tell you what happened in the movie.

When I got up to leave around 3 am, she kept her promise and didn’t say a word about me staying. Tonight, I turned down a cooked meal to work, and I don’t know when I have a free night to see her again. I have plans Wednesday, I’m doing the Dark Knight marathon Thursday, seeing Blue Friday, and covering the Urban X Awards Saturday.

In the meantime, I had several ideas for Cowboys & Engines on the drive to SD. The more progress we make, the more excited I get about this thing.

I had several errands to run today, a grand circle tour of the Valley. I always try to plan these things out so I can backtrack as little as possible, and do it all in one day. My first stop was to drop a toy I had been selling for my friend Rob that he sold directly; the second was to loan some tools to K for an art project.

Both things should have been in the garage. Alas, I discovered that someone who had the combination to the padlock (meaning an employee of the management company, or someone the Gas Company meter reader gave the combo to) had come in and removed all my power tools, and all the collectible toys from the box they were in. I believe they knew I was gone (implying the property maintenance) because they took their time.

So now I owe Rob a shitload of money for his toys, and am out about $1,500 worth of tools it’s going to be a pain-in-the-ass to replace. Needless to say, I didn’t start the day happy. Looking on the bright side, though… it saved me two stops.

Professionally, things are moving, albeit slowly. I’m now talking to four different companies about directing. Something has to give. On the mainstream side, a lot is going on, all of it nebulous, most not worth talking about yet.

TQO seems to have blown me off completely, at least for now. I think she’s in love with her ex or something, from what I can glean off Twitter. Saturday night, I went to K&A’s art show in West Hollywood. It was good getting out to see people, something I need to do more often. I’m a lot like an animal. Left alone too long, I eventually cease being domesticated, and it takes a long time to get socialized again. I think I need to make the effort to travel down to ComicCon for a couple days, just for that purpose. I also had lunch with James Deen yesterday, mostly to get the scoop on The Canyons, the Paul Shrader-directed, Bret Easton Ellis-written film he’s starring in, but also to discuss one of those nebulous mainstream projects.

After the art show Saturday, I went to see Vega. Although it’s customary on a girl’s first blog appearance to explain her nom de voyage, in this case, it’s far too convoluted so I’m gonna skip it. I’ll tell you she’s 22, in the business, smarter than most people think, extremely sarcastic, and a filthy whore. When I fucked her in the ass with a knife to her throat, I think she was a little disappointed I didn’t actually cut her. Just a little.

Much to my surprise, she asked me to stay. I was even more surprised that I agreed. She woke me up with a blowjob that turned into buttsex with her squirting all over both of us, which I think is about the best start to a Sunday I’ve had in a long, long time. She asked me to come back last night, but I was in the middle of too many things, and declined. Vega did everything she could to talk me into coming, but I stood firm which led to her response that I have more willpower than sense.

We were supposed to get together tomorrow, but I’m going to Palm Springs with Hollywood to shoot some footage of a private investigator. Don’t ask.

Other than that, I have a date with a girl I’m going to call Ink (she looks like a Burning Angel girl) later in the week that I’m excited about, and I’m sure I’ll see Vega before then.

Meanwhile, about every third night, I wake from a dream in which a particular Girl I’m no longer seeing does or says something to convince me she finds me pathetic, annoying or foolish. This morning, I woke up at 4:30 afterI dreamed I was walking along a cliffside with said Girl when I slipped. I knew I had broken my ankle, and suddenly (dream logic) there was bottomless abyss underneath me. Instead of helping, Girl turned, expressed disappointment, then chuckled to herself as I lost my grip and fell.

Either I need a better mattress, or my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Today should have been a good day. I actually slept last night. I had the time I needed to finish a trailer I’m cutting for a friend’s short film (said trailer is woefully tardy). I have a date with a smokin’ hot girl to see Prometheus tonight (okay, it’s a platonic date, but still, I get to go in the company of a smokin’ hot chick).

Around noon I got the call that I got cast in a micro-budget horror film. It’s only three days for me, and the movie might never, ever see the light of day (this script is bad), but it’s a gig.

Hell, I’m not even broke. I mean, I’m far from flush; I’m waiting on checks, rent’s late, etc., but I have work, the cats & I can eat, and there’s more work on the horizon. And to top it all off, I seem to be winning the battle against the  Midlife-Crisis-Whiny-Bitch Thing (Which shall, henceforth, be referred to as The MCWBT). All in all, this shoulda been a great day.

And then… well, see the previous post.

So, shoulda been a great day, but, it’s amazing how niggling little things can really nettle you. They dig in and burrow and fester. First thing this morning I discovered — on Twitter, of all places — that I had been quietly un-invited from going on an outing I was really looking forward to. Just writing it seems ridiculous, but it really stung, much more than it should have.

Of course, after that, everything annoyed me at a scale exceeding its proportion. I ended up having to drive to Culver City, then the Valley, which blew my workday to shit. The whole time I was thinking I should call and cancel the horror gig because it’s a stupid waste of time. That’s when I wasn’t wondering how much, if any, intent was behind my being ditched from said event, and should I just announce the insult to my oh-so-delicate sensibilities, or suck it up and get over it. Etc. Etc.

Once I decided on the latter course, I began to deflate and cool off. So, I’m gonna work on that trailer for the next few hours, go on my date, try not to talk to the friend who either forgot me or bumped me from said event, ignore The MCWBT and have a great time.

Hopefully, the movie won’t suck, but I’ll certainly let you know.

It’s true I don’t get all squishy on days like this. I mean, I don’t really get squishy at all, but Hallmark holidays like Mother’s Day don’t mean anything to me.

It isn’t that I’m cold. I mean, I am cold, but this isn’t related. It’s that my upbringing was such a confused, fucked-up mess.

My father bailed when I was two. Then, depending on whose story you believe, my mother either asked or was bullied into giving me up for adoption to my grandparents (my maternal grandmother, Sylvia, and her second husband, Cecil, who was not my mother’s father).

That’s right. Legally, my mother is also my sister. Is that Chinatown enough for you?

My grandparents did they best they could. Certainly, I was a pain in the ass kid.

My mother has always been around, to varying degrees. Sometimes I see her often, usually a few times a year.Less since I moved to L.A. I’ve talked to my dad a handful of times, seen him maybe five or six times since I hit 18. But, at this remove, and with both of my grandparents dead, these little card-and-flower fiestas don’t mean a lot to me.

But it’s a big day for “brunch.”

I got smacked on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper this morning for some comments in this blog.

Apparently, “honesty” doesn’t test well.

In the interim, while I try to think of something pointless and innocuous to write about, here’s a picture of a bunny.

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It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets. — Voltaire