The Parents Like It Rule

The "Parents Like It" Rule

I think all TV shows and movies that are entertaining should come with some kind of warning label if it appeals to several generations simulatneously. An example might be: "WARNING: This product contains elements that may appeal to those of the older generation. Enjoy the sophisticated yet charmingly juvenile comedy and the soundtrack that includes The Eels and The Shins to counteract. This product may also contain elements that will suture generational gaps."

I just can't express how much I like the show "Scrubs". I'm pissed off at myself, however, because my mom is the person who recommended it to me. I can't like something my mom likes. She's my mom. It creates some kind of dimensional paradox if we like the same thing. It's starting to disturb me. Well, me and the space-time continuum. Funny how the universe's end will come about by a primetime comedy show rather than the combined mass of the universe eventually collapsing upon itself.

D

I'm starting to feel it

I'm starting to feel it

I still haven't found a place to live after my lease runs out, and the only time I have off is on weekends. Nobody in real estate offices works on the weekends. That wouldn't be a problem if I wasn't working 12+ hours during the day. I'm in pretty big trouble if I can't figure this out soon, and I'm getting worried.

D

Scrubs

"Scrubs"

I just started watching the first season of it after having seen Garden State. Man, it's great show. I wish it would come out on DVD soon.

D

Me talking with the badness

Me talking with the badness

Maybe it's been my terrible sleep habits in the past week due to work, but today I found I couldn't communicate at all. I couldn't think of common words that I use all the time. I couldn't articulate coherent thoughts even after waiting several seconds to gather my thoughts. When I spoke with my parents earlier, I literally forgot what I was saying in the middle of a sentence. It's one thing to choose not to communicate. It's quite another to be unable to communicate at all. I'm supremely frustrated. Fortunately my l33t typing skillz have remained in tact. Or perhaps what I find "eloquent enough" will actually turn out to be a series of "Boo-boo likes the doggie". If I could type an "s" backwards, I would have right there. Just so you know.

* * *

Tonight I bought a case of beer (I've noticed that three beers after work is enough to get me to bed right away with minimal hangover in the morning), a Sharpie (because somebody stole mine on set the yesterday), and a lottery ticket. I have never, ever in my life bought a lottery ticket. I have never in my life ever had the desire to buy one. I know all the statistics. But this time I have a system, see? It's foolproof. Because I bought a ticket on a whim--with some prodding by the $40 million jackpot reminder on the entrance--I will be a winner. *knocks on wood* It's the same system used by those people that everyone knows through other people that, on their way out of a casino, put their last coin in a slot and hit the jackpot. Same system. With that in mind, it's obvious that I'm going to be a millionaire by this weekend. It's also obvious that sleep deprivation makes me a bigger sucker than I already am. You know what they say: "Sleep is for the weak". For me, sleep is for the weekend. Sleep is just a day away, baby. May time fly.

D

*head scratch*

*head scratch*

I'm experiencing some cognitive dissonance. My driving of John Larroquette has been going briskly. Sure, we don't exchange that many words, but that can sometimes be a good thing. The other day he had a mini-explosion at my 2nd 2nd assistant director--who is a sweetheart--for something that wasn't her fault. He pointed out with some curse words that the call time was too early, and that he and I should have been allowed to come to set later. I averted my eyes. He's made snide comments about people getting excited and honking their horns when they see the camera crew. And the look on his face when he was working with the dog...

On the other hand, he's very patient with me. I took a long detour to get back to the set today (unbeknowst to me), but he dismissed it with a, "Well, we got here. That's all that matters." He offers to buy me coffee or soda when we make stops at Starbuck's or gas stations. He calmly explained to me as I dropped him off tonight about how to avoid traffic during what times of the day in particular areas of LA. I'm not entirely sure how to react to this. Most of the time I'm terrified that he's going to lose his temper with me for a dumb mistake that I routinely make, being new on the job. Every time, though, he's just dismissed it. I'm really at a loss as to why. Maybe it's because I called him "sir" the other day. People around here aren't really used to that.

* * *

In other news, I essentially got a two hour break in the middle of today to go eat at a good Japanese place near my house and hang out at my apartment for an hour. I was sent to pick up John, but the crew got delayed somehow. I got a standby from base and an order to pick up some food and run some errands. Ten-four, said I. Copy that. Too bad I forgot to turn in my receipt. There's always tomorrow, I suppose.

D

"In this place, sometimes time becomes space..."

"In this place, sometimes time becomes space..."

Maybe it's because I'm reading books that have a paranoiac kind of tone to them (that is, Philip K. Dick's "pink laser" trilogy: VALIS, The Divine Invasion and The Transmigration of Timothy Archer) but I'm starting to notice some odd similarities between me and Mr. Dick.

1) I've always been fascinated with religious mythology, esoterica and other things they don't really touch upon in church.

2) I've had experiences similar to what Dick describes in these books, based on an event that actually happened to him in March of 1974* (though not nearly to the scale according to which Dick describes his own).
     a) I'm sure I've told many of you this one: the time I was sitting in the backseat of a car, and it felt like time telescoped. In my head, for a brief instant, I felt like I was seeing all of human history from primates to Plato and continuing on until the present. When I snapped out of it, I was staring down a concrete strip of road at three banks, two drug stores and a Hardees', and my friend was bitching about his girlfriend in the front seat. You can imagine my disappointment with evolution.
     b) When I used to drive back down Sunset after checking out the place where I currently reside, I used to notice that the houses on The Hill looked very similar to what I'd seen of pictures of Grecian temples. I always meant to make a "The More Things Change..." kind of post, but that was when I didn't have regular access to a computer.

3) He lived in Santa Ana, a scant 50 miles south of the Greater Los Angeles area.

4) He died mere months before my birthday (though not very close to my conception *fingers snap*)

Am I the reincarnation of Philip Kindred Dick? Well, probably not. But his books are affecting me in very strong ways. I've made it a mission to swing by the used book store to pick up a Bible. I've sort of sidetracked thinking about my professional life in favor of trying to figure out my philosophical/spiritual one. I've become obsessed with figuring out who his characters refer to (one is Brian Eno, for example, to whom I am currently listening). It's been like a kick to the face (a donkey kick). It's another reason why I don't quite feel ready for work again so soon. A fella's got to eat, though. Guess I'll have to postpone my thoughts for another time. Or perhaps it's another space.

* "Dick's final years were haunted by what he alleged to be a 1974 visitation from God...or at least a God-like being." (taken from Dick's minibiography on IMDb.com)

During this episode, he allegedly saw a Greek town from another time superimposed upon the his own time/place and was given other information. Dick eventually deduced from this that time as been an illusion since a few decades after Christ's death, that we are, in fact, still only years after Christ's death, and that this illusion was devised by Satan or some irrational form of god to mask that we are actually at the end of days. You might be able to see the similarities between what I experienced and what he did. You can also see that mine were just thoughts that snuck up on me, and his were probably not from God and/or a pink laser. As romantic and shocking as his idea sounds--that we are actually participating right now in the battle between Good and Evil--I hasten to say that Dick did a lot of drugs. I'll leave it at that.

D

Empty nest

Empty nest

Here's what happened: to be the cast driver for this production company, I essentially had to release my car and take their van. They don't own my car--they can't even get into it--but I became really nervous when I had to drive off the lot in another vehicle. I was shocked at how attached I'd become to my little car. It's always been my escape hatch, my 4-cylinder chariot. My car was where I headed when I didn't want to be where I was to ease my state of mind. It took me halfway across the country for Christ's sake. I felt like I was dumping my puppy at the side of road as I walked away from it. Obviously I'm anthropomorphizing my Corolla, but it really felt like a betrayal on my part. Needless to say, I'll be glad when he's back with me.

D

[UPDATE: My car's name is Miyamoto-san, for those that don't know. He's a good, hard-working little salaryman. Bless his little heart.]