What a whirlwind it’s been.

Last Thursday I got a call from a strange (303) number. I was about to block it when they left a voicemail, so I listened. A production was rolling through town and needed a PA, so I called back. They needed me from Friday through Wednesday. I said I needed to run it past my supervisor, and they said they needed to know by 4:30, 5 at the latest. It was 2:30.

I e-mailed my boss and he said we could talk at 3:45. Come that time and he’s not in his office, meeting ran long. I paced around, sweating, knowing that I was about to ask for a huge fucking favor that, frankly, I have no right to ask for. We finally got to talk around 4:15, and he told me I was too excited to say no.

I thanked him profusely, called the production back and they told me to meet them at the Monterey Plaza Hotel as soon as I could. Thank god I realized it was the Monterey Plaza Hotel and not the Portola Plaza, like I thought I’d originally heard. That would have meant having to go home, let Mart out, change, and then deal with the dreaded tunnel going back out to downtown Monterey. Now, all I had to do was walk down four blocks.

I met with two cool cats in the swanky hotel bar and they explained that I’d be working on a Netflix production (that’s all I’ll say here until it premiers), running errands, picking up food and coffee, and all around general office-type stuff. I was just happy to contribute whichever way I could.

For the next five days I worked twelve hour days and then some, got paid for it (I would have done it all for free), and got to connect with people whose work I’d seen and always admired. The costume department, for example, was right next door, and the woman who ran that show, I came to learn, was a legend in the field. And here we were on the same team. Sure, she was the general manager and I was just the bat boy, but she knew me by name, asked me to deal with the sometimes-frustrating valet, and that was enough for me.

One of my first tasks was finding another PA. I sent out a text to my Thirsty Thursday night crew, and Aaron came on board. The production manager, jolly when we first met, was stressed as all hell that first day, keeping his head down, his nose to the grind. But after he met Aaron he came back down to the office smiling wide, “he was great, got any more like him?” And I did. Tomas came through later that night and they hired him. For the next four days, it was a TAT reunion of sorts.

The greatest day on production, for me, was Sunday. I started in the office, but I was out of there by 12 and on my way to pick up a putt putt genny, 43 boxed Panera lunches, and deliver the goods down to a turnout in Big Sur. I rocked the Arctic Monkeys the whole way down, singing, admiring the ocean views, all the while in disbelief that I was actually getting to live out a piece of my dream.

There were 3 different turnouts being taken up by production. You couldn’t miss it. Large white vans, huge semis with the Warner Bros. logo plastered on the side. I was in heaven. When I offered the costume department help they gave me a box of hats and I delivered them to a Starr Wagon. I was inside a Starr Wagon and the moment felt so surreal.

Then I got marching orders to bring the water and lunches up to set. Now, to get to set, I had to hop into one of the 4-wheel drive vehicles, get brought up to “base camp” where they were unloading camera gear and whatnot, transfer into a gator ATV, and get driven up to the mountaintop overlooking the Pacific as the clouds and fog rolled over. On my way up I got to meet and chat with some of the most interesting people, one gent in particular regaled me with tales from his time on Mission Impossible III, American History X, and Mafia! – a personal childhood favorite.

Eventually I was sent back down the hill and told I’d be returning to the office in Monterey. I was bummed. They were priming that spot to shoot and I was going to miss it. I got back down to the turnouts when I realized I had two sets of car keys, so I called one of my bosses on the production but apparently my call distracted him and he drove into a ditch (or something like that). I waited around for him to call me back, and when he did he told me to come back up the mountain. I’d be needed on set.

I hopped in a van and the driver was one of those battle-weary fellas – clearly, he loves what he does, but he was full of caution. And he’d impart more wisdom onto us young ones before the production wrapped. When I got back up the mountain, I got to watch them film one of the most beautiful scenes, and I was on cloud fucking nine. This was was it was all about.

After they shot, Aaron and I tore down and headed back down to the turnouts. On the van ride home we got to talk to one of the longest-employed on the production, he told us that while this shoot had been long and difficult, it was one of the best crews he’d every worked with.

It was night by the time we got back down to the turnout, followed by a lot of waiting. Finally, we got orders to head back. I called my wife, and my mom and dad. This was one of those days I’d dreamed about my whole life, something that always felt out of reach. And I couldn’t believe it.

When we got back, Aaron and Tomas got call times of 4am, I want to say. Whatever it was – it was early. They kept me around to make a food run but finally let me go a little before or a little after 8. What a day.

The next day was spent entirely in the office. It was a slow one, not much action. I took the opportunity to start storyboarding Aaron’s Cecil script and got about halfway done. I’m not going to lie, I was bummed to be the only one left back at the office, but the guys assured me that the next day – my last day – I’d get to come to set in Santa Cruz. They did not disappoint.

The next day started off in the office, running errands to Home Depot, Ace Hardware, FedEX, and other various spots around Monterey until finally we hit the road. We stopped in Capitola to pick up two cases of champagne and five magnums. It was on.

We arrived at a stretch of beach and headed towards where the crew was. At one end was craft services and the smell of lunch was amazing. On the other side of the beach were the cameras, actors, and crew. We checked in with them first then got some lunch and sat down. Eventually we were tasked with setting up a table with 150 glasses of champagne. After that, someone radio’d over that they needed plastic cups. I ran those cups over to the crew like my life depended on it, and when I got there, the producer’s assistant who had taken me under her wing told me to stay and watch them wrap.

I got to watch them shoot three or four takes before resetting. They shot two or three more and called wrap. It was an emotional experience for everyone involved – and I’d only been there five days! They had been working on this project for over 115. They were tired, they were spent, they were elated.

We headed back to the other end of the beach, poured champagne, and toasted the crew. Then we headed back. Got caught in a sea of red lights heading out of Santa Cruz, finally made it back to the hotel, and were told to go get ready for the wrap party.

I went home and picked up the mrs. for a night neither of us expected. We drank, we ate, we got to hear stories from all the cast and crew and the director himself. It was incredible. We were hanging out with the acots – genuine movie stars – just shooting the shit, talking about our favorite Arctic Monkeys records. We got to listen to first-hand accounts of working for Frank Sinatra. It was amazing. Then the hotel shut the lights off on us, so we headed to the production office for a little after-party.

The wife and I both had work in the morning, but we knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We stayed, drank champagne, danced with movie stars, and just had such a great fucking time. Aaron was the fucking music man, hyping the crowd with songs from his phone. At one point, with all the bodies on the “dance floor” in this tiny, dark little room, the production manager looked over at me, smiled, and asked “where the fuck did we find you, mate?” Monterey Film Commission is the technical answer, but really, I have no fucking idea, but I am so fucking grateful they did.

I’ll never forget the first time a commercial aired on HBO for George Carlin’s upcoming stand up special: Complaints & Grievances. There was this old guy – old enough to be anyone’s grandfather – talking to the camera in black and white, and using language like I’d never heard before. “And I might do some stuff on masturbation, too.” Wow. And this was only in the commercial! With or without my parents’ permission I was going to watch this thing – and watch I did.

That show was my first real introduction to stand up comedy. Up until then I got my laughs from Jim Carrey and Adam Sandler. Goofy voices, exaggerated faces, and little in the way of deep or critical thinking. Carlin opened my eyes to the range of subjects comedy could tackle: nothing was off limits. And I wanted to be a part of it so bad.

I did do stand up one time: when I was in 7th grade for OLM’s talent show. I did Carlin’s bit about airplanes (“Get on the plane, get on the plane. Fuck you, I’m getting in the plane!”), which, looking back, may not have been the best bit to do the same year as 9/11. But hey, nothing was off limits, right?

Since then, stand up has never been too far from my ambitions. “Someday.” I continued to perform, albeit with my bands (after all, all comedians want to be musicians, right?). But I never had the guts to get up there by myself and tell jokes. I think I can be funny in conversation, but writing material? That’s something different. I thought about it a lot in college and wrote a lot of setups, but none too many punchlines.

Time moves and so did I – away from standup. The wife doesn’t care for it, so I rarely watch it. But this past weekend, a legend – an icon – of the craft, Mr. Dave Chappelle, gave a stirring eleven-minute monologue that the country sorely needed to hear, and it reminded me of the power of comedy. Not only the healing aspects, but of the power of truth comedy can have. In an age of media bullshit overload, someone like Chappelle has the power to cut to the true core of a matter and make us laugh – no matter what side of the political spectrum we fall.

I’ve watched that monologue a good five or six times now, finding something new to love each time. It inspired me, because for the first time since college, stand up was all I could think about – like the bat stirring inside a retired, broken Bruce Wayne at the onset of Dark Knight Returns.

I foolishly texted my buddy Aaron – who has done stand up before – that we gotta get out there and hit up an open mic. He’s down. And I was, too. But now that the high of that initial comedy rush has faded – I’m terrified.

Honestly. Who the fuck do I think I am?

I don’t know about you guys but I’m fucking exhausted.

Exhausted from all the negativity, all the bullshit, all the violence, all the hate.

This has felt like the longest week ever. For all Americans, I’m sure. But can we now please try and accept the reality of our situation, our electoral process, and move the fuck on? Because I have a feeling in that in the next week or two, when all the dust settles, all the people who are rioting and causing violence against others who didn’t vote the same way, they’re going to sober up, suffer one hell of a fucking hangover and ask, “Where did I leave my dignity last night?”

I have no doubt that the people who supported Hillary Clinton truly believe that they’re doing the right thing; that they stand for love and acceptance and inclusion. But they also have to realize that that attitude cannot be one-sided. It has to be unconditional or else it’s disingenuous. These militant liberals have to see that their actions – rioting, destroying property, beating up and threatening and name-calling Trump supporters – goes against everything they say they stand for.

It’s time to move on. Accept. Rebuild. And in four years – vote again.

Because right now, as divided a nation as we are, the rioters are only dividing us further. The hate and venom and violence is only pushing us further towards an America we don’t want.

People are angry, hurt, upset, dismayed – and they have every right to be. What they don’t have a right to do is beat up someone for voting differently than them. Kind of negates the whole purpose of voting in the first place, amirite?

Be dignified, be educated, work and plan these next four years. No one’s going to take you seriously if you’re a sore loser. No one wants a whiny little bitch.

Well, I think we can all agree, no matter the outcome, it was never going to be pretty.

Like most of the country, I was resigned to the fact that Hillary Clinton would be made president. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t like the alternative either. What I wasn’t prepared for was the overwhelming anxiety and sense of claustrophobia that sunk in as it became clearer and clearer that Trump had achieved victory.

Every election, I feel like I’m in a unique position. You see, I was born into a conservative household -complete with my dad standing arms-folded and screaming in front of Fox News – but that household was located just outside of liberal San Francisco. So while my dad would bemoan the Clinton presidency, teachers would scream at us to get out there and vote democratic.

Like the majority of kids, my political opinions were those of my parents. And I think, largely, that that never really changes. I don’t know anybody that grew up one way and is now something else. But I reveled in being the only republican – out to gleefully piss off the liberal kids before I even understood what those labels meant (and in a big way, I still don’t). But I liked being the outsider, and once I discovered punk rock, it was as if the musicians were sneaking conservative messages into their otherwise liberal agendas. American Idiot? To me, that was John Kerry.

But then I grew up. Politics didn’t interest me, and once I moved away from home and the influence of my folks I realized that I didn’t know shit. And I didn’t really care to bother to learn  now that I thought about it. I couldn’t be bothered to get into politics for the same reason I couldn’t be bothered to get into X-Men comics – too much convoluted continuity. This person voted for that this year but that year they voted this way – who cares? As a student of punk rock and George Carlin, I know better than to trust any politician – left or right. If you’re running for president, chances are you did some pretty shady shit to get where you are. Just sayin’.

So for the past several years I’ve laid low when it comes to politics. I’ve resigned to the fact that I don’t know enough about any of it, other than that the politicians in question give me the creeps. And this has freed me in so many ways. I don’t get bent out of shape when talking to either side. I listen carefully and try to have thoughtful conversations with both conservatives and liberals because I genuinely believe I’ll learn something. And here’s the thing, I always do. When I talk to a liberal – they make a lot of sense. When I talk to a conservative… they also make a lot of sense.

And that’s what bums me out about this election. Neither side seems willing to listen and attempt understanding. Again, I don’t have a side – I feel like my politically bi-polar upbringing has definitely prevented that – but I will say that I find irony in this win. All throughout the election, everywhere I turned I would hear about how terrible Trump is, the terrible things he’s said, how he’s doing this or how he’s doing that. And then the same media outlets would say how Trump is controlling the press, or how the press is failing at their job. I would agree that the press did fail, but they failed at being impartial.

From a neutral perspective, Trump did not have it easy when it came to the media. Not that he should have. But to say that the media is biased in favor of Trump is laughable. Sure, you can cite Fox News, but that’s all you can cite. The dour expressions and obvious frustration on the faces of Charlie Rose and the rest at CBS last night said it all and made their biases clear.

And I want to be clear here – I dig the overall liberal lifestyle. I love diversity, I love the idea of city living, I love the LGBT community, I love minorities, I love education, I love women and think they have every right to choose. But if I’m being honest, liberals – the same people who preach love and peace and acceptance – are the first to viciously attack Trump and Trump supporters. The minute Trump’s elected he’s being called names, pieces of art showing him naked and crucified pop up on Instagram, and countless articles spring up all over the net prophesying out nation’s doom. The republicans turned out to be the silent majority, and the liberals – in my humble opinion – proved themselves to be as hypocritical as either of the candidates.

The majority of what I’m reading today is how America is one big asshole, racist and misogynistic for not electing Hillary Clinton. I find fault in this way of thinking. No president should ever be elected solely because they’re a woman, or black, or so on and so forth. They should be elected based on their qualifications. Now, Trump is clearly unqualified, but clearly half of the country would take that over someone with qualifications whose style of government they’re sick of. That’s all. Let’s not make it a race or gender thing. If you voted for Hillary simply because she’s a woman, I’m sorry but you voted for the wrong reason.

So what am I trying to say? I don’t really know. I wish I could fully support one party over the other, it would make things so much easier. And let’s be honest, being a liberal would be dope. You’ve got all the celebrities and media outlets in your corner, and it’s easy to be cool and hip and liberal. Not so easy to be cool and hip and conservative. But maybe that’s because of the way I grew up. Maybe my perspective’s screwed because I’m out on the coast. Maybe the country really is fucked. I don’t know. But neither do you.

And that’s the thing. Do I think Trump will be a great president? No, but I’m willing to give him a chance. See where it goes. Because growing up politically bi-polar, I’ve seen the same thing from both sides after every election I’ve been alive for: total freakout. “I’m leaving the country!” “Not my president!” “WE’RE FUCKED!” But guess what. Four years later, we vote again. A conservative gets elected, liberals lose their shit. A liberal gets elected, conservatives lose theirs. That’s the way it goes. Four years later we’re still here, the country’s still standing, and we get to vote again.

Hopefully next time we can come out more unified, ’cause this shit is sad.

So I’ve been sick the past week and a half – cough, sore throat, runny disgusting fucking nose, my ears get hot and itch like crazy – I feel like Michael Jackson in that South Park episode where he literally starts falling apart. I wish I could blame my not writing on the sickness but… We all know that’s not true.

But it hasn’t been all bad.

My buddy Ricky’s bachelor party was a roaring success – even if I did have to leave early on account of me being a pussy who couldn’t power through the sickness. Hopefully I didn’t infect any of those gents. But I got to see my first Warriors game in a good 15 years, got down with some sweet, sweet McCallan 12, and cranked some fine tunes.

Speaking of cranking tunes – I recently acquired Blink-182: The Mark, Tom, and Travis Show (The Enema Strikes Back!) on vinyl. Say what you will about the band and their infantile humor, that record shaped me for better or worse, and getting to listen to it again with the pops of a record made it all the more great. Sure, it’s not a record that necessarily benefits from the record breaks (it’s a live album, so the breaks feel wholly unnatural), but the 180 gram pressing makes that live show feel that much more… well, live. And that counts for something.

What else have I been wasting my coin on?

Oh, right – Batman: Return to Arkham. I wouldn’t need this buy if my PS3s didn’t stop working, but they did, and I need my goddamn Batman fill, you know what I mean? The graphics are better on the PS4, although not terribly so. I’m just happy to be able to play Arkham City again (it’s in my top 5), even if I am forcing myself to wade through Asylum first. I haven’t encountered any of the problems that most reviews have been pointing out, but really I could care less. I just want to be able to play these two games again – the best in the series – and for that, I’m satisfied.

What else?

Did another pass of LP where I added two more characters dreamt up by my buds Chris, Aaron, and Ricky. I’ve gotten good feedback from Chris and will need to do another pass soon.

I’m trying not to write any more features as we work to make LP into an actual film because I know my obsessiveness and concentration will shift over to whichever project I start next. So instead, I’m trying my hand at the short comic format. My main visual collaborator for the last 13 years, Danny Rodriguez, and I are cooking up episodic adventures about a demon-fighting excommunicated priest in the vein of B-movie cheap thrills and Indiana Jones. It’s fun and I’ll post more about it when we’ve got something in the can. So to speak.

I guess that’s it for now. Gotta update this thing more.

#LP

Okay, so the short of it is that Suicide Squad is not nearly as boring or as uneven as Batman v Superman, but it’s still pretty boring and uneven. 

Suicide Squad, like a lot of modern blockbusters, feels like it’s happening at you. People say and do things so quickly that there doesn’t seem to be any time to establish silly little things like plots, mcguffins, or narrative rules and logic.  In the short term that’s okay, it allows for more mindless action sequences and more helicopters to be blown up (seriously, how many helicopters were shot down over the course of this movie?), but in the long term it robs the movie of any emotional payoffs it thinks it’s earned. Unfortunately, the movie’s not very smart either and it has absolutely nothing clever to add to the commentary and deconstruction of superheroes that DC thinks its movies are doing. 

It’s not bad, per se, but it’s definitely not as razor sharp and entertaining as the trailers would have you believe. Jared Leto’s Joker, I think, embodies this fact more than any other aspect of the movie. He struts around and poses a lot, tilting his head back and swaying to and fro, spouting trailer-ready dialogue that, in context, makes very little sense. This Joker is all bark, and the one time we do see him commit a murder (inside a nightclub via flashback), it’s so confusing and weirdly motivated that it leaves you scratching your head. This is Jared Leto as Joker by way of Johnny Depp. For all the obnoxious crap he pulled and can’t stop bragging about, Jared Leto doesn’t bring much to the table here. Granted, he’s not given much to work with or do, but his performance feels like someone whose knowledge of the character was surface level and never really went deeper. And really, that’s kind of the whole movie. And the DCEU in general, in my opinion. Geoff Johns gives the people at the top comics to read and they flip through looking at the pictures, going, “this would look cool,” while ignoring the content. 

The rest of the cast is pretty good, those that are given anything to do anyway. Will Smith does the heavy lifting, and he sells it well. This is definitely a Will Smith performance, but we’ve been in a bit of a Big Willy drought as of late so I’ll take it. Margot Robbie’s performance is pretty uneven. There are moments where she inhabits Harley perfectly (like when she meets Katana or poses on the helicopter rope – again, helicopters), but there are also times that just ring false, and her ever-fluctuating voice doesn’t help either. Rick Flagg goes back and forth between hard-ass and softie, and he doesn’t necessarily sell either. Viola Davis does a lot of scowling, and she sells the whole bad-ass chick vibe (she also kind of reminded me of Hillary Clinton, but I could just be projecting). Diablo felt like he had a lot of potential, but all of the serious, emotional beats they tried with him came off flat and corny (“Bye”). 

Croc, Boomerang don’t get much at all, and Slipknot gets even less. The fact that he wasn’t given an intro like the others spelled certain doom for him right off the bat, also robbing the movie of what could have been a truly shocking “THEY DID WHATTTT?!!” kind of moment. Oh well. I’m not sure if Cara Delevingne wasn’t very good or if she was just wasted in this movie. Most of her dialogue is replaced in post, and in the climax she’s replaced with cheap-looking CG models (this generation’s equivalent to the Rock in The Mummy Returns). There’s a lot of CG in this movie, none of it good. I know this movie had a smaller budget but come on, most of it looked unfinished. 

The plot is forgetful but thankfully not as convoluted as BvS. There’s a greater sense of clarity here, but it still doesn’t make much sense. Much of the movie is very standard, which makes the “hardcore” tone laughable. Everything is safe and by the numbers, so much so that when the film tries for edgy, it just feels corny and fraudulent. Like one of those kids that suddenly shaves their head and says that they’ve always been punks. Likewise, when the movie goes for heart (“I lost one family, I won’t lose another!”), it falls totally flat on its face. These moments are only accentuated by the picture’s music choices.

A lot’s been said about the film’s soundtrack, and while most of the songs are very good, they’re not exactly inventive choices nor are they used to great effect. Instead, it feels like the songs are covering up some pacing issues, even to the detriment of the rhythm of some scenes and comedic beats. I thought they were going for a record within the first twenty five minutes of the film to see how many different jams they could front-load the picture with. 

It’s not terrible movie, not a 26-percent-er, but it’s not great. I’d put it somewhere in the forties percentile. It’s dumb, loud and fairly boring, but the characters are enjoyable enough, and I wouldn’t mind seeing them in an adventure that’s smartly written and well-paced.