northwest bound

There's only one word that could possibly describe my Thanksgiving weekend in the Pacific Northwest: indigestion.

Yes, there was a considerable amount of delicious food, but there was also a completely inexplicable bout of food poisoning, contracted from dinner Friday night.

Other than that, the trip was about as relaxing a trip home can be. Amy and I went to Port Townsend with my dad, Joan, and Brian, where they have a very nice house with a very nice view. It absolutely freezing, but the air was crisp and clear and I learned how to play Bocce ball, so all and all I'd consider that a good trip.

The next night Amy and I made it to Snohomish, where we had dinner with my mom and Patrick and lazed about the next day until it was time to fly home. All flights were on time, there were no crying babies, and I even made it to work on time this morning.

I hope everyone else's Thanksgiving went just as well, only warmer. And with less vomiting.

because everybody likes more access to ads

Yesterday Mike told me they were making a Terminator TV series. "Weird," I said, "how'd you find that out?" "I saw a billboard yesterday, it was crazy." "Where's the billboard?" "Somewhere by the Apple Pan."

This got me to thinking. I would like to see this billboard. But the Apple Pan is all the way across town, and I know I'm not going to have time to make it out there any time soon. Plus, the idea of driving to the westside to gaze upon a billboard is laughably stupid.

But I still want to see it. And this hasn't been the only time I've heard of a cool billboard I'd like to see. Does anybody remember when they pulled the one for Captivity? I wanted to see that one too, but I didn't know where it was or how to find it.

This brings us to my brilliant idea of the day. There are thousands (millions, probably) of websites out there that serve very specific and obscure purposes. I think someone should start some sort of Los Angeles Billboard Wiki, where people post pictures and locations of billboards from all over town. It could even be linked to Google Maps, so people could map their way to hot billboard destinations. I have neither the time, energy, nor ability to undertake such a task, so I'm throwing this idea out on the open internet in hopes that someone will pick it up and run with it.

In other news, today will be my last post for a few days because I'm flying home for Thanksgiving with Amy (our first plane flight together). So I might as well wish you all a happy Thanksgiving now. Travel well, be well, and eat well.

one two three four

I have become completely obsessed (nay, addicted) to the Feist song, 1234. See, there's a part of the song I find exceedingly beautiful and moving, and if I listen to it loudly, I get tingles. Literal goosebumps down my neck and back. And it feels so good. It's like an aural orgasm. An aur-gasm, if you will. And I can't stop listening to the song.

I don't think I've ever this kind of reaction to a song before, but I like it. A lot. Is this some sort of medical problem? If so, I don't ever want it to stop.

"... you know who you a-aarrrrree...."

I need a cigarette.

two wheels are better than four

On Friday I participated in my least favorite Los Angeles activity: driving cross-town, west-to-east, at 4:30 pm.

For those who don't know, Los Angeles rush hour is a fascinating phenomenon, especially on Friday. Said rush hour lasts from about 3:30 until 8:30, completely clogging a number of freeways, but especially the 10 East, from Santa Monica all the way to east of downtown. I'm talking a bumper-to-bumper, don't-break-10 mph-the-whole-drive shitshow.

So I'm sitting somewhere between National and La Cienega, about 40 minutes after I left Pacific Palisades, and I hear it: a high pitched whine. I know what's coming. I scoot my car a little to the left and a motorcycle whizzes by, whitelining between the lanes. Then another. Five minutes later, another passes. And again. All flying by the thousands of immobile vehicles on the freeway.

By the twentieth motorcycle, I got to thinking: cars are the devil. If I were appointed King of Transportation in the United States, my first order of business would to be ban cars and force all the manufacturing plants to start cranking out motorcycles.

"Max," you say, "that's crazy! That would never work!" This is where you're wrong. Motorcycles are objectively much better than cars. That's right, I said it: objectively. They can park almost anywhere, they all get 50-60 miles per gallon, and they have better acceleration and handling than any car on the market.

"But they're dangerous!" No. The motorcycle itself is not dangerous. What makes motorcycles dangerous is the prospect of getting nailed by a car, which would obviously put the motorcycle driver at a mass disadvantage. If no cars were on the road (due to my ban), all things would be equal and it wouldn't be any more dangerous than driving a Mini Cooper.

"But you can't carry passengers!" Almost every motorcycle can carry at least two people. Need to carry more? Get a sidecar. Nobody really carpools anyway, so don't try to pass this off as an excuse.

"But you can't carry groceries and stuff!" Most motorcycles have pouches or bins or something to carry junk. If that's not enough, get a sidecar. If that's not enough, I'm sure some company would start manufacturing detachable trailers or something for motorcycles to carry all that "stuff" you need.

"But they're so loud!" Wrong again. Most motorcycle owners have their bikes modified so that they are louder than they have to be, mostly so that oblivious car owners can hear them coming and won't nail them with their SUVs. A motorcycle isn't inherently louder than any other car.

"But... but... you're crazy!" Possibly, but this is a good idea. Motorcycles use a fraction of the resources of cars, in terms of construction, pollution, and even space. This is a good idea. Write your congressman or something.

shameless plug

Amy's on the radio!

Listen to her every Tuesday, from 8:00-10:00, on UCLA's radio station, which seems to only be available for listening online, at www.uclaradio.com.

Amy's the resident sexpert on the show "Caulk Talk," so you should all listen, every week. She knows her shit. Trust me.

i've been shooting zombies

After two weeks of having a blog, I now remember why I've never had one before: I feel my life is too mundane to post on the internet.

It probably isn't. I spent the entire weekend shooting a movie that features a zombie as its main character, getting in to zany situations like being refused service at a grocery store and having a tea party with a little girl. I realize most people don't do things like this for school. They have things like tests, quizzes, papers, and... uh... research papers? I don't know, I haven't done "real school" work in about a year.

Most people assume that because I don't do "real work", I don't do "work". But see, the thing is that making movies is hard. Every wonder why so many shitty movies come out every year? They're hard to do well. Not many people are talented enough to pull them off. So in the quest for achieving this talent level, we film students work our asses off for months at a time to produce 6 minute projects that no one else will ever really care about. Mike and I already have one under our belt, and we're 2/3 of the way through another. I spent 8 hours this weekend completely trashing an apartment to make it look like the inside of a zombie's house. Beats papers.

In other news, I am currently in possession of a DVD master of Mike's and my first film. If anyone would like a copy, please let me know, and I'll get you one.

I'm also going to work on posting more often. When weeks go by between posts, the pressure for each new post starts to build. My belief is that when posts become infrequent, they must increase in quality to make up for lack in quantity. (This also assumes people read this blog, which is likely untrue). If I post more often, then each can just be my normal, garden-variety level of shitty writing, and the pressure's off. See? It works.

strike! strike! strike!

Hope everyone sold your potentially-Oscar-award-winning scripts yesterday, because as of today, the WGA is officially on strike.

Goodbye, quality scripted entertainment.

Hello, Supernanny.

(Jon Stewart, I'll miss you *tear*)

wasting away

So, it's 2 in the afternoon and we're sitting on the couch watching TV and I lean over to Amy and go, "Hey, are you hungry?"

She replies, "Yeah. My boyfriend doesn't feed me." I go and look in the fridge: condiments, juice, and probably-not-edible leftovers.

Now, those of you who know me may have noticed I'm not exactly "muscular", or "in shape", or even "relatively healthy". I'm rail thin. And pale. And a little skeletal.

Things weren't always this way. In middle school, I was actually quite chubby. A video-game-based lifestyle combined with a steady diet of fast food (caused by a 6-month remodel of our family's kitchen) left me a little porky.

Then, miraculously, I grew. Six inches. Gained zero pounds. But then I had a new problem. It didn't take long to realize I now couldn't gain weight. Hours of exercise, pounds of food -- I ended up looking exactly the same. So I gave up. I look like what I look like. No big deal.

But yesterday, at Mike's shoot, one of the actresses said I looked thinner than the last time I saw her. Later that day, Amy said pretty much the same thing.

Now this is a problem. I'm 20 years old. I should be past the pubescent "coming in to my own" phase. I shouldn't look like an escaped mutant from an Ed Wood film.

So I'm asking everyone for a favor. If you see me walking around, tell me to eat something. If I say I'm too busy, tell me to eat something. If I say I've already eaten, tell me to eat something. In fact, no matter what the next words out of my mouth happen to be, tell me to eat something.

Thank you all for your cooperation.

(Also -- tell me to start exercising. Healthy's good, but being fat really wasn't fun)

here we go

Hi everyone. I decided to make a blog. I probably don't need one, and they're not really as cool as they used to be, but what the hell. I like seeing myself on the internet. If you know what I mean.

Hope you enjoy!