Dear Claire,
LA Report - Day 1
March 3. 2008
Flew in last night, came to the house, had something to eat, sat on a sofa, and eventually fell asleep ...
LA is FUCKING HUGE city. Toronto pop is 2.5 million in the "core" and the surrounding areas totally a little over 5 million. Los Angeles city is over 3.3 million, but really, LA is known for is sprawling little connected cities, it's "county" and by that it's "GTA", and that totals over 10 million. And it feels like it. It feels like it flying in overhead. It feels like it at the airport that has traffic jams like our Canada Day in the Nations Capital. The planes at the airport? HUGE, like double decker planes everywhere. Ours was a Sunday night flight, 5 rows across, sold out flight on Air Canada. LOTS of people, lots of people coming and going, lots of business, lots of cars all over the place, highways this way and that way. Truly and utterly it is a massive city going in every direction.
And as forewarned, the highlight those is similar to many other big cities, including Toronto: districts. Basically, other than having to go somewhere for a work reason, it seems like you hang in your little district, as each one has whatever you need. both shops and park wise. For example, we live off in the east end now and I'd say for about 85% of our time this is where we are doing pretty much everything, as everything is pretty much there. Same over here. We're in Venice, little beach-type town. Rows of houses and quiet streets, and people home doing whatever it is they're doing - just like our Pape and Danforth vibe. BUT, later today, 1 PM I think, we're hooking up with Melanie and as Duane goes for a run along the ocean shore I'm going to go surfing with her and her friends. So, that's kind of different.
The house we're staying in for a few days is amazing. Has everything you'd need, including wireless internet. Things are in spring bloom over here now. So there are plants and trees that I've never seen before, the smell in the air is amazing, all of it coming from the desert style foliage. Yes, LA is huge, yes LA is busy, but I have to say, so far in it's amazing, it's everything I thought it was going to be: Toronto by the ocean with 10 times everything.
Oh one drag, to be totally honest: police helicopters. Remember when those were flying over our heads in Toronto for a summer? They got that here. Weird. Kind of sucks actually. I'm sure like our winters, you get used to it, but it does suck.
Oh, one AMAZING thing: I rented a Honda Civic Hybrid. This car GOES. Fast as hell. At stop lights it TURNS OFF, not that you'd really notice, because as soon as you hit the gas it moves like any other sporty little city car. If I had money and were buying a new car I would not HESITATE to buy a hybrid of electric car. HUGE trunk, hugh interior, and runs smooth as shit AND there's no emissions when you're cruising the city. We also got the car with a little plug in navigational system? ROCKS. Thing tells me where to turn and all of that. Got me from the rental place to the house in no time and no problems.
Anyway, going to get up now and see about the rest of the day.
LA Report - Day 2
March 4th, 2008
Hey y'all, more waxing from afar ...
The weather here is retarded. Southern California is quite the little spot and you can see why everyone plops down here. Sunny, mid 20's, light breeze, everyday. Someone who lives here pointed out it's great when things are good, but when things are personally going bad there's nothing to break you out of it, no seasonal change to bring in something new. It's just, ALL the time. For me, it seems that if it is impossible to know what season it is the years would begin to merge.
Speaking of seasons ... Everyone one here is gorgeous. Everyone dresses to the 10's here. I figured out why you can do that here: one season. Back home, I've picked Fall as my season, I got my best outfits for fall weather - which means I slack it off a bit for the other ones - no money, no care. I think everyone kind of picks a season and styles themselves the best on that one and lets the other 3 kind of wear the same thing year in and year out. Here, you got one season so you can master the various outfits for summer: morning wear, evening wear, casual wear, light jackets, etc. I mean there has to be some explanation why, aside from the insane amount of homeless people, everyone here dresses to the 10's.
There is a doc that has to be done in LA entitle, "where did everyone go?" There isn't any central locale, everything is spread out, and you get there by driving. So, no one really walks around in some hubbub. It's not like Bloor street in the Annex, everyone milling about, bumping shoulders with each other. No, here, you get on 4 lane roads or freeways and race like a madman here or there in the city. Strange and tough to get used to. "Where should we go today, Duane?" "Where do you want to go?" "I don't know, let's go see LA, get to the core, walk around." "You pick a store, we drive to it, we park outside it, then we pick another exact location and head there afterwards ... in the car." So, for sure, I'm not "seeing LA", I'm seeing a couple spots, mostly this Venice area where we're staying and then billboards along the freeway.
On the plus side, yesterday I went surfing. That's kind of awesome, being downtown and then going surfing. Lots of fun. Had a colossal wipe out, it was fun. On the down side ... when it rains in LA it washes from all the hilltops, down all the streets, down all the flood gates, and ... wait for it ... STRAIGHT into the ocean. All the car smog and oil and garbage on the streets, everything, goes straight out into the sea. So, two days before I got here it rained pretty good. Yesterday I went surfing. Last night my eye turned all red, had to get some drops. How can something so ideal get so, well, totally fucked up? Bit of a drag.
As in ALL things US, whatever it is you are, then you are THAT THING. A surfer? Then a SURFER-sufer. A wanna be actor, then you dress and act that part 24/7. Makes for a strange kind of american energy. It's exciting in the sense that everyone goes for it in their field, but also, well, isolating. And so, those that are gang people, you see that around, then that is what they do. Cop cars, sirens, helicopters ... guy in handcuffs on the sidewalk couple doors down from us. It's intense.
For sure, I know "ideal" is a state of mind, how your approach your life no matter where you are, and this place has some serious ingredients to be an ideal place. But it also has some things that seem, well, apoplectic in a way.
We met a very well to do movie person, and, well, that life is STRANGE. You kind of walk on water if you’re one of those doing well people. In restaurants, you've never seen such great service and free entrées. Ones like this get a LOT of free stuff. Why? If the paparazzi catches the star in that outfit or hand bag or cell phone, then ... well, free advertising. I'm talking about an INSANE amount of free stuff. You can't really believe it - whatever the latest thing is that you can wear or carry or use on the street, it's given to this group of people for free, en mass. They also deal in days of tedium. Over 12 hours of a "press junket" - show up, sit in a hotel room, different press people come in and sit own and ask questions about the new movie and whether or not you like it or are proud of it isn't an option, it's just shill the good print, get people in the seats. So, how good is it in those rare occasions where you actually do like the product you've been forced to become a spokesperson for? As well, in those interviews you can't say everything you want to say because it'll haunt you forever - no comments on politics as by contract you're not allowed to disenfranchise any potential audience, and no comments on personal life otherwise that'll be all anyone remember about you for years to come ... Yeah, they get paid TOP dollar for for this "troubled life", but still, seems like a real pain in the butt. Writers and directors? no one cares to interview you, you aren't the story, so, I chose the right thing (that’s failure in case you were scratching your head there for a minute.)
Anyway, no idea what's up for the rest of the day. There's a filmmaker I know here that I might meet up with later - drive across town to meet. Might go for a bike ride along the boardwalk. Tomorrow Duane and I drive to Palm Springs. Strange joint this LA.
LA Report - Day 3
March 5th, 2008
Okay, this one will be shorter.
First off, Palm trees are not native to this part of California, they were brought in and then flourished. However, since we associate palm trees as "LA" or "Hollywood" allow me to make an observation about them. They are actually REALLY tall, very thin, and there are no branches save for the very top where this is little plume of them that doesn't stretch out far. A desert plant, conserving water at all costs. Now consider what our tree is back east, the Maple tree, or something similar. It's also very tall, but its branches stretch out in all directions from the bottom to the top, providing shade, and homes for all kinds of living things - a tree that seems more for a forest, more communal. Fitting. In LA the tree of choice is the one that provides no shelter or shade for anything except itself.
Without question, this is a city that is about the individual. Because you HAVE to drive everywhere in this town, you have a lot of people in cars by themselves driving this way and that way. To not feel lonely in a car all day EVERYONE talks on their cell phones in the cars trapped in traffic. EVERYONE. To see someone in a car with another person or by themselves without their cell phone on is an aberration.
So, there are negatives that goes along with the individual nature of this place, that no one touches each other as they're all in cars, not on the streets or in Subways. But there is also some really cool things about the premium people place on this individual- ness. Everyone's homes are one of a kind. Everyone does something neat with their place. And by "neat" I'm not talking about something you can pick up at home depot and install. I mean, like a one of a kind type of fence, or door, or garden, or whatever. That in turn means that artisans and architects are doing work and that's really cool. Same goes for people's clothes. There are ALL kinds of one of a kind shops for personal appearance. So yeah, part of that is over the top, the quest to be an original in this town of same singular pursuit, but at the same time it provides for a lot of different creative people do do cool things (or things that are lame, but at least their trying). I would assume that Montreal and the French culture is more like this than Ontario which seems really conservative, but suffice to say, there are a LOT of cool little one of a kind stores and creations in this town and down any street you could take some amazing photos of "wow, that's the coolest house I've ever seen."
Today breakfast and then we're outa LA and going to Palm Springs, 2 hours east of here.
LA Report - Day 4
March 6th, 2008
So, another update from sunny Cal.
If all you need in life is blue skies and mid-20's weather, look no further than southern california.
We're in Palm Springs, where the festival is, about 3 hours drive east of LA. It's in the desert, which in this area means pointy, rocky hills with a splash of green on them because it's spring. The town is populated by an enormous amount of elderly people. I'd say 90%. The store and "strips" are inundated by restaurants and nicknacks. There was this great line in a novel I once read that went something like "the last place for pleasure for the old is food." This is a hard-core rich "spa" area for old folks and old gay couples. Very surreal experience.
Case in point: last night there was the film festival grand opening. Red carpet, press, little tent, free drinks and finger foods - exciting. A patron of the festival, an elderly lady, dressed lovely, tripped on the red carpet, fell, and an ambulance was called in. Seriously. Then we met the publicists, a fabulous gay couple, really doing a great job. One of the team is walking with a really bad limp and I ask about it. Turns out two days ago he was in a friend's backyard playing with the dogs He had a tennis ball in his hands. The dogs jumped on him to get the ball. They knocked him off balance and he slipped backwards into the hot tub behind him and twisted his knee - a "spa accident" he called it. Seriously.
In a couple hours we're doing a radio interview with what the locals refer to as their own Barbara Walters. Then I think we may look in at the Casino for a minute or two. There's a shuttle from the hotel to the Casino. The Casino is directly across the parking lot, about 100 feet. Seriously.
Often in the sushine of LA I can't help thinking I'm the malcontent from back east in fashion of Woody Allen in Annie Hall. Or Ricky Gervais in Extras. Speaking of which, please enjoy this gem of a scene. WAY too funny.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=lugUd7fIx8Q
LA Report - Day 4b
March 6th, 2008
This is too much, and I had to share this right away.
So, earlier today we had a local Palm Springs radio interview. It took place in an art gallery that the host owns, her studio. She used to be a dancer or something on Bob Hope specials and from her 3-inch fake eyebrows it was apparent that she wasn't exactly giving up on the dream well into her old age security years - Joey English is her stage name or something.
So we sit in a round-table, Duane, Melanie, myself, and Michael (a really cool guy who runs the festival here), and this other English guy who wrote a book on nutrition. So we sat with the mic in front of us, headphones on, as she talked to him about the book he's written. Sounded like a fascinating read on how we eat the wrong things in our day. He was in town promoting it because it talks about how to over-come illnesses in holistic ways for elderly people - he's giving a live talk next week at a seniors home. Seriously. Still don't know why we were sitting in the studio at the ready for his interview, but I guess it's not our call to make.
Then we go to commercial break, but there was a mistake. It's okay, the host assures us, we'll run it back. "Oh, we're going live to tape?" Michael asks. "Yeah, this is Saturday's show." Michael immediately starts to laugh his head off. "These guys are going home on Saturday, their movie is on Friday night?" She assures him it'll be great, just talk about it as though it were the morning after. The English author had a curious smile on his face like we did at this point (she asked him to stick around after his interview, and he didn't know why, and it's amazing the things you agree to "on air" that are completely meaningless.)
So, we're back "live" pretending to be interviewed for the morning after the hugely successful screening the night before. But before we get to us, the host had to read through the list of prizes for this weeks lucky call in winner. I shit you not when I say this took 4 minutes. Time this please, sit in front of a clock and watch 4 minutes roll by. It was crazy. When she was done I said to her, "Wow, there's a lot to do in the Springs. Is that like a weekend or an afternoon''s worth of stuff?" She smiled and moved on.
So we begin the interview with Michael talking about the festival, its importance, and our film. It turns to me, as the last comment we're feeding off of from Michael was "he made a personal film."
She asks, "how so?"
I say, "Well, I wanted to explore a film on the struggles of identity. My mother is white and my Dad's an Indian, and for me it's a struggle to understand which circle I belong in."
She replies,"To that I say, 'so what?'"
Seriously
I had nothing else to say after that. Duane and I started laughing a little because we thought it was awesome. So, Michael took over talking about what is left to see on Saturday and Sunday night. While he talked she waved and mimed a conversation to a street passerby, as her show is right by the sidewalk.
A new catch phrase has been born to haunt me for years to come. "This movie is about the woman that wants to be a man, so she dresses like a boy and dates a girl until people figure out her rouse and murder her." And to this Academy Award winning film we can now say, "So, what?" It kind of is a cure-all for everything really.
Coming out of the radio interview we ran into a local who had some questions. It was immediately interesting because the guy was our age, and that seemed exciting. He asked us what we're in town for, who we are. As we told him, come check out the screening on friday, etc, but it was impossible not to notice that he wasn't exactly making eye contact with anyone. So after we tell him about the movie he tells us that he doesn't really go to movies as he's legally blind, he only sees blurry shadows. So, what?
Then to cool off Duane and I went to the cheapest eats in town, the Casino buffet. I have to admit that the food was amazing at the buffet and it was great to talk ourselves down on how ridiculous this all is. On our way out we saw an elderly couple passing through the casino from one slot machine to another, in search of the lucky winner. She had an oxygen apparatus attached to her nose and her husband dragged the tank behind them. Immediately Duane and I starting laughing our asses off, like you gotta be kidding me, "her last few days on earth and she's moving from one useless machine to the other hoping for a lucky winner, no way. My last few days are going to be different, anything but being locked in that emptiness." And yet, there Duane and I were, dragging our "little film that could" hoping to plop it into a lucky slot machine and become winners. Life is really funny.
And to that I say ...
LA Report - Day 5
March 7th, 2008
Staying in the hotel again, my stomach is just totally fucked up. Still shitting water. It has nothing to do with the usual kind of thing I get, this is ALL about the surfing in the filthy ocean. It's ruined me right now. Tiring. Painful. I'm just hanging out in a hotel room shiting my pants and watching ESPN. The trip wouldn't be so pointless if I was feeling good and outside doing things. I fucking, fucking, fucking HATE this stomach of mine, it is SUCH a pain in the ass (pun intended). It's truly exhausting and at this point I'm honestly losing my patience and I'm starting to get pissed off about it.
LA Report - Day 5b
March 7th, 2008
pepto is doing something. had first solid stool. One mini log.
going to breakfast now, I gotta eat something.
if this wasn't so tiring it'd be really funny.
Seriously though, I have to change everything about my health. I wasn't the only guy out there in the ocean but I'm the only guy who's so bent out of shape in his gut about this. I gotta pull those IBS books out, I gotta read them, I have to make a change.
Look at me world! The big night of our movie screening the sunny side of California! I did it!
There’s this great story of Dee Snider that played a club in Toronto with a low ceiling, and Dee’s like 8 feet tall. Anyway, he throws his fist into the sky, or tried to, as he takes to the stage. Problem is the low ceiling and he can’t punch up into the sky, get everyone going, he actually dents the tile as dust falls onto his wig and make-up. This is me right now, punching into the low ceiling of my life, “I did it!” and then I run off stage to relieve myself and freshen up.
LA Report - Day 6
March 8th, 2008
So, I’m on the flip-side now, heading home, the big long return flight from LA to T.O. In summation I can tell you that this is ending the way it really all began, as a really, truly, unsexy trip. Yep, I went to LA, a place I’ve been dreaming about for all my life practically, since the LA Laker fan days in the early 80’s really, to now. Right now I’m sitting next to a lovely old couple, about 70 years old. They’re drinking wine and falling asleep and snoring beside one another. No, I’m not sitting next to some actor or director or some guy who did sound mixing on There Will Be Blood. Nope, I’m in coach after a 6-hour flight delay as my gut gurgles non-stop, and my head itches from dandruff. This is not sexy. This is Shane, and, well, it makes me laugh. I love it despite the karma I seem to be paying for.
First sexy bit that I haven’t told anyone about is the shitfest this trip has been. I went surfing the first morning I was here and got some disgusting dirty water into my system – red eye, and watery guts begin. I had to stay at home in the house the 2nd night in town, fell asleep early and close to the toilet bowl as everyone went out for another LA sexy-time night. The next day Duane and I drove to Palm Springs where upon I shit my self silly all day then too. The next day in palm springs, I wasn’t able to take a walk in the desert or hike a mountain or swim in the pool. Nope. I was sleeping the hotel room and shitting my pants off.
The next day, the night of our screening, more of the same. Eat a little, shit a lot, sleep it off. Then our screening came and we had a medium sized crowd and a nice screening (more on that below). Then back to the hotel for another few shits and then some sleep. Up this morning, drive to LA, have a 6 hour flight delay, hangout in the airport with Duane, make each other laugh, buy a LA Dogers baseball hat. Then board the plane, feel that my gut is not 100% but it’s on the road to recovery, the bug seems beat, it’s going to be uphill from here.
Yep the guy that LOVES to travel, the guy who LOVES to get outside and do some crazy things, spent a trip to the dreamland California on the toilet reading the backs of shampoo bottles. AWESOME! What did I do in a past life? In this life? So much to be thankful for, don’t get me wrong, but it kind of makes me laugh in sad way, I mean, COME ON! I’m in California and all I’m doing is laying in a hotel room drinking water and pepto bismal? Man … and kind of funny for a guy that has all this gumption and fire, this desire to GET out there in LA – this guy, me, he gets blown open. Everyone else that is more even keeled, just there to take it easy and take whatever comes, someone like Duane? Everythings fine. Nothing big. Nothing small. All good.
Anyway …
About the screening. Palm Springs is a weird, small, old, little resort town in the middle of the desert. An isolated rich man’s Vegas. It’s a strange town. The theatre didn’t have the best projection – colours we’re slightly off – drove me nuts. The sound wasn’t, um, ... The theatre was half-full or half-empty, depends on how you want to look at it. It was full of very old retired people who talked the whole way through it trying to figure everything out with each other. Where ImagineNATIVE was a super-duper highlight, this was a bit of letdown from that.
But, we took it in stride to be honest. After blowing my ass out for a week my primary concern wasn’t the movie anyway. But the people that were there were moved. They stayed for a very long Q and A session afterwards. Everyone had a LOT of really great things to say about the film – and I mean, they were REALLY watching the movie, very critical, very intelligent about it all. It was actually fun. Yeah, it was small and really not sexy at all in any way, but it was enjoyable to have people see the film and be moved by it and want to talk about it.
The HIGHLIGHT for me personally was 2 mixed-ancestry young men that came up to afterwards. They came up and thanked me for the film, sighting “My Mom’s white and my Dad’s Indian and everyone bugs me, tells me I’m just another white guy, but I don’t feel that way. I loved your movie man, it meant a lot to me. It’s going to keep me on the path. Gives me strength.” THAT is pretty awesome.
Let me end it with this thought to myself: I’m not so young anymore and I have to adjust my thinking some more to that. I was laughing with Duane that he went bald early in life which was a tough thing for him to deal with back then, BUT it did prepare him for the idea that he’s growing older, his body is changing, he’s becoming a man, he’s getting old. Shitting myself for a week on end is telling me finally, um, well, I‘m not 10 years old anymore. I got some physical things I gotta take care of and always take care of, be mindful of. And in so doing, I’ll be more on the lookout for Claire when we head out as a family to things – like asking about the water BEFORE diving into it. So hard, as I like to just dive into it. I’m getting older, I’m balding in my way, it’s not as visible, but it’s happening, and it’s time to adjust.
LA Report - Back Home Again
March 9th, 2008
Okay that was a long flight home. Up at 6:30 AM in Palm Springs to shit myself and then get ready to catch a plane. Then waiting around 7 hours in an airport waiting for the flight home, the flight into a huge east coast winter storm (why are we leaving again?). Then the long flight in the darkness until we finally arrive in Toronto where I get to wait as the second last person to get my bag and catch the bus with Duane all the way home. Walk in and climb into bed at 6 AM EST. That is a long travel day.
Let me say one thing before I go any further: Duane is a stand up guy and as unlucky as I am with my ass blow-outs among other things, I’ve never been more lucky when it comes to family and friends. I guess the water shits are the paying the piper moments. Duane’s flying first class and I’m 2nd class (coach). We arrive to check in and the lady tells Duane that she can rush and get him on the next flight out of LA, in about 20 minutes, but she can’t help me none, I’m flying coach and have to wait at least 6 hours for the winter delay. What does Duane do? He waits with me, tells her no thanks. His first class ticket gets him special lounge access in the airport now that we have to wait for 6 hours. But I can’t get in cause I’m flying coach. What does he do? He lies on the dirty airport hanger floor with me. (Oh, and can we just go ahead and call it first class and 2nd class again? Business class? What, I’m in “coach” so I’m not in business, I’m in cargo class? That’s more insulting. Please, I’m okay with it, they have pants that fit them, they’re tailored, mine don’t fit, I’m good with it, 2nd class works for me, I’m a fighter.) This waiting for me continues on when he gets his bags first off the carousel and mine come 40 minutes later - he could have took off, but he waited. This is a stand-up guy. But more than just waiting for me, when were stuck in the airport for 6/7 hours waiting for our plane to finally depart we sat around on the floor, worked on a script, and made each other laugh as we made fun ourselves as being total losers. Yeah, for humors sake I bitch and moan about everything, but I know I got it good too.
So, back home, asleep at 6 AM, I get woken up at 11 AM by a tiny hand playing with my stubbled cheek. Baby Claire is in the bed trying to wake me up, and she does, with a big smile on her face for me. Fuck you LA. Fuck you anyplace anywhere that makes me forget this, or that tries to. If you’re looking for a life just over the ridge because yours sucks, no pace is grander in your mind that anyplace, California. But no place means anything without Claire, Amanda, and the rest of this insanely funny sinking ship that is my life - where they are, I am, and that’s the right place.
We rush out of the house, sans shower (hot - dirty ass and all) and hit the Sunday matinee today for a ballet show here in Toronto. I got some comp tickets from a lady friend that was the stage designer. Never been to the ballet before, we 2nd class folks only go when we get comps, and we go completely underdressed and , um, dirty and smelly too ... AND we bring our babies because we don’t have nor can afford or plan in advance a baby-sitter. Anyway, the show was great, but that wasn’t the greatest part. The greatest part was taking my turn out in the hallway for the 2nd part of the ballet looking after Claire so Amanda could have a turn watching the ballet (Claire makes too much noise to be in there). Her and I played in the magnificent hallways of the new National Opera House, totally amazing building. And Claire is at this age now, 6 months, that she really sees you, interacts with me. And after I ran around the hallways, her in my arms like an airplane, her laughing in glee, and then we hit a bench exhausted. I lay back and dose off. She fell asleep in my arms on top of my chest.
As much as I want everything outside my door, within every magazine, in my minds dreams from childhood, to make this grand artistic life, it’s not lost on me how precious this fucking life is. Dirty, exhausted, dehydrated from water shits for 5 days, dandruff falling onto the floor, dressed like a homeless person in a top-tier ballet show, asleep on a hallway sofa ... I’m as happy then, there, as I’m ever going to be and I know it. Sometimes going away tells you just that: you’re already a lucky son of a bitch, so hurry up, get outta here, go home already. Claire is a million arrows in my heart, and I’m dying slow, but I’m going to fight, fight, fight, because nothing feels so good, and there’s nothing you want to last longer. Kids don’t teach you to give up, that’s the wrong wording by people without kids. Kids teach you to give in.
Good to be home.
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