Write Enough

New Estonian National Anthem!

2012-01-31T18:08:00.000-08:00

Officially, it is now my second favorite national anthem ever. And that includes all time.

h/t: Kimmomurmu

The Grey Review Up at F.O.G.

2012-01-26T13:02:00.000-08:00

This film really captivated me except for some funny business with the wolves.

A plane crash, injured men, a blustery storm, a ticking clock, and big wolves.

This film had everything I enjoy in a movie.

To be honest, I often wish these elements were in every movie including The Artist but that’s just stubborn selfishness on my part.

Read oh so much more here.

Vietnam a Tough Sell for Keith William Nolan

2012-01-23T15:44:00.000-08:00

There was a time when I burned through military history books by the gross. I read famous authors like Band of Brothers' Stephen Ambrose and not-so-famous guys like Keith William Nolan. My history book reading has fallen off lately and so I just learned Nolan died three years ago from cancer. His specialty was the Vietnam War and his works relied heavily on interviews with American veterans who fought there.

Ten years ago, I had vague plans of producing a film based on Nolan's book about Operation Buffalo, which centered around the ambush of a Marine company in 1967. As I was returning to Cambodia for a project with State Dept./USAID and Warner Bros.—a story in itself—I made plans to visit the battlefields in neighboring Vietnam.

And so I contacted Keith William Nolan and asked for an option to develop a project based around his 1991 book Operation Buffalo: USMC Fight for the DMZ. I mentioned I was a former Marine who had served during the Vietnam era.

He let me have the option free.

That is simply not done in these parts.

By email, I thanked him for his generosity. In time, I toured the landscape of Operation Buffalo, a dangerous patch of ground still peppered with Viet Cong mines and booby traps as well as unexploded American and North Vietnamese artillery shells. I walked the narrow, red dirt lanes on which B Company was ambushed in an action that grew into the bloodiest day for the Marines in Vietnam.

I drew a crowd of Vietnamese, hardly any who had lived there back in the day. (Most had been relocated in 1966, the year prior to the fight.) At one point, I was invited into a hut and asked to tell a few elders what I knew of the event. With kids and dogs yelling outside, I spoke in bursts of English which my interpreter translated into Vietnamese, explaining how a battalion of North Vietnamese lured an understrength Marine company into an trap that wiped out two platoons and shot to pieces a second company that came to help. Some enemy units dressed in captured Marine uniforms to move in close and backed their assault with flamethrowers and heavy artillery—based in nearby North Vietnam.

We drank tea and smoked cigarettes as the sky grew darker outside. Reciting Nolan's book from memory as best I could, I told how the Marines returned the next day to retrieve the bodies of their dead and that turned into another fight. More reinforcements poured in on both sides, culminating in a massive North Vietnamese attack preceded by an artillery barrage. The Marines cut down the charging troops, sealed off breaches in their lines and held. The enemy withdraw back to safety in North Vietnam. Marine patrols from the hill base at Con Thien set out once more to sweep the area and the pattern of Operation Buffalo would be repeated in minor and major keys for the next several years.

Outside the kids gathered around as I reemerged from the hut. There was a huge freaking spider the size of a catcher's mitt hanging in a web attached to a nearby pole. I refused to look at the monster for fear the kids would knock the hulking arachnid down with a stick and chase it toward me to see what the tall foreigner would do.

I came home and the option expired and my movie idea eventually migrated into a rather large folder of unfinished products. Nolan wrote ten books on the Vietnam War, but never made a pile of money. His publisher wanted him to write about "popular wars" because Vietnam didn't sell. But Nolan felt he had an obligation to veterans who were treated quite shabbily. He felt someone had to tell their story.

He stayed true to that calling.

A non-smoker, 44-year-old Keith William Nolan died of lung cancer. He left behind a little girl.

Nolan's books are more than just the story of battles, interesting to history buffs like myself. They are our heritage, our nation's story, told by those present, their deeds preserved for kids like Anna Britt Nolan.

One hot August night, I was at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. Little gifts, flowers and tokens are often left at its base by families, friends, and old comrades come to visit the names of the dead. Apparently a grade school class had passed through earlier and left various letters on lined paper in huge kid scrawl. One in part read: "Dear Grandpa, We saw the Vietnam Wall. I'm sorry you could not tell your stories."

Keith William Nolan could.

(And while many of us are short of money, I'm including trust fund info for Nolan's daughter. If you can, please donate.)

Anna Britt Nolan Trust
c/o First Bank
6211 Midriver Mall Drive
St. Charles, MO 63304

Images: Two-Seven Tooter

Avian Water

2012-01-20T23:24:00.001-08:00

Things go better with birds.

h/t: ifc

Haywire Review Up at F.O.G.

2012-01-19T10:11:00.000-08:00

Have I come down too hard on suspense-musicals?

Sadly, this cross between The Bourne Identity and Funny Lady misses the mark on two fronts.

A meat and potatoes plot was stretched into disturbing shapes by this attempt to shoehorn show tunes into places they were never meant for.

At first, Haywire was reassuringly familiar—hot-chick Mallory Kane (Gina Carano), black ops specialist for Uncle Sam, speeds into harm’s way on her latest mission.

Read more at this link before you.

Laurel and Hardy and Michael Jackson

2012-01-19T09:43:00.000-08:00

Laurel and Hardy anticipate the '80s in this clip from Way Out West.

h/t: aceface1969

Gutless Huntsman Scampers Bunny-Like From Campaign

2012-01-15T19:59:00.001-08:00

Like most politicians, Huntsman is completely self-centered, thinking only of what's best for himself and not me. The Huntsman was summoned. The Horn of Urgency sounded. And old Jon bailed. He couldn't even hang on until the convention in August; make a scrap out of it; draw coverage for tenacity; inspire Rachel Maddow to play version after version of the Huntsman theme song. Bahh! Go back to Shanghai!
h/t: Hot Air
Image: LA Times

Albatross Review Up at F.O.G.

2012-01-12T12:43:00.000-08:00

Learn why bees are a good addition to any family drama.

Paul Rugg's Pre-Fab Man Cave

2012-01-12T11:28:00.000-08:00

A work in progress but progressing nonetheless. There is electricity, a European-looking device for dispensing heat and coolness that operates via handheld remote, plus a loft and paint-splotched walls. In addition there are exposed wires for a future ceiling fan.

We're I a true 21st century blogger I would accompany this article with cell phone photos but I defiantly haven't. Perhaps soon.

Thoughts for Sunday Evening

2012-01-08T22:43:00.000-08:00

Barfly philosophy.

h/t: garyxfloyd

The Devil Inside - Review

2012-01-05T12:00:00.000-08:00

Forces of Geek unveils my look at the latest exorcism extravaganza.

Lady Gaga and Mayor Bloomberg

2012-01-01T14:29:00.000-08:00

On ABC last night, I watched these two oddly-paired people drop the Times Square New Year's Eve ball.

As 2011 counted down, all I could think was, "I wish Animaniacs were still on the air." Yakko, Wakko, and Dot would've cleaned up on Gaga and the New York City mayor, not to mention Dick Clark. Dick seemed so blasted he couldn't keep up with the count on screen. He behaved more like an animatronic attraction than a famous fellow.

Nevertheless, today is 2012 and we travel forward into an unsullied new year.

Still, 'Gaga Over New Years' would write itself.

Image: Yahoo! news

Iron Lady Review Up at F.O.G.

2011-12-29T17:51:00.001-08:00

Your Write Enough host bemoans all the politics that clutter up The Iron Lady and interfere with a good ghost tale.

Burn away some silly political material and you’re left with the meat of this film— a former British Prime Minister finds herself haunted by a ghost.

This peek at the later years of Margaret Thatcher blurs the line in a mirthful way between living and dead, objective reality and the spectral.

We’re invited to ponder universal questions such as whether we’ll see ghosts if we make it to our 80s—and will our ghosts be as puckish as Mrs. Thatcher’s translucent visitor.

Read more at this particular spot.

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T00:15:00.001-08:00

Drunks are mangling Karaoke across the street. It's not the same as a choir of angels, but it might be louder. None the less, a most blessed and joyful Christmas to all my family, friends, and social media chums. May the coming year be filled with good fortune for you and bad fortune for Mayan calendar doom-sayers. In the meantime, enjoy the worst Christmas tear-jerker ever.

h/t: theartofmancraft

We Bought A Zoo Review Up at F.O.G.

2011-12-22T10:52:00.000-08:00

This week's look at a new release.

A sentimental tale of a family purchasing a zoo, this film swung and missed for our hearts by ignoring CGI and 3D.

Opportunities for an epic scale were jettisoned in favor of old-fashioned story and acting rendered entirely on film.

What could’ve have been the adventure of a lifetime was compressed to an ordinary heart-warming tale about living life and reaching out to others. (As if reaching out to others wouldn’t have been infinitely cooler in 3D.)

More to be read here.

The Hobbit Trailer

2011-12-21T19:32:00.000-08:00

I almost wish they would release the whole film in trailer-sized bites so I didn't have to wait until Dec. 2012. Hopefully the Mayans won't destroy the world before the movie comes out. Damn Mayans. Selfish, self-centered people with a stupid calender. No pretty girl pictures on it—anywhere. Did you notice?

h/t: Thissitehere

Paul Rugg - Shed Master

2011-12-20T12:16:00.000-08:00

For those of you wondering about the reclusive Paul Rugg, he is in the process of being evicted from his man cave. Resourceful as a fat man outside a locked bakery, Paul staked out a portion of back yard and is having a large shed erected with electric power and a window made of real glass. From here, he will pour out mirth upon the world in a manner and time of his choosing.

See a picture of the shed rising.
Image: behindthevoiceactors

Tom Ruegger's Wonderful Life

2011-12-16T14:03:00.000-08:00

Cartoonatics takes a personal look back at Frank Capra's Christmas classic, It's A Wonderful Life. A great film and one I can identify with as a guy who once thought life really cranked up someplace other than where I was. Go read and remember.

Image: downtherabbithole

'Chipwrecked' Review Up at F.O.G.

2011-12-15T14:40:00.001-08:00

(Forces of Geek once again hosts my cinematic take on an upcoming release.)

Not since Goin’ Coconuts has a tropical movie misfired on so many cylinders. No amount of witty lines can lighten arson, murder, and a descent into barbarism.

And that’s what awaits in Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked.

Read the rest here.

Sea Dentist

2011-12-15T11:30:00.000-08:00

(Part one of a Write Enough series on TV animated shows that never quite made it to air.)

With the growing success of "SpongeBob" in 2000, the TV animation industry sought out a nautical-themed show that hopefully would absorb success vapors from the popular Nickelodeon series. The race was on and Cartoon Network appeared to be leading after staff artist Cleve Metapontum pitched a series idea revolving around a rude veterinary dentist who lived aboard ship and serviced various sea creatures—willing and unwilling.

Metapontum had been working as a background artist on I Am Weasel and conceived the idea after an unstable Burbank dentist flung salt water in his face. (There was a law suit, later settled.)

Cartoon Network executive Laudi Krate quickly spotted the potential of "Dentist" and wasted no time calling Atlanta for instructions. A pilot was ordered and Krate told to 'hustle this one along.'

Under pressure, Krate promoted character designer Higgins Benzine to produce. Benzine was controversial. Despite many years in animation, he could not draw an oval head. Worse, he despised Metapontum whom he considered a 'cubicle ape,' lacking the skill to 'draw a game of Hang Man.'

Often great art emerges from a clash of personalities but not this time. After a series of loud arguments and flung pencils, an angry Metapontum produced a dark 22-minute script in which Sea Dentist extracts the teeth of a tiger shark and cements them into the mouth of a harbor seal who then proceeds to kill and eat a wind surfer. Sea Dentist, employed by "The United Nations Sea Counsel," denies having anything to do with the incident and sails to Panama.

Krate was horrified. The script lacked several key elements considered necessary in children's animation. Among them were likable characters, humor, and no wind surfers slashed to pieces. Metapontum defended his script, claiming, "Dentists are really like that. Seriously." More drafts were ordered and eventually the story acquired a child character while deaths were changed to prat falls, and Sea Dentist became 'crusty but lovable.'

Nevertheless, the caustic chemistry between Benzine and Metapontum poisoned the production. Factions formed and artists would lunch with either producer or show creator. So intense was the hatred that artists in the Benzine camp began losing the ability to draw oval heads. Meanwhile, Metapontum supporters voiced a hatred for dentists and oral hygiene in general.

After several contentious months, an episode was completed in which an acerbic but kindly Sea Dentist aids a killer whale by installing a fixed partial denture (or bridge). Later, in a battle with anti-aquatic dental forces, Sea Dentist falls overboard and is saved by the very whale whom he earlier helped. The story and artwork were a compromise enforced by Krate. Metapontum hated having a dentist portrayed in a positive light while Benzine loathed the art work, claiming the oval heads "looked all wrong."

By now, Atlanta was demanding the pilot. In a frenzy, layouts, model sheets, etc. were shipped to a Korean animation house. But no one figured on Benzine. At his own expense, he flew into Seoul and tinkered with the models. As a result, the human characters lacked oval heads. Sea Dentist had a head that was pumpkin-round with what appeared to be a ramp extending out above his right ear.

Krate and Metapontum went ballistic when they saw the footage, but there was no time or budget for retakes. Krate shipped the program to her Cartoon Network bosses with a cover note praising the 'quirky animation that is also iconic in an unspecified way.'

Despite a compelling all-lute music track, the project was mercifully put down. Like The Day the Clown Cried, grainy copies Sea Dentist circulated quietly throughout the animation world and became the stuff of dystopian legend.

Not surprisingly, Cleve Metapontum, Higgins Benzine and Laudi Crate resurfaced at different studios. And while they would never work together again, this trio was involved with other animated TV shows that managed to miss the airwaves.

Images: fossilsforkids.com and istockphoto

Seven Things Not to Say in a Pitch Meeting

2011-12-11T11:34:00.001-08:00

For the novice starting a TV animation career, here are seven diamond-encrusted ways to turn your big chance into a cautionary tale for others.

1. Why doesn't this studio ever buy anything I bring in here?
In the animation world, ask and you shall not receive.

2. How many dim bulbs get to make notes on the scripts?
This query ensures you won't remain around long enough to count them.

3. My agent says you have fecal incontinence.
Possibly so but a seasoned animation veteran leaves medical issues for a more relaxed time.

4. Pilots are for timid losers. Do you have the nuts to go directly to 65 half hours?
Brashness can lead to ample free time.

5. I worked hard on this pitch and all you do is smile and nod like a dog hanging out a car window.
Pithy observations are best shared with peers and not animation executives.

6. Hey, this office has a killer view. I can see the car I'm living in!
Sadly, economic prejudice is alive and well in Hollywood.

7. When I worked here before, I would lock my office door and inflate a plastic woman.
This sort of provocative anecdote demands a strong response such as 'be silent and go away now.'
Image: 50 Tips to Making It in Hollywood

The Sitter Review Up at F.O.G.

2011-12-08T15:50:00.001-08:00

Forces of Geek hosts my latest in-depth look at cinema. This week—The Sitter:

On the surface this movie appears to be an 81-minute, R-rated version of Uncle Buck, but underneath simmers a bold statement about the price men pay for transgressing gender roles in the baby-sitting field.

Jonah Hill’s character Noah Griffith is a self-absorbed slacker, suspended from college.

Needing money, he babysits his neighbor’s three semi-feral children. When his girlfriend (Ari Graynor) invites him to a party with the promise of sex, Griffith packs up the annoying youngsters and drives into the land of unintended consequences.

A raunchy, hormone fest aimed at teenage boys?

Ah, there’s the cunning.

Read the rest here.

Ebook 'Em, Dano

2011-12-07T13:13:00.000-08:00

There's no reason these days not to Ebook it. I'm following my own advice. As soon as I complete this particular manuscript I'm Ebooking the bastard. (I've had plenty of time to let the story simmer.)

Here's a collection of tips from a site that specializes in this fascinating electronic form of fun.

Famous Birthday Friends

2011-12-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

Thank you very much to all who have, so far, wished me Happy Birthday. In thinking of this day, I am reminded of several famous Americans who share my date of birth. I will list three and examine their accomplishments as compared to mine.

1. Martin Van Buren - b. Dec. 5, 1782

2. George Armstrong Custer - b. Dec. 5, 1839

3. Walt Disney - b. Dec. 5, 1901

4. John P. McCann - b. Dec. 5, 1952

1. Martin Van Buren succeeded greatly in becoming the 8th President of the United States but was hardly remembered even in his own day. He had a large bull frog stuffed and used as an ink well in the White House. However President Taft later sat on it by accident and they had to throw the thing out. That's about it.

2. George Armstrong Custer succeeded greatly as a soldier in the Civil War but had a mixed record fighting Indians. (1-1-2, I think.) He is best remembered for his spectacular fail at the Battle of the Little Big Horn. At first, everything was going well; then it all fell apart under an Indian tsunami. In later years, Custer had a park named after him as well as a monument and a movie where his part was played by Errol Flynn. That's a whole lot more than Van Buren ever got.

3. Walt Disney succeeded greatly in animation, a pioneer in the filed, creator of iconic characters—but not the word 'iconic' which was invented by junior execs.—established Disney studios and Disneyland and is remembered to this day. Nonetheless his body is frozen in a vault beneath Disney's Burbank lot and should Walt be reanimated and start making decisions again it could effect his legacy.

4. John P. McCann was greatly successful as a Hollywood atmosphere player. McCann was the ship-board stand-in for a Canadian actor portraying Errol Flynn in My Wicked, Wicked Ways. In addition, he is visible from behind catching Dennis Quaid's jacket at around 1:19 in a clip from Great Balls of Fire.
More successful in animation, McCann created the non-iconic character of The Huntsman. For the next fifteen years, he piggy-backed onto as many successful shows as his friends would allow. While the record is still being written, outsiders agree that McCann will be remembered by Bank of America and several other creditors who might reasonably feel gypped should he pass from the scene within the next several months.

Images: whitehouse.gov, Parcbench, fold3

Tuba Christmas Explained

2011-12-03T15:05:00.000-08:00

According to regular poster—and crack euphonium player—Luke:

"Tuba Christmas is a city -wide gathering of euphonium and tuba players. Players gather in the morning and practice familiar Christmas songs, which are then performed in a public pla ce such as a local mall, or public park. The best part is, Tuba Christmas travels all over the country, allowing tuba player AND euphonium players from across the United States a chance to show off their chops. Players are encouraged to wear their best Christmas sweater, and decorate their instrument in a festive manner."

A list of cities featuring Tuba Christmas may be found here:

tubachristmas.com/

Luke closed by adding that the sound is "powerful, dark, and, majestic."

Behold Tuba Christmas!

h/t: the baltimorehorn

"Fresh Ideas" Bound for Spring Reprint

2011-12-01T15:20:00.000-08:00

A dark tale of a man who gives fate a tiny assist in order to advance in business, my short story, "Fresh Ideas," will be included in the Spring 2012 anthology Uncle John's Flush Fiction.

The Uncle John's publishing empire was founded on the belief that short, interesting and funny articles should be made available to the general public for their toilet-sitting education and amusement.

"Flush Fiction" will be a collection of flash fiction — under a thousand words or about three double-spaced pages — and I'm honored to have made the cut.

Hopefully, you'll enjoy "Fresh Ideas" very soon as mirth is said to ease tortured bowels. Or, at least, it's said by guys with stories coming out in bathroom-themed anthologies.

Image: flickr

The Artist Review Up at F.O.G.

2011-12-01T11:35:00.000-08:00

At Forces of Geek, my insightful report on contemporary silent film, The Artist.

I almost threw up my Brie and Triscuits.

How in the world can you release a film and forget the dialogue track?

I know it’s incredible when you think of how many people must sign off on a major motion picture. And yet there were the actors speaking on screen but no voices emerged.

More here.

Mars Attacks Cards (or Topps of the Morning To Ye)

2011-11-30T15:07:00.000-08:00

Topps Mars Attacks Cards here in all their glory. On the back of each card was a little nugget of story re. the front image as well an update on a Martian invasion of Earth. (In the one to your left, the Martian has a seedy attraction to women's sleep wear.)

I had high hopes for the Tim Burton film version but it turned into campy schtick. I loved these back in the day. You could buy a pack of five and they came with a flat, thin piece of bubble gum. We really did try to collect them all.

Image: Golden Age Comic Book Stories
h/t: Cartoonatics

Get Yer Turtle-Duck On

2011-11-30T14:44:00.000-08:00

If you live in and around the LA area, animation ace Rich Arons is signing copies of his kids' book this Sunday. You've still got till tomorrow to RSVP. Go, get a signed copy or three for Christmas. Say 'hi' to Rich. Ask him to draw you something—but buy a book first.

Image: Hound Comics

Indo-Jew Bowl Results

2011-11-25T17:41:00.000-08:00

Jewish and folks from the sub-continent square off every year in the Indo-Jew Bowl. It's played in my old hometown of Skokie, Illinois, a northern suburb of Chicago best known for opposing a march by Nazis who never made it off the Expressway. Observe this past contest.

h/t IllinoisNinth via Big Peace

Note: The Jews won decisively this year 19 to 6.

Happy Chowing

2011-11-24T13:41:00.000-08:00

Here's my T-Day six years ago, shortly after this blog opened for business.

Anne McCaffrey Has Left the House

2011-11-23T19:15:00.000-08:00

Many years ago I was just starting out in improv comedy and worked a night job as a dispatcher for a security guard company. An improv chum lent me her collection of McCaffrey's Dragon Riders of Pern series. As mice skittered around a dirty office in downtown Los Angeles, I'd be transported to this exotic realm where everyone got around by riding a dragon. I wished I had a small dragon. I would let it roam free and eat the mice.

With her books slated for production in 2012, Anne McCaffrey passed away today at age 85.

I thank her for her dragons.

Image: Comic Related

Arthur Christmas: 'Wages of Fear' Remake Misses Mark

2011-11-23T10:10:00.000-08:00

(My latest review is up at Forces of Geek. If time permits, please stop by and comment. In any case, a most Happy Thanksgiving!)

Set at the North Pole, Arthur Christmas is a digital 3-D holiday adventure delving into themes of futility, alienation and madness. This grim 97-minute character exploration revolves around the bumbling, failed son of Santa Claus.

In a desperate grab for attention, he takes a sleigh ride with an ex-Santa grandfather who remains trapped in a past of eggnog, candy canes and the feral scent of sweaty reindeer.

Read more at Forces of Geek.

Image: Live For Films

One of My Two Favorite Weeks

2011-11-22T10:20:00.000-08:00

I love the rump week of Thanksgiving. When I worked in-house, the routine was usually: drink coffee all morning, shoot the breeze, take long lunches, then leave early on Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday we'd have a half-day.

My other fav is the week between Christmas and New Years. At Warner Bros. Jean MacCurdy usually gave us the time off with pay.

I notice that my two happiest weeks involved jobs with ritualized social routines but little actual labor.

That could explain much.

Annoying Orange Takes to the Air

2011-11-18T10:27:00.000-08:00

Tom Shepphard will help breath life into You Tube hit Annoying Orange as it migrates to Cartoon Network.

h/t: Forces of Geek; Image: Blippitt

Munchkin Down

2011-11-17T10:28:00.000-08:00

Then there were three as one of the last surviving Munchkins hung up his curled shoes at age 93.

h/t: moviefone

Overthought Reviews

2011-11-17T09:21:00.000-08:00

Forces of Geek presents my weighty cinematic insights.

Outwardly a tale of large-breasted women massacred by prehistoric fish, Piranha 3DD floats atop a deeper message of environmental stewardship similar to that of Blue Planet: Seas of Life. While the French might dismiss ‘Piranha’ as “an affair of fish,” it is ever so much more subtle, nimbly darting between text and subtext like a ballerina sprinting across a freeway.

Read more here.

Voice Actors on the Move

2011-11-16T16:34:00.000-08:00

Craig Cumpton celebrated his 12th anniversary online by cyber-trekking over to toon zone. View his new website and design and learn more about whaz'sup with voice actors.

Image: Shutterstock.com

First Review A'Coming on Forces of Geek

2011-11-14T21:18:00.000-08:00

My first review at Forces of Geek will go live on Friday, I believe. Will it be Werner Herzog's new film or Immortal or something even better? Make me look good and go find out.

Image: How to Do Things.com

Hear For Yourself

2011-11-13T10:51:00.001-08:00

Composers Steve and Julie Bernstein have added numerous music files to their website. In fact, it's music THEY HAVE COMPOSED!! Listen, enjoy, and eat some pears and chili. (The last part is optional.)

Droll Hunter Rawks!

2011-11-10T11:45:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Paul Rugg for alerting me to 2010's The Troll Hunter. This Nordic Blair Witch threads together tense spooky scenes of young filmmakers trailing an odd mysterious man through the Norwegian back country with absolutely hilarious deadpan moments. It's a tough sell but the filmmakers stay balanced between comedy and suspense throughout and avoid the bad-good label of movies like Troll—let alone Troll 2. On Netflix. I will only say that Paul and I watched it together and laughed at certain scenes in giddy delight.

Happy Birthday USMC!

2011-11-10T11:25:00.000-08:00

236 years of shooting people and breaking stuff on behalf of the United States of America. In 1950 10,000 men of the First Marine Division were surrounded by 120,000 Chinese troops near the Chosin Reservoir in North Korea. Below is a trailer for a 2010 documentary detailing the Marines' fight to break free. An amazing tribute to amazing men.

'Dragonfriend' Hits the Web

2011-11-09T19:46:00.000-08:00

In Arthurian times, castle drudge Leonard needs a steady meal while depressed dragon Mantooth needs a reason to live. Can they help each other? Find out in Warner chum Roger Eschbacher's latest book which released today. Dragonfriend: Leonard the Great, Book One is now available in paperback and Kindle.

Roger's got two illustrated kids' books under his belt and is slowly carving out a niche in the prose field. Show his most recent work a little love.

I Will Review at Forces of Geek

2011-11-09T15:30:00.000-08:00

F.O.G editor-in-chief Stefan Blitz has kindly provided Write Enough a forum where I may post my inaccurate over-thought film reviews. I'll try and capture the same insight I demonstrated in last year's cinematic examinations of The Expendables and The Last Exorcism.

I'll sing out when the first post is up—should be within a week of two.

'Let's Kill Uncle' and Other Fine Films

2011-11-08T16:07:00.000-08:00

Imagine a filmmaker roaming the Great Plains, filming in small towns and cities across Nebraska and Kansas; filming with little thought to continuity or quality; but casting locals as actors in a melodrama shot, written and directed by the same man who demands room and board for a month while he completes his latest opus.

There you have the life of Argentinian 'Ed Wood' Daniel Burmeister, a one-man, movie-makin' machine who shows little signs of slowing down. Read more here.

h/t: WSJ; Image: PoeForward.com

Carmine San Diego?

2011-11-05T13:54:00.000-07:00

Carmen San Diego may be headed once again to the big screen with the title character played by Jennifer Lopez. Maybe it's my hearing, but I always thought the character was named Carmine San Diego and was being pursued for the murder of a bookie.

h/t and artwork: The Inquistir

Turbie the Turtle-Duck

2011-10-31T16:47:00.000-07:00

Young Richie Evans and his turtle-duck experience a day filled with cupcakes, the lost isle of Anomoxie, and a mysterious creature in Lake Deep. Let your youngster discover more in the pages of Rich Aron's new book written and illustrated by the veteran animator. (And an old Warner Bros. chum.)

Happy Ghostbusting Halloween!

2011-10-31T15:10:00.000-07:00

A day of spooks and kooks only slightly different than most days in Los Angeles. Last night on Hollywood Boulevard 100 people in costume duked it out. They'll probably do the same next week. A pleasant Halloween to all!

h/t: scottymyshkin

South Park Not in the Clear

2011-10-24T20:47:00.000-07:00

Via The Village Voice, South Park creators Parker and Stone were investigated five years back by the Church of Scientology. Private eyes spied on the pair and searched public records—as well as trash— for anything incriminating that might be used against the duo in retaliation for a South Park episode mocking Scientology beliefs.

Never a dull moment with the Hubbardites.

Orange You Glad You Wrote That

2011-10-19T15:28:00.000-07:00

An NYT article mentions Warner chum Tom Sheppard as The Annoying Orange prepares to roll from Web to TV pilot to potential series. (Would it be wrong to say this proves Glee won't be the only televised home for fruit?)

And The Beasts Shall Inherit Ohio

2011-10-19T15:09:00.000-07:00

Trouble in Zanesville (home of former Acme Comedy Theatre founder M.D. Sweeney) as all creatures great and small with big teeth bolt from the Zanesville Zoo.

Via Instapundit

Fab-oo and Amazon

2011-10-18T22:01:00.000-07:00

Tom Ruegger reminds us who got the Emmy ball rolling at the WB.

Also, Amazon offers the Kindle edition of R. Scott McCoy's Necrotic Tissue Best of Anthology containing my short tale, "Dagon and Jill."

So there's all kind of news.

Carl Macek's Robotech Universe

2011-10-18T20:45:00.000-07:00

There's no tech like Robotech. This '80s hit animated TV series introduced anime to America where it's taken root and grown ever since. And no one made that happen more than the late Carl Macek. Felled by a heart attack in 2010, Macek was honored last night in a documentary at Harmony Gold Theater on Sunset Blvd. (And because my wife works occasionally with the film's associate producer, we attended.)

Culled from the 25th Anniversary DVD and originally intended as a series of podcasts, the doc featured Robotech voice actors such as Tony Oliver, Richard Epcar and Reba West. From the the insane production schedule that had actors pulling overnights, to scripts being rewritten in studio, to the undreamed of success that greeted the series, to its staying power over decades, Keith H. Maxwell's documentary described producer/ story editor Macek as the turbine that kept the Robotech machinery spinning.

In addition, Macek founded Streamline Pictures with Jerry Beck and theatrically released anime giant Akira. (I've always been strangely drawn to films featuring a gang of evil clowns.) Macek also helped John Kricfalusi establish Spumco.

Following the screening, I spoke briefly with David Keith Riddick, who produced the U.S. versions of the Robotech soundtrack. (On RECORD ALBUMS—round vinyl things with music inside that came out when you stuck them with a needle.) Riddick recalled that Macek loved anime with its more adult themes, carefully crafted animation, and cinematic staging.

Clearly Macek's love grew into a drive for perfection and character depth that flowed into a series that has lived on, spawned sequels and now sits poised at Warner Bros. waiting to become a live-action feature.

Prior to last night, I knew a bit about Robotech but very little about Carl Macek. Today, I salute the guy. He had a monster career, cut a bit short, but pretty darn rich any way you slice it. Rest in anime peace, sir.

Image: Robotech.com and Robotechnology

Anthology Update

2011-10-17T14:57:00.000-07:00

Per publisher R. Scott McCoy, the anthology containing "Dagon and Jill" is available on ebook at Smashwords.

Best of Anthology for Me

2011-10-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

Not necessarily me, but my short story "Dagon and Jill" will be featured in the Best of Necrotic Tissue Anthology to be released next week. I'll provide more info soon so that those inclined to purchase a copy may indeed do so.

I'm woefully behind in sending material out for publication because of recent disclosures in the John P. McCann writing archives. Busy closing up a storage unit, I've come across a great pile of unfinished novels, young adult books, a screenplay, a social history of the Vietnam War and a travel book on my adventures in Southeast Asia working for the State Department and Warner Bros.

Leafing through the stuff, I realize it doesn't all stink as much as I originally thought. There is material to salvage. In addition, I've uncovered over eleven years of original TV animation ideas that the industry passed on. These can be retooled into other formats.

But my first writing priority—aside from earning money—will be Tomorrow Bear. First pitched in 2007, it was shot down by Nick, Disney and Cartoon Network. Reworked with art from Valerie Tidwell, the show was pitched again last spring and I can't recall who passed on it.

But Valerie and I are slogging away in fits and starts crafting an ebook. She has sent me some very funny sketches and I have delivered her several firm promises to finish up a draft.

So I'm in the hole and need to produce and produce I shall. Next finished fiction project will be a Tomorrow Bear adventure involving ursine crime solving and California police cars that have replaced their sirens with electronic whale calls.

UPDATE
I may interrupt TBear to rewrite and submit "Unreasonable Doubt," my non-fiction piece on jury duty. But other that that, it's TBear or hibernation.

Image: Clipartoday

Hit the Road, Mac

2011-10-07T20:17:00.000-07:00

Cleaning out a storage facility last week, I found a box containing my old Mac Classic just in time for the passing of Steve Jobs. Back in 1991, M.D. Sweeney accompanied me to the Westwood Mac store and negotiated on my behalf for the computer and a printer. Sweeney is a phenomenal dealer with a deadpan expression like an Olmec mask. Sales reps flash their easy smiles, grow uncomfortable and sometimes offer things at a lower price. (They didn't this time, but even A-Rod strikes out occasionally.) On that computer I wrote many Acme Comedy Theatre sketches as well as my first Animaniacs script, "Dracu-lee, Dracu-la." But it's doing no one any good anymore and is destined for the green waste facility. Farewell, Mac Classic and rest in piece, Mr. Jobs. And if you're ever in Los Angeles, stop by Amalfi Restaurant and see if you can talk the owner (Sweeney) into a free dessert. Let me know how it goes.
Image: antique trader

Unreasonable Doubt VI: Count Down

2011-09-30T14:46:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend my mother-in-law moved into a nearby apartment. Saturday and Sunday were spent helping her settle in, going out to dinner, and using her presence as a general excuse to avoid writing anything. For the most part I left the trial downtown. However I did dream Sunday night that I tried to buy a movie ticket in a suit minus socks.

On Monday I carpooled to court with a fellow juror. He worked at Jet Propulsion Laboratories installing microwave electrical smart things into a probe that’s Jupiter bound in a few years. As he explained the project I prompted him with incisive questions such as, “Will your probe deploy a ray of some kind to defend against moon people?”

In turn, he asked me about TV animation and working on Animaniacs. I mentioned that most of our staff writers as well as the senior producer and his assistants smoked cigarettes back then. It was like writing a cartoon under a Vegas crap table—fun, exciting with sudden outbursts of yelling, but smoke really does get in your eyes.

Disney Center where they really know how to park cars.

Downtown in the Disney Center parking lot we ran into one of our alternate jurors—the actress/model. Together, the three of us walked north on Grand Avenue past German tourists snapping photos of a magazine photo shoot busy using the Disney Center as backdrop.

Along with the other alternate—the financial planner—the actress had sat through the whole muttered Korean trial. Now the pair was shutout of deliberations. Banished to the marble benches outside Department 46, our alternates were compelled to wait for the chosen 12 to stitch together decisions on seven counts. To be an alternate was to have dinner without dessert; fore play minus carnal festivities. They were the extras of the legal system.

At the Criminal Court's Building we passed through security, waited for elevators, wriggled our way into a car and arrived finally at the 7^thFloor. Counts 4, 6 and 7 waited ahead like crows on a telephone wire.

In the jury room, the Friday frenzy had evaporated. If showing up on Monday would wreck plans, then those plans were already wrecked. We were here and there was nothing else to do but finish.

Our foreman got the ball rolling. She’d thought matters through over the weekend. Having considered both stories, she’d come to accept the wife’s version of events. In her view, Mr. Pak was guilty on all three remaining counts.

“Would anyone else care to comment?”

Here was an encouraging start. I pointed out that Mr. Pak had demonstrated in count 3 that he wasn’t keen on having cops called. He stood accused of nothing in count 4 that was out of character. I believed him guilty.

One of the psychologists was skeptical, feeling there were elements unsaid about the wife that made her culpable in unknown ways.

Back and forth volleyed rationalists and psychologists with the occasional remark thrown in from the silent minority. (“I think there are crickets outside my bedroom window.”)

Twenty minutes passed. Sensing discussion tapering off, the foreman called for a vote on count 4.

Once again, the count was 11 to 1—

—this time for conviction.

Holding out for acquittal was the regular businessman.

Here was headline news. He'd been a rationalist stalwart, the man who’d eased the pressure when I was a hold out. Now he’d flipped utterly to the psychologists.

"I'm just not sure the husband can be guilty of intimidating her, especially when she already said she wouldn't call the police."

Unreasonable doubt.

A rationalist countered, “The guy just beat and smothered the woman. Then he kicked open the bathroom door and snatched her phone. That’s kinda freaking intimidating.”

“Also she testified as to confusion over who she’d call,”said a psychologist, adding, “if you believe her.”

“Let’s get the transcript,” said another rationalist a bit too helpfully.

That would be like having a fighter on the ropes then pausing to call for a reading of the rulebook. Rationalists and psychologists spoke up, claiming a general sense that the wife wasn’t sure who’d she call.

An impatient psychologist blurted out, “Can we vote again?"

"I believe more time is needed," said the foreman.

Good call. The regular businessman was wavering but might dig in like a badger if he thought we were high-pressuring him.

A few more minutes passed with rationalists and psychologists, respectfully but persistently, double-teaming the holdout.

Finally, the point was made once again that events in the bathroom had nothing to do with anything the wife thought and everything to do with the husband’s actions.

Sensing an opening, the foreman called for another vote on count 4.

12 – 0—guilty.

Two more counts remained.

Count six involved damaging the wife’s cell phone. Count seven dealt somehow with crime and cell phones. The way the counts were worded, it seemed that if you’d sunk Mr. Pak on 4, then 6 and 7 pretty much rolled into the pocket on their own.

There was light deliberation. You sensed that, as a jury, our flag-planting moments had passed.

On the first vote we found the defendant guilty on count 6.

Same procedure and outcome for count 7.

We were almost finished.

The bailiff was summoned by pressing the little button on the wall twice. The foreman filled out her paperwork while the court sent out word for attorneys and clients to reassemble back in Department 46.

I'd seen it on a thousand courtroom dramas, but now I was a member of the jury filing into the courtroom. Last in line, I fumbled around turning off my cell phone before sitting. We had guests today—two men and a woman in suits; lawyers I guessed because they had those wheeled briefcases that looked like carry-on luggage. There was also a young Korean guy wearing a ball cap, which he never removed, slouched on a backbench. In addition, a well-muscled sheriff’s deputy stood near the bailiff, eyes on the defendant.

All our regulars were present. The city attorney had a sheet of paper on the table before her, fingers clasped around a pen as if primed to record the box score.

Moments later: “We the People in the above entitled action find the defendant…”

Unlike the movies, the defendant didn't stand. He took his half-dozen guilties and one acquittal without visible emotion. However his attorney seemed devastated, shoulders hunched, hands clasped, staring straight ahead as if he’d bet his own fingers and toes on the outcome.

Head down, the city attorney quietly marked her paper after every count.

And then it was over.

No one wanted to poll the jury. The judge thanked us for our service and we headed off to the 5^th floor to sign out. I wondered what would happen to the defendant. Oddly enough, time in county jail was a fitting punishment for spousal abuse since you’d spend your waking hours in fear of physical violence.

(Note: Now that I think of it, jail time is unlikely. Due to a Supreme Court ruling, California is decanting convicts from state prisons into county jails to relieve overcrowding. At the same time, the state is granting early release to county inmates. Unfortunately, they’re not releasing them into the neighborhoods of the Supreme Court justices who voted for this game of criminal musical chairs.)

The following week, I received my jury pay of $15 a day plus gas mileage. Seeing the County of Los Angeles move that quickly was like witnessing a glacier sprint a hundred meters. In addition, the judge sent a hand-written letter thanking me for my time in People vs. Pak, noting that the system only worked because people such as myself honored their commitment to serve.

It had been tedious, a time-suck, with tense moments spent coming to agreement with total strangers on the fate of another stranger. On Friday, our desire to resume our lives had clashed with the job at hand. We’d found Mr. Pak guilty on three biggies, so how much justice was necessary?

I believe the weekend arrived just in time. On Monday we were ready to properly see matters out. Calmer, our deliberations went faster and we finished much quicker than many of us had hoped. Six guilty counts seemed about right.

So back to my life.

Perhaps in a year or so I’ll get another summons. Maybe next time, instead of a library book, I’ll carry a Kindle. And if I’m called for a panel, I’ll report knowing what lies ahead in the jury room, neither fearing nor regretting an opportunity to be of service to my city.

Unless the case requires muttering translators.

Then forget it. I'm faking a heart attack.

Images:globalfilmvillage.com & dwmbeancounter.com

Inner Critic Smack Down!

2011-09-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

When I worked at a magazine my editor once labeled writer's block as "paralysis due to endless possibilities." And nothing jams up the flow like our inner critic telling us our prose is dull, treacly and weak. Writer and publishing coach Daphne Gray-Grant offers scribes a few tips on how to shut up that silent scold and crank copy out onto the screen where it properly belongs.

I've reprinted Daphne's free weekly email (giving credit below, for it is due.)

5 ways to get your inner critic to shut up

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of my 17-year-old daughters sometimes slaps the side of her own head and says, "stupid, stupid." I don't think anyone -- particularly not one of my kids -- should ever call themselves stupid. But I see writers doing it all the time.

Admit it. You're probably your own harshest critic. By your standards, your writing is never interesting enough. Or persuasive enough. Or well organized enough. In fact, while you're in the middle of the act of writing a voice inside your head is often saying things like: "My boss is going to go crazy when seeing this article." Or, "why would anyone want to read this piece of dreck?" Or, "my sources are going to be so pissed off when they find out which quotes I've used."

Don't you think it's time to tell you inner critic to shut up? Here are five tips for quietening that supremely unhelpful voice:

1) Stop thinking about HOW your work is going to turn out and focus instead on WHAT you are writing. Your job as a writer is to write. When you write, write. When you edit, edit. Don't ever mix up these two entirely separate tasks or you are dooming yourself to remain a slow, pained writer.

2) If, like many people, including me, you have a hard time stopping yourself from editing while you write, resolve to make writing without editing your next project. (I stopped editing while I wrote about 10 years ago and it changed my life.) Try turning off your monitor (or, hanging a dishtowel over it) so you can't see what you're writing. If that seems too drastic, here's a trick I found on Richard Shackcloth's blog (which, sadly, seems to be dormant now): use a hashtag # whenever you spot something you want to fix later. (I love that he describes this as a promissory note!) Furthermore, if something specific occurs to you that you're afraid of forgetting about then write #note: and explain what you want to remember. For example: #note: make sure the VP is really okay with this. Or #note: check spelling. By making this promise to your inner critic you should be able to persuade him or her to become silent.

3) Write with a loud timer clicking in the background. This advice initially seemed counterintuitive to me and I always did my pomodoros with a silent digital timer tracking the minutes. But recently I've discovered the joy of what a friend of mine likes to call "the wall of sound." Something about the ticking not only serves to remind me that I need to be writing (this keeps me off email and the Internet) but it also serves to distract part of my brain so that I simply don't have the mental RAM for self-criticism. You can find "noisy" timers on the Internet or get a kitchen timer from a dollar store.

4) Use Write or Die. I've written about this website before and urge you again to try it. Simply enter your desired word count, and your self-imposed time limit into the fr/ee software and when you stop writing for more than 10 seconds you'll be "punished" with a screen that changes colour and, following that, by a loud, unpleasant noise. This turns writing into a game, which is a great way of silencing your inner critic. (Critics abhor games.)

5) Put an elastic band on your wrist and snap it every time a self-critical thought goes through your head. For a split second you will have left behind worries about your writing and shifted them to the (mild) pain on your wrist. This creates the space for you to refocus on your writing.

Remember, your inner critic will have plenty of time to comment when you begin to edit. And at that point those comments may even be useful. But when you are writing, you inner critic should shut the heck up.
Daphne Gray-Grant is a writing and editing coach and the author of the popular book 8½ Steps to Writing Faster, Better. She offers a brief and free weekly newsletter on her website. Subscribe by going to the Publication Coach.

Unreasonable Doubt V: Lather, Repeat, Rinse

2011-09-27T10:49:00.000-07:00

(Deliberations get sloppy after I hang the jury on count 4.)

Twenty-two pairs of eyes watched to see what inane, bumbling excuse I would present.

"Lots of things were said about the wife," I began, "but isn't the count of intimidation about the husband?"

Nothing for a moment. I glanced down at the table, wondering if I'd fold like the Red Sox in September.

"Oh, maybe it is," said the regular businessman.

I wanted to give him a big man hug.

"Okay, then let's discuss this," said the foreman.

Just as we got underway, the bailiff strolled back in. "Judge says you've got 20 more minutes."

With four counts remaining that worked out to five minutes a count. This set off a frenzy of deliberation and cross-talk with an irate foreman finally yelling for order. A system of raising hands was quickly instituted. However the system was misunderstood to mean that as long as you raised your hand and kept it up you could begin speaking immediately.

Nevertheless, deliberations inched ahead between rationalists and psychologists. Occasionally, a member of the Silent Minority interjected something along the lines of, "If the defendant was a musician, how come they never showed a photograph of him playing music? I think that would've helped."

The intimidation count was now deadlocked with rationalists leaning toward guilt and psychologists inclined toward acquittal. With time ticking away, it was decided to jump ahead to another count as if these were multiple choice exam questions.

But counts 4, 6 and 7 were linked by time and place involving actions that took place in the bathroom following the beating. You couldn't really pry them apart, though we tried briefly, ending in split decisions.

(Count five had been dropped in pre-trial. I think it involved making a false charge of glottal wailing.)

Ah, but count 8 dealt with the temporary restraining order allegedly violated by Mr. Pak. Here was a stand-alone count; one we could sink our teeth into.

I knew Mr. Pak spoke acceptable Quisnos English. I believed the Korean-speaking detective who testified he'd explained the restraining order to Mr. Pak. I believed another cop who testified that Mr. Pak had blurted out in English, 'Why should I leave the apartment? It's my place.' I believed Mr. Pak was guilty of violating the restraining order.

So when the time came to raise our hands...I voted to acquit along with everyone else.

There was a sense that Mr. Pak had eventually left the apartment without the cops being called. Besides, we'd found him guilty on all the big stuff like hitting his wife. Besides, everyone wanted to go home. Besides, I'd already hung a count and wasn't ready to hang another.

Our rush to judgement was suddenly ended by the bailiff.

We'd have to return Monday and finish up.

A quick verdict didn't seem promising.

I wanted to ululate.

Images: Xavier School & bluebuddies.com

Unreasonable Doubt IV: Judge Not and Ye Shall Not Go Home

2011-09-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

As deliberations began, my fellow jurors divided roughly into three categories:

Rationalists—"Let's stick to the evidence and testimony."

Psychologists—"But what if she were thinking something other than what she said?"

The Silent Minority—"Call me when we're voting."

Of the twelve jurors, seven actively deliberated; one or two shifting between rationalist and psychologist depending on the count. (I tended to vote rationalist.) And while the Silent Minority wasn't mute, they mostly spoke of peripheral matters. ("Remember when Robert Downey Junior used to get arrested a lot?")

With a table full of evidence (plus a small basket of glazed doughnut holes left for us by the judge), we rolled up our sleeves on Friday afternoon.

Count one involved spousal abuse and the alleged beating. For this we had the strongest evidence—victim photos taken by the cops, testimony of the victim's friend, testimony of the cops and a paramedic. In addition, the paramedic testified that Mrs. Pak was not coked up based on his examination and years of experience dealing with the citizens of Los Angeles.

On the defendant's side, we had Mr. Pak's testimony that his wife was a whacked out druggie, a manic muffin head, thrashing on their bed and wailing like some Georgia snake handler. His attempts to either comfort or restrain her had inadvertently resulted in Mrs. Pak's facial injuries. If anything, he was acting in self-defense.

The foreman asked for pros and cons. There was some back and forth that tended to focus on the more fantastic claims of the defendant. There was a sense that Mr. Pak wasn't a very believable witness. Rationalists and psychologists seemed in general agreement.

The foreman called for a vote, "All those who believe the defendant is guilty of spousal abuse, please raise your hands."

I raised my hand, already planning my route home out of downtown. (A drive north up Hill Street through Chinatown to the 110 freeway, north to the 5 Freeway, then a short hop to the television and either the Military Channel or something involving midgets and pit bulls.)

Many hands shot up.

An old guy of the Silent Minority—the retiree—held out.

We were hung 11 to 1 to convict.

Energy seeped from the room like air from a ruptured scuba tank. No one had anticipated this on the first count. It was as if a guest at a birthday party had suddenly dropped a flagstone on the cake.

The foreman maintained a neutral politeness,"And, uh, what is your opinion of that count?"

"Well, I think we're all rushing to railroad the guy."

"How's that?" asked the former music industry business man.

"What was he supposed to do? His wife was all coked up."

(Are you freaking kidding me ! Where were you during the trial? The first count is a gimme; a slam dunk; a tap in. You must have a brain full of Snapple.)

"Listen, I spent ten years in the music industry. I've seen my share of coke freaks. It doesn't just wear off. You're sweaty, your system's all jacked up."

The photographer chimed in, "And the paramedic said the wife didn't show any symptoms of cocaine. So she probably wasn't high."

(Believe him, old man. I implore you to believe him. I will you!)

The government worker— from whom I'd learned to draw thick arrows—suggested we get the transcript and read back relevant parts. You may've seen this done in courtroom dramas. It's fast and never a problem on TV.

In reality, it's a big hassle. The foreman must request specifically which parts of the massive transcript are needed. Both attorneys must then be summoned. The judge has to Okay the whole thing.

We ended up not doing it.

The retiree backed up a bit on the wife being coked, but still held to the defendant's need to restrain her. If count one ended up hung, then so would the next two since they all were alleged to have happened at the same time in the same location— the Pak's bedroom.

A rationalist remembered the defendant testifying that he had been standing away from the bed, but had returned to restrain his wife, admitting he may have injured her in self defense.

A psychologist suggested, "He didn't have to grab her. He could have left the apartment or called for paramedics,"

The retiree wavered.

Another rationalist read back a legal definition from the jury instructions. The definition roughly stated that you can't rush into a situation and claim self-defense. Old Man Trouble must come to you.

There was the out.

"Well, based on that definition, I might see it differently."

(Oh, thank God! You charming old duffer. How good and noble and intelligent you are when you agree with me.)

"Why don't we vote again?" said the foreman quickly.

12 - 0 for conviction. Count one was a wrap.

The next two counts involving bruising the wife's wrist and smothering her with a pillow until she stopped screaming—along with her promise not to call the cops—went 12 - 0 for conviction on the first vote. We were picking up steam.

The bailiff strolled in. "How you guys doing?"

"We have three so far," said the foreman.

"The court's gonna close early today. You'll have to come back on Monday."

There was pleading from all around the table. Jurors had put off projects and clients or were only being paid for a single week. Going another day would complicate a lot of plans. We needed more time.

"Let me talk to the judge," said the bailiff and strolled out.

This brought us to count 4: intimidation. According to the charge, the wife had run into the bathroom stating she wanted to call a friend, maybe the cops, she wasn't sure. The husband followed, kicked open the door, slapped the cell phone out of her hand, held it away from the wife, and extracted another promise not to call the cops.

According to the defendant, he went into the bathroom to continue his perpetual wife-comforting but that nothing had happened with the cell phone. After all, hadn't she used it later to call her friend and the cops?

The psychologists jumped all over this count, quickly shifting the focus to the wife's actions and thoughts.

"She never actually said she was going to call the cops."

"How could she be intimidated if she wasn't going to call anyway?"

"Remember the cell phone they passed around? I didn't see any damage."

"Me either."

"I dropped my cell phone at the beach once and it broke to pieces. I don't believe the husband threw her cell phone."

"I don't think there's enough evidence to convict."

"Me either."

"Why don't we vote on this one?"

Many hands rose but we hung again.

11 to 1 for acquittal.

I was the hold out.

I could hear my fellow jurors thinking: Thanks a lot, you four-eyed bookworm.

The foreman maintained a neutral politeness as she addressed me,"We have a difference of opinion here. What do you think of the count?"

Coming Up: Monday, Monday; the verdict; thoughts on a system.

Images: Arthur's Clip Art & All-Free Download.com

Ten Unmade Star Trek Episodes

2011-09-24T13:10:00.000-07:00

They could've been compelled to do even stranger things.

Sometimes flowers grow from manure. Other times the manure just reeks. The latter case is presented here in the form of ten episodes that never saw daylight. Think of it as No Cash for Clunkers.
i09 via Instapundit
Image: gawker.com

Unreasonable Doubt III: Pak Up Your Worries

2011-09-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

For Mr. Pak to avoid conviction, he needed to fling offal on his soon-to-be-ex-wife's version of events. (I'm jumping around a bit here.) Thus at one point on a long Thursday afternoon the defendant took another swipe at the Mrs.

Note: This is not Mr. Pak's hand but only a representation.

He described how his loon wife had run into the master bedroom one night and locked the door so as to freely smoke cigarettes and ululate. Concerned, as always, Mr. Pak attempted to open the bedroom door. When it wouldn't yield, he used a chopstick to try and pick the lock.

I glanced at the judge. She had been growing steadily peeved at Mr. Pak's rambling testimony coupled with the inability of his attorney to break up the narrative by asking a question every so often. Something about the chopstick testimony made the judge appear ready to unleash an epic facepalm. In a voice tighter than old slacks, she called for a sidebar.

Standing up to stretch, I realized my instincts over the years had been correct. Jury duty was a thankless snore-fest to be avoided. How did I end up here? I'd served my country in time of war. I was honorably discharged. I paid more taxes than G.E. I'd even reported for jury duty. Many people don't even do that.

And this was my thanks.

Whatever was said in the side-bar seemed to work. The defense hustled up, the city attorney cross-examined and suddenly it was time to go home. Outside Dept. 46, we the jury talked about Friday; how this could all be wrapped up by tomorrow afternoon; how no one wanted to return on Monday. There was confidence that we could zip through seven counts using reason and the evidence and testimony presented in court.

But mostly there was the fervent desire to avoid deliberating Monday.

Back in 1987 on my very first jury panel there were three primary types of jurors: the unemployed (me), retirees and postal workers. (The postal workers were jovial, delighted to be there on full pay.) It was easy for most people to get out of jury duty and that's what most people did.

All that changed after O.J.

Following Mr. Simpson's 1995 acquittal, the courts became a lot more fussy. You couldn't shine them on so easily. They cast a wide net and drew in people who'd have skipped service years ago such as independent contractors who weren't paid for jury duty.

Not really our jury or even close.

Among our 12 jurors and two alternates were:

A Hollywood crime scene tour guide.

Financial planner.

Model as well as commercial and voice actress.

Actress who worked a day job at a spiritual book shop.

Photographer and video director.

Government worker who wanted to break into the music industry.

Retiree.

Personal assistant to a big star (unnamed.)

Banquet planner for an expensive Santa Monica hotel.

Microwave electrical specialist at Jet Propulsion Labs.

Former music industry guy who now worked in business.

Regular guy who worked in business.

Underemployed writer. (me)

A very quiet woman.

Friday morning, there was a Korean-speaking detective who rebutted Mr. Pak's statement that no one in LAPD explained anything to him in Korean. Mr. Pak was cross-examined more by the city attorney. Then there were closing statements.

The city attorney went first and...talked...very...slowly...and deliberately as if speaking to special needs children or state senators. I figured she was putting on the verbal brakes so the translator could more easily mutter in Korean. She spoke of the victim's straight-forward testimony coupled with physical evidence and witnesses that supported Mrs. Pak's contention that she had been beaten, smothered and intimidated by her husband. But the slowed down speech wasn't winning the People any jury points.

After lunch, the defense attorney summed up his case—the sockless Mr. Pak was the victim of a cocaine-crazed wild woman, an ululator of the first rank. Displaying fire and passion, the attorney might have made a greater impact had he fluidly completed his sentences. The spirit was willing but the diction was weak.

Then came jury instructions. We were given copies but the judge read them anyway. Each count contained certain elements that had to be met for a guilty verdict. Otherwise, acquit. All verdicts had to be unanimous. I jotted a few notes on my form, confident we'd wrap this baby up and maybe—just maybe—get a jump on Friday traffic.

Finally we were ordered forth into the jury room to deliberate. There were two heavy wooden tables placed together so that all twelve of us could fit around. The bailiff deposited the evidence in the center of the tables. Out the window behind us we had a view of the old Hall of Justice, empty now because it needed earthquake retrofitting or else tearing down so that a friend of the mayor could build something.

On the wall was a buzzer and instructions:

Buzz Once - Summon the bailiff.

Buzz Twice - Verdict.

Buzz Thrice - Door Jammed Due to Chopstick in Lock. (Actually, it was for emergencies.)

Several jurors nominated the banquet planner as foreman. She was quickly elected. A bright, friendly woman, I believe she got the job because she knew every one's first name.

Selecting the foreman proved the easiest vote we'd take.

Images: Learner's Dictionary & Pro Commerce

Unreasonable Doubt Update

2011-09-22T08:12:00.000-07:00

Not once during the whole trial did I see or hear a gavel. This left me disillusioned about televised images of our legal system.

Medical exams and a work assignment have me squished for time. But I hope to at least wrap up the trial by this evening.
Image: Capstone Education ePortfolio

Unreasonable Doubt II: A Pocketful of Koreans

2011-09-20T21:28:00.000-07:00

Let us call the defendant "Mr. Pak." Mr. Pak was in his early thirties, tall, wearing a sharp-looking gray suit, no socks and running shoes. He and his female interpreter wedged into the witness box to testify. Mr. Pak's attorney was a middle-aged Korean with dark glasses who spoke heavily-accented English; not bad English but he often groped for words like a sleepy man fumbling for the alarm clock.

(I should note here that the city attorney was also of Korean heritage and spoke excellent English. Clearly the City of Los Angeles had determined they would not be out-Koreaned by anyone.)

Next to the witness stand was a bulletin board with a schematic of the apartment where the incident had taken place. The judge handed the defendant a laser pointer. The defendant fiddled around, at one instance turning it toward his face

Here the defense attorney dropped the ball.

He warned the defendant in English not to point the laser at his eyes. The defendant immediately flipped the pointer around and got the beam aimed at the schematic. (I'd like to say I noticed at the time, but one of the other jurors bagged that golden moment.)

So testimony began. Here the usual translating process was reversed. The defendant would hold forth in Korean while the interpreter in her high-pitched voice would relate events.

Mr. Pak came across as confident, even arrogant at times, but his thumbs twisted and mashed against each other like sumo opponents while his right foot tapped out a steady pneumatic cadence.

After I heard his testimony, I knew why he was nervous.

According to Mr. Pak he was beset by woes. His wife's brain had become soft as a rotten peach from too much cocaine. Mr. Pak wasn't above the occasional toot. But cocaine sometimes made him throw up and he'd go to bed chastened. However his nut wife would stay up all night snorting plate loads of blow and making her strange ululating sounds.

One night she burst from the apartment, sprinting down the hall wailing like a high priest of Dagon in an H.P. Lovecraft tale. Poor Mr. Pak was forced to pursue and haul her back to their unit by her pony tail. He then flung her on the bed. This had the ring of admitting you pilfered copy paper from work to deflect charges of stealing several Xerox machines.

To get all that information on the record took most of an afternoon as there were objections, frequent side bars and at least two "strike that from the record." The judge was a business-like woman with long straight hair and a short fuse for awkward lines of questioning and any tangents that slowed down the process. She dogged both counsels to keep things moving. You got the impression the judge had rented out Department 46 for a wedding reception and needed all parties out by a certain time so she could string bunting and set up folding chairs.

On cross examination, the city attorney set out to ventilate Mr. Pak's story. But he was cagey and hid behind the translator like a running back shadowing a huge tackle.

"I do not understand that word."

"Could you repeat your question please?"

"I am not sure. Could you say that once more?"

"I do not know the word 'bruise.'"

I stopped taking notes and started doodling arrows with thick lines and shading.

At great length, the city attorney attempted to prove Mr. Pak was aware of—and had violated—a restraining order that instructed him to avoid his apartment. But via the translator he was primed for that line of inquiry.

"The police gave me a paper. I could not read it. So I put it in my pocket."

"Why should I tell my lawyer about a paper when I don't know what it is?"

"I don't read English very well."

(Unless there's a turkey club sandwich somewhere in the sentence.)

That night I dreamed I was talking to my wife through a Korean translator.

And we still weren't finished.

Tomorrow: Trial's end; lugnuts are loosened on the wheels of deliberation.

Image: zazzle.com & NewYork Magazine

Unreasonable Doubt

2011-09-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

Last Monday I reported for jury duty at the Stanley Mosk Courthouse in downtown Los Angeles, hoping to hang out in the jury room, read all day and not get picked for a panel. Afterwards, I'd go home and forget about jury duty for the next 18 months to two years. The closest I've ever come to sitting on a panel was many years back when I made the cut at traffic court for a drunk driving case. But the defendant settled before trial—gutless wimp! Every since, I've sat in the juror room every couple of years, reading a damn thick book. Stacks of newspapers gave way around me to laptop cubicles, then WiFi and iPhones. But I remained the perennial jury duty wall flower, showing up for a day of reading with my thick library book.

Clara Shortridge-Foltz Criminal Justice Center

At first, Monday went as expected. I wasn't called for any morning panels. We broke for lunch. Afterwards, I resumed my reading. Suddenly about 40 names were called out including mine. We're being transferred to another courthouse further away from where our cars were parked. Apparently, the Clara Shortridge-Foltz Justice Center Building—also known as the Criminal Courts Building— ran out of jurors. Great. We're being sent to a legal meat grinder. Forty of us walked out into a bright sunny afternoon up to Temple, then east down past the LA Cathedral, across Hill Street, through a gauntlet of street folk that included a bald transvestite in women's platform shoes and a cadre of Informal Americans with super sized Styrofoam "donation" cups to the Criminal Courts Building and up to Department 46.

To my surprise and discomfort, I was sworn in on a panel at Superior Court. Our case involved seven misdemeanor counts that included spousal abuse, battery, intimidation, imprisonment, violation of restraining order plus damaging a cell phone thrown in for good measure. (That's what you get for not taking a plea bargain.) I didn't want to sit in a room with a bunch of strangers and decide seven counts. My fondest wish was that the defendant would do the right thing by me and settle.

But no. Not only wouldn't he settle but he claimed not to understand English very well. That meant a translator ghosted everything said by anybody in the courtroom—judge, clerk, bailiff, city attorney, defense attorney, witnesses—from English into Korean. There were two translators and they tagged in and out like wrestlers, warming the seat next to the defendant and keeping the air filled with muttered Korean. It was distracting. You never really got used to it.

Basically, the case came down to this: the victim said her husband punched her lights out one morning with a closed fist, smothered her with a pillow, restrained her until she promised not to call the cops, released her, then chased her into the bathroom, grabbed her cell phone and played keep away until she again promised not to call the cops. She promised and he let her leave.

Once outside she called the cops.

The defendant said via translator that his wife was a crazy cocaine addict who made weird glottal sounds as if she were speaking in tongues. He had accidentally hugged her too hard and that was what had caused the victim's facial injuries. Also his right hand suffered from a preexisting condition that would prevent him from ever punching his wife but not earning a living as a musician.

In addition, the defendant wore a sharp looking gray suit but no socks and running shoes. Where the heck were his socks? Unfortunately you are under orders not to discuss the case with anybody including fellow jurors. To my knowledge, everybody on the panel clammed up. We never discussed the sock angle. Now my fellow jurors are gone and I'm left alone with my memories.

On Thursday afternoon I was at lunch in a nearby food court waiting for my Quiznos salad special. I glanced next to me and there were the defendant and his attorney. They didn't recognize me, but I heard the defendant speaking pretty confident English. Granted, the Quiznos menu isn't exactly the works of Thomas Aquinas but for a guy who was burning up two translators he sounded like he could sling around a few good English sentences.

But you can't share that with anyone. And when it's time to deliberate, you can't use it because it's outside the evidence and testimony presented in court and they're all you get to judge the defendant. So no socks and OK English. These remained locked inside of me like valuable jewels kept deep in a bank vault guarded by goblins.

Witnesses came and went; there was cross and re-direct and inquiries and muttered Korean droning on and on. There were cops and a paramedic and a victim friend and a doctor who testified for the defendant, arms folded tightly across his chest as if posing for a painting to be titled "hostile witness."

The court provided you with note pads. You could take notes but had to leave them in the courtroom. The juror sitting next to me used his notebook to doodle an intriguing series of thick arrows along with parallel pencil strokes throwing off shadows. I wondered if he would be thoughtful and wise during deliberations. (I found out.)

Tomorrow: The defendant takes the stand; into the jury room; rush to judgement so as to finish on a Friday.

Image: Wickipedia and Chow

So Long, wee Earl Kress

2011-09-19T13:05:00.000-07:00

Tom Ruegger has a post up on Earl Kress who just passed away from cancer. A nubbin of a man but with a good heart, Earl had been around animation so long that he used to TYPE scripts on a TYPEWRITER. He wrote animated moves and performed voices and pretty much did everything in the animation industry that a creative guy could do. I'll always remember him sitting in his office at Warner Bros. cranking out scripts wearing a repetitive stress brace on his wrist and forearm. While making shows we'd always say "On film forever" to remind ourselves to pay attention to the details. Earl leaves behind a big old batch of work that will be 'on film' in one form or another for years to come. Rest in peace, Mr. Kress.
Here's a piece from an Animaniacs Christmas episode Earl wrote called "Little Drummer Warners."

h/t: CillalisTheSeller

UPDATE: The Animation Guild remembers Earl.

Jury Duty and Traffic

2011-09-14T07:50:00.000-07:00

Jury duty is at least interesting. Morning traffic from my house to downtown Los Angeles is like sitting on a high branch with bees in your shorts—unpleasant and precarious. Yesterday, I saw a man flip out because some guy had edged in front of him. He whipped his car into the next lane just so he could violently cut back in front of the guy. All the time, he's leaning on the stinking horn. Perhaps all the shootings blamed on road rage really have nothing to do with crazed drivers, but are the actions of bystanders administering street justice to savage dopes. I hope so.

In the Beginning...

2011-08-24T18:53:00.000-07:00

...there were a number of people responsible for the creation of Tiny Toons and Anamaniacs. Tom Ruegger says who the heck they were.

Image: Commentarama

Sprint to the End of Health Care

2011-08-22T17:53:00.000-07:00

Not necessarily forever, but I'm nearing the completion of my COBRA-extended Motion Picture health care at September's end. I'm still in physical therapy for my shoulder, undergoing more skin cancer treatments, and have teeth cleaning on the near horizon. While I'm at it, I should probably shoe horn in another physical. Starting in October, I will simply will myself to remain healthy. An underutilized, cost-effective method, force-of-will treatments will be the norm for the foreseeable future.

As for my shoulder, it's perhaps a month away from being fully healed. I can do most things except trick pool shots or scrub above my lumbar vertebrae in the shower. But I'm getting there. And no one really minds that I'm strolling around town with dirty vertebrae. This is Los Angeles where such things often pass without comment.

Not-Very-Memorable Clunkers

2011-08-19T08:29:00.001-07:00

Ling Carter lists three TV pilots that mercifully never saw the air.
Image: The Atomic Bomb Decision

SpongeBob Strongarm

2011-08-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

A former lead artist on the popular animated series has been accused of setting up an attack on his art dealer. I've always said you need to diversify your animated career.
Image— It Thing

In the Better Late Than Never Category...

2011-08-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

...I nominate me for the following tardy acknowledgement: Paul Rugg has introduced Freaky Friday, a day dedicated to things Freakazoid! Go see what has come to pass.

Just Say 'No'

2011-08-10T12:14:00.001-07:00

And they do—editors and publishers and animation execs. Author Leonard Chang talks rejection and the best way to beat the Man.

I went on six pitches this year for three different animated TV projects. No hits. The rejections ranged from blunt to complimentary and, since the process is highly subjective, the reasons for rejection varied in logic. In one instance, my agent gave me pitch guidelines from a studio. I wrote up a show within those guidelines. The show was rejected because "it's not what we're looking for right now." This can enrage a normal man into bending crow bars. But as Chang points out, the only way to sanity and success is to keep on keeping on.

That said, my favorite 2011 rejection came from a magazine editor. He passed on a short story of mine, but a simple 'no thanks' was inadequate. He dissed my characters, plot and pacing as well as slagging the dialogue as "elevator conversation." In closing, the editor invited me to submit again.

I thought of wishing him success in one day achieving his goal of editing The Passive-Aggressive Quarterly.

Instead I just sent the story somewhere else.
h/t: Bernadette Murphy
Image: Clevelandseniors.com

Criminals in 'Jeopardy'

2011-08-01T12:55:00.000-07:00

Alex Trebek ran down a burglar, suffering a tendon injury in the process. I like my game show hosts robust and ready for action.
Image: Imagesshack

Hundred Mile Man

2011-07-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

My former Team in Training marathon coach, Jimmy Dean Freeman finished 8th at the Angeles Crest 100 Race. Very impressive performance, with Jimmy finishing in under 24 hours. This foot race is over and through the Angeles Crest National Forest. When it's not burning down, these mountains can be quite a beautiful place to visit and an exhausting spot to run a hundred miles across. Nevertheless, a well done performance from a guy who can maybe walk two miles without some surgical injury or other acting up.
Image: Livestrong.com

Al Qaeda Cartoons Promise Thoughtful Nuance

2011-07-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

(A deep sigh of great length.) I remember seeing something a few years ago about university students in Iran being lectured on aspects of Jewish propaganda in Tom and Jerry shorts. Now Al Qaeda, the world's go-to animation guys, are cranking out their own cartoons at Beard-of-the-Prophet Studios in Yemen.

I can imagine the notes: "Good first draft, Azhar, but the infidels aren't screaming enough when they perish from nerve gas. And could you punch up those lines in the second act when our heroic fighters torch the geriatric hospital? 'Hey, hot stuff' is just so bleh.'"

I'm guessing "imitable behaviour" isn't an issue out there.
h/t: Hot Air
Image: his vorpal sword

Give Me the Power

2011-07-14T10:19:00.000-07:00

But it was withheld by burned out breakers leading from the meter to my unit. A deadline loomed yesterday with intermittent to zero electricity starting early in the morning and followed by a carnival of fun contacting and/or coordinating my Home Owners Association, an electrician, and the city Public Services.

Through God's mercy and sheer persistence, I had new breakers by 5:00 PM. Only then was I able to resume writing, typing on until the street outside was actually quiet—very unnerving. (You suspect something.)

Off to the shoulder doctor this morning then back home for more writing. Ah, but I'll have power, sweet power.

He Promised a Musical Challenge

2011-07-11T22:11:00.000-07:00

And it is here!

Froynlaven Update

2011-07-09T11:46:00.000-07:00

Luke alerted me that busy Paul Rugg was detailing his many projects as well as teasing a NEW MUSICAL CHALLENGE!! With Keeper married now who will pick up the slack?

Happy July 4th!

2011-07-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

Though weakened, our republic endures. How the Founding Fathers established a nation without benefit of air conditioning continues to mesmerize me.

Non-stop marketing work for the last ten days. My boss is a young guy who has never had to give notes to writers outside the marketing world. Thus he delivers insights such, "this is no good" or the refreshingly delightful "you need to do this over." We lurch forward together.

Writing today on the outline for my online book. My employer's company is similar to choose your own adventure. My job now is to fan out the story in multiple directions and think of interesting characters for avatars of all ages to foil-outwit-escape-or date.

Be cool today.
(Image: loot-ninja.com)

Daily Kos Remarks on Huntsman

2011-06-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

Both of them. Scroll down to "Rachel Maddow comes to the rescue." As matters stand, the Huntsman song may well go viral before Jon's campaign.

A Writing-Class Hero

2011-06-22T16:02:00.000-07:00

This man placed no barriers between his writing and the public and grew wealthy as a result. I LIKE it.

Jon Huntsman, You're a Prince!

2011-06-21T07:49:00.000-07:00

Jon HUNTSMAN is officially running for president.

Oh, what a great boon!

Rachel Maddow broke the ice on her show last month during a discussion of the former Utah governor's ambitions by playing the "Huntsman" theme song. So excited was I—that's a very Paul Harvey construction—that I emailed BMI and inquired about residuals. Sure enough, MSNBC is a BMI signatory. As lyricist, that means a nice little bump whenever the second quarter of 2011 catches up with me. (BMI checks are usually several quarters behind.)

Now imagine the rest of the media latches on to the Huntsman theme. We have almost eighteen months until election. That could be 18 months of "Hunt-hunt-hunt he's the Huntsman."

Our nation faces major issues—declining economy, inflation, many wars. What are Huntsman's views? His plans? How will he address these challenges?

I'm not certain. Mercantile as it may be, I only know Huntsman is a potential cash cow at least until the 2012 Republican Party Convention. That said, I wish Mr. Huntsman a dynamic, news-filled campaign filled with stirring speeches, gaffes, scandals, recovery from said scandals, acts of personal bravery, each and every deed inspiring the media to play "The Huntsman."

Who would've believed this possible?

Perhaps Huntsman's vice presidential pick will be an unknown. A quiet, thoughtful man named Howard Freakazoid.

Then I would know we were parked several spaces down from the Apocalypse.
Images: (abolishcampaigncontributions.blogspot.com) & cartoonatics.blogspot.com)

Shoulder Pitches

2011-06-19T13:35:00.000-07:00

Shoulder is healing well with more movement all the time. On Tuesday, I start physical therapy: 2x a week with a home edition. Other than having to sleep and type in the sling, I'm making progress.

Not so much forward-movement with animation. The last of my projects received a 'no.' However there's one more pitch to set-up and deliver before this round is officially history. In the meantime, I may have work writing a form of ebook similar to the old choose your own adventure. I've got to sort through the material and think up a concept. Thankfully, I've had so much marketing work as of late that my typing speed sizzles and I'd be able to knock out the material in fairly short order.

Happy Father's Day to dads everywhere.

"Death Honk" Changes Lives

2011-06-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

Not really, but my short story from last year did serve as a call to action. Thanks to author Jonathan Pinnock for his kind remarks re. my rendering of clown-bear fights as detailed in the Journal of Microliterature.

Laugh? I thought I'd never start.

2011-06-10T11:24:00.000-07:00

Emmy politics and comedy blend unevenly.

Writers Take Note

2011-06-05T18:54:00.000-07:00

Kurt Vonnegut diagrams the story.
Via Webless Friend Ken

Pitch and Sympathy

2011-06-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

With my big-ass sling on, I went to the last of this session's pitch sessions. The exec. was affable and laughed after I told him I was only wearing the sling to score a handicapped parking plaque. He listened politely and demonstrated the mark of a seasoned exec. - expressing both interest and a non-committal attitude.

So far, the score stands at two shows out of three pitched, generating a trio of foul balls known as 'maybes.'

The only way to improve at pitching is to keep at it. I'm taking a deep breath plus my notes on what approaches worked and which ones sucked and start cranking out more ideas for my summer pitch session.

I really hate pitching. Why can't they simply give me money to write something funny and then make it my way? Lousy politics, that's why.

Memorial Day 2011

2011-05-30T11:28:00.000-07:00

American cemetery at Omaha Beach in Normandy. Like the man said, "freedom isn't free." Memorial Day should contain an element of remembrance for all who served and especially those who fell.

As a kid in the Midwest, our parents once took us to a Memorial Day parade in a small town outside Chicago. In addition to the high school marching bands and cheerleaders, the stars of the day were a large group of survivors from the Bataan Death March. At the time, they were middle-aged guys, mostly in their forties, and seemed relaxed, walking along in a loose knot and waving to the cheering crowd. Only later did I learn what they had endured fighting on Bataan and how they had been treated on the march to prisoner-of-war camps. Freedom certainly wasn't free for them.

So I thank our veterans, past and present, including my second cousin Marty Smith serving in the Air Force. Thanks for watching our backs and allowing us to barbecue in peace.

Forgot to mention Colin Wells of the Army's Stryker Brigade, home safe from Afghanistan and based in Ft. Lewis. Thanks on behalf of the Write Enough family.
Image: Travelpod.com

Things to Watch Recovering from Surgery

2011-05-26T15:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I watched more TV than I have in one sitting in many a year. In a post-operative haze I viewed:

1. I Shouldn't Be Alive

2. Biography of John Candy

3. Two Hour Special on Snipers

4. Scared Straight

5. 2 Hours of Storage Wars

Dog the Bounty Hunter was coming on but I was done in and lapsed into a deep sleep sitting upright per doctor's orders.

Some pain today, but not bad. I can move my fingers, but typing is a bit difficult. More soon on this year's operation.

Thanks for the well wishes.

Away, Away to Surgery Land!

2011-05-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

I'll return soon with a patched up rotator cuff. Shouldn't be long before I'm back pitching AAA ball in...no, wait. I never pitched AAA ball. But I will receive a video of the procedure possibly with the soundtrack to House. I thought they were kidding when they told me about the video, but this is, after all, the Motion Picture Hospital. Why not my own underscore throughout the operation? A craft services table for the doctors and a separate one for administration and nursing. Remember: anything can happen in Hollywood, even good things.

Rachel Maddow Meets the Huntsman

2011-05-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Tom Minton and Tom Ruegger we now have MSNBC's Rachel Maddow and frustrated crime fighter The Huntsman in the same room at the same time. Zip ahead to around 7:52 for her intro. Don't forward too far ahead or you'll be saying, "Darn the luck!"
Image: meine kleine fabrik & newsinus.us

'Perchance to Dream'

2011-05-23T11:23:00.000-07:00

So said the Bard and I'm down with that. The last two and a half weeks have been a series of marketing deadlines, animation pitch meetings, and overall preparation for this operation on Wednesday—such as getting all the bills paid while I'm still able to type with both hands. I've worked every day and still need time to complete the last few marketing/animation projects.

But Wednesday—sleep, then football-sized pain pills. And it will all seem very dream-like.

Live By the Sword, Die By The Pepporoni

2011-05-20T09:31:00.001-07:00

In Louisville, fast-food restaurant disputes always end old-school.
Via: Drudge Report

Published Yet Again

2011-05-19T14:36:00.000-07:00

A short story of mine, "Fresh Ideas" has migrated into an anthology, The Best of Every Day Fiction Three. Support small presses, especially the ones that publish my stories. They have the discrimination and taste to rise above their boorish peers.

A Strike And a Long Foul Ball

2011-05-18T12:27:00.000-07:00

Double-pitch meeting today at a studio with happy, laughing execs. They knocked down one idea in short order, but loved another, wanting to hear a bit more. So I'll get a second swing. Weird to be on that particular lot, since I'd worked there a few years ago during a dark period of life and hadn't been back since. It was the last time I smoked.

So fix my one idea, write up a few more, and return to seek that elusive development deal.

Just to clarify my Ick! post. I reread it and smelled a victimy scent. I'm the only one who can sidetrack me—not mean people, bad breaks, or unfortunate circumstances. Alas, I'm very good at sidetracking myself, thus need little help. But this time will be different!

"The hot dog of fate is often lathered in the mustard of opportunity."
Billy the Marlin, mascot for the Florida Marlins

Drawn Out In A Good Way

2011-05-17T12:02:00.000-07:00

Young artist Caroline Hammond offers up a few renderings.

Ick!

2011-05-16T15:14:00.000-07:00

An unpleasant pitch meeting this morning. The exec. clearly was looking for reasons not to buy my animated TV show idea and couldn't wait to tell me. One the one hand it was refreshing to receive the blunt, unvarnished truth, on the other hand who wants the blunt unvarnished truth when it isn't good news?

I've never had a rewarding experience at this particular studio, despite the fact that I know many people who have worked there for years and proclaim it a pleasant environment. Several years back, one big exec. dissed me to my agent and would not allow me to even pitch there. What triggered his animus has yet to be revealed. In any case, his no-pitch edict was successfully enforced. Today was my fourth pitch in six years. (On one of those pitches I was the writer attached to a big star's project; on another they passed on a fav, Tomorrow Bear.)

On Wednesday, I have a double-header, pitching a brace of animated TV show ideas to an exec. at another studio where I've had universally pleasant but financially meager dealings over time.

"Each new at-bat holds the potential for a variety of outcomes."
— Billy the Marlin, mascot for the Florida Marlins

Way to go, 625!

2011-05-15T19:24:00.000-07:00

Congrats to first-time marathoners Bernadette and daughter Hope (and friend Emily) for finishing the Pasadena Marathon. Good running weather—overcast, 50s, rain—but lousy for cheering.

I walked my 5k and finished in 41:18. That's about 13:17 a mile and landed me smack in the middle of my age group. (Had I run as well as I did at Santa Clarita last year I'd have placed third and taken home a coveted age group medal. My point being Santa Clarita has much faster old men.) Despite the pissy sky, I beat out a 79 year old man and a four-year old girl and challenged a woman pushing a stroller but she pulled away in the home stretch.

Who do I meet on the course but old Team in Training coaches Jimmy and Kate Freeman. (Jimmy was coaching a group completing their first 5k.) Kate was watching her hub work having just crossed the half-marathon finish line, third among women, strolling in at 1:29:03.

Anyway, fun to participate in a race again. Note that the 5k gave out finishers medals. It's like receiving an award for placing seventh in a Candyland tournament. But I accepted the medal on behalf of my knee. Congrats to all who ran in Pasadena today!

No Man is an Island—But Several Men are Peninsulas

2011-05-14T12:41:00.000-07:00

For old times sake I'll be walking the Pasadena 5k tomorrow. Haven't actually run in two weeks because of a sore knee. And after my late May shoulder operation I won't be running or walking much for the next three months. So this will be a leisurely farewell stroll for the reminder of the summer. By fall, I'll weigh as much as the island of Crete. But there are racing categories for island-sized men and women. I intend to enter and beat the Greenland and New Guinea classes before taking on Long Island then aiming for either Catalina or Tonga. When I get down to Staten Island or Capri, I'll make a big deal out of it.