East Coast, West Coast

Eat Your Words And Fill Your Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

They're all laughing. All my friends from college. Everyone I used to preach cynicism to.

They're laughing because I'm growing up.

What causes young men to believe that spitting on idealism and faith is the key to appearing intelligent, rebellious and delightfully mysterious? I mean, it doesn't work, not to anyone with a shred of conviction or experience. But we do it anyways, trying to appear stronger than the feeble sheep, hoping it protects us from wandering into the dangerous valleys we've seen so many fools led astray.

We are not like them. We are different. We can identify life's cruel joke: that we want what we can't have, that love is doomed, that selfishness trumps loyalty 9 out of 10 times.

So I lived on my pulpit between relationships. And even when I took time off the market, I still found time to judge. It's not hard. There are a lot of unhappy people in there forcing themselves to be together in hopes it bandaids the gaping holes in themselves. But it doesn't, so they do somersaults and beg all their friends to listen and watch.

And people like me sit back and laugh, point, beg the world not to act like a complete joke. We're in on it, see? We know that we're smarter than these esteemless fools, but just as likely to fuck something up. Women nag. Men cheat. Children suffer. You are bound to be alone no matter how hard you try, so why bother?

And hence we come to my early twenties revelation that marriage and long-term commitments are a complete joke. I made sure to tell it to anyone who'd listen, or at the very least, express my severe doubt that an institution built on childhood fairy tales and adult fear could ever last in reality -- hence the divorce and infidelity rate in this country.

And then of course, every time I did fall in love, the fuel burnt up like any precious resource. And when it's gone, you're coasting on fumes hoping you'll find an exit in time. And you do. And you suffer. And it hurts like hell until it doesn't...if you're lucky.

Sometimes I liked to think of myself as some kind of poor man's wandering romantic. That all my experiences were the makings of great wisdom, that I'd turn into some kind of romantic oracle and tell stories like the Dos Equis guy.

In reality, I was far too inhibited and paranoid to fuck and learn on a regular basis. I was great at getting out when the getting was good and awkward. But the sad truth was that every girl I committed to, loved, or simply dated was wrong for me in some way, and I knew it. In the beginning, in the moment, and especially in the end. I lived my life on the far side of a book end, looking back on my naive youth while experiencing it simultaneously. "She'll be my great unrequited love...she'll be my great friend...she'll be my great college romance, etc."

Because I was a realist, damn it.

And so for the past few years, I've dated and tried to keep my head on straight. Tried to make smart decisions and not lead anybody on, or be led on, at least for too long. Tried to avoid becoming serious with someone who I knew deep down wasn't right. So many beautiful pieces, but never the complete match. Cue more preaching.

But 2009. Oh, 2009, the year I knew would somehow be my year. The year I knew I would start climbing out of my entry positions in Los Angeles, personally and professionally.

And I did.

I got work on a TV series to get closer to professional writers. I got promoted so I didn't have to get coffee anymore. Lived on a better side of town. I took general meetings and got a script optioned.

Here's the weird part. Amidst all that, another office crush developed. Not out of the ordinary, seeing as how in this business, you're in a new office with new people every three to six months.

Then the weird happened. The crush turned electric. The electricity turned into seeing each other. The seeing each other turned into spending entire weekends together and never once feeling bored, uncomfortable or nervous.

We just fit.

And soon it was serious. Soon I wanted to say ridiculous things like "I love you."

And soon I would just lie awake next to her at night and wonder, "What would our kids look like?"

We didn't fight. We laughed. We ate. We smiled. We enjoyed life and sharing it, every single day. And best of all, romantic notions of the present and the future spiraled out of control simultaneously. Suddenly we're meeting parents, friends, extended family. We're making plans and taking trips and realizing that food just tastes better when we eat together.

She looks me in the eye and tells me I'm a good man, and I believe her, because I actively seek to make her happy every second of every day. She makes me better.

She says she likes herself better around me, that I make her feel like she is kind, that she is thoughtful, that she is beautiful and funny and charming. These things are all true.

And here we are, getting ready for our first Thanksgiving together. Suddenly living in two different apartments on opposite ends of town doesn't make any fucking sense.

So we're going to live together. Because we don't like being apart. Because we're better people together than we are alone. We are not annoyed or frustrated or complaining to our friends (..yet) It's been seven months and we still have faith that we can weather any storm. That united we won't let anything tear us down. That we're going to make it if we just keep treating each other so goddamn well.

And my friends are all chuckling when they read my sappy online postings about how goddamn happy I am to be doing the dishes. How great it is to be shopping for a couch together. Drew (if that is his real name) went and got himself domesticated, and he's loving every minute of it.

And now all of those scared, naive fools look like the noblest of characters. Now I understand what kind of ideals are on the table when people commit for life. I'm getting older but it still feels young. I'm in love, in the healthiest relationship of my entire life, and for the first time, I'm living in the present looking forward to the future. To our future.

We are both still realists. We end every dream future scenario with a "and you know what, if it doesn't work out..." or a "and I know it's unrealistic, but..."

But even realists fall in love. Even cynics become believers. Everyone gets to eat their own words and admit that there are exceptions to every rule.

I am in love with someone I respect, support, admire, and adore. Apparently, she's quite taken with me too. If we can just remember what home feels like, we might be able to keep it safe, keep ourselves safe from the bullshit that tears people apart.

We are fucking great together.

And if we're lucky enough to bring some miniatures into the world, we're going to get it right. Show them what love, respect and all of that is made of.

And Jesus Christ, they will be charming, magical, attractive little monsters.

east coast. west coast. love.

Distractions.

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 02:23:00 +0000

There are so many beautiful women in the world. How do you settle on one choice? So many disparate elements floating and swirling around you that make your eyes twitch. The smallest of qualities become such appealing assets; A great laugh. A winning smile. An incredible shape. An infectious spirit. All of these things refract like shards of light in your peripheral, and though each one is alluring in their own right, they remain scattered and segregated amongst a throng of individuals, rarely collecting inside one perfect specimen.

And that's why we try to be adults and not indulge individuals for a piece instead of the whole. It's why we learn to draw lines between lovers and friends. Because even if that laugh, or that smile, that body or that charm pulls you forward, these things alone aren't enough to make you stay.

You can't have your cake and eat it too.

Which is a goddamn shame. I'm a bit of a collector. I tend to organize and recruit friends based on the level of interest they generate in me, avoiding the boring, the typical or the insensitive on the basis that life is short, and you might as well spend it with people who make you smile.

But if I had the power, I'd capture, distill and bottle those elements into a simmering confection of perfect chemicals -- and go swimming in it.

Alas, I don't have this power. I can be good. I can look and not touch. I can understand the difference between need and desire. I can choose to avoid the inevitable pitfalls of emotional involvement and only traverse that minefield with someone that matters, someone that's worth risking everything for.

And hope I'm grown up enough not to destroy everything.

Chett Fineburg & The Writing Struggle

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 20:00:00 +0000

Just before I visited NYC this past October, I made a stop in Florida and visited my little brother Tyson in godforsaken Orlando.

An hour before I left, we did this. Now it's finally finished. Enjoy our pleasant diversion...

Chett Fineburg and the Writing Struggle from Tyson Lindo on Vimeo.

The Concept Is Also The Problem

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 02:58:00 +0000

So sometimes I swell up inside with feelings and observations and thoughts that ransom-demand I express them creatively. If I can't, if I don't know how to process and understand them through an art form, I become angry, negative, listless and even sort of depressed.

I need to expel what's in my head and/or heart, and I need the by-product to mean something. I need it to make sense.

For example, I've had an idea for a new blog format I've been meaning to try for years. I finally did a test pass in NYC at the end of 2008, and having just recently seen some of the early results, I feel like this might finally be the macguffin I've been looking for. A synergy of interests that converge my talents toward a smart target. It's an idea that allows me to create something new, something honest and relatable that other people can connect with, enjoy and maybe even feel inspired by.

Unfortunately, I'm already experiencing doubt and cold feet. If I want to talk about the things going on in my life and in my head, in a visual form no less, it's going to require me to pull vivid details from my personal life and the people in it.

Now, I've been doing as much in MySpace blogs for a couple years now, but this is different. There will be visuals, I'll be drawing avatars, trying to capture likenesses. Doesn't matter if I leave the names out or change them altogether, my depictions of certain events could get back to people and it could freak them out. Shit, it's freaking me out just thinking of putting my history onto the goddamn internet.

There's a complete lack of control once it's released.

So why do it? Why bother?

I suppose the answer is that for the past few years that I've been writing and blogging online, there has seemed to be an overwhelming amount of interest and support from those who have been kind enough to respond, comment or encourage. I wrote a goddamn advice column for christ's sake. People put my words together and react, and luckily, it's a positive reaction.

But I've tried not to get into specifics too much. I used to think I'd turn some of the most devastating yet hilarious moments of my life into works of art that people could appreciate, that some of my worst adventures would become my best stories.

But a couple of years ago, I found I'd appeared in someone's work: a hack job smear campaign short film created by a spiteful ex-girlfriend.

And in that blinding instant, I realized what it's like to be turned from an intimate companion to a cheap anecdote.

From that moment on, I felt like every song ever written about someone you loved was a bullshit play for sympathy from needy artists. That we're all full of shit. That perspective is an illusion and everyone's trying to look good instead of being honest.

And thinking of myself as an honest man, that knowledge sort of damaged my ideals about what's appropriate to share, what one can cull from the clay of life to sculpt a vision.

Maybe I'm rambling here. I'm just saying that I try my best to respect privacy, to protect the secrets and insecurities of others. I might be an agnostic, but I still believe in treating others as you wish to be treated, as the good (crazy) book says.

So what do I do? I feel like I can't move forward with my vision for this project until I deal with this issue. I can't concentrate on or execute this undertaking if I'm struggling in the dark with how honest to be.

I don't enjoy hurting anyone, unless they're an evil fuck and truly deserve it. That's a sweet sensation of righteousness.

But I'm not sure how to fly this thing. Not yet.

The butler did it! (7 years ago)

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 06:49:00 +0000

I'm a messy person, so when I need to find something in particular, it usually involves rummaging through everything else. This also means sporadic reunions with long lost artifacts that flash me back to times I've mostly forgotten or washed away.

Case in point: an artifact unearthed from my romantic past. Evidence of a relationship that was defining to experience and devastating to end. I'll always remember the first time love came right back at me. I'd been waiting for what seemed like six consecutive lifetimes, and by the time I turned twenty, it was my turn.

It was just as good as the fucking movies.

So tonight I found the journal that she left me after we broke up so many years ago. Inside are less than a dozen entries she wrote while we were together. Looking over them again, I came to a big time realization -- I pushed her away.

The words in the journal were of undying adoration, pledging to stay by my side forever, but fearing the day I'd pull away and stop seeing her as some divine creature of serendipity. She knew I'd built her up, her fragile self-esteem didn't think she'd survive the drop if and when it happened.

And it did. In stages. And now I can articulate why. I used to think we just fell out of love -- I was wrong.

What happened was, my honesty, my goddamn brutal, indignant honesty had to make subtext context: I didn't see us working out in the end. I saw writing on the wall. We weren't meant to last forever. We'd enjoy our time together in college, but beyond that, I knew life had other plans in store for the both of us.

And of course, when she heard that poison, she started to pull out. She pulled until we were both at equal distance. Then we both agreed to break it off.

Which was fine until I lost my mind over it. But it was too late. I'd chosen my path and couldn't stray. Neither could she. She gravitated elsewhere. She moved on to someone else.

And she married him.

And why, you ask? Why did I do this? Why did I give up on the first true love I ever had reciprocated? Why have I repeated this pattern with every relationship or flame since?

Because my parents conceived me with special, superhuman abilities, and one of them is a Sensory Perception to NEVER END UP WITH THE WRONG PERSON.

I'm so terrified of making the biggest mistake of my lifetime by shacking up with the wrong woman, it's as if I receive broadcast signals from the future warning me to get the hell out when I sense things aren't meant to be.

And they never are, really. There's always something. They're never the girl you see yourself spending the rest of our life with.

And even so, who the hell is that girl, anyways? What does she look like? What does she have that all of the others don't?

I don't know. I know we weren't meant for each other. Maybe it's me, the me from now, feeling justified, sending those emotions back to a terrified and insecure 21 year old kid that he'll live and that he made the right call to hold out for the right one.

I'm saying all of this because I met someone recently who really fucking scared me. I've spent a few years being the most aloof motherfucker in the room, but the moment someone perforates your atmosphere and exposes you to a whole new spectrum of emotions and energies, well -- it's exciting but exceedingly terrifying.

I was scared about the future. I didn't want my powers to kick in. I just wanted this to work.

I turned right back into that scared, twenty-year old kid.

And maybe that's who I'll always be, the high-energy, desperate to please comedian who freaks out the moment things become real. Real feelings. Real fears.

When I got scared recently, I ran away at the first sign of trouble, of vulnerability, I suppose. Because the fear of falling for someone works both ways: you're terrified it might not work out, but the fear is fueling your heart into overdrive and you're reaching record speeds. Your thoughts, your blood, it all charges the same battery. It possesses you.

It's seven years later. I still don't want to settle for the wrong person. I'm still looking for the right one. And I'm still entitled to freak out and run if things get weird. Cash out. Take myself off the shelf.

Sometimes we're not ready to deal.

But I have to believe I'll be ready to go all in if it feels like love. Need to believe I can get there, that I can overcome all those wonderful abilities my folks gave me, the ability to not trust, to not let my guard down, to always have an exit strategy.

I'm looking forward to facing the fear again, to come out swinging, to skip a beat and notice that the ticker still works.

I don't know when that's gonna happen. I don't know what's around the corner.

I'm just doing my goddamn best to grow up.

Use Somebody

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 20:10:00 +0000

Dear East Coast West Coast,

This blog is a joke. Looking at how infrequently it's used for absolutely anything by anybody downright pisses me off.

We seriously need to revise the purpose of this motherfucker or just stop kidding ourselves and delete the goddamn thing.

In other news: I'm unhappy. Go sit on a nail.

regards,
Drew

RIP: LA Radio

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 07:09:00 +0000

My radio was stolen out of my car in October of 2006, only a couple months after relocating to Los Angeles. Being the cheapskate pleasure-delayer that I am, I left my car silent, without any semblance of musical contact for more than a year. No radio to get me through deadly LA traffic, no CD player to get my mind energized and my eyelids opened wide.

No sir. I lived the humbled life. My car was mute. My passenger conversations hushed and awkward.

It wasn't until early 2008 that I finally went nuts and bought a new stereo, with a CD Player/MP3 port.

And it was soon after that I found Indie 103.1, the best radio station in Los Angeles.

The reception was crystal clear on the West Side/Culver City area where I had moved. Up in the valley, the signal vanished, but luckily I spent little time in the valley. It was a beautiful, whirlwind affair. They played good music, music I liked by indie rock/pop artists I dug. I had waited my whole life to find a refuge from the disposable, processed junk food, top 40 radios stations with their Idol ballads and club crud singles, or the castrated sounds of lite rock and easy listening tailor made for baby boomers who wanted a taste of simpler times. Don't get me started on the state of modern rock.

But Indie was different. This was my music. Fresh, fun, exciting and new. It was so good that I felt no guilt in ignoring donations to KCRW during it's pledge drive of 2008, namely because they only seemed to play about two hours of music a day with Nick Harcourt's Morning Becomes Eclectic, which in and of itself played a ration of 36% good music I hadn't heard of and 64% unintelligible, godawful nonsense that played like new age satire. Otherwise, that station was all NPR, all the time. (Side note: I'm not anti-NPR, I just can't handle it for more than ten minute intervals, as their crisp, hushed, mushy-soft voices not only put me to sleep, but actually manage to disintegrate my masculinity one cell at a time.)

No sir. All I needed was my Indie.

Then things slowly changed. Just before the end of 2008, Joe Escalante's morning show disappeared, taking with it an array of interesting guests, David Lynch's offbeat weather reports and Timothy Olyphant's hyper-enthusiastic sports recaps.

This worried me. As 2009 began I also noticed some jarring new musical selections that belonged on a toxic top 40 station. Even some KROQ-style, crappy squaw-rock found it's way on from time to time.

But I told myself not to worry. Everything would be fine. There was still good music to find on my one, shining ray of hope on FM radio.

Until last week, when Indie 103.1 announced that it would cease broadcast immediately due to corporate interference and an asphyxiating market of traditional, manufactured sludge.

I had hoped the highest hopes and said the equivalent of prayers.

But I knew I was out of luck
the day the music died

Some people might not understand. Some might say it's no big deal. But good radio is going the way of print, slowly being replaced with corporate advertising misrepresenting itself as new and exciting music.

The DJ is going the way of the Dodo, quickly replaced by corporate stooges, yes men, and employees doing what the record company tells them (eat tar and die, Clear Channel.)

So yes, I'm pissed. And I mourn the loss of a great radio station, run by a collection of great DJ's that brought a little something to my life while trapped in my claustrophobic Corolla. Props to Joe Escalante, TK, Jonesy's Jukebox, Ted Roman, and all the fantastic people that made Indie 103.1 such a fantastic station. I hope you're all reading and Googling the mountains of online eulogies and blogging laments from the listeners you delighted.

I for one will regret having only spent a year with you. Though the station lives on in electronic, online form, it does so without the voices and the personalities that helped make the station what it was.

Farewell, Indie. You will be missed.

Top 10 Most Disappointing Movies of 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 08:36:00 +0000

So instead of pasting the same blog into this blog, why don't I just hotlink you to my Top 10 Favorite Films of 2008.

But for being such good boys and girls and reading this ill-advised, and generally abandoned blog (what was Keiko thinking? Nobody reads or updates this sucker) I'll give you a special gift!

Top 10 Most Disappointing Films of 2008

A number of factors go into being disappointed by a movie. Obviously you don't like it very much, but to be disappointing, a movie has to first elicit some kind of expectation, an interest in quality that will be utterly dashed by the level of sucktitude, or in most cases general mediocrity, that the film delivers.

So I'm going to structure this list in descending order of crappy disappointment, from the highs of "meh," to the mids of "huh?" to the depths of "WTF IS THIS SHIT???"

10) Man On Wire

This is a lovely documentary about an incredible historic event, but it is also the only movie this year that put me to sleep. Literally. I fell asleep during this movie for like 5-7 minutes. In the afternoon.

The film has the unfortunate side effect of squirming and stretching its run time while trying to appear suspenseful, but we already can tell the outcome of the documented event; namely a man walking a tight rope between the twin towers in 1974 New York City. Despite the colorful subjects and the unbelievable true story itself, Man On Wire feels like a special you DVR'd on Cable due to your distant Uncle's reccommendation. This film has been unneccesarily hailed as the best documentary of the year when it just isn't the case.

It's a good doc on par with something you'd watch on The Discovery Channel. No more, no less.

9) The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

What can I say? I just didn't care. It's a beautiful, lavish, exquisitely photographed motion picture with some of the best special effects I've ever seen.

But after a while, I just stopped caring. Maybe it was Brad Pitt's vacant expression. Or the film's snobby refusal to indulge me in the least bit of sentimental fashions (commence trite Forrest Gump bashing by insecure film nerds desperate for anti-establishment cred.)

This is a long, beautiful movie that absolutely did not hold me emotionally, and for that, I wound up walking out of the movie theater feeling just as empty and uninspired as any typical Hollywood blockbuster. It is not the masterpiece we were hoping for.

Oh well. It really did look pretty.

8) Wall-E

Go ahead and throw stones. I'll still die disappointed in Pixar's latest effort. Once again, what looks like a masterpiece doesn't quite live up to Pixar's heavenly standard of flawless quality.

Which isn't to say the film is bad. It's not bad. It's very good. In fact, for the first half it's nearly perfect, a near silent love story between isolated robots sharing a dying planet together for a chance at a magical connection.

Then the film jumps to a spaceship and everything drops a few notches.

The people. The people screw this movie up. Okay, everyone is so fat and lazy that they cannot read, write, walk, prepare food or even communicate on their own without robotic support.

Then out of nowhere, these flaccid, flabby, giant babies go MacGuyver against rogue sentry machines and decide to rebuild a post-apocalyptic planet?

No. No that makes no sense. By switching the focus from Wall-E's quest for companionship to a contrived redemption of a fat, lazy, hopeless human race feels like a cheat, precisely because it isn't earned. If the humans' return to accountability was to be believed, their initial incompetent existence should have been scaled back. You can't go from cartoony, exaggerrated satire to realistic ray of human achievement in thirty minutes. It didn't work and it damaged the already charming story of Wall-E and Eve.

Still a good movie. Just not the masterpiece the trailers and critics promised...

7) Doubt

The best acting on the face of the earth can't help a story that refuses to go anywhere. This movie is so lacking in story you find yourself wondering if you missed whatever brilliant scene full of detail and complexity would have pulled it all together.

It doesn't exist. Evil puritan accuses noble progressive of something. They argue. The end. Literally.

There's a great write up on why the translation from stage to screen fails here

6) The Reader

The Reader reminds me of those empty BBC telefilms about sour, angst-ridden ugly European men feeling sorry for themselves for decades.

Maybe I'm a heartless prick, but I simply did not care about some guy's inability to get over the first Nazi he ever slept with. I know, I know, Kate Winslet is an unforgettably sexy Nazi, but I'm calling a spade a spade. This movie bored me. I cared less and less as it went along, checking the time, hoping we had reached some kind of conclusion again and again, counting sheep by the number of times Ralph Fiennes or Kate Winslet made pained faces in silence.

Oh, and the atrociously overwrought score didn't help either.

5) Synechdoche, NY

I went in prepped for a frustrating, downer of a mind-fuck, and I still walked out disappointed.

Charlie Kauffman decides to spend two excruciating hours whacking us with a hammer to get us to understand that death and decay really sucks. And to prove it, he's constructed a film devoid of emotional complexity or variety, only misery and ineptitude. Phillip Seymour Hoffman spends the entire movie crying. Women throw themselves at him and he can't get it up. Bizarre dream logic interjections. And funerals. Lots of funerals.

At least Benjamin Button had the grace to deal with Death using a little humor, a little joy, a little bit of peaks to go with the valleys.

Kauffman's film loses the audience and winds up feeling like yet another uppity auteur trying far too hard to be different.

Blecch.

4) Slumdog Millionaire

I believed the hype. That was my first mistake.

I'm all for magical realism, but a film that takes place over an episode (or two) of (Indian) "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" for the majority of the film, and decides to fit as many contrivances into one story as possible, and feature a bland, naive protagonist being nothing of interest besides naive and innocent, well, it just doesn't feel right to me.

The first third is first rate, detailing Jamal's childhood in India with his big brother, but that's primarily because filmmaker Danny Boyle is using real Indian children who speak their native tongue. Once he switches actors and languages (subtitles too much for you?) the film loses it's touch, turning into a gruesome hodgepodge of realistic, cruel violence and corny, over the top sentimental schmaltz. Now, I like a sentimental film that tugs at the heart strings as much as the next cineaste, but this film violated a cardinal rule of the INTERESTING CHARACTER DOCTRINE:

Jamal is boring. He isn't smart, or crafty, or cool or charismatic. The hero basically gets the girl because he's lucky. Because shit happens and luckily, he remembers details about said shit that has occurred, thus becoming a champion at the stupidest game show ever made (that's harsh, I'm sure Hollywood Squares or anything ever aired on MTV sucked much worse.)

But it's true. He's another of these old timey, naive dreamer heroes who simply loves a beautiful girl while getting beaten up by nefarious villains.

The movie literally has the nerve to include this cringe-inducing bit of dialogue:

Jamal: "Run away with me."
Litka: "Run away with you? What will we live on?"
Jamal: "Love."

Aaaaaaaaaand vomit. I wanted to fall in love with this movie, I really did. I'm happy for audiences who are fooled by a violent movie with a happy ending. But I'm not. I'm frustrated and disappointed and I hope it doesn't win best picture, because it really doesn't deserve it.

Rent City Of God if you're looking for a slumdog masterpiece, kids...

3) Hellboy II

This is my fault for not going with my instincts and avoiding the movie altogether. A bright, shiny trailer that did absolutely nothing for me should have been enough. But then there were the glowing, salivating reviews, once again singing the same old song: "Del Toro the genius," "Del Toro's limitless imagination," "Del Toro's beautiful sense of design and detail!"

So I payed eleven bucks and proceeded to feel like an idiot for two hours.

Look, I get it, Ron Perlman is a good fit for the character. Unfortunately, the movie isn't. Bad editing. Hokey writing. Repetitive fight scenes. Selma Blair trying to act again (CRINGE.)

It's just a lousy, unimpressive movie. It's just as empty and meaningless as any Vin Diesel or Nicholas Cage action-blasphemy, but it gets a pass because critics like Guillermo Del Toro so much. I suddenly remember another slight sequel Del Toro made that got loads of internet press fellatio: Blade 2. Also filled to the brim with an absence of substance.

Nobody gives a shit about Hellboy. Iron Man, The Dark Knight, these are iconic heroes who hold our attention and imaginations with a firm, iconic grip.

Hellboy just doesn't translate to film. Mignola's books were creepy, macabre thrillers dripping with atmosphere. Del Toro's Hellboy is a neon-light effects show without any regard for pacing or subtlety. These scenes don't breathe, they dissolve into one another at rapid speed and high impact melodrama in order to get to the next fight scene, creature, or fight scene.

And I find myself not giving a shit. I should have just caught it on basic cable like everyone else will, because make no mistake, this big-budget flick disappeared, and we can be thankful that it is the last chapter in the live action Hellboy saga.

I hate myself.

2) Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull

Are you serious? You're joking, right? You waited 20 years to make this?

20 years for CGI gophers? 20 years for CGI Aliens? 20 years for Indiana Jones to ony use his whipe TWICE??? (once to help hoist up his fat friend who is only three feet away??)

20 years for boring, fifteen minute scenes of yawn-inducing exposition? For Karen Allen to be embarrassingly reintroduced as grinning third banana? For Shia to get to do more than Indy? For Indy to act stupid and not even attempt to outsmart the bad guys?

CGI ALIENS??!! SERIOUSLY??

And you didn't even give us a cool archaeological funhouse with booby traps and death-defying stunts to make Indy look cool.

Oh, and a stupid-ass, contrived wedding was a great way to end the series. Bravo.

Thank you for doing the impossible, George Lucas. I am now an internet troll shouting that you've raped my childhood.

1) American Teen
I'm not even going to bother to restate the fabricated, manipulative bullshit attempt at a "documentary" that is American Teen. I can only link you to my original, boiling mad reaction and to a concurring (one of many!)
review by the esteemed Alexandra DuPont.

This film is the plague, sent down by God as punishment for all those who dare watch faux-reality series and in turn become more vacant and false themselves.

The Breakfast Club had jocks, geeks, freaks and beauty queens. Today's generation are just terrible actors searching desperately for a part...

Merry Christmas. See The Wrestler.

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 21:49:00 +0000

If you're in NY or LA and looking to check out some of the Oscar-worthy movies playing in your area, might I recommend The Wrestler?

It's a goddamn heartbreaker. In a good way...

Narcissus used a Nikon

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 02:41:00 +0000

Ever since my buddy Matt and I had Kimberly and Megan over to our place for a fun-filled night of games and alcohol, I've been pestering Kim to get the goddamn photos posted on Facebook so I could see them. The drinking/game night was two weeks ago. I've been pestering her ever since.

I finally got her to send me all the photos, only days after I decided to take a brief sabbatical from Facebook (we needed space.)

All I can say is, thank fucking Christ she didn't upload them blindly. Most of these pictures make me look like a fat, drug-addicted, sex offender just released from prison, caught in the act of breaking into his own house.

I'm seriously horrified.

Thank you for ignoring my acts of belligerent bullying, Kim. Now I can do what normal folks do: select only the flattering pictures that project the image I want, instead of what I might really be: an alcohol-activated-deviant.

I apologize to my friends and family, the state of California, and "Ms. Grace So Love." I promise to do my best to educate others to the dangers of posing drunk.

May God have mercy on us all...

East Coast. West Coast. Love.

The benefit of not having a television is...

keikolynn@gmail.com (Keiko Lynn) — Tue, 09 Dec 2008 06:00:00 +0000

...the ability to go about my normal life, without having a lifeline attached to a television set. I miss the cliff hangers and the season breaks, which I kind of love. I get immediate satisfaction by watching every episode, back to back, throughout my work week, while I'm working. Just about everything is available online, and I never have to schedule my night around what show I need to be home for, nor do I have to invest in DVR.

All I'm saying is that there are greater things than cable tv, and one of them is the internet...if you have the patience.

HINTHINTKIMBERLY

p.s. I have a feeling this will spark great controversy
p.p.s. I love Tina Fey

I'm Mad At Things. You Might Be One Of Them.

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 08:09:00 +0000

HI. What's happening? I'm pissy.

What else is new? Nothing. Just new reasons I'm pissy. Here are some subjects that are bothering me...

1) Nobody seems to update this fucking blog besides Keiko and I. Why did we even start this goddamn thing if no one has anything to say?
2) Kim still has not shared the photos from our West Coast Drinking/Game Night. Hence no blog update.
3) Dating. That shit is a futile exercise. I don't know why the fuck I even try anymore when I can't seem to find an adequate, if not temporary, constant (Penny!)
4) People making dumb moves like blurring friendship and hormones when I keep preaching against it. I'm a reformed reformer. A maverick. Listen to me.
5) How quickly my fucking emotions seem to turn on the head of a dime. I was flying through easy street, grooving on Electric Feel a few hours ago. Now? Not so much.
6) Money. Don't have enough and it limits what I can do or enjoy on a daily basis.
7) The Internet. I can't type what I want because the wrong person might read it. Why can't I just beam my blogs directly into the right people's heads?
8) Leftovers. I hate dealing with people I no longer want to deal with because of some stupid reason. Once I know you're not on my team, I want to get away. Let's hope there are no extenuating circumstances.
9) Christmas. I've covered this elsewhere. Fuck that noise.
10) My inability to enjoy a full, unapologetic romantic connection without wincing the night away.

I am misanthrope. Hear me roar.

East Coast. West Coast. Something or other...

Twilight < Let The Right One In

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 17:15:00 +0000

If you're female and under 30, there's a damn good chance you saw Twilight this weekend. There's a good chance you'll see it this week, or the next, or you'll see it repeatedly.

And that's okay. Most of you understand that it's a guilty pleasure, and if guys can watch stupid action movies or terrible comic book movies, you more than deserve the right to see a repressed Mormon author's sex fantasy realized in a cinematic abstinence parable.

But after you finish the soup, you should really try the chef's special...

Let The Right One In is a masterpiece. I finally caught it last week and slowly fell completely in love with it. A coming of age tale about a bullied and lonely little boy who forms a friendship with a vampire girl in the dead of winter, Let The Right One In manages to be touching, scary, heartbreaking and hauntingly poetic all at the same time. Several of the images remained with me for days, and it has an ending that manages to work on two distinct tonal levels simultaneously.

Yes, it's in Swedish with English subtitles. This of course means that you will have to READ. So what? It's great. It's darker, scarier, gorier, and more powerful than Twilight can ever be, for a number of reasons.

First of all, there is no overt sexuality in this film. These are children without sexual feelings. They're innocents, only one of them happens to feed on human beings to survive.

This isn't a story of good and evil. It's a story of survival, trust and love, even in the face of unrelenting darkness. How far would you go for your only friend in the world? What price would you pay to protect them?

The children are absolutely genuine and authentic. The special effects are subtle but effective, and the cinematography is absolutely genius. I guarantee you a number of these images will stick with you. Camera geeks should be talking about the pool scene for years to come...

Find a theater playing Let The Right One In and go see it now. RIGHT NOW, before they release the American remake with CW teenagers and PG-13 levels of sterilized anti-gore and forced sexual tension. Right now this movie is creeping it's way toward the number one spot on my top ten of the year.

Skip Twilight. Let The Right One In.

Drew Lindo

keikolynn@gmail.com (Keiko Lynn) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 05:54:00 +0000

Drew Lindo, I miss you. I'll go ahead and speak for Miku, Vester, Lacy and Bobby and say that we all miss you. You were a wonderful temporary roommate and apt. 1R just isn't the same without you. Come back to us!

Let The Right Movie In

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 16:11:00 +0000

I made a terrible mistake in New York City.

I had planned to go out to see a much buzzed about horror-drama the night it opened. The film is a dark, coming of age tale about a bullied little boy who falls in love with his neighbor, Eli, despite her terrible secret.

I'm talking about Let The Right One In...

The film is based on a novel, and no, it isn't Twilight. I have no interest in seeing tween soaps like Twilight, but Let The Right One In is supposed to be a moving, haunting masterpiece, and the tone looks right up my alley.

Too bad I changed my mind at the last minute.

I decided that since I was in New York, I should theme the movie night and go see Synecdoche, New York with my friends instead.

I had heard it was frustrating and flawed, and in fact I couldn't even get through the script, as it was so obviously going the dream-logic route and making no attempt to stay linear or make any sense. It was going to be a visual experiment, no doubt. I figured we would have a good time discussing it.

Mistake. The film is a dreary, repetetive cycle of misery, shame and failure. If you've ever wanted to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman cry for two hours straight while every one treats him like shit and/or dies, then this is the film for you.

Does it contain brilliant ideas? Yes. There are some great moments in the piece, but for the most part, the film loses much of its steam and impact thanks to its flat tone and uncompromising nature. Charlie Kauffman wanted to make a film about death and decay. Congratulations, I don't think I ever want to sit through this film again due to its droll, dreary nature, but I can't say I was ever emotionally invested in the first place.

I hoped I'd see Let The Right One over the following Halloween Weekend, but it didn't work out. I then checked the showtimes yesterday.

GONE.

The film lasted only two weeks in LA theaters and now it has disappeared. I'll have to catch it on DVD, or wait for the shitty American remake to come to pass.

Damn shame. I would have gladly gone and seen it during Twilight's opening day, out of sheer bitterness.

Let this be a lesson, children, ALWAYS go with your instincts.

East Coast. West Coast. Love.

Yes We Can!

keikolynn@gmail.com (Keiko Lynn) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 08:03:00 +0000

Tonight, I am overjoyed.

When the EV count jumped past 270, I jumped onto my chair and screamed, with tears pouring down my cheeks. Within seconds, people throughout my apartment building were doing the same thing - applauding, cheering, setting off fireworks in honor of our new President-Elect, Barack Obama.

I, like many of you, have been following this election with great fervor and anticipation, watching every video and reading every article I could get my hands on. It has been the most intriguing and often downright gut-wrenching campaign in, at the very least, my lifetime. Between the historic Hillary/Barack primary struggle, the introduction and subsequent dissection of Sarah Palin, ruthless pundits, sexism and race baiting accusations, taxes, health care, roe v. wade, gay rights, Joe Six Pack, Joe the Plumber, hockey moms, pitbulls with lipstick, mavericks, Ashley Todd and Tina Fey... there was always something to talk about.

And now, the race is over. Barack Obama is our new President, with Joe Biden at his side. The Democrats have control of Senate and House, Kay Hagan is reaping the benefits of Elizabeth Dole's hateful "Godless" accusations and people all over the world are cheering us on in this historic moment . Unfortunately (in my opinion), it looks like Proposition 8/Amendment 2 have passed and somehow, Michele Bachmann has retained her seat in the House (I'm baffled). But that doesn't alter the magnitude of this election for America, as a whole.

Regardless of whom you voted for, we should all be proud of our country's voting turnout. We are so lucky to have this right and it's about time more people started exercising it. With our country at war and in an economic crisis that has us all biting our nails, it's no surprise that this election invoked passion across the board. It's also no surprise that the end of this race brought two of the finest speeches from both McCain and Obama, whose respective patriotism evoked our own.

I was pleasantly surprised and quite moved by McCain's concession speech, tonight. While I have dissenting views with most of the Republican platform - politics aside, I felt for him and his supporters. It is difficult to admit defeat, especially when it's something you have put your whole heart into. I had this same struggle with the past two elections and it was a horrible feeling. With McCain's age, he is well aware that this was his last shot at the Presidency; you could read it on his face, hear it in his voice. I felt it was the best speech he has ever given. On occasion in the past couple of weeks, we have seen a more vulnerable, human side of McCain that probably would have done him a lot of good, earlier on. Despite his loss, I think he and his supporters should be proud that he ended on such a graceful and humble note.

Then came Barack Obama, and my sympathy was replaced with immense bliss . I'm sad that I wasn't in Chicago to see it in person, and even more so that his grandma "Toot" wasn't around to see her grandson in his finest moment. His speech, like so many of his previous speeches, was profoundly inspirational and made me so very proud to call him My President. This is someone I can believe in; this is someone the world can believe in.

So tonight, I'm overjoyed. I am truly, utterly excited for change and proud to be an American under President Obama's guidance. While it won't happen overnight, he brings us what we have all been waiting for - Hope.

Yes We Can.

-Keiko Lynn

A bite of the big apple...

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 07:13:00 +0000

So after like three false starts and two years of waiting, I finally took my very first trip to New York City to get a taste of it for myself.

Which of course meant I got to visit Bobby & Keiko, the other half of East Coast/West Coast Love and two of my dearest friends in all the land.

They afforded me their futon-couch-invention, as well as shelter and plenty of animal interaction (SHUT UP, MIKU!) But best of all, they popped in and out of my many travels and adventures to see friends old and new.

A brief littany of stops & sights during my 2 week excursion...

- Central Park
- The Empire State Building...where an ex-girlfriend called to notify me of her wedding engagement (!)
- Astoria
- The Metropolitan Museum of Art (with Bobby & Keiko! Yay!)
- Battery Park
- World Trade Center Memorial
- World Financial Center
- The Seagull, by Anton Chekov, on Broadway
- Brooklyn (Sunset Park, Williamsburg)
- Lower East Side
- Upper East Side
- Noho
- Little Italy
- PREDESTINED SERENDIPITOUS REUNION OF UNFORETOLD CONFUSION & SHOCK
- Statue of Liberty (despite 2 failed attempts)
- Coney Island
- Times Square (duh)

It was an interesting experience. I'm still a West Coaster by nature, make no mistake, but when it all comes down to it, the sights and landmarks of this great city weren't the real reason I came.

I came for the people. And there's some choice individuals walking these crowded streets. I was glad to have the pleasure of spending some much needed time with them...

East Coast. West Coast. Love.

A Perfect Thursday Night

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 16:05:00 +0000

My LA existence has increased in quality by leaps and bounds in the past week. Sometimes all it takes is a little attention...from multiple sources and factions to really make your life feel riddled with countless possibilities.

After a day of hard work in the blazing Burbank sun, I shirked my gym duties (I've been training with an expert/friend for a few weeks now,) to instead go see a free Greg Laswell show in Hollywood with my friend Piper (Kimberly had prior American-Idol-fanatic engagements, hmph.)

It was an outdoor performance in front of Fresh & Easy, next to The Knitting factory, sponsored by my favorite radio station, Indie 103.1. The crisp night air fit perfectly with Greg's music, a wounded blend of subtle vocals with infectious, plaintive melodies. I think what I love about Greg's stuff is that his songs always seem to capture a moment of clarity in the face of unimaginable pain, that sensation of self-discovery amidst disaster. It's a poignant sound and a solid career in the making.

Between two thirty minute sets, I bought Greg's new album, Three Flights from Alto Lido, which Greg was nice enough to sign ("Thank you, Drew".) He was polite, gracious and accessible, the perfect combination for any interaction with an up and coming artist you admire.

Then the unthinkable happened: I realized I forgot to set my DVR to record the season premiere of my favorite show on TV; THE OFFICE.

I had promised my roommate I'd record it. What had I done? I called him to warn him of the impending doom. NO ANSWER.

Piper and I made a hasty exit before the end of Greg's second set and RACED back to the west side. I dropped her off at my place, knowing she is fully equipped to operate the brand new DVR device with expert efficiency, while I continued on to grab a healthy dinner, to go.

I got back to find her and my roommate waiting, the recording in full swing and operating properly.

I checked emails, then facebook, to find a flurry of activity; responses, comments (thanks Keiks,) messages and friend requests. Specifically from some of my international friends I'd not seen in several years. Hooray for reconnecting via technology.

Then I saw some REAL mail my roommate had dropped in my room.

A care package from a beautiful girl in England, perfectly packaged with UK Customs stamps and personal handwriting.

I practically cackled with euphoric glee at the sight of it. Not to mention what was inside; cards, gifts and plenty of inspiration.

How much better could this night get?

Oh yeah. The Office. BRILLIANT. A spectacular return to form for my favorite show. A wonderful reunion with characters and relationships that have kept me riveted for four years now.

Finalized some plans for the weekend and then drifted off to sleep.

I feel like I'm embracing a new phase, a period of bolder living. Pursuing what intrigues me without worry or fear. Enjoying what comes.

And embracing possibilities, both romantic and creative.

Damn good Thursday night. Now onto the weekend...

West Coast Love.

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

noreply@blogger.com (Bobby) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 19:17:00 +0000

Yes, my friends, that is Ghandi; not the cute, scattered, ADHD persuasion from Clone High - the real one.
By reading this header you're probably going to think, "Oh, great. Here goes Bob with the preaching of Peace, etc." No, jerk, I'm not. I simply brought up this quote because it seems to summarize my mentality, as of late.
Everything this year has flown by so quickly. I moved to NYC on January 9th of 2008, with only a suitcase and a box or two, shipped to me from FedEx. I had no job, not much money after the move, and about as many friends as square feet to my room - i.e., none.
Keiko was the best thing, helping me find a job, get on my two feet and gently bring me into the "city life." When I arrived I had a fever and was bed bound for about a week, leaving me with nothing to do. I got tired of that and took a couple job interviews, going into the city by myself, and ever since I've been too glad of that moment in time. Sure, I would have left sooner or later, but I was getting so comfortable waiting for her to want to leave.
Everything has been nothing but driven and linearly forward since January, and I've been lucky, or more aptly put, I've worked my butt off to make my luck.
Where do I see myself in another two or five years? I don't know. I am in love with this city, even when it's not so great. I love the people, the atmosphere, the food (Jesus, the food) and the simple opportunity! I cannot viably opine my thoughts on the West Coast because I haven't spent even a fraction of time there to do such a thing. But I think it's safe for me to believe that I am an Eastern Coast guy.
So, going back to my previous thought: I could be homeless, bitter, swollen or dead. Not everything can be controlled, but the things that you want to control, you can, even if you have to change something in your life. Be the change to make it happen all around you, I promise.
-Bobbert.

Beach Buddies

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 21:15:00 +0000

F.A.Q. Re: Kim & Drew

Where are you two from?
Originally, we are from opposite coasts. I was born in San Diego, California while Kim was born in Manhattan, New York. We've moved around a bit since.

When did you two become West Coasters?
Kim & I both moved to LA from Orlando, Florida in the summer of 2006. So 2 years ago.

Did you know each other in Orlando?
No. We lived in the same town, went to the same school (University of Central Florida) and had mutual friends (Keiko Lynn) but never met or interacted.

How did you two meet?
Keiko Lynn put us in contact after we both landed in LA. We spoke via telephone, then had a blind meeting one weekday afternoon when my roommate and I picked her up in Santa Monica to go to the beach.

Wasn't that weird?
Why would that be weird?

I don't know. You'd never met before. Two guys show up in a car, claiming to be friends of Keiko, and she just hops inside and hopes for the best?
We're very respectable gents. What the hell is your point?

....
Next question.

So you were beach buddies for a while?
Yes. We would hit up Santa Monica beach together like every other weekend. Sometimes my buddy Matt would come along, sometimes her amiga Meghan. Good times. Good tans.

Then what happened?
Summer ended. Fall began. I'm sad to say we drifted.

Oh.
Yeah. I think we last spoke while Keiko was in town to visit, then we sort of just fell off each other's radar for a while.

She's a tough girl to track down?
Kim likes to go to church, karaoke, rock shows and various gigs to pay her bills. This makes her no fun and a pain to try to hang out with.

How do you do it?
A subtle blend of wit and effortless charm.

What is the point of this FAQ???
To announce that for the first time in like 2 years, Kim and I returned to the beach this past weekend!!!

How was it?
The student has become the master. I've been hitting up Venice and Santa Monica Beach quite frequently this summer, so when Kim joined me, I knew she would also need to experience the innocent rush of boogie boarding.

Boogie boarding?
That's what I said.

Hmm. Boogie boarding.
It's like surfing, but much easier and requiring even less of a learning curve. Have you tried it?

Me? No. No, I don't go to the beach much.
Well you should. It's awesome! And riding breaking waves all the way to shore is nothing but good, clean, wholesome fun for the entire family!!!

How did Kim do?
She was discouraged at first. Her timing was off. Not to mention her bathing suit, which she had trouble keeping on among the "fierce" waves.

But?
But the moment she caught her first wave and rode it nearly all the way to the shoreline, she was hooked! I converted her.

So you guys basically had a ridiculously awesome time?
No question. Then we met up with my buddy Matt for lunch in Abbot Kinney and the greatest of all rewards...Pinkberry.

Pinkberry? What is that? Is that slang?
It's simply the most delicious frozen yogurt you've ever tasted. You can get it in plain, green tea, or coffee flavors, with your choice of toppings including fruit, chocolate, candy, granola, etc.

What do you get?
A small plain with NO TOPPINGS.

Boring, no?
Wrong. Adding fruit toppings or any toppings whatsoever overwhelms the flavor of the Pinkberry. All you're tasting is the fruit! I made Kimberly taste it my way and she immediately ordered the same.

You do have all the answers.
I used to write an advice column. Don't fuck with me.

Best day ever?
It's up there. West Coast Represent!

Busy Bee

noreply@blogger.com (east coast, west coast) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 05:42:00 +0000

I'm most successful when I'm swimming in anxiety and ready to break every fragile tchotchke within arm's reach.

Case in point: Once upon a time, I won several awards for an informal essay about stress and how it has become a meaningless scapegoat for all of our problems. Stress, I argued, shouldn't be used as an excuse for failure or misery, but as a tool for perseverance. The irony of my essay's success is that it was written at 3 AM, in a frenzied state of panic, the morning it was due.

I'll admit, this doesn't apply to everyone. Me, I'm just like my mom - a ball of nerves right up until the deadline, but it always comes together. If you're new to my hectic and yet somehow routine life, I am working on a collection for my upcoming fashion show. This is probably not the best time to get to know me - I'm perfectly content one minute and crying over fabric swatches, the next. I lose something at least seven times a day and it is never, ever my fault - even though it really is.

My workspace is hazardous, a disarray of scissors, fabric, needles, measuring tapes (which I can never find, even though I own at least ten of them), handmade patterns, diet cokes and half empty (today, I'm a pessimist) glasses of iced tea. I am constantly freaking out and yelling about how I can never find anything. Sometimes, I yell in Bobby's direction. When he's at work, Miku takes the blame. But let's be real - it's me. I can say that right now, because I'm in a stable moo. I'm a mess, a complete mess. But by golly, I have been working like a champ on this collection (and wholesale orders, custom orders and new stuff for my site) and I'm darn proud of my line, so far. It may not be for everyone but it suits me just fine. I'm not sure how I have gotten so much done but I'll credit my lack of stability for this sudden pulse of work ethic.

Despite my fluctuating trepidation, at this current moment, I am excited about my show. My flight is in a few days and I'm nowhere near finished, but this self-imposed "stress" will help me work it out.

Love love from the east coast (at 2:29 AM, still working),

Keiko Lynn

Fear makes the heart grow stronger...

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 19:04:00 +0000

There are two films playing in New York & LA that I think people should be seeing and talking about. Both are romances starring Penelope Cruz, doing the best English-Language work of her career.

Both films deal with the dizzying heights of love and how it's affected by fear.

Vicky Christina Barcelona

Woody Allen's summer romance is warm, fleeting, funny and dangerous, just like love itself. Though Scarjo gets overshadowed by pretty much the entire, phenomenal cast, there are still no weak links among them...save the narrator. The voiceover narration from some NPR-bred milquetoast is mind-numbingly unnecessary and distracting. Just really poor choice on that front.

But otherwise, the movie is sexy and funny, helping to illuminate the strange, tragic associations we share with romantic love, and the fickle nature of intense feelings.

If you've ever been madly in love, or simply lost interest and passion in the one you were with, this film deals with both extremes in funny, painfully honest ways.

It also makes Barcelona look blatantly gorgeous, drenched in summertime-wine-tinted sunlight.

Then there's the cold winter antithesis...

Elegy

The fear of being alone is a terrifying motivator for some relationships. It motivates us to stay with what is comfortable instead of search for what is worthwhile, but that phobia can also cause us to sabotage ourselves. In the case of Elegy's David Kepesh, the fear of losing someone, the fear of judgment, can instigate a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Sir Ben Kingsley NAILS it for the second time in a row this summer (have you followed my instructions and seen The Wackness yet?) in a tour de force as a brilliant professor falling for an angelic former student, 30 years his junior, played with elegance and erotic magnetism by Penelope Cruz.

That feeling we get when we find ourselves with someone completely out of our league? Imagine that feeling in your late fifties. Elegy is hilarious in it's brutal assessment of man's futile struggle against old age. David Kepesh is getting older, but he still wants to fuck like a rabbit and enjoy the finer things in life. But it's got to be terrifying knowing that a woman like Consuela (Cruz) is bound to be swept up by someone younger, faster, and better than he.

I've found myself looking back while still involved so many times in varying relationships and trysts; that feeling that this is simply not meant to last. Elegy captures that perfectly, as well as the vulnerable nature of hope, hope that maybe we're wrong. Maybe it can last.

Maybe we can end up having a future with the angels we dream about.

Elegy will break your heart and rock you solid. It's an amazing film, beautifully directed by Isabel Coixet based on the Phillip Roth novel "The Dying Animal." I'm disgusted with the lack of online press it's received so far (a la The Wackness) but I'm telling you, it deserves to be seen ASAP.

Go out and see some grown-up love stories this week. You'll be glad you did.

West Coast Love.

Last but definitely not effing least!

noreply@blogger.com (Kimberly Grace) — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 01:07:00 +0000

So I'm a little slow to get to this. That does not minimize it's importance or my dedication to my blogging partners or anyone who takes the time to read this. My tardiness in updating is merely a reflection of how I handle almost everything... I eventually get to it.

I guess I should start this off with a little bio. I'm Kimberly Grace. I was born in New York City, moved to Florida when I was 10, and then moved to Los Angeles 2 years ago, after graduating college. I live to love and love to live. My family, my friends (who are pretty much my family), and music mean the absolute world to me.

I'm going to use this blog as an outlet for my thoughts, as well as a journal of my life and what's going on in it. I'm never home, and I'm always tired from lack of sleep, so I should have some pretty interesting stories/ experiences to share.

So far, 2008 has been an insane year for me. To summarize:
- I quit my special events assistant job in January
- Got hit by a drunk driver later that month which resulted in a broken foot, the loss of my darling car, Reggie (Rest in Peace), and me being home in Florida for 2 and a half months (yay mommy and daddy time!).
- I went to London, Paris, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia, and Montenegro with one of my best friends, Jessica. We couchsurfed. It was amazing.
- I flew to New Jersey for Bamboozle Fest (7th year in a row counting Skate and Surf?)
- Visiting Babykeiks and Bobby Lamb in New York... several times!!
- Got interviewed in New York to go on Warped Tour with the Truth campaign. I made it to the top 27 but not the final cut.
- Starting hostessing at my old job part time and continued to work part time for LA Weekly doing promo work at events.
- Found random people on Craigslist to drive with me to Phoenix to audition for American Idol.

I think that catches us up to the present. Next month I'm flying to Orlando to model in Keiko's fashion show!! I'm so excited! Cupcakes galore and cute clothes. So magical.

I'll make my updates shorter and more current from here on out. I just wanted to get this year in there. My life now consists of doing whatever is going to make me happy. If you can work part time and support yourself, I say go for it. I'm looking forward to traveling more and spending more time with my incredible friends. I want to get more involved with my church as well. It has been one of the best parts about living out here and the friends I've met through it have made this city my home. I'm also going to be working on music more. I've found a friend to write with and I think it's a good fit. As soon as we have some tracks done, I'll post a link.

If you read this whole thing, bless your heart. Haha. I need to work on summarizing. I hope everyone has a fun and safe weekend!!
<3Kimberly Grace

Fortunate

noreply@blogger.com (Drew) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 20:26:00 +0000

I realized that I started blogging the night away over here without so much as an introduction to the tens and tens of people who may be reading.

Bobby had the common sense to write a charming autobio with a sharp lookin' photograph. Keiko followed suit.

So I'm a little late to the starting line.

But not as late as KIM BRODERICK! (That's right, beautiful, I just gave you a big old google-alert.)

My name is Drew Lindo. I write, direct, act, edit, draw, imagine, pitch and perform short films, feature scripts, and various improvisational rants & scenarios. I'm a recovering attention whore, self-preserving-realist and bruised romantic rolled up in a pop-culture-hot-pocket.

I also enjoy geeking out from time to time the way a kid does on Christmas Morning (though I now hate Christmas for personal reasons.)

My blogging is a bit promiscuous at the moment.

I've got my Que Lindo Films blog that supports my website and short films.

There's the Ask Drew Lindo blog over at Postlapsaria, where I try to find the will and the logic to answer questions and return advice to folks in minor states of youthful crisis.

But then there's my personal blog over at MySpace, where I usually find myself purging thoughts on the nature of romantic love, friendship, memories, loss and all the ins and outs of relationships going spectacularly wrong.

So why another blog? Because I don't know how to say "no." And because Keiko and Bobby are like the sweet and innocent super-couple of I-Think-I-Can-onics. If they had a baby, it'd probably be the next Jesus.

Or the next Mr. Rogers. The lesser of two awesomes, I guess.

Anyhow, being on the West Coast now, I figure I can shine a light on a few things that I'm really into out here, though I'm by no means Admiral-Speak-Easy. I just like what I like, and am lucky enough to have great options in this town when it comes to events, movies and more.

It's also a bit of a love letter to my friends on the other side of the country who I can't seem to find time or money to visit.

Confession: I've never set foot in New York City.

And being the softy-cineaste I am, I'd probably only do so under the condition I meet Julie Delpy on the subway for a magical, finite romantic encounter.

So don't hold your breath.

So here's to the stuff I wish we could all do together. All of my friends that I've made that are scattered across America and abroad, people I've met and forged great connections with tested by time, distance and everyday apathy.

Today's fortune cookie is just another affirmation that I'm fortunate to have them at all.

East coast. West Coast. Love.

East Coast Introduction of the Female Persuasion

keikolynn@gmail.com (Keiko Lynn) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 11:10:00 +0000

I'm embarrassed, really. It's such poor form for me to create this blog, let it sit and then have the boys completely show me up in diligence. At the very least, I did beat Kimberly in the introductions (take that, blondie!) and I'm posting this at 7 AM, which should count for something.

My name is Keiko (cake-oh). People generally call me Keiko Lynn or the more affectionate Keiks/Baby Keiks. I'm a fashion designer, working out of NYC. I won't get into details, because I'd rather you get to know me through my posts, pictures and work.

I didn't start this blog to focus on me. I already have a livejournal for that (vanity of the archaic variety). I wanted to introduce you to my friends, whom I love and admire beyond words. Drew is the wittiest, most driven person I know; Kim, the most outgoing and fun; Bobby, the most kind and genuine. And me? I don't know, I guess you'll have to ask the others.

Here's what we have in common (besides the obvious friendship): We all lived in Florida and moved to New York and California, respectively, within the last few years. We're following our dreams, building our futures and generally living different lives, since our times in Orlando.

Through this blog, we four mutual friends will share little pieces of our lives with you. I hope that even the silliest, most trivial musings will catch (and keep) your interest.

Love love from the East Coast,

Keiko Lynn