five deadly everythings...

Wakes

I realized today that I've reached the point in my life where funerals and weddings will be the main cause for seeing all my friends together in the same place at the same time. My friends all come from different subsets of groups, and it's not debuts or huge birthday parties that will do it anymore. This is real life now folks. Like damn.

We went to the funeral home to pay our respects to Carmelo. I had no idea the kid was such a prodigy. An "A" student, was going to univeristy for engineering, but also a great artist and graphic designer. Apparently his love was cars and he wanted to design them for a living. He died in a car crash.

An athlete as well, they hung up his various jerseys on each side of the coffin for people to sign. He was only eighteen, and already he had accomplished enough in life to fill up the room with tributes to his body of work. His drawings sat on the mantle. His poetry lay laminated at the back of the room. They even brought in his desk from highschool, now covered in graffitti'd eulogies.

The weather was hot today and everything seemed wrong. It's been a weird week. Something feels off. I dunno. I went to work and developed a migraine again. I have to wake up early in the morning and go back. Then I gotta haul downtown for rehearsals. I don't want to go. I want to lie on my couch and read and watch movies.

I wanna ride out these bad tides. I wanna hide.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:02:00 a.m. | Permalink

RIP Carmello Magnaye

Responding to death is something I'm not good at. I guess nobody is. I remember when my Tito Jimmy died and I barely reacted. My dad was bawling and yelling and I just sat there feeling awkward. It's not that I'm not sad these people are gone. It's that I'm just not angry.

Carmi's younger bro passed. Car accident at age 18, just like my cousin. I really feel for Carmi because she's so family oriented. I can't imagine what she must be going through.

Everyone's got different reactions to death. Some people get philosophical and start talking about God and shit like that. Some use the incident as a way of refiguring their life, realizing what is "truly important" and valuable and reshifting their focus and priorities. Yet others use it to motivate themselves. They feel guilty for wasting their precious time on earth and vow to live every day to its fullest, to cherish every second.

I'm none of those, so it's hard to have conversations with people during that healing/talking period. For me it brings home the fragility of life. It brings home death. Death is real and I can see its stains on the faces of my friends. But that's the wrong thing to say when someone dies. You can't just say, "Whoa. People really die. We're going to die."

It's easy because death has always been once-removed. My brother's dog. My dad's father. My cousin in the Philippines. My friend's brother. I wonder what my reaction would be to have someone really close to me pass. More than that...to have them stolen away before their time. "Before their time". When you think logically about that, it makes no sense does it?

I feel guilty for not praying after a person has died. I want to say that Carmi and her family are in my prayers, but they're not because I have none. I normally wear my religious views with pride, but when it comes to death I feel almost ashamed. The buddhist view of death can come off cold and uncaring. It's not. But it's not the time to debate and convince people. It's not the time for that kind of talk.

I dunno. Death is something so hard to talk about because it's the one thing in this world that nobody has experienced. Who's to say? Nobody knows what they're talking about. We just ramble on and on and hope that it counts for something. That it validates someone's life or soul, to have it remembered, to have it spark debate and discourse and intimate heart-to-hearts.

I've been lazy and stir crazy lately. This is life. Sitting on the couch watching celebrity poker, thinking about writing but never actually writing. My gf and I have been stealing moments, making up for the time lost over the past few weeks. We steal hugs and moments of eye contact knowing that we have to get it while we can. She'll be leaving soon.

I know nothing about the world. Christianne rattles off the names of numerous geographic locations, planning our future vacations. Sometimes I don't even know what places she talks about. The world exists fuzzily in my head like a drunken night.

I saw Rachel a couple of days ago in a used book shop on Lakeshore. We talked about the old crew and how everyone's sort of drifted and moved on. I'm happy...it wasn't the most functional group of people to ever hang out together. I'm glad me and Suzy got out while we could. It's better for everyone.

Two nights this past week I couldn't sleep, and ended up watching Gilmore Girls on YTV (there was nothing else on, I swear). I now have this weird crush on Rory Gilmore which -- though Rory is clearly female -- leaves me feeling quite, uh, gay. I guess this is what the closet feels like. It feels like Gilmore Girls.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:56:00 a.m. | Permalink

Holy Fuck.

Suzanne just told me that Carmi's brother died. Car accident. Like...just now. Chris and I just saw him last night, pulling into their driveway. He was like...18. What the fuck.

What the hell. This is crazy. It's midnight. He's dead.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:03:00 a.m. | Permalink

Don't Eff With Me

You scored as Anakin Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker 67% Yoda 64% Darth Vader 56% Mace Windu 50% R2-D2 50% C-3PO 44% Padme Amidala 42% Obi Wan Kenobi 39% General Grievous 36% Emperor Palpatine 33% Clone Trooper 31% Chewbacca 31% Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you? created with QuizFarm.com

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 10:07:00 p.m. | Permalink

"Only Sith Think in Absolutes" - Ben Kenobi

Well said, Obi-Wan. It's in that spirit that I will refrain from calling Revenge of the Sith "good" or "bad". Like any film that involves limbs being lopped off and Samuel L. Jackson beating the shit out of an old white politician...it's neither and both at the same time.

I saw it this Friday and came out satisfied. It hit all the right spots and then some. On the weight of sheer coolness, we got to see fights galore. Obi-Wan vs. Grievous. Windu vs. Palpatine. Anakin vs. Dooku. Yoda vs. Sidious. Obi-Wan vs. Vader. Natalie Portman vs. Lucas' Dialogue.

There were many images that left me wide-eyed and giddy, such as Obi-Wan leaving Anakin by the fire pits, legless and burning. "You were the chosen one," he screamed, Ewan McGregor's face stretched and anguished. There was Windu standing over Palpatine ready to chop his head off, a conflicted Anakin sweaty and screaming "That's not the Jedi way!"

Lots of screaming.

There is much satisfaction in watching everything fall into place. Watching prophesy being fulfilled. Palpatine's face distorting into that of the familiar Emperor's. Palpatine telling Anakin a Sith legend of an apprentice who kills his master, just as we know Anakin one day will do to Sidious. Watching the Jedi get slaughtered and Yoda and Obi-Wan exiled to the swamp and desert we find them in the original trilogy. Not to mention seeing Vader's armour and hearing that James Earl Jones baritone, and finally having it all click and whir like a well-oiled machine.

But, despite all this, it's not a well-oiled machine. And as much as I loved the flick there were glaring imperfections:

-Padme, once the brilliant leader of Naboo at age 14, reduced to a blithering, pregnant idiot. Although she has ONE intelligent line, "So this is how democracy dies...with thunderous applause", she does NOTHING to combat Palpatine, which as we've seen from Eps. 1 & 2, is horribly out of character. Amidala from Ep. 1 was a badass.
-Obi-Wan saying Anakin was like his "brother", when, thematically, he should have called him his "son".
-Chewbacca, who appears for no other reason than to stroke a couple of fanboy cocks.
-Anakin going from "That's not the Jedi way" to "Yes master" in literally, twenty seconds. (I know this was built since episode two, but the actual switch is pulled off horribly. As in, not pulled off.)
-The Jedi slaughter. We don't get to see them slaughtered. Make us cry, Lucas. It'd be so easy.
-The love story. I love you. I love you more. No, I love you more. Love is blind. You're cute. Let me watch you as you brush your hair, I'm so lovelorn.
-Natalie Portman was not hot. Ugly even. How the fuck did they do that?
-One of the worst "NOOOOOOOOOO!"s in cinema history. People only do that shit in comedies. John Stewart does it twice weekly on the Daily Show. It's funny.
-The dialogue in general.

Still though. Hats off to Lucas. Ima watch it again.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:29:00 a.m. | Permalink

Trees

There is a foundation that I am missing
a vital area full of soil and seed
without which you float like paper
torn and twisting and unable to grasp onto
metaphors or solid ground.

There is much to be made of tangled limbs
rooted to nothing they are unbound trees.

And so we send love poems on a tide of phermones
sentiments that twist through the wind and land
on my bare back, carving incoherent initials.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:02:00 a.m. | Permalink

Gangsta



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 10:12:00 a.m. | Permalink

Marathons

Marathon runners are strange. They are surly and exhausted, and everything seems to be an obstacle between them and their next breaths. Including people offering them water. One guy even yelled at us to get out of the way. As if that would help him win despite the 258 runners who had already passed before him. I exaggerate. A lot of people thanked us for coming out and volunteering. Some knocked the water out of our hands and said sorry. But yet, still others, thought it would be a good idea to throw their empty cups at us. Instead of yelling "Water! Water!", I began yelling "My Dignity! My Dignity!", and watching people violently grab it and toss it to floor.

It was a long day which included getting yelled at by the Chapters lady, Home Depot wood shopping, Burger King Star-Warring, and lots of Power Gel.

I missed the Halfway deadline by like five minutes, and handed in one of my more lacklustre movie reviews. It's so difficult to write reviews for mediocre films. You're not angry at it or offended by it, nor can you praise it in any way. You end up merely recapping the plot and pointing out the cliches, then capping it off with a "if only they..."

The wave of good emails continues. I wish my real-life interactions could be this rewarding. As it stands, it's just a whole lot of sitting and staring and awkward laughter at clumsy jokes. It's so much easier to be personal and personable when not actually in person.

Yesterday I saw a church sign that said "God Answers Your Knee-Mails."

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:54:00 a.m. | Permalink

Reading Meeting

First meeting. Dope. Everyone's cool. I was hella nervous. Was a little upset that Shawn say Drew and Anton as assholes. But I can see how he read it that way. Everyone gave positive feedback.

Night went weird, got stuck in a building with Kev. Sixty dollar parking ticket. Lost my fugging wallet, but still managed to get home. Weird.


L-R: Shawn, Pauline, Kev, Victor, Steve, Me, Arlene - "Readings"

I got this email today from Pauline:

Jef,

I’ve been trying to figure how to write this… and I guess the best way to say it is short and sweet: “I totally loved your script.” I was going to ramble on about how and why and which parts… and it was just one huge mess. It’s truly and honestly *the* very best I have ever read, in every way. I’m so glad to be a part of it!

Sincerely,
Pauline W.

Word. (Speechless.)

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:38:00 a.m. | Permalink

On "Crash"

So I saw Crash the other day with Christianne. Dope dope movie, although I feel the Asian characters got slighted a bit. Can't wait to see the Director's Cut (hopefully there is one), because I'm sure Daniel Dae Kim's story is on the cutting room floor somewhere. Dude was in the film for like two seconds.

I was posting about the film on Okayplayer, and I found myself feeling very inarticulate. The opportunity to debate on several of the movie's issues arose, and I backed out of all of them. The Okayplayer cats are too smart for me, and I hadn't thought things through enough.

Anyways, I eventually came up with this post:

*SPOLIER ALERT*

______________________________________________________________


"My take on the film's "solution""
In response to Reply # 0




"A lot of cats I talk to bring up the point that the film offers no solution to the problems it presents.

I don't necessarily agree with this. I felt a solution was definitely, strongly, implied. It is not directly *shown*, because to have a character embody or vocalize this solution it would make the film favour that character's race over the others. That would be counter-productive. In order for the solution to be proposed, it actually *can't* be shown, at least not totally.

First, I think a lot of what the film does is take other "solutions" and break down why they are problematic. Take Ryan Phillipe, for example. He represents the solution of "colour blindness". His character is very noble in this, but his card gets pulled by his black boss, who points out that he switches being partners with Matt Dillon more to not be associated with Matt Dillon than to actually solve the problem (i.e., Phillipe is in the clear, but Dillon is still on the streets). This to me in the main problem with being "colour blind". It washes your hand of the problem while allowing the problem to still exist. You deign yourself "above" all that.

This is furthered in the car scene with Larenz Tate, where people who claim to be "colour-blind" usually aren't all they are cracked up to be. Not that his character was racist, it's more complicated than that, but of course he is not colour blind, because, as the film shows, it is impossible to be so.

There is the path of no-resistance, the letting shit slide solution. Such as the Latino character and Terrence Howard. We all see how that plays out. The only reason the Latino guy's daughter doesn't get capped is so the Persian dude can have closure on his story. But still...the film shows how difficult that road can be, and how it also really doesn't solve anything.

I think by having all the characters have good/bad sides, by presenting this problem it also suggests a solution. Often our solution to racism is to take up the Ludacris stance (althought perhaps not so cartoonishly), the "Angry" whatever whatever. For me, it's the Angry Asian Man, wherein I complain about asian representation in movies, i bemoan all my asian girl friends dating white guys, I get mad when white people call me oriental etc.

This makes me feel all righteous and no doubt we all feel the same way when we tirade on whitey or the system.

But, as the film shows none of us clean. And if we're big enough people to admit the film is right about that...then it wipes the slate clean for us.

OK...where to go now?

I hate to get all Dalai Lama-ish but the only solution now is compassion. Not to downgrade or dismiss our complaints and political stances, because those are all still valid...but eventually we have to rise above drawing lines between us. We have to live compassionately. I don't mean compassion as some cheesy We Are The World type bullshit. This isn't the same as being "colour blind". Compassion is to see race and to recognize race and racism and *still* love these people. To be compassionate to others by recognizing our own faults.

I think we can all agree...the one cat who came closest to "having it right" was the Latino guy. He resisted all attempts to become jaded or angry.

The compassion I'm talking about is not about rolling over. It's not about holding things in. It's about fighting, fighting every day, but fighting compassionately.

I dunno about yall, but this movie really got to me, and I think it will change a lot about me regarding issues of racism, and how I deal with it, and in turn, how I deal with myself.

Ok, now I sound like I am on some bullshit, so I will stop.

I love you all."

______________________________________________________________

Anways, that's my word. I hope everyone goes to watch this movie and talk about it. More important than the movie itself is the discussion. Even if you don't agree with the film, you will have plenty to say about it. Or at least I hope.

As always,

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:30:00 p.m. | Permalink

I Finished the Screenplay

And so I did it and it is done. I am fatigued and glowing, and this is what must be meant by "dying happy". Fading away with this dumb weak grin on your face. Satisfied and spent and somewhat ambivalent to everything around you.

Today my (white) neighbours' kids called out to me, "Hey Chinese guy!", and then yelled violent ching-chong noises at me across the symbolic gap between our driveways (their side sporting a Hummer, our side sporting a small, smelly dog). When I turned to give them my patented Evil Eye they hid behind trees, turning sideways and straight like practiced spies. I pretended not to hear them, and they yelled all the more louder for it.

After writing in the library for five hours the other day, I was happy to find they were having a sale on sci-fi books. I copped the last of the Hitchhiker's trilogy (which makes it the fifth one) even though I hate the series. It's amazing what you'll buy when it's just a dollar. I also nabbed a collection of Harlan Ellison short stories, which I snatched from the shelf with voracious fandom.

Recently I've been getting emails. The most welcome of which come from my girlfriend, whom I've been separated from recently as we try our respective bests to do something with our lives other than laying parallel on the couch complaining about Alias. (Don't get me started on Alias. Piece of shit...) She is doing very well in school, and I think I am living vicariously through her report card. I also recently got an email from the Light, who isn't seventeen anymore but is still younger, and still reminds me of how clumsy and innacurate I am with my words. I hate them both and can't wait to see them succeed.

Lately it's been all "Can't Knock the Hustle". People are making moves and it is moving me. Tyler, also younger, somehow reached into his backpocket and pulled out a magazine. Kamal has hooked up with some other local artists, and on the latest tracks he sent me he sounds hungry as fuck. My girlfriend garnered three jobs and a volunteer placement. Soon she will be in France, laughing like a hog and eating cwasons. Kev completed the Kraftzmen documentary, and the Kraftzmen themselves are another story altogether. Some dope local hip-hop music. Saw my highschool friend Scott Soares at the Bux and then oddly enough, heard him through my discman as I was walking home (he has a track on the Masia One joint).

My back hurts in three distinct places. The Toronto Star says that most of the massage parlours in the Greater Toronto Area are fronts for brothels. I'd be alarmed, except the term 'brothel' sounds so innocuous and bubbly. Cute even. Much different from Whore House, or, say, International House of Stomach Pancakes.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 2:17:00 a.m. | Permalink

I, Robot

I have this thing with technology. I love it and need it so much but I have no idea how to fucking use it. I'm like a six year old grabbing a tit. And the more I try to learn about computers and technology, the more knowledge I gain, the more ignorance I discover. I just can't get the hang of it. It's not in my genes. Or my jeans, for that matter (I checked). It's a section of my brain whose terrain I just can't fucking navigate. And the more I try to make friends with computers, computers calls up his buddies and they all have sex with my sister. My sister! And then all these people are on my ass and are like, duhhhh, what did you expect? That's what happens when you talk to computers like that. Well gee, computers. Fuck you too then. And now my metaphors are all mixed and shit. This day sucks.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:11:00 a.m. | Permalink

...scalpel...

I was reading over the script earlier today when it hit me that the entire middle section needed to be cut. As hard as it is to do such a thing I'm glad I'm in the state of mind where I won't compromise. "Deadline" is less than twenty-four hours away and yet still I know it needs to be gutted. I called up my director early this morning to discuss it with him and he co-signs. I feel refreshed, starting over, and yet closer to the goal than ever before.

I had a big scare just a little while ago when my computer told me I had a virus. This is of course the worst thing possible when you are so close to completing a feature-length screenplay. I ran the virus checker and nothing appeared. Weird. Anybody know exactly what a "Trojan Horse" virus is?* I mean, I can infer based on the name, but some specifics as to why my anti-virus picked up on it but now can't find it would be nice. And then all of a sudden a toolbar appeared on my browser and I was all "Oh Shit Mang". I ran AdAware and cut that shit out like Joey Gladstone.

Just to be safe I'm probably gonna have to transer the screenplay to the family computer and work off that machine. But then that means I'm writing in the fugging kitchen. I CAN'T WRITE IN THE FUGGING KITCHEN.

*edit: nevermind, I googled that shit.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 5:02:00 p.m. | Permalink

Like, Some Photos and Shit



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:26:00 a.m. | Permalink

You'll Rest When You're Dead

Dead tired. What a weird phrase. I'm tired as fuck right now and I keep telling myself if I can just get over this hump, finish the the final draft, finish the reviews for Halfway, get the films locked down for REMG, settle my credit card business, get rid of the virus burning bonfires in my throat, and serve a million lattes, then I'll be just fine. "You'll rest when you're dead."

Mr. Vukosa came into the store yesterday and told me he had bad news. Considering he's my Grade 8 teacher, the only bad news I could conceive of him having for me was "I re-read all of your writing and you suck." And while that may be true nonetheless, the bad news is our old principal, Mr. McEachroen, had died the day before, succumbing finally to the cancer that had lived in his body for years now.

McEachroen (mick-eck-ron) was quite the presence in our school. He was unique among principals in that he took the camraderie that Mr. Belding had with the Bayside students to heart. He really tried to be involved in our daily lives, and bless him for that. The only difference, of course, was that Mr. Belding was an affable goof, whereas Mr. McEachroen was a stiff pickle up our collective asses. (I'm assuming you regard that as a bad thing. To each his/her own.)

We nicknamed him "Pits" because his armpitular area was always saturated in sweat. His face was permanantly red and you could almost hear the steam boiling out of his ears when he stared at you. He'd have been frightening if he weren't so cartoonish. As a person, I disliked him heavily. He was pious and preachy, and he never listened so much as sat around and waited patiently to refute you.

I was twice on the receiving end of his iron fist--both times not my fault. The first was when John White's parents had called the cops on me (and two other boys) for beating up John's little brother. The truth being that we were tight friends with the dude and only playing football. He was laughing and having a great time until he went home and found a bruise. He, being the pussy that alot of kids that age are, erroneously began crying and his parents interpreted all this as horrifying abuse. Then the cops came, I made a formal apology to the boy (who seemed as confused by all this as I was), and McEachroen sentenced me to two weeks of detention. Which sucked, but gave me a sort of school-yard cred that previously escaped me.

The other incident I'm confused about to this day. Basically, it was recess one day and McEachroen stopped the football game he was refing with a violent whistle blow. He ran up to me, his face twitching with spit and sulphur, and commanded me to shut up and sit down on the path where he could keep an eye on me. I asked him what I did to deserve such punishment and he looked as if he would slap me for such insubordination. I sat down and shut up. I still don't know what it was he thought I was doing, seeing as I really was just standing around harmlessly and talking to some of my crew.

I think McEachroen took any and all delinquency, no matter how small, personally, seeing as he had invested so much energy in getting involved with his students. He taught a "Guidance" class--unheard of for a principal to actually teach a class (outside of Bayside, of course)--in which the subject matter was basically learning to get your shit straight. He taught us budgeting, he taught religion and morals, he taught scheduling, he taught how to pick our highschool courses and shit like that. A lot of aptitude tests and soul-searching.

His other big accomplishment was forcing everyone to get active. He forced everyone who wanted to try out for sports to join the cross-country running team. If you wanted to play ball, you had to run. Plain and simple. Not only did we have an army of a cross-country team, I think we're all better off for the experience. Running marathons is a valuable self-educational experience, and I think he knew that.

In the years since I've graduated, McEachroen developed cancerous tumors and resigned from education. Apparently, he opened up a bed-and-breakfast someone up north. Blaise, Mike and I always planned to go up there for a weekend but never got around to it. And now he's gone.

He's kind of like the (former) Pope in that I disagree with a lot of his personal stances and practices, and yet I respect the man simply for the fact that he stood for anything at all. He genuinely cared about something and unlike a lot of us, he actually took strides to *do* something, to change something, to move people.

And to honour the man and his life, I vow this week to revisit his "Guidance" lessons. I vow to get my shit straight. To get my shit done and done right. Cuz I can rest when I'm dead, right McEachroen? Or maybe even before that, chillin like a madvillain at some quiet bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere, after all my work is done and I know I did all I could to *do* shit.

Rest in Peace, Pits.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:03:00 a.m. | Permalink