Saturday, February 26, 2011

I hate the fucking rain

Waking from an uneven slumber with a drooling mouth and an unusually hard cock I staggered to my feet to silence the cell phone alarm.

"why the fuck did I set the alarm" I thought to myself as I tried to wipe the crusty sleep from my eyes. It's raining, that's just fucking awesome. Let's add that to the fact that I'm doing time in Koreatown and I'm living with my ex-girlfriend...the only thing this party is missing in nuclear waste and a toy breed that won't shut the fuck up. The only thing I can think of is that I must have been a son-of-a-bitch in a previous life and thus I am being punished. But on second thought that's absurd cause I don't believe in reincarnation or original is probability, cause and effect so I should just deal with it.

Rising to my feet I felt the wooziness of the 5 Corona's I drank the night before. You know I'm broke when I can't afford Guinness. Note to self: life is to short to drink cheap beer...when you die you wanna die happy. Last night was chill though, I kicked it with Johnny Sabado and smoked a gang of blunts while we talked about how much we like strippers and how we can't presently afford the habit. The recession is a motherfucker.

Brushing my teeth and attempting to not die of hypothermia of the cold ass floor I began to formulate a plan. "This is not my stop" I barked into the mirror. I'm not really one for pep talks but this franchise is starting to exhibit the signs of pep talks it is.

I heard her rise to her feet. It's a slow process with lots of exhaling and "oh my god's". Really? The sun rises every fucking day and yet it still catches you by surprise...I've got to get the fuck outta here.

I broke the fuck out (of the bathroom), donned a somewhat offensive T-shirt and one of the two pairs of baggie jeans that I owned and laced up the kicks...I gots shit to do. Not 4 min's latter I started catching text messages from women I really should be avoiding. Sex has become like baseball for me...and I'm playing in the bush leagues. Not that I can't lure (operative word) a fine piece of ass...but I'm 41 and kind of not in the mood for the bullshit and misrepresentation. I'm looking for sex that's so good it nearly kills me. If you ain't got that...then what's the point? I can damage my credit rating and amass parking tickets all by my lonesome.

Let's see who we've got on the incoming (note to the occasionally reader: incoming refers to the direction of data coming into the handset I.E. smartphone, so it's a text (sms/mms), email or google talk volley (I'm on android bitches)'s my Turkish hottie. Looks like she's requesting another round of the on again, off again...first we fuck, then we argue...then we ignore each other. Predictable...but her ass is the bomb so maybe I'll hit her back...but who are we kidding...this is about my shoulders and her furniture that needs to be picked up @ Ikea and moved into her new apartment. I'd prefer a rate sheet...and yes, she can pay me in panties.

I descend the steps like it's xmas morning and head into my office, if you can call it an office. I've got papers scattered everywhere, dirty dishes and a few dirty socks strewn about. Looks like an outtake from "First 48"...which is kinda disgusting, but it keeps the ex the fuck outta here. Yes I'm deploying psychological strategies up in this's like that homey!

Opening my email on the google browser (I've learned that it's easier to read bullshit on a full size screen) I see that I have a response from a literary manger who I'll leave nameless. My last request to for submission has been denied because it's pilot season. Like I give a fuck about TV. Honestly, I'd rather she respond that unless I'm willing to come over here and clean the clam for a few hours I can forget about representation. At least that would be honest. This entire situation with her is entirely fucked by the way. I met her at a producers conference that I shall also leave nameless (don't complain.. I might actually make/sell something and the last thing I need is this blog to show up on TMZ like a pair of stank panties when your ex-girlfriend is cleaning the apt (yes.. .that really happened).

..anyways, back to the story. I sat through three days of this producers festival where I was pitching a reality tv show. That in and of itself was a huge mistake because I'm a filmmaker. My dick gets super hard when we start to talk about shots, angles and dialogue. What I cut and submitted was light years from what I said I would... everyone was pissed and refused to entertain the thought of us working for can only hide your art for so long, so I should be happy. So in the middle of this producers conference which is quickly beginning to resemble a bad horror movie (the black guy is going to die soon) I get access to this literary manager. I get to the meeting early and there's like 3 people there...and wouldn't you know it they are actors. This manger manages actors and writers which I personally hate. It means that people who are better looking than me will be offering sex and doing anything to get her attention. The one thing I like about being a writer is that we have integrity. We'll only go so far...not true for actors (and I love actors so easy on the hate mail). So as I'm waiting for the meeting to begin I get on my smart phone and research her a little bit. I find a slew of interviews of her and she's abrasive in each one. Not that I'm particularly worried, I'm from the east. I'm as comfortable with abrasive people as I am with cold weather...but I'm not really in the mood for either presently.

cue the beginning of the meeting and it's business as usual. She recounts how dedicated she is to art and how difficult it is to find good writers...blah...blah...blah. It's the typical bullshit and I seem to be the only one at this table that understands this. Oh great it's story time. For those of you who aren't familiar with story time it's when an actor segues from asking a question to telling a story to subtly indicate their acting chops and how special they are. It's almost as exciting as watching your dog lick his cock...only without the smacking.

She lays into him, rips off one of his arms and begins to chew on it. The entire table is mortified..except me. I knew there was gonna be some dismemberment up in this piece...the goal was not to be chewed up first. After a short story by her and another uncomfortable silence (there were many) another actor tries to pitch themselves. This chick is really cute, petite and looks like she could fuck all night. Too bad she wasn't prepped for the question "what kind of acting would you like to do?"... there was a seriously uncomfortable silence (I'm talking 4 Mississippi) before she stammered out an incomprehensible answer...she got murdered on the spot. I'm talking chainsaw dismemberment. I even think I got some blood on my glasses. It's not looking good for the rookies, and the entire table is looking shook. I could care less. I came to pitch.

She then asked for pitches, which was kind of strange. Most people of her....status.. hate to be pitched to.. they tend to think it's tedious. But she seems to like stories and more importantly writers (or so I thought). No one was willing to step onto the killing floor... and then I raised my hand. I swear to fucking god (and this is coming from an atheist) the assembled "artists" nearly all snapped their necks looking over at me and my fearlessness. What a bunch of pussies! "...only the man who thinks his arm can be cut off will actually get his arm cut off". I pitch my new script, my new female action script that I wrote for one of my actors that I'm in love with (she's female and I love women so don't read into it). A few seconds goes by and her face lights up.. "that's a script I'd definitely like to read". The room can't believe that I just pulled that off. Their heads are spinning like cheap rims in Inglewood. She congratulates me and goes on to lecture for a few more minutes before she asks for another pitch. Again silence falls over the table.

I count to 5 and then I raise my hand. The table can't believe that I want to pitch again and neither does the manager. "You have another script?" she says quizzically?
"I came here to chew bubble gum and pitch some scripts and I'm all out of bubble gum". The John Carpenter reference is lost on the relatively young crowd and I pitch. This time I pitch her Sex, Love & favorite script. After another pause that seems to last longer than the CFA exam (google it) she smiles and responds that she'd like to read that one as well. In an instant I'm being slipped business cards from actors and if I have any power in here.

The meeting adjourns and I'm mobbed by people... "where did you learn to write?", "who do you write about?", "Do you have a writing partner?"....I mean what the fuck? What happened to losing graciously and then getting pissed and going home and writing a better script that I pitched? today!

By the time I get to the hotel bar the word has spread. People are treating my like I just won the fucking lottery; little do they know that I'm going to have to write a check to get my car out of valet...this town is comedy.

Fast forward 4 months later. I submitted and hear nothing. 3 months pass and I'm climbing the walls. Det. Budd suggests that I just drop by her office and make my presence known under the guise that the squeaky wheel gets the oil. He has a point but I don't' think that that's the best approach. So I wait. Another month....still no fucking reply. Then I get this email inviting me to a "creating memorable characters" seminar at USC that she is teaching. Not only is stepping on the campus of USC the filmic equivalent of making an atheist go to church, but I'd rather take deepthroat lessons from Ron Jeremy than attend a intro to screenwriting seminar. But what are my fucking options? So I respond in the affirmative.

Fast forward 2 weeks...I get there and the place is packed. She's there with a friend of hers who is an agent/producer and an author (funny how that works) and they are reminiscing on all the great script that have been written in the history of film (the implication being that we'll never be that good) and what we can learn from them. The eagerness of the other "writers" to lick these pussies is not sitting well with me. When I'm handed the first of several worksheets I feel the urge to drop trou and take a massive dump on the conference room table and shout "art knows no bounds".

But on second thought, I just stuff my mouth with the Sour patch kids I'd smuggled in and try to remain calm. I need to approach this woman and get my career back on track. But at every juncture that I can interject into...some 20 something, runny nose kid keeps asking questions and answering them himself. I had seriously considered putting the Vulcan neck brace into action...but he's on the other side of the I'm fucked.

Suddenly it's breaktime. All the tweeners (I'm so not joking with that) make a B-line for the restroom and I approach her. Now keep in mind that she's shot me a number of looks during this "seminar"...I'm not sure if she recognizes me or is picturing me under her desk, kissing the kitty in an attempt to get representation. As soon as I introduce myself she smiles and says "yes..yes.. I knew you looked familiar". Not only is that insincere, it's predictable. But I push on cause that's what my mother expects of me. Trying to hide the anger and rage inside of my artistic loins I causally explain to her that I submitted my script to her and have not heard so much as a peep. She looks around and snaps her fingers (literally) and the wet nosed, brown-nosing dude who wouldn't shut up literally runs up to her side. Mr. Let-me-impress-you is her assistant. Seriously????

Not only is allowing your assistant to participate in your seminar a huge conflict of interest, it cast serious doubt on his ability to read and evaluate scripts (does he have to take a nap between each act?). Next come all the apologies and the "sorry we missed your script" statements. I am unimpressed.
He is now my main point of contact and assures me that if I sent the script to him, that he'll see that she gets it. I resubmit...and weeks pass. And then I get his email. His condescending, cliche filled, writing tips dense email telling me that I'm obviously new to screenwriting. Those who know me personally will be amazed to know that I opted not to tell him what I really thought of his comments and his community college education (it's a joke...fucking relax night students). I wasted 7 months on this fruitless enterprise...awesome!

So why am I telling you this? Because I want to underscore the two rules of film that I live by:

1) You can't get anywhere by playing by the rules

2) Anything is possible.

This blog was brought about by the simple fact that Valentines day just passed (my love life sucks cock)'s Oscar weekend and I can't believe all these people who I am more talented than are being nominated for an Oscar (Inception... really?...Christopher Nolan uses the same, literary devices, plot points and schtick in Memento and the following). I'm bitter, horny and out of weed... so that's what you get.

..This blog is dedicated to Richard Lui.. who sent me a very nice email and has convinced me to return to writing.


Wednesday, November 10, 2010


It's been a long time since I've written for this blog. So many stories to tell and yet I hesitate cause I don't feel that most of them are relevant. But, I do owe you some sort of an...uh, transition from the quite period to what has caused me to return to writing.

Writers are born and not made and that is something that I firmly believe. I believe this because writers are proficient at writing because there's something missing for them in the first-person, this is why they communicate so well as writers...because for them major parts of communication in the first-person are lost. I am a glaring example of this. Those who have met me will tell you that I am charming, intriguing, sincere, trustful and that I have the ability to make people do almost anything do to my ability to conjure emotions and sincerity. Well, nothing could be farther from the truth. My truly close friends will tell you that I'm moody, at times very distant and nearly always deeply in thought. Much of what people interpret as me is a well-honed survival trait that I developed as a child and a young adult. There was a different Cooprdog many moons ago. Think of a young pup who believed all his parents told him and viewed the world as a fair, just and optimistic place. The attrition and red badges of courage that my 40+ years have given me have greatly changed that opinion of the world.

I return to this blog because I have nowhere else to go. That's the thing about writing, it's always with you. I doesn't matter if I do not write a single word for 10 years, nothing will be lost, nothing will be taken for granted. That's the tough part to understand...that the words don't have to come out...and when they do, they always come out correctly; assuming you believe in such trivial concepts as correct and incorrect.

SLZ as a project is still alive and well...if by well you mean has a pulse. It's still my greatest work (in my opinion)and it will get made...well, there's still a possibility. There's also a possibility that my head will turn into a giant bag of weed. I returned to screenwriting after something like a 7 year hiatus and wrote "D is for Detra". I love the script but as per usual I'm pushing too many boundaries for the traditional model. I shot a TV pilot for a semi-reality show. I really enjoyed the shooting, but the project was kind of disastrous. Here's a tip: if you're a filmmaker your venture into reality TV will probably not go well. Not because your skills are one-dimensional and not because the reality people are jaded (everyone is jaded)...but because you think of the subtleties of light, lens, camera position and sequences. I had grand ideas of what I wanted to do on the small screen (the screen that I hate) and the more I shot the bigger these ideas got. What I wound up with was a very visual, very trippy...experiment. Which is not a good thing. I am a producer. I have responsibilities and one of the responsibilities is to get a return on investment. Just shooting hot shit to smoke weed to is not acceptable. This is the toughest thing for me to learn.

The ideas come quickly now. And with a quick text to Det. Budd they manifest into scenes, projects, films and productions. But with skill comes the desire for larger budgets...and hence the depression.

I am in a box now. My badass Datsun has a blown motor and is bleeding me dry. My lovelife is dead. Primarily because I live with my ex-girlfriend and that's slightly more enjoyable than sandpaper sliding across my nuts. Lost my job, and my loft...and my intergalatic, panty collecting lifestyle. I had the magnanimous idea to apply to the Nichols Fellowship and a few TV writing fellowships. I had initially refused to enter these competitions, because I am an outlier, all ways has been, always will be...legitimacy isn't really an option for persons like myself. I suppose you could buy it, but how legitimate is that? Anyways...I applied and it went pretty poorly. By that I mean lots of self-doubt, emotional pain and fear of the mail (cause that's where the rejection letters come from). I should really be thankful, because it forced me to be extremely productive in a very short period of time. I wrote 4 scripts and shot a TV pilot and less than 6 months.

But it was all for nothing; and before you new-agey "everything happens for a reason" people chime in lemme put you in your place. Rationalizing your failures that way will have you not learning from your disastrous mistakes and yet chalking them up to "it happened for a reason" instead of refining your process. Let's be frank...people who don't win the gold and don't make it into the NFL, NBA, ect...generally don't believe their exclusion is the way it's supposed to be. It is fear of failure that drives me (well that's not true it's really the fear of not living up to my intellectual potential). What I'm getting at is that when you fail (ad I just did) let it be a failure. Let is suck for a while and wallow around in it and inhale the that you remember precisely why you never want to return here again.

Since my life is in a serious state of flux, and I can't race and I can't get fucked, and I lack the means to produce...all I have left is the keyboard.

I guess it was inevitable that I would return, cause this is one of the few places I am truly comfortable.

...velocity, the title of this entry, is something I should explain since I rarely explain my titles...and for the record I think of the title of my films before I write's more romantic that way! By velocity I am referring to a body in motion - accelerating at a given rate for a given amount of time. It's my metaphor for the lack of control I feel...if that's not too much of a cop out.

...there will be more later...if I'm not too bitter.


Monday, February 08, 2010

Days of the Con man

Hi, how ya doin’…it’s Cooprdog here with Filmcon!

Do you ever find yourself in the unfortunate situation of having a great film and having no way to finance it? Do you wish you had the answer to pesky investor questions like “Will I see a return?,” “Who’s going to star in this film?” and my personal favorite, “How do I know you’re not making a porno?”
Well fear not, film shooters: I have the product to make all of your worries go away…Filmcon!

Have no idea what you want to shoot? Make up some shit. Been asked for a line-item budget but don’t have one? Send them a top sheet from some other motherfucker’s film. At a loss for possible locations? Why not start with the places that you’ve always wanted to vacation?

You see, my friends, the beauty of Filmcon is that there is no film. Why do you wanna dick around with all the writing and the typing and the editing and all that bullshit when you could just smoke weed and watch TV and cash some gullible motherfucker’s investment check? Why struggle with big topics like “artistic merit” and “point of view” and “reason to make the film?” It’s going to keep you up at night, it’s going to keep me up at night, and nobody wants that. Why should you have to think about things like this when there’s perfectly watchable reality TV on that will rot your brain?

That’s why we came up with Filmcon, your answer for your wanton desire for fame, nudity and attention when you have absolutely no talent of which to speak. The Filmcon kit comes with everything you’ll need to get a successful film scam going: you get the manila folder, 100 phony film production company business cards and your very own voice mail with a professional-sounding outgoing message. It’s all you’ll really need to get your successful film scam going. Now I know you don’t believe me, I know you’re saying “Cooprdog, I just can’t believe this shit. How the fuck is it that I’m going to run game like I was Parker Brothers?” Well the answer is, simply, wear a funny hat. The world is full of people in funny hats telling us what to do like the cops, firemen -- and who’s got a funnier hat than the pope? I’m speaking the gospel here people; are you listening?

I’ll tell you what we’re going to do ‘cause we can’t do this shit all day – The Federal Trade Commission is already up our asses: If you call now, I’ll give you not one but two -- that’s right, two -- Filmcon kits. That’s two manila envelopes, 200 fake business cards and two -- count’em, two – voice mail lines with a professional sounding outgoing message and you get two funny hats. Can you believe that shit? These hookers are paying me and I can’t believe that shit! Listen, stop worrying about your career and stop worrying about how good you are and just start making shit up.

Filmcon…who the fuck has time to write?

Alright, that’s a little preposterous and a lot amusing, but the intent is clear. I know it’s a bit stylized and all that shit, but there is some truth to what I speak. Telling the truth will get you nowhere (and by nowhere I mean unfunded and unfucked), asking what you are expected to ask will get you nowhere…but you already know this – that is one of the major tenets of this blog; so what am I going on about?

My premise is that the con man is more than a curious figure of financial, economic and American history. He is not what my quantitative brethren would call a statistical abnormality, nor is he a simulacrum, which is a copy without an original for those of you who spend your days nose-deep in critical theory text (fuck you, it’s my blog, I can go off the theoretical deep end if I’d like to). I highlight this individual because he thinks what we don’t, he does what we can’t and has yet to apologize in a single instance of his capture. The con man bilks millions, billions from unsuspecting persons all the time, yet sincere filmmakers relish in comparative poverty and relative obscurity hoping their “time will come” (ha ha..sure it will). Could not the filmmaker don the guise of the con man and get people to actually give him money? Is it really that crazy of an idea? The only real difference between the con man and the filmmaker is that the filmmaker is genuinely going to shoot a film and not just abscond with the funds. Yes, it’s a major difference, but it is the only difference. All the other things that you attribute to the con man is the myth, is the legend, is the miscellany of details recanted in the incorrect order that often causes circumstance to be interpreted as genius …it’s finance, it’s trustworthiness, it’s a con…and it is already inside your domain.

Now I’m aware that this seems childish to many of you but I need you to put down your coffee and go with me on this one. I do have a point (eventually), so humor me for a second while I wax theoretical. If readers create their own narratives when they watch film and thus render the intentions of the director irrelevant, then don’t the con’s victims also create their own understanding of the con (and by that I mean the financial investment/transaction) and make it suit their needs (emotional)? Can I take it one step further and say that the investor creates his own investment as far as risk/reward is concerned and we merely facilitate the process? You have to admit, theory does make you think…but back to the story.
Before I can really get to the nuts and bolts of what the fuck I’m talking about, we need a refresher on what the realities of film production are, because some of you motherfuckers can’t seem to pay attention.

1) There are more filmmakers than possible financing deals, distribution slots
or screening times.
2) Most films will lose money.
3) “Great scripts” are not as common as many would lead you to believe.
4) The $5M-$15M negative cost range is the most profitable.
5) The digital revolution has lowered the technical level of proficiency for
6) There has been a homogenization of narratives.
7) R-rated films are more scarce than they were 5 years ago.

Keeping these ideas in mind, you can see how “easy” it would be to position your fake film in the minds of potential investors. A good con man knows the industry he’s pretending to be in and more importantly, he knows what motivates the mark. I don’t think it’s important to be the “best” film, I think it’s important to be an “unusual” film, a.k.a. a once in a lifetime opportunity on which you definitely don’t want to miss out. The con man is careful to not oversell his “product”. He makes every meeting seem like a chance encounter and he sets a firm date in the future (normally sooner than the mark is expecting) that he is trying to be funded by. He wines him, he dines him. I think this is the key that we are missing as filmmakers. The con man begins with a basic idea about what he’s trying to do, but he begins with a pitch … “I build IT infrastructure for cities that have sizeable gaps in wireless broadband coverage.” This is followed several sentences later by a casual mentioning of this new project he is undertaking and the unfortunate loss of an investor. What is important about this pitch is that it doesn’t sound like a pitch, yet there is a definite date by which the monies would need to be received and an expectation of the result of the investment. This is what we don’t do.
We have been taught to be a little modest and not to be money hungry; to be respectful and humble and patiently wait our turn. We have been taught to be thankful for just the opportunity to shoot film…yeah, well -- that’s bullshit!
I think we need to stop asking and start taking. I think we need to stop following the trends and start dictating the trends. If you don’t create intellectual property, you don’t get a vote. It’s that fucking simple. (Yeah, I’m on a rant, what about it?)

I am proposing a change in attitude. The con man thinks of the con as his right. He thinks that those he takes advantage of are suckers, and will be manipulated by one person or another so there’s no real harm in what he is doing. But this goes deeper, much, much deeper. I do not think it is possible to dupe, deceive or coerce someone in this manner without a fair amount of disdain for them, their story and the horse they rode in on. You must posses a certain amount of misanthrope in general for this to be effective. So what the fuck does that mean? It means “we” aren’t making a movie – “WE” are making a movie, it means bitch-betta-have-my-money, it means fuck-you-pay me, I need another fucking take, it means it’ll be ready when it’s fucking ready …it means whatever I say it fucking means. Got it?
What if we were to assume the role of being owed a film deal? What if we were to assume that deal will be written, and so will many others, for films that will never make money? Thinking along those lines, you can drop your honesty approach and your “stand-up-guy” approach (which is another reason that you’re not getting fucked) and get down to the business of separating the investors from their money. What I am trying to stress is the “good” part of filmmaking must be put by the wayside. It’s time to lie…yes, that’s right, lie. “Is your film going to make money?” …”Hell fucking yeah! You ain’t got enough room to store the long dollars I’m going to be bringing up in this bitch!”

Ok, maybe you don’t need to get all “Sookie the Pimp” on ‘im, but you get my drift.

The answer is yes, my film will make money…how much is dependent on how quickly we can get the film in the theaters and how effective of a marketing push we can give it and if these hookas do what I tell’em. We all know that the previous sentence is a bold-faced lie, but so-fucking-what? We are talking about a fake film that is never going to get made; fuck, you could even promise Academy nods if you think you can say it with a straight face.

Ok..ok.. I’m probably moving a little too fast for the public school graduates, so let me underscore what we know about filmmaking and why people invest in films:

1) They think filmmaking is sexy and exciting.
2) They think making films will indirectly get them access to hot women, sex
and drugs.
3) They want a lot of people sweating them and walking around eggshells when
they are present.
4) They want their name on something larger than a cake.
5) They want to be one of the “behind the scenes” persons of a successful media
6) They want to be part of something larger than themselves.

My point with this list is that all of these are intangibles, all of these are things you won’t need to “produce” to keep it all going. Films are about ideas and the idea that I am trying to give to you is that there is no film; just the idea of a film and the process of selling it to an investor. What I need to be good at is appearing like I’m making a film and ratcheting up the intensity (and the schedule) to get a check from this guy. See, here’s the thing: this is the process with which you directly ask for funds. No more trying to position yourself and make it relevant to his needs – instead you create what he thinks he’s looking for and you sell it to him.

What do you really need? A bunch of scripts in your apartment and a crazy friend who drinks too much? (I could throw a house party with those constraints). C’mon, you have to admit – this is fucking flawless! This is some out-of-the-box, stanky-danky, super-secret probation-type advice I’m dispensing here! For this to work you can’t act like a con man, you have to be a con man. No more being nice and working for cause and all that documentary bullshit. I’m talking women, cars, money, glamour, excess, speeding, cussing, drinking, drugs…I’m talking about doing this, like, for real.

First of all I need you to do your homework:

Okay, you got it, you see what I’m getting at. Something legendary, something extraordinary…something earth-shattering. Just give it a thought.


Thursday, January 14, 2010

It's easier than it looks...

The dull pain and numb feeling of regret that I awoke to a mere few hours ago has dissipated into a malaise that has me confined to the couch. I hate the fucking holidays and the goddamn music and the pretending and the “no, after you's." Are you fucking kidding me? I did two weeks in the cold, in the rain and the lack of sunlight. I did a two week bid in the east, I love the east…but don’t get it twisted, the call it the illadelph for a reason. That “Pain” was the residue of 5 relationships, way too much crying and nearly endless consumption of Guinness, well…that is until everyone started running out of it…but I digress.
I distinctly remember what it felt like when I walked out of the terminal @ LAX. It was so fucking warm…had to be 70 degrees…oh, that’s right! I live in LA! The baggage terminal was straight drama, and no I’m not embellishing. Had to be like 300 motherfuckers in the United terminal shovin’, pushin’, rappin’ on the cell-piece. Ha…yeah. LA Bitches!

As I leaned up against the wall waitin’ for my bag to arrive I wondered how the fuck I was gonna beat all these chumps outta here? About 30 years later my bags showed up, and one was ripped (that’s just unprofessional) …whatever.. I can bounce.
I get outside and it’s like a scene from the Road Warrior…not good. Next thing I knew this Persian cat is like… “You need a ride my friend”

As a matter of fact I do

Where you headed?

Downtown…straight shot up the 105


That works.

…and just like that I had a ride outta there. Two minutes later I’m in the back of a Lincoln Towncar with crazy tinted windows sipping on free bottled water. Amir’s totally outta control…he’s speedin’ like there’s numbers on the side of his car…lemme say it again, it’s good to be in LA. I’m quite sure that at any moment his going to pitch me on a strip club or a massage parlor…I can feel it. But no, he doesn’t.

He keeps it friendly and courteous.

When I was back east I had my last fight with my Blackcherry…and I switched phones. No, not and I phone.. I do not like the taste of Steve Jobs’ balls in my mouth…plus I need keys.. (I’m a texter baby) …so I went with the G1.

I’ve got a dancing android and J Dilla as a ringtone, what’s to complain about?

Anyways… my G1 was blowin’ up in the Limo. Text, email, another text, two more emails…mmm, the game never rests. Amir’s celli rings and he’s on the call, there’s talk of lap dances and two-for-ones and I’m thinking that this party is about to get real interesting. Vibrate-vibrate, more incoming data and once again I’m distracted. What I love about being a filmmaker is how quickly things change. One email, one text message one phone call later everything is different. This is why I firmly believe that no matter how badly you fuck up, you’re still in the game – ‘cause the game don’t sleep.

We get back to my spot and the money exchange is quick efficient and next thing you know I’m free to go. As I prepare to step out of the limo, I stop and shoot Amir a glance in the rearview mirror.

How come you didn’t pitch me? I was down for some strippers,
for some badgirls.

You’re too tired my friend…they would only take your money.

…now that right there, is the way it outta be. I threw him another $10 and he dapped me thank you as he handed me his card.

(heavy accent) Holler at your boy when you wanna make it rain.

And just like that he was gone…and I was back at the spot. I’m loft living downtown nowadays which is a pretty cool gig. It still mostly $2 hookers and alcoholics and random thuggery…so I’m blendin’ right in. I made the decision to move to someplace industrial so my Yellow 280Z “Sourpuss” was a lot less conspicuous. You can keep the beach and the mountains, I’ll take the square footage.

Ok.. time to fess up a little. I wasn’t just being a baby and not writing. I was being productive. I got a new script, a TV show concept, I’m still shopping SLZ and I’ve got this book I want to publish. Don’t get me wrong I’m still the same “fuck you-pay me” dude I’ve always been (that’s an awesome short film BTW ) I’m just going about things a little differently.

And I have Bernard Madoff to thank. Well, not exactly…I’ve never had contact with the man or his scheme, it’s the idea I’m talking about. I know, you’re not following, forgive me…just took a mooooooonnnnsteeeeer hit and things aren’t exactly clear, so bear with me. Ok, how is it that conmen can convince people to part with millions of dollars and yet we, the sincere filmmakers, struggle to get production funds? So the idea became: what if I acted like a conman? What if I came at this whole production funds chase as a con-game, what if I took the uniqueness of my life and just ran with it; what would happen?

That is the plan I am now undertaking. If I wanted to con people into a fake film scam the first thing I would need to do is legitimize myself as a filmmaker by either hacking websites at add my name to the field of entries and create a host of identities at filmmaking websites so that if one were to go looking for this filmmaker named Cooprdog. (Wait a minute!...I already got that)

I need business cards…new ones, …slick ones. Ones that will impress. (um… I got that)

I need a funny outgoing message. (I got that)

I would need a cool place to live and an iconic car to drive (got a loft and Sourpuss I’m 2-for2) and I need to appear at filmmaking events and producer hangouts and make myself well known…or, as I have said since day one of this..requiem (too dramatic?) that the best thing you can do to get your shit started in this industry is to go out to film events (meet-n-greets, screenings) and be seen.

Ok so, my plan doesn’t sound that crazy, now does it?

But I know what you’re thinking, just valet-ing a cool car at a “film spot” isn’t really going to do a lot for you because this is a town of poseurs. Well, I got that covered. The best way for people to think you’re busy, is to always be busy. Ok, how do we do that? Well, we increase the amount of data coming to our phone – for example:

How to make yourself look busy when trying to impress:

1) Get on Craigslist.
Write three funny but somewhat provocative personal ads and run them the day before you are going to go out. Then two hours before you go out answer about 20 personal ads… the crazier the better. If you’re a half-way decent writer you should be able to keep you phone busy with incoming emails for the next six hours…all you have to do then is make faces (and you will) when you read the responses (cause you won’t have any idea who’d responding to which ad) that will make you seem interesting.

2) Send a flirty text or ambiguous email to all your recent ex’s
(it really pays to have shitty relationships…you can leverage them). Now I wouldn’t just start beggin’ for sex or calling someone a slut (not that I’ve ever done that) cause you’re just going to wind up fucking someone who you told yourself you can’t fuck anymore…therefore just say hello, or “I was thinking about you” or “I just drove by your favorite coffee shop”. The idea is to get a response, and it will be delayed because of the issues in your “relationship”. By the time that data comes back, you’ll seem like the most in demand writer in this town.

3) Learn how to order. Ok, how can I explain this – alcoholics are really good at ordering drinks; you need to be able to order yourself a drink in a manner that makes your fellow patrons laugh or nod in agreement. For example I’m a Guinness drinker but I never ask for Guinness I always say “what’s the darkest beer you have”…right there I’m special because I’m demonstrating some beer knowledge. If she says Guinness I go “see.. I was afraid to ask” …then I’ll get a few chuckles from the people standing next to me, I’m half way to being the life of the party. But say you drink liquor..say you’re a Gin and Tonic person. Well don’t order a Gin and Tonic…have some familiarity…Sapphire and tonic please. Shows you know a little somethin’ about Gin and you take your drinking seriously…not a bad thing to be when you’re looking for money.

4) It’s all about your first drink order.
What I mean by this is that by the time you’ve received your first drink you need to have established yourself (the drink order really helps this). To do this effectively you need to do three things.

A) Make rhetorical comments about the wait time for a drink…
“this is the line for alcoholics, right?” And don’t worry about being funny, what you are trying to do is create some presence for yourself. If a chick smiles at my comment I’ll follow it up with “she knows what I’m talkin’ about”…she will most likely laugh or smile…cause now you are the funny guy.

B) Work the bartender. Yes you need a drink, but you really want intel from him. First of all you want to open a tab, that means better service cause the overall drink total will be higher. Don’t get the well liquor – I know, I know drinks in LA are expensive…but you can’t afford a DUI anyway so it’s not like you’re going to knock back enough of them to have a crazy bar tab, and the bartender now will remember you , cause you’re drinking the good shit.

C) Work the wait staff.
As soon as the bartender turns away you need to find a waitress or bar back to talk to. Not because you want info, but because you need to make a connection with someone that you know you can find later. Be nice, say hello – they will appreciate it, and 90 min’s later when you need to appear busy you can go and talk to them, they’ll appreciate the company.

5) Talk to people that you are not attracted to
and try to find out where they are from and what they do in about 4 minutes. LA people are arrogant and love to talk about themselves, but it looks like you’re talkin’ shop and makin’ deals – more importantly it’s someone to say hello to in passing later on.

6) Work the cocktail waitresses.
OK, this is a complicated move but I think you can handle it. If you really wanna get shit cracklin’…pay cash for your first round. Roam around a little bit and then flag down a cocktail waitress (preferably one you want to hit on) and flirt as you place your drink order. What you want out of this relationship is to get her to tell you who’s in the film industry and what the situation is like over by them. Again, if you don’t try to put a dick in her mouth and talk to her like a co-conspirator she’ll be more than willing to help…and she might go home with you (but I’m not making promises)

7) Practice making your approach.
The best way to do this is to find a random person and make them your Mark. Watch them to see what they are drinking, if they are alone and if they are somewhat intoxicated and then make your approach. Strike up a phony conversation and see how long you can keep it going. Don’t talk about what you do, keep the conversation limited to the level of bar service or the roundness of some random chick’s ass. If you get this down, you can approach anyone.

8) It’s all about the sexy girls.
The chicks that accompany these film dudes are there for a reason they know it, the Mark knows it and you should know it. Don’t pretend not to be attracted to her and don’t be unwilling to exchange quick glances. You don’t wan’t to flirt with her as much as you want to acknowledge that you are aware that you are being checked out; the hot chick allows the money guy to size you up on approach (since you’ll be distracted) need to notice her but keep your distance, the money guy will think you have respect for power, or are on his jock…either way, he’ll start talking.

From then on you should be in…if you are not then you’ll have to wait for lesson two…which I’ve yet to write so… I guess you’re fucked :-0 This is my approach for 2010, but I’m doing more than just acting crazy in a bar. I’m going to attend writers conferences, be more visible and see that I can get my name and my email well know in the first quarter. That’s the plan anyway.


Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Please allow me to introduce myself

The seemingly unending delirium of not shooting a film is taking a toll on me. Though I have just had a seriously decadent birthday party (of which I remember nothing) that did little other than empty my bank account of a few thousand dollars and ruin my reputation with a score of 24 yr old models (like I really need to be fucking 24 yr olds… I mean I love the way they moan…it’s just the talking to them afterwards part that creates the difficulty) my life seems empty (assuming you ignore the ever increasing amount of tickets and court appearances) and the depression. It is times like these that I’d normally buy enough weed to forget my mother’s name (Mom, it’s a joke…I’m a writer, you have to relax) but it appears that I’m on Sookie’s shit list cause he seems to not want to sell to me (I have needs Homie!) so I’ve turned to my number two passion, porno. Only the porno is not what it used to be. I mean how depressing is it when porn doesn’t’ even do it for you anymore? Is the world really coming to an end? Is this really what it’s going to be like when it’s all over, boring porn and the inability to find a decent pint? (F.Y.I. The Room is Santa Monica still sucks big sweaty balls…but I digress) Is this the point where I sell my Z and turn to religion? (ha…ha… yeah, sure it is!)
Speaking of Z cars, for those of you that don’t know me (I believe that number is around 250 million or so) I drive a 1977 Datsun 280Z, with a really nice exhaust. The other day I was on my way to autocross (it’s what I do when I’m not banging the shit out of my ex-girlfriend) @ about 5:30AM (racing happens early) one of my neighbors stuck his head out of his window and yelled at me about “revving my motor” in the middle of the night. After a very short conversation where I explained to him that 5:30am is not the middle of the night, I have to physically be inside the car to rev the motor and that I have perfected the fine art of cussing while discussing his mother’s anatomy he decided to shut his window (imagine that). Several days later I received a complaint letter from my landlord: whom we’ll call Mr. Frank. He wrote me a 1 page letter telling me that he’s received a number of complaints (…uh, one person calling repeatedly about the same thing does not constitute “a number” in generally accepted customer service jargon) about my car and told me that I was disturbing the peace and that I should consider getting a better exhaust. My response was a 3-page letter delivered on the same day as my complaint letter was received that went something like this…fuck you!; I have a lease; Fuck You!; there are people who live here that are way louder than me; Fuck you! We live downtown where the homeless, 1-legged hookers and scofflaws congregrate…and uh, Fuck you! I pay big money to make this kind of noise. I was really hoping that some sort of parking lot brawl would ensue so I could go over the top of the pile with a clothesline and yell out things like “…tell ya momma who did it to ya!” Needless to say, there was no formal response to my letter which could only mean one thing (Frank is a pussy).
But the whole thing got me thinking, what the fuck is going on? Why is everyone treating me like I can’t find the I-10? (it’s the one where the cars aren’t moving and a few are on fire)? I guess it’s been a while since I impaled a festival director with a rolled-up poster or told a guerilla filmmaker (all you need is desire) which way to go and how to get there. I think this is a common phenomenon in our industry. We tend to let them forget what it is we do and what it is we are capable of. Now, since I can’t flash my pussy (if I had a pussy, I’d put a picture of that motherfucker on a billboard with the slogan “you know you want this” under it), “accidentally” overdose on a bottle of prescription medication or get caught fucking on a night vision camera (you might want to bring the wide angle lens) my ability to keep my company and my likeness in the minds of the motherfuckers who matter is a bit difficult.
So how do we do it? How do we make sure that we are remembered? How do we ensure our names will get tossed around when it really matters?

1) Get a reputation for something your mother would not be proud of. Look, I know this is hard cause if your Momma is still alive, there’s a very good chance you’ll have a very uncomfortable conversation about this behavior that will more than likely have a detrimental effect on your present receiving opportunities (who doesn’t love gifts from mom?) Ok so, here’s what you do: You have to get a reputation for something that is not readily verifiable…like fighting so many tickets that the LA Superior Court refers to you as Four Amendment Mary. I know this is difficult but you don’t want your fantasy producer reputation to be destroyed by a simple Google search (and flipping the circuit breaker before the dinner party is a great way to prevent this). My point is, make sure your reputation proceeds you.

2) Be better than at least one other peer in your part of the industry. Look, I’ll be completely honest here. Nothing gets you out of the hot seat faster than a statement like … “look, I may have choked a few strippers but I never urinated on anyone that was attending a drive-in movie so back up off me”. That’s funny and is nice visual imagery (think convertible parked next to a dually Super Duty pick-up truck). And regardless of what you have just been accused of, everyone is going to go home and try to figure out what the fuck you are talking about.

3) Have a story to tell. Yes, it’s that simple…and it’s really good if the story includes a shark, a bear or the disarming of a bomb. Did you read the story about the chick in Florida that was walking her dog when an 8ft Alligator jumped out of the grass (dude, that’s what I read…don’t be a dick) and grabbed her by the ankle and tried to drag her into the lake? (no really, this shit actually happened) She gouged him in the eye with her thumb to get away (what is she an MMA fighter?) But my point is when she’s at the dinner party the story sounds way different ….”so here I am in 3 feet of water, whippin this Aligator’s ass when animal control shows up. Talk about lucky, I was about to have the flyest shoes and matching luggage in all of Florida if them bitches hadn’t have shown up when they did”. It’s true that it’s all in the delivery, but my point is valid – have something to say.

4) Have a favorite drink. Nothing says “I’m less fun than a traffic stop in Beverly hills” than a Budweiser drinker. Oh, and no fruity drinks if you’re male. It’s really hard to take a dude seriously when the inside of his glass looks like it belongs on Jimmy Buffet’s shirt (c’mon… that’s a good joke). I drink Guinness, tequila straight is apparently getting very popular (and if you meet a woman that like to drink patron straight up…she’ll fuck you 6 ways to Sunday if you can get her home…believe dat!) Just find a drink, and stay away from whiskey unless you’re Irish or can fight…I’m so not kidding on that one.

5) It’s really hard to look uninteresting when you have someone to talk to. And if you get fucked up you can both put in your earpieces , put on your sunglass and talk into your cuffs and watch the real felons make a run for the door (FYI this is really not funny when the President is near)
Ok…here’s your plan to filmmaking success. And yes, I do use it…but I also have a big cock (please email me for pics) so it’s easy for me to make friends so don’t take it personal if I’m better than you (I am better than you )



Wednesday, September 16, 2009

It seems as if I woke up one day and I was forty.

Yeah.. the birthday passed…the party was…uh.. happening I’ve been told. I got so fucking plastered that I walked around with a massive erection and tried to molest every woman I could get my hands on (uh…another reason I prefer weed to alcohol)…but as I slept off the hangover and the shame the reason for my concern came to the forefront…I’m fucking 40!

It’s not the end of the world…other people have achieved this age (so I’ve been told)…but there is a reason for concern…I have shit to show for it.
Well…all that is about to change. The aforementioned TV show that I’ve been “developing” (that’s an industry term for running ads on Craigslist and trying to get unsuspecting women to send me pictures of their bodies)…it’s finally ready to move to the next stage of ….development. Ok…ok.. I’m being facetious. I’ve actually done a lot of work on the show and I didn’t get any naked pictures of women (but I did try).

As you know I hate all my competition and my peers cause I’m a misanthrope who thinks all you hookers work for me, so you should not be surprised that I have some things to comment on and complain about. I’ve been spending my time trying to fuck my ex-girlfriend (I mean she has a sweet pussy) and slowing turning my Z into the most feared car in SCCA autocross (ok..maybe that’s an embellishment). But it all comes together in a nice meat pie (trust me on this).

In order to produce this show I need to have all the pieces, which I have; and I also need to physically get out of the house and talk to a few people who might have some…uh…money! To facilitate this I rejoined my producers group which really doesn’t do that much for me. Well that’s not completely true. I do get to talk a little film, but mostly I’m trying to fuck most of the women in the group…and as of yet I’ve been unsuccessful. Though the organizer of my group…man do I want to hop on her. But being that I’m a feminist (no, really) I need to stop thinking this way…but I am still a man.. so I should be allowed the occasionally hormone inspired delusion.
Anyways… I’ve attended that last three meetings and I’ve been none too happy with what has transpired. Don’t get me wrong, the group does have some good attributes and I would recommend anyone who is just starting out to join a group because you have to practice being near the industry so you know how to act. I, most definitely do not know how to act. I drink too much, I’m always looking for sex and I never met a speed limit I didn’t try to almost double (I drive a fast car)….but we were talking about film.

I’m sure those of you who know me or know this blog are curious how I’m making this “transition” to Television. Well, I’m not. That is not meant to insinuate that I’m not making a TV show.. I most certainly am, but I’m not defecting to TV. I am a filmmaker. I do my best work with several days of shooting, a crew who loves me (can you fucking fake it…Jesus!) and post production that allows me to develop a serious gummy cola habit (gummy colas are the tits). That’s what I’m good at . But I need millions…no, MILLIONS to make my feature. And for those of you that are new to the blog please don’t start with your “you don’t need millions to make a film”… no, you don’t… and you don’t need Billions to make a rocket. If you want the rocket to leave the atmosphere you do…and if you want a reasonable chance for the film to be seen, you do. Get it?!?!

There is no award for making the most from the least (too many superlatives BTW…that statement makes no sense)…but more importantly let me underscore my prima fascia belief.

“It doesn’t matter how cheaply you shoot your film if no one is willing to pay to see it”

…you need to memorize that and think about how it applies to guerilla filmmaking. Yes, I do think there are some…attractive attributes to guerilla filmmaking, but they are far outweighed by the downsides…which are thinking small and only being able to utilize small crews. Sure, you’re really talented…you aren’t constrained by these things… really? So you think a 10 man crew shooting for 2 days at a time over 9 months to complete a short…is going to prepare you for a $5MM feature with an 80 man crew shooting in 20 locations? You don’t want to make those kinds of movies? Then what the fuck are you doing? Your films must get bigger and more involved if you are to have a career…it’s just that simple…

….but I digress.

The TV show is not a …diversion. To the contrary, it’s an ability for us to redress what it is we really want; autonomy. I’m not pitching a “look what I can put in my mouth” TV show. Or a “look how desperate these people are to avoid being alone” TV show (hey.. I’m alone.. It hasn’t killed me)…no, no, no. That’s not what I’m trying to do.
What about a cool concept, with interesting visuals and more to show you than excess? That’s what I have..that’s what I’m going to shoot.

Look…I can yell and scream about how awesome my feature is and how dope my filmmaking skills are…but they aren’t listening and don’t need to listen. Cause there are so many of us shooting and screaming at them (and submitting to them). So we needed something new…and something profitable.

Profit…yeah, that’s the ticket. Film requires the outlay of many thousands if not millions of dollars and then months upon months of waiting for an opportunity to make back your investment and a little more for you trouble. Therefore the TV show is the logical choice for filmmakers like myself.

I aim to produce a show that has the ability to be consumed on broadcast TV, cable, DVD and online streaming/downloads. Flexible media is the key.

It doesn’t matter if the networks say no, I can parse the different portions of the show into discreet media to be consumed by selected audiences…all of which advertise my production company.

Sound crazy?


Wednesday, September 02, 2009

I think it's time...

I'm now 40 yrs of age and still recovering from a massive party I threw in my loft. I really went overboard with hiring roller skating models who wore white cotton panties for me...too bad I got so faded I couldn't chase a single one of them...but whatevers...

I've got a line on some real money for the feature...and I've got a TV show to produce...yeah.. it's about Z cars... (surprise surprise)...

the love life is horrible...the sex life is...complicated... but what's new....

anyways.. this is my hello... I'll try to post frequently...

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