CRAZY, DAUNTING, AND PERFECT

So a while back, my good friend Tim, who I have known forever and who is one of the few people on this planet I trust completely without question, and someone whom I love completely, suggested we make some movies together. This sounded both crazy, daunting, and perfect. So I said yes. 

Or, to be more exact, "Fuck Yeah!" 

We had worked on many projects in the past, from a nine hour, three part  theatre adaptation of East of Eden at the Western Stage in Salinas to a production of Richard II in NYC to my first, and up to that point only, short film, Strong Tea. He was also the lead in my most successful play to date, Burning the Old Man.

That's us in the photo above. Back in the day. Young and crazy. NYC. Cigarettes and beers after a long day slinging hash between acting gigs. Having the time of our lives.

So, there we were having coffee at one of our haunts here in Denver, talking about life and theatre and film. Tim had just made a movie, Publish or Perish, that is kicking ass in the festival circuit and is now available to stream on Amazon. I was in the middle of yet another script- a pilot I was finishing before the deadline for the Austin Film Festival. And that's when Tim popped the question, so to speak.

Yes, I used the phrase "popped the question", the classic phrase for proposing marriage. Let's face it. Making a movie is a commitment up there with marriage. You pledge your heart and soul. For it to work, you have to bare your soul. Be vulnerable. Improvise when problems arise. Be flexible.

So he asked, I said yes, and then it was time to think of a project.

We wanted to make something that could be both a short, and also a proof of concept for a full length movie. And we wanted to take advantage of where we live, with all this natural beauty surrounding us. 

And Burning the Old Man popped up almost immediately.  A story about two estrange brothers taking their father's ashes on a road trip to Burning Man, as per his dying request. Their relationship with their father was difficult, and their relationship with each other even more so. As such, their road trip is full of recrimination, anxiety, and tension, with a tragic sense of loss tuck under a veneer of comedy.  Tim had played Marty, the older brother in the original play, and we both felt he should do so again. 

So I wrote up a script, we kicked it around,  adjusted the story as needed, gathered a crew of dedicated geniuses, and set some dates.

And the magic began. We kept having things happen that just seemed to be signs we were doing the right thing. A friend offered us a hotel up in the mountains to use as our base for the main stretch of shooting. Another friend just happened to live in that same area and offered to scout locations. 

And what locations! Colorado is so pretty, so majestic and huge and full of wonder. And most of the time,  I manage to not see it. But not on the shoot.

I really wanted to just talk about this one moment from the shoot today. It happened at there rocks in the high desert, during the climatic moment of the movie. These two brothers, who have been bickering like children for the past 24 hours, have ended up on this precipice, screaming at each other and having a tuh of war over the bag containing their father's ashes. As written, the bag rips open, the ashes fly, and the brother's dumbfounded at what their stupid fighting has wrought, stare at each other as their father's remains float away. 

On the day of the shoot, we were all a bit tired. We'd shot for 14 hours the day before. Drew, the actor playing Bobby, the younger brother, was not feeling well. Even so, we were all amped. We were making something that felt good, felt right. Felt like what we had all chosen to do with our lives. 

And we get to the scene. Now, to prefect, we had talked a lot about the brother's relationship the past few days. How underneath all the hurt and anger there was a deep love. A heartbroken love. A longing to connect like that had once been able to effortlessly but now seemed impossible. 

So we get to the big moment. The point when the bag rips and the ashes fly. 

The first take, a long shot, goes great. We get a safety shot, then move in for a closer shot. 

And when the bag rips, Drew almost falls off the rocks. For a moment, I think "Shit! I just killed Drew!" Everyone freezes.

Except Tim. 

He instinctively grabs Drew, pulls him up. And then, in character, Tim impulsively hugs Drew. Or rather, Marty impulsively hugs Bobby. We keep rolling. Nobody on set is making a sound. But we all feel connected to what is happening. Bobby tries to break free of the hug. Marty keeps hugging. It's really touching and sad and real. After a beat, Bobby hugs his brother back. 

And we all start hotting and hollering. Something had happened. Something unexpected but totally real. 

Then everyone looks at me. "Do we keep it?" they all ask, in various ways. It is quite different than the ending as written. Changes the trajectory a little. But it feels so right.

And I have to make a decision. It's my script. I'm co-director of this with Tim. Also co-producer. It's my call. 

And I go with it. Tweak the script slightly. 

We finish. And it is clear to me that the movie has now become more than it was. 

And that I am learning more than I could have possibly hoped for when we started making this movie.

Now we are in post. Editing. Mixing. All that type of thing. 

We hope to send it to festivals. To show it to some producers who will shower us with money so we can make the full length film.

But no matter what, I have gained from this experience. 

Here's a song. It's one of my all time favorites. Pale Green Things by The Mountain Goats. 

I COULD AND HAVE GONE CRAZY ON A DAY LIKE TODAY.

I think there is a power in the universe, a creative force or mojo or zone of some type, that visits us at certain times, giving us clarity of purpose and vision, joy in what we do, and a feeling of being exactly where we are supposed to be doing precisely what we are meant to do. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, because I think I am in one of those times, one of those eddies in the cosmic river. I think this run started with the production of The Addams Family I did down in Parker with Sasquatch. One of those shows where everything clicked, top to bottom, and we all spoke in psychic shorthand to each other. It carried on into SpongeBob at StageDoor, Sound of Music also at the PACE, the Shakespeare Fest, and on and on. Even with a second round of Covid in the middle of that, I feel this connection to something larger than me. I don't know why, or really how, but I am not questioning it. 

It's here now. In Eigg. In Burning the Old Man. In the Infinite Hallway. And I raise my cup of coffee to it with glee.

I am going with the flow, and consequently reaching my flow, my zone, my place.

Maybe it kicked into high gear the the Austin Film Festival, when I got pulled up in front of hundreds of fellow writers for a live recording of ScriptNotes and lost my mind and had a crowd chanting my name while I paraded up and down the floor like a Mad Dog Poet Visionary Lunatic.

Jesus, I am in love with myself, aren't I?

Well, why not? I think I love the Vibe in me, not me in the Vibe, so karmically speaking, I should be ok.

And if I'm not, I am sure at some point soon, Life will say "okay, enough of that, McAllister, here's a big steaming pile of sorrow. Enjoy."

But that hasn't happened yet. 

No. I keep connecting, with myself, with my cast, my crew, my friends, my wife, and the universe in general.

This feeling is always a surprise to me. A miracle. A gift. 

And also makes me say to myself "Of course! This is how it is, stupid! You really can make the best of life, and should, because as far as I know, this is it. Once around, and then off to Oz. So live it up, live it well, live it now, and sing as loud as you can."

There is a lot in this world that is crazy. So much. Death and War and Famine and Plague. As a species, we seem bent of destroying ourselves and the planet, with a sort of insane glee. The sky is poisoned, the oceans are warming, and there is so much awful shit we could and probably should run up and down the street all day every screaming, weeping, gnashing our teeth, and so on.

But I don't see the point in bemoaning our fate. 

I think we have to remember what it is to be alive if we want to live. We have to revel in what joys are afforded us. We must embrace the mystic wonder of being a human being if we want to save humanity. 

We need to get, and keep, our shit together.

This involves: listening to music; dancing at every opportunity; calling old friends we haven't called in forever; picking up instead of letting it go to voicemail when they call back; speaking up when we are hurt; calling out ourselves and our friends and loved ones when doing stupid shit like we all do from time to time; forgiving as much as we can; listening; letting go; being in the moment; not faking a thing.

Man, I might as well get out a soap box, whatever that is, stand on it, and be a street preacher of some sort.

I don't mean to be didactic, but I somehow manage to be just that, often.

Sorry. 

I just feel so much energy and joy and love right now.

Also, it's my blog, and I can say whatever I want. I can  post various photos from my life showing times of awareness that have meaning to me but might just look like random shots to you. 

So be it.

May the photos and the Force be with you.

So here's a song from the summer of 1994. A seminal year in the story of my life. It's Mystery by Indigo Girls, and I dig it immensely. Still, after all these years. Still crazy. Still. 

I EVEN SAW A GHOST

Well, it's almost 2023. How the hell did that happen? Didn't I just arrive in NYC fresh from college? Aren't I still a student at San Jose State? Aren't we all still living every moment of our lives, from as far back as our memories can travel, to now? 

What is going on here?

I have no idea. But, if I do indeed exists and this isn't all some sort of strange dream, then things are good. Life is fine and dandy. And since it is almost the end of the year, it is time for a little evaluation of the past year, of where I went, where I'm heading, and all that.

Isn't that what we all do? 

So, this year. 

I think I directed a few plays. And by a few, I mean a lot. Wedding singer. Wizard of Oz. A Midsummer Night's Dream. Rocky Horror Show. The Lightning Thief. SpongeBob Squarepants. The Addams Family. 

I like directing. Let's me boss people around. 

I also taught theatre, speech & debate, playwriting, and the basics of life, at places including The Denver Center for the Performing Arts; The Logan School for Creative Learning; and Reel Kids. 

I like teaching. Let's me boss people around.

I also wrote. Mostly worked on Lunatics and Assholes, a pilot for a show that is sort of a paranormal metaphor for the past few years. And also worked on Out of the Past. That's more fantasy, another pilot that's a monster of the week kind of thing, which I am digging immensely.

I like writing. Let's me boss my little made up worlds around.

I suppose I like to boss.

Keeps me off the streets. 

I also traveled quite a bit. California. New York. Wisconsin. Texas. Avalanche Ranch here in Colorado. Traveling, I think, is necessary in this life. Even if it's just a day long road trip to some town a few hours from where you live. You need to see something you don't see every day. Eat somewhere you've never eaten at before. Talk to a stranger. Look at mountain. Take a walk in a city you don't know.

It fills the soul. 

Also went to a wedding in upstate New York. That was amazing. Weddings are another time when we all reflect on ourselves, where we've been, what we've done, and all that, but through the lens of our relationships. 

And also where we stay up late dancing and laughing and having the time of our lives.

I always think of that line from Fiddler on the Roof. It takes a wedding to make us say let's live another day.

I say let's live another ten thousand or more. 

Let's just live. 

Let's travel and write and do what we love and talk to each other more and try to forgive and be forgiven, to hug more often, to be kinder when we talk about movies we didn't like, or a meal that maybe didn't go off as well as we had hoped.

The world is in a constant state of flux. 

Let's be cool with that. 

Also, I saw a ghost this year.

This is the second time I can say for sure I saw one. I wrote about the first one here: 

https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7891430757253929065/770461654933686503

The one I saw this year was during the Austin Film Festival, which is a thing I love and plan on doing every year for the rest of my life. Just fantastic. Anyway. I was watching the film The Lost King, which I really enjoyed, when I noticed a tall figure out of the corner of my eye, standing in the aisle, like they were waiting to enter the row and find a seat. I turned to see them better, and nobody was there. About half an hour later, I saw the same person out of the corner of my eye yet again. And again, when I turned to look, nobody was there. And then, a little later, I saw someone in white, tall, clearly walking up the aisle towards me. 

And then they vanished. 

Now, it was dark, and the theatre was packed, and I figured maybe I was mistaken. 

But then I figured "No". 

I saw something. 

When the movie was over, I found the manager, and asked, feeling a bit ridiculous, if the theatre was haunted. 

She smiled this knowing smile, and asked me what had happened. When I told her, she informed me that things happen there from time to time, and that yes, the theatre was indeed haunted.

I shouldn't have been too surprised. I had some kind of mojo going during the festival. Things kept happening to me that didn't seem real. I was on a live podcast and somehow got a room full of hundreds of screenwriters to spontaneously start chanting "Kelly! Kelly! Kelly!" over and over. I met some shockingly cool and distinguished members of the industry. And I made some great friends. All in a matter of days.

You can here that podcast, which was an episode of the excellent ScriptNotes, here:

https://johnaugust.com/2022/live-at-the-austin-film-festival-2022

I think, to a large extent, my whole year was like that. Full of wonder and magic, friends and family, and a bit of the paranormal.

So. Happy New Year. God bless... Us. 

Everyone.

Here's to more blog entries, and screenplays, and shows produced.

To life.

MONDAY PLAYLIST: SPIKE, HELA, TROY, & KILL ME NOW

Monday morning, cold and bright. Clear as can be, really. Took our morning walk, and the mountains were so perfectly visible it didn't seem real. Snow capped and pink in the dawn, they seemed to exude glory and hope and magic, while maintaining the aloof mystery that nature keeps at all times to remind us we are but fleas on the backs of giants. I'm sitting in my little den, listening to suggested songs from Apple Music, an eclectic mix based on what I've played before, a little Courtney Barnett, a bit of Jane's Addiction. The songs wander my mind, mixing with the coffee and toast. 

And I stare at the screen. 

I jumped back into this blog when the lockdown happened. Back in that other dimension known as the past. Isn't time fucked up these days? In every sense, I think time has gone out of joint, that we've all taken Billy Pilgrim's cue and gotten unhinged, bouncing back and forth from then to then, now to now, with no rhyme or reason or proper sense of the season. Some days last a month. Some months come and go unnoticed. 

And I don't even care that much that I live in a different universe than I once did. I still hear the music. I still see the mountains. I still enjoy the warmth of my covers when the alarm goes off each day. And somehow, even within this disjointed timey-wimey reality, I wake up three minutes before the alarm, with out fail. So maybe somewhere in my brain, in my soul, in this Elseworld, a little timepiece clicks on in precisely measured steps.

Who knows?

Whatever the case, I am working on several projects, and I think the next chunk of this blog will be about a new script I'm working on, my journey while I create it, and all that jazz.

The script has no title as of yet, but I am leaning towards Kill Me Now. It's loosely based on my play Burning the Old Man. And when I say loosely, I mean it. 

But the spirit is there. The essence. The idea of how we are all haunted and crazy and in need of love. Not very new, but what is? I find most movies and shows that claim over and over how they are new and different are anything but that. Let's face it, when someone has to tell you what they are, how what they are selling is the next step in evolution, it is more often than not a bunch of bullshit wrapped in glittery paper.

So Kill Me Now. Set in Texas. Funny, sad, maybe exciting. It's the result of meeting a director at the Austin Film Festival and hitting it off and deciding we should do something together. From there, director introduces me to producer, we have some phone calls, and next thing you know, I'm working on getting a draft out by the end of the month.

End of the month. Fuck. That's soon. And in this month, I've opened a large production of Wizard of Oz down at the PACE, am about to open a pair of one acts, and began a high school production of the Wedding Singer up at StageDoor. 

The one acts start Thursday, at Chaos Bloom, a little performance space on Broadway here in Denver. The first is a play called Spike, and it is intense and brilliant and written by my good friend Shannon Brady. It's about a woman coming to terms with her past in the form of an old friend coming to town on a dark mission.  The other one act is Hela and Troy, by yours truly. It's about what happens when the Norse Goddess of Death goes speed dating. 

If you want to come see it, click HERE.

So yeah. 

That's me today. Hope to see you at the theatre, or on the street so we can gaze at the mountains in wonder, or in my eclectic mind as I write these stories of lunatics and poets.

Until then, here's a song from this mornings suggested playlist. It's I've Been Down by Haim, a group I've been listening to a lot lately as I just discovered them. 

AND THERE ARE MANY OF US

Still in Austin. Saw four movies yesterday: With This Breath I Fly, a beautiful and unsettling documentary about two women in Afghanistan; Clean Slate, an uplifting documentary about two men in and our of recovery making a short film; The Worst Person in the World, which is one of my two favorites at the fest so far, a narrative about a woman's path to finding herself; and It Hatched, a comic horror film set mostly in Iceland. 

Four movies in one day. And it was amazing. Yet another facet of this diamond of creativity that is the Austin Film Festival. Just Groovy beyond belief, soul filling, mind blowing, life affirming stuff.

But I want to tell you a story about another event that happened here, a few nights back, which feels like two years ago or more. I signed up for a chance to tell a ghost story at A Night of Ghost Stories presented by Phantom Wines, a cool event at the Driskill where the first 20 or so people who signed up could pitch a ghost story to the room. Being a lifelong fan of all things spooky, I signed up immediately. This was a few weeks ago, I didn't get a response email, and thought maybe I didn't make the cut, but wanting to be sure, I followed up at the festival itself, and found out I made the cut. 

Which was both cool and scary because I had assumed I didn't get in, and hadn't really prepared. I figured I would pitch a version of American Spirits, a pilot for a limited series I'm working on about a small town slowly being taken over by a pair of ghosts who are total assholes, but who a good chunk of the town find charming and delightful. My back up plan was to tell an actual ghost story that happened to me long ago in NYC.

We got to the event, and before things go started, a real life paranormal investigator was introduced, who gave us all the haunted history of the Driskill Hotel, which is quite extensive and full of all sorts of spooks and spirits. He keeps mentioning how there is this one room that is particularly active, where all sorts of things happen, and where a woman killed herself. 

And then he says the room number. 

And it's ours. 

We freak out, and then, being the actor and ham that I am, I use it when I introduce my story, saying "Just so you all know, my wife and I are stying in Room #I-Can't-Say-at-the-Hotel's-Request." Everyone in the audience gasps. "And if I see a ghost there tonight, it won't be the first time". More gasps. And I launch into my tale, which is as follows:

When I was in my twenties, I lived in NYC with my brother in a garden level apartment on the Upper East Side, on 89th Street between 2nd and 3rd. One night, I couldn't sleep, because my brother can snore better than anyone in the business. I think he might have kept some folks up in Jersey that particular night. So there I was, laying in bed in my room, which was the lower level of a two floor apartment, which was located right behind an old church. 

Probably where the Boneyard was located at some point.

I felt this strange sense of calm overcome me, and I looked to the spiral staircase that led to my room. Coming down the stairs were two children: a young girl who looked to be about 9, and a boy behind her who looked to be about 6. They were both dressed in black, in clothes that were from an earlier time. Maybe Victorian, but certainly no later than turn of the last century. The girl was very serious, and the boy had this horribly sad energy, like someone who has been severely traumatized. He sort of hid behind the girl, who I just knew had to be his older sister. 

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and the girl looked me right in the eye and said: "We just want you to know, we are here."

I still was overcome by this strange stillness, and nodded my head. She continued.

"And there are many of us."

The boy peeked out from her side for a moment, then quickly ducked back even further behind her.

"We want to show you something".

And then I was given what I can only describe as a vision. It was like what happens in most versions of A Christmas Carol, when the various ghosts take Scrooge to various places. Suddenly, the girl, the boy, and I were in this massive, cavernous room, full of people frozen in time. Not literally frozen, like a film on pause. More like frozen in emotion. Some were joyous. Many were wracked with sorrow. A few were clearly furious. And all of them we so wrapped up in their various emotions, none of them could move.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the vision was over and I was back in my bed, and the girl and boy were back at the foot of the stairs.

"We just wanted you to know that", the girl said. And with that, they turned and retreated up the stair, slowly vanishing as they climbed into the darkness.

And then I freaked out. I ran to my brother and woke him up, asking if he had seen or heard any of what had just transpired. 

He said he hadn't. 

I did not go back to sleep that night, even though it was just around 3 am.

I looked up ghostly visits the next day, and apparently, it is not uncommon when encountering a ghost to feel a sense of calm, even though one would find that counterintuitive. 

The next night, I was laying in bed, sound asleep, when I awoke. I had that feeling you sometimes get when you are certain there is someone in the room with you. I looked at the clock. It was again around 3 am. This time, I didn't feel calm. I felt frightened. I pulled my covers over my head, like I did when I was a kid and scared that The Boogie Man would get me. 

And then, I felt someone tapping my pillow, right next to my head. Insistently. Over and Over. Like someone trying to wake me up so they could play or talk or do whatever it is they wanted to do.

I kept my head under the covers and repeated, over and over for what seemed like a very long time, "Go away! Go Away! I don't want you here!"

At some point, the tapping stopped.

I never saw them again, and never had anyone tap my pillow. There was always a strange energy in the apartment, and a feeling that we were not alone. But nothing was ever quite as extreme as those two nights.

Still, there are nights when I wake up, and wonder where they are, what happened to all those frozen figures stuck in the past, and when I will once again feel someone slowly and insistently tapping on my pillow.

Here's a song. It's Ghost Story by The Avalanches.

THE SCREENWRITING LIFE

Monday morning, voice a little scraggy, eyes a little bleary, heart full of joy, brain full of conversations, pockets & desktop & backpack full of business cards from fellow screenwriters. The panels here at the Austin Film Festival are for the most part over, and now it's all about going over notes, sending follow up emails, and seeing movies. I slept for over six hours last night, which feels like a week of slumber. 

Last panel I went to yesterday was called "What Next?". Good title, better question. I've spent the past four or five days (time is even loopier here than it has been the past two years) meeting so many people, making so many connections, having so many new ideas. The panel consisted of Matt Dy, who used to run the competition for AFF and is now an agent Lit; Ashely Miller, who is hilarious and wrote Thor, X-Men First Class, and tons more; and Chuck Hayward, who is the nicest, coolest guy and wrote on WandaVision,  Dear White People, and now Ted Lasso. The way panels work is the first section is a moderated conversation about a given subject, then about fifteen minutes of audience questions, then the braver or more pushy rush the stage and ask more questions on a one-on-one basis. 

I was one of the pushy ones, and managed to talk with all three. I asked Ashely Miller about animating sequences in a hybrid script, which was helpful not only in the info he provided, but in how he responded in general to my idea. I talked with Matt Dy about query letters and what to put in them, and that led to me for sure writing a few of those this morning; and then I talked with Chuck Hayward about life, movies, and all sorts of things. I had seen him in an earlier panel, and we hit it off afterwards. Sometimes, you strike up a conversation with someone and it just clicks and you think "I really like just shooting the breeze with this guy". Both times I spoke with Chuck it was like that. Easy and fun. 

Lessons from that: Don't be afraid to approach people you want to talk with; and when you get over your fear and do approach them, just be yourself and realize everyone is a fellow human, not some deity to be fawned over. It makes for better chats and a happier experience for all parties.

Another cool/crazy/exciting thing happened to me here the other day. I went to a panel called The Screenwriting Life, which featured Meg LeFauve and Lorien McKenna. The title of the panel is also the title of their podcast. As we stood in line, LeFauve came out and asked if anyone wanted to be featured in their presentation, and the whole panel was going to be recorded for their podcast. There were about two hundred people in line, but I figured what the hell, so I raised my hand along with most everyone else, we signed some release forms and in we went. The panel began, and it came time to draw names out of a hat. First person called up was this guy who had interesting idea he wanted to kick around. It was really cool to watch Meg and Lorien discuss his work, as they are both so smart and insightful and kind. Then they pulled the second name. Lorien pulled out a sheet, looked at it, couldn't read it because of the bad hand writing. And I knew it would be mine, as I have shockingly terrible hand-writing. "I think this says Robert... something... McAllister?". And up I went. 

It was sort of an out-of-body experience. First, they had me give the basic plot of my script, The Belvedere Jungle. Then we dug in. It felt amazing, their ideas and questions perfect, and the response from the crowd felt like this warm wave of love. To use one of my favorite words, it was Groovy. After me,  young writer named Peyton, who is amazing and I am sure will sign with some manager soon, went up. And then it was over. In typical AFF fashion, Peyton and I are now AFF friends. We traded cards, chatted after the panel and several more times throughout the festival. And I've made many friends here like that. 

I think that is the greatest aspect of this festival. The connections you make. Not just in the business sense, which is great, but in the human sense. In the "I am a writer and I love movies and you do too? Wow! What are you working on, how's it going, what have you seen, where is the nearest coffee shop" kind of way. Speaking of that, I'm sitting in The Hideout on Congress between 6th and 7th in Austin right now, and I must order a latte for Lisa, and run off, and listen to the podcast, which just dropped. 

More stories of the AFF to come.

Here's not a song, but the episode of The Screenwriting Life I am on. 

https://anchor.fm/thescreenwritinglife/episodes/64--LIVE-From-The-Austin-Film-Festival-Story-Workshop-e198gfc/a-a54lnfh

STAR EXPLODING IN SLOW MOTION

It's a little before 8 am here in Austin. I am sitting in an empty Driskill Bar, the main meeting place for the Austin Film Festival, having my first coffee, collecting my thoughts and recollections from the past few days, going to this blog to keep some sort of connection to the Not-at-the-Festival me. And to let out some of the newly minted ghosts that sell memories. 

Was standing in line for an oat latte with my fellow bleary eyed geniuses and lunatics, and the woman who runs the Festival got in line behind me. I thanked her for the Festival, and we got to chatting like people do here, and in one of those odd things that happen in life, found out from here how a friend of mine had recently committed suicide. I knew he was dead, that he had his last film in this year's festival, but I didn't know the cause. 

Now I do. 

I must have some defect in my brain, because I have never understood someone taking their own life. I know the world can be relentlessly cruel, that there is anger and sorrow and stupidity in abundant supply. I have spent plenty of time in confusion. But always, no matter what, I sense this great underlying beauty in the universe. An ocean of peace waiting to be waded into. 

I can't say much more without sounding like an insensitive asshole who doesn't understand depression, mental illness, or people who experience life the way I do. 

I just miss my friend and wish I could text him after seeing his film and tell him it was amazing.

So there's that.

I have other news of the festival to share, triumphs and surprises, new friends and fresh insights.

But for today, I will just say this. Life is... a tapestry that demands to be noticed, and touched, and reflected upon, and then noticed some more. It is that first cup of coffee in the morning. It is the little fights you get into with your significant other that seem so important at the time, then vanish with a smile at the most unexpected moment. It's a new piece of music you've downloaded but haven't listened to yet. It's a comedic short, a feature that didn't quite get it right, and also the discussion on the way out as you throw away your popcorn container. It is a symphony of birds and bats at dawn. 

And I love it so intensely. I love this world. I love it all. 

Here's a song. It's Star Exploding in Slow Motion by The Comet is Coming. I was told about it last night by a film maker named Kingsley I met here at the AFF. I am listening to it for the first time as I type this.

THE WORLD IS MYSTICAL AND MY COFFEE, AN ELIXIR

I get up every morning at 5:30. It's weird, but true. I used to be able to sleep all day, no problem. I was famously impossible to wake. I remember laying in bed before school upstairs at my home in San Jose, long after my old clock radio had been snoozed at least five times, and my mom yelling up that I had to get going. Now, this was early, so there was a little justification. I had a paper route, and I needed to get my ass out of bed, fold my seventy or so papers, load them into my basket attached to the front of my bike, and hit the road. But there I would be, trying to continue to sleep, my mind still at least partially connected to that deep, dark world of sleep that lies at the bottom of the ocean or the vast reaches of outer space or some other dimension that is very warm and thick. And Mom would yell up. And I would reach over the side of my bed and smack the floor with my shoes to make her think I was up and moving. 

Now I wake up before the alarm, on a daily basis. I still feel that connection to Dreamland. But I awake. And the first thing I do is put on a kettle to make a fresh pot of coffee with our French press. It may sound snooty, but as those who know me will attest, I really don't care what people have to say about my coffee habits. So I put the water on, fill of mug of cold coffee from the day before and put it in the microwave, and then sit down to write in my journal.

I find this gives me peace, joy, a sense of self. And reminds me that I am a writer. This is something I think I need to do, as often as possible. Because it is easy to not think that way. To think "I need to do A, B, and C", which are usually the mundane requirements of life like cleaning the house or paying the electricity bill, and still be able to then think "And I need to sit down at the computer for at least an hour and rework that scene, adding in what he writes in the letter to his dead dog".  Whatever A, B, and C  are, day to day, they are of course important. But not as important to me as being me, as expressing myself, writing down whatever I am thinking. I have to say "yes, I am a writer, and I need to let these things loose that are rampaging through my brain". So I write in my journal. Next, I take a long walk with my wife. Today, the sun rose against clouds, and the world was this insane color, first gold then pink then gold again. It was like being in a Maxfield Parrish Painting.

Next, I help Lisa get ready for work, then I write this blog. And that is my morning routine. I recommend it. There is something to be said for doing what makes you happy first thing. Coffee, writing, walking, nature, love, and more writing. That does not suck. I can take most of what the world has to sling at me when I am able to do those simple things.

So. Week two of Return of the Blog, and it feels right. You know how some things just feel right? How, from the moment you start, there is this sense of being where you are supposed to be, doing what you are supposed to be doing? I feel like that with this blog. I don't want to think about it too much beyond that, as over thinking can lead to some really bad writing, some phoney, convoluted poop. I think it was Aristotle who wrote "To over think is to create a lot of bullshit". 

He was wise.

What else? Well, had our first cast meeting for Wizard of Oz last night. Very exciting. I forget how awesome that story is, how bizarre and clean and scary and fantastical. My cast is excellent, and I feel like we are about to take an incredible journey together. Also, in two days, I head to the Austin Film Festival. Which feels to me like going to Disneyland. A whole week, focused on screenwriting and movies. Panels, pitches, parties. As Aristotle also wrote, "Fuck yeah". 

I don't know why I felt compelled to give my daily routine to you all today. Honestly, when I write this blog, I don't prep at all. I just sit down and write whatever pops into my head. Today it was my routine. Tomorrow it might be a treatise on the joys of ascribing foul language to the greats. Who knows? Only The Shadow. 

I think that's it. For the moment. Need more coffee. More music. To go over my pitches for The Belvedere Jungle, American Spirits, Burning the Old Man, and Out of the Past. I have to run errands. You know, A, B, and C.  And then I have rehearsal for Holiday Inn up at StageDoor Theatre in Conifer. That show is going well, and that place is special. Full of energy and magic. In fact, both the Scarecrow and Dorothy in my upcoming Oz are former students from StageDoor. On top of that, a Jitterbug and an Ozonian are former students from the Denver JCC. How cool is that? One of the greatest things about teaching is when your students grow up and start to excel, to work in the field you teach. It's quite amazing. As amazing as the sunlight was this morning, turning the world into a mystical experience.

On that happy note, I shall go forth. 

Here's a song. It's The Jitterbug, a song deleted from the original movie but put back in for the stage performances of The Wizard of Oz. Dance, you maniacs, dance.

MOST PECULIAR

So last night, had a dream. I was talking with all these former students. Tons of them. First, I was working odd jobs as the world had gotten a little more dystopian, the virus had caused vast devastation, and society was sort of falling apart, so I took a job at this theatre/food dispensary up in the mountains. My boss was former student, and had hired me to do odd jobs. Part of the pay, which wasn't much, was getting free lunch. This was important in the dream, as food was scarce. I showed up for the first day of work, and nobody was around who could tell me where to go or what to go, so I explored a bit, came upon some other former students, all putting together a revival of Drowsy Chaperone which we had all done several years ago. I didn't seem to be going so well and most everyone was distracted. I explored some more, still no sign of my boss. Finally, it was time to eat, and  I lined up with everyone else for the grub. The food was like the worst kind of high school cafeteria offerings imaginable, but we all ate it. At last, we got word that my boss, who had morphed into a sort of mythic status, was somewhere in Italy, and we would all have to swim across the Mediterranean to her. Who she was was no longer clear, but off we all went, swimming the sea. AS we swam, we came across a bunch of mines, floating along in front of us, covered with triggers that if we so much as brushed past would surely explode. It took what felt like a long time to get past them. Finally, we arrived at our destination, which turned out to be the city of Ravenna. I asked people if we would see the famed Monster of Ravenna, but nobody seemed to have the slightest idea what I was talking about. The place we all came to was this huge mansion, full of citrus trees, mostly limes and oranges like the ones we had in my backyard growing up in California. And then reality shifted, as it so often does in dreams, and we all decided to take a walk to the movies. As we did, I was once more a teacher, and all the other people in the dream were my students, and we had this long talk about whether anyone had learned anything of value yet in their lives.

Weird but true. Which seems to fit most of the world these days. Weird but true. There seems to be this great desire to act as if none of this has happened, that it was all a long, rambling dream with no point, no meaning, and no connection to our lives. Which would be cool if it were so, but just doesn't seem to be the case. Over a thousand Americans die each day. Over two hundred thousand dead worldwide. That's a lot of dead people, however you want to frame it. I don't get the people who dicker over the mortality rate, the infection rate, and so on. Huge numbers of people who otherwise would not be dead, are dead. End of story. This virus spreads incredibly fast, and the best weapon we have against it is social distancing. Those are two pretty basic facts that no one can deny. And yet, we bicker about our civil liberties, and restaurants on Mother's Day, and getting massages. It is strange, to say the least. That' s my go to word. Strange. It just fits.

I watched part of a comedic propaganda video where this guy was pretending to be a variation on the typical liberal. The basic premise was that this guy completely believe whatever the media and the W.H.O. told him, and he'd proclaim how he didn't want to make any decisions about his life, and that he'd like to stay in isolation forever. That was the joke. It went on for over eight minutes. That's kind of overkill. Like that skit on SNL that always comes about midway through that seems to go on forever after making its one joke. My friend who posted it thought it was hilarious. Fine. To each this own and all that. But this same friend wrote this very long post about how we all should be nice to each other and sensitive to our feelings the day after Trump made his now infamous remarks about shooting up with disinfectant. Yet another strange incident in a universe seemingly built on the Strange Principle.

The other thing that happened yesterday was a zoom meeting with a bunch of fellow writers where we discussed the first sixty pages of my latest screenplay. It was quite nice. I seem to be on a bit of a tear with this one, and hope to have the first draft done before the end of the month, so that I can clean it up a bit and enter it in the Austin Film Festival. Which I know is strange too, given that there might not be a festival this fall. But one must move forward. One must continue to seek meaning. One must endure stupid videos posted by friends.

Here's a song. It's Strange Days by John Lennon.