SUCKERS AND HOPE

Day Two of the Comeback, starring yours truly as the playwright/actor/director/screenwriter/school teacher/full time lunatic/Stephen King fan/Mystic/Left Foot of Sasquatch. Yes. That last one works for me. I am the Left Foot. And that foot dances. It is my official title for Sasquatch Productions, my production company that's been around for a few years now, and one of those things that has felt right from the moment of inception to the right now. 

I think sticking with things that make you happy is a good thing to do, but somehow not something we manage to do enough in our lives. We stay at jobs we don't like all that much. We stick it out in relationships that are lopsided, unhealthy, or worse. We smile and nod at friends who inform us that they have "done some research" and know a few things about medicine that we don't. We patiently wait for the powers that be, who have profited for generations by exploiting the planets resources with little to no remorse or concern, to finally do the right thing. And then, after putting up with whatever particular bullshit we are putting up with for far too long, we lash out at some other, easier target, and think we have spoken our truth. 

At least it seems that way to me.

As you can probably tell, I listened to the news this morning while making my toast and coffee. There was a story about Southwest Airlines cancelling thousands of flights, and vehemently denying it had anything to do with their pilots, who seem to have all drunken the proverbial Kool Aid of Dipshits and are protesting vaccine mandates. 

Because freedom.

The above is from Easy Rider, written by Terry Southern, Dennis Hopper, and Peter Fonda. That speech hit me like a mack truck the first time I heard it, and it has only gotten more resonant with me the longer I have lived in this world. Yet another example of writing, of art, helping me understand the world I live in. Not that I didn't already suspect that what that speech says it true. I did. But it articulated that truth. Gave it some definition. And better still, some humanity.

In the movie, right after that scene, a bunch of drunken local yahoos show up and kick the shit out of all three characters. Nicholson's character gets killed. 

Yay freedom.

It just seems like people are determined to prove Barnum right, that there is indeed a sucker born every minute, and all you need to do is cater to their fears and hopes, give them a straw man, woman, or government cabal to blame their ills on, and you can do whatever you want. 

Okay. Enough. I could rant on and on about this subject, and I am sure there will be more on this soon, right here in River City, with a capital R that rhymes with Gar, that's a type of fish. 

What else? I am listening to a playlist curated by Edgar Wright, put out to promote his upcoming film Last Night in Soho. The list is called Edgar Wright's Soho Nights, and you can find it on Spotify and Apple Music. I love it. All these great tunes that have an inherent grooviness. I dig the movies of Mister Wright. I'd like him to direct one of my scripts. I think he would get my style. 

I am sorry if I went to the dark side up there. I'm just worried about our nation, the planet, my street. All of it. I love being alive so much. I love music and people and trees and oceans. And music and movies. And I am fairly certain we could have a really great thing going on here on Earth, if not for the Great Greedy Goon Squad. 

Happy things: I am working on a pitch for a ghost story movie. I have several to choose from, as I love scary movies, and have written a ton. There's one about a deaf woman who learns she can communicate with the dead after going to a seance for a cheesy reality show in the hopes of talking with her deceased sister. There's one about a high school theatre group that find out just how deadly it can be to go against superstitions. There's another about a forgotten factory town in the Rust Belt betting taken over by a couple of obnoxious ghosts who treat everyone like shit, drink like fish, fuck everything in sight, and have an overblown sense of how awesome they are. The town falls in love with them and do their best to emulate the ghosts' nasty behavior. 

I am leaning towards that last one. It's working title is American Spirits. I hope to be able to pitch it at this ghosty story pitch party at the Austin Film Festival. I put my name in the hat, now it's just a waiting game. 

On top of those projects, I have another one, a variation on a writing assignment I did a few years back, a sort of mash up of Men in Black and Finding Bigfoot. 

I find happiness, and understanding, in stories about monsters, possession, and madness. Holding the mirror up to the world and all that, I suppose. Not that I focus solely on the negative. No. A good story, I believe, is one that shows the world is all its glory as well as all its shame. And there is a lot of glory. A lot of goodness and joy and magic. Yin and Yang, duality of nature, Suckers and Hope, and on and on.

Wow. Meandering thoughts today. Well, that's where I am, and so I write it. I hope you all find compassion today, and humor, and a cool set of music to pick you up when you are low.

Here's one. It's Dusty Springfield doing Spooky.