La Jolla to Redondo: Kalifornien

Jared is arriving this afternoon at SAN from Oregon. California is not like the mean streets of the BK or the AQ. So far we’ve decided to start importing the sad cold Penguins of the Antartic and give them some Bauhaus accomodations here in La Jolla. Not only will they be able to shop at Gucci, Dolce and Gabanna, and receive some fine plastic surgery but the waves here are great for beginners.

Yesterday we drove north along Highway-1 for a while and ended up in Redondo Beach to watch the finale of the Tour of California. Southern Los Angeles’ beach towns are more clean and idllyic than I remember. The cyclists did 10 laps of an 8 mile loop around the waterfront promenade. The sunset on the pier was nice. The fish tacos are good here. We finished the evening by meeting up with some old friends of mine from Portland, Natasha and Ruben, and we had some milkshakes at a stereotypical Californian diner.

Sadly it is supposed rain today. And tomorrow. Maggie and I need to wash the breakfast dishes. Anyway. California is beautiful. And surreal.

Torrey Pines Glider PortCondit as Herzog

La Jolla to Redondo – Kalifornien

Jared is arriving this afternoon at SAN from Oregon.  California is not like the mean streets of the BK or the AQ.  So far we’ve decided to start importing the sad cold Penguins of the Antartic and give them some Bauhaus accomodations here in La Jolla.  Not only will they be able to shop at Gucci, Dolce and Gabanna, and receive some fine plastic surgery but the waves here are great for beginners.

Yesterday we drove north along Highway-1 for a while and ended up in Redondo Beach to watch the finale of the Tour of California.  Southern Los Angeles’ beach towns are more clean and idllyic than I remember.  The cyclists did 10 laps of an 8 mile loop around the waterfront promenade.  The sunset on the pier was nice. The fish tacos are good here.  We finished the evening by meeting up with some old friends of mine from Portland, Natasha and Ruben, and we had some milkshakes at a stereotypical Californian diner.

Sadly it is supposed rain today.  And tomorrow.  Maggie and I need to wash the breakfast dishes.  Anyway.  California is beautiful.  And surreal.

A-list, internet, La Jolla

the A list was in full effect in the Meat Packing last weekend with
Lindsay Lohan’s wrap party VIP guest list, fat Jared Leto special .
Fortunately, not everyone who worked on the movie was on the list,
because that’s not what wrap parties are for, especially if you’re
having one at Level V in the West Village. Ginny, Zoe, and I with
Jamison managed to get in. The producers were no doubt ecstatic to
have Lindsay pay for those two hours of ridiculous scene. Stacey and I
have pretty much got the final cut. She’s the best. I’m going to La
Jolla to see Mr. Condit et all for some fish tacos, beer on the beach,
and sand in my shoes. Last night Kate and Kyle threw a small Olympic
watching shin-dig for Ms. Zena Barakat who will be shooting and writing
for Bloomberg News. Jet Blue baby. That’s all there is right now
between me, a cold dirty house in Astoria, and the beach.

still B-list Heather Graham…

I’m not sure what to make of it when I’m on a buck a day low budge
feature in the West Village, per usual, and I see a woman on set that
looks a lot like Heather Graham, and I think to myself, man they sure
got a very convincing low budget Heather Graham look-a-like. Later, I
look at the call sheet, as I saw her again and remained bewildered,
and it was her. The film is currently entitled “One Nine” like the
trains that run up the effing westside. I hear Jared Leto is at
Steiner’s shooting the penultimate scene. Not sure what else. oh
yeah, Stacey at Crewcuts.com finished my short film from over a year
ago. Conor and James are writing music. Bicycle Film Festival here we
come baby.

i can taste it.

i was confused.  I thought Jared Leto was the Steve Prefontaine of
_Without Limits_, when in fact he was the Steve Prefontaine of the
film entitled simply, _Prefontaine_.  With that clarified, _Without
Limits_ was the much better film, and Billy Crudup the much better
player.  Currently I’m working on something with Leto as the lead in
New York, and I’m not sure if anyone will care.

Which brings me to something I haven’t forgotten.  Last winter, about
a year ago, Jared Fuscaldo and I were running around a track in
Northwest DC hoping to run a sub five minute mile.  I don’t know what
happened.  I moved to New York, to a dirty loft full of skaters and
now I work on films.  But the thing about running, or setting some
arbitrary goal, like a sub 5 minute mile, is that you _can_ taste it.
It consumed me.  The mile I think especially is all consuming, but
running perhaps even more.  And when you think about a flat out race,
something where you guts come up into your mouth, or something
anything, that allows you to focus that hard, to get away from it for
a few minutes.  I miss it.  I don’t know what to do in this city.  I
think about riding around central park on my bicycle in hypnotic
circles, but I long for trails, running on fallen leaves and caked
mud, and miss it.  I feel like my life is all nostalgia.  How do you
capture the feeling of crying?