Thursday, August 23, 2007

Nanking

Nanking the documentary.

Saw it at the Arclight as part of the IDA (International Documentary Association) festival this week. My friend Hugo is in it. Heidi and Sarah and I were blown away. Jenine saw it as well at a different screening. So far it looks like only smart activist female producers are viewing it. Surely there are more humanists out there?

Go support the film, and spread the word. It deserves the Academy Award nomination. And then get some therapy to get over the atrocious images of the bayoneted kids, raped women, beheaded men, the United States and the world let suffer only 70 years ago.

Effing eff eff

Cinespia is one of my favorite things to do in the summer. I look forward to it all blasted year.

This season has been particularly bad in the film choices. Huge disappointment. As yet, I've only been to "Holy Mountain." Which was a SPECTACULAR experience, in movie and in friends and in gourmet picnic.

But woh ho ho, what do we have hear? My eighth favorite film playing this Saturday? But of course!


And I will be out of town location scouting.

Merde.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Happy Birthday Mom

Today would have been Mom's 68th birthday.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about and miss my best friend and mentor.

Brian has a lovely post and photos of her.

Meanwhile, I spent the day yesterday being tutored one on one by an amazing Polish cinematographer who almost shot Martin Scorcese's daughter's first feature and wants to shoot mine...pretty cool. It was already crazy day, because we just officially went into preproduction on The Commune on Monday, for a start date in September.

Why bring this up on Mom's Birthday?

It's why she busted her ass to get us back down here.

She told Brenda and me that she wanted to live in LA (translation: die in LA), which is the kind of trump card no child can say no to. So we all sold our houses and made a very scary journey down to LA while she was in a tentative remission. Bought her dream of a family compound minimansion and moved in together like the Brady Bunch.

The day we packed up the cars and drove down the I-5, they dropped me off half an hour late for my first screenwriting class in the Professional Program at UCLA.

On her deathbed, I found out Mom didn't want to live in LA. She didn't want to see me rot and die in Santa Rosa.

Thanks Mom. You're the Executive Producer of The Commune. And all my movies.


Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Sh*t Goddamn


You know, I just bought the big second season of Twin Peaks in June. No word of this super duper collection coming five months later.

I hate the DVD industry. This is just crap. Now I have to try to sell my other Twin Peaks DVDs, and buy this one?

I mean it's my favorite anything of all time, but COME ON! I have a busy life here people. I don't have time to get dicked around by this consumer game. I'll just rip the DVDs for free, aholes.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Empowered Filmmakers

Here are my rocking, talented friends at the prestigous DGA Visionfest Awards:

Cindy Baer, me, Marty Elcan, Leslie Lello.

We had such a blast. What an amazing night. Laura Dern and the Polish Brothers were so inspiring, and Marty Elcan's film "Crossing the Line" was great. Ran into a bunch of old friends and met some new ones afterwards at their awesome shindig in the lobby. We even got to dance!

NoCal Alert

Because you northbayers complain about my joyous spontaneity. Open your dayplanners. I'm coming for bidness: location scouting and auditions. Then some talking, laughing, and to exchange the piles of books and CDs you all loaned me for new ones.
I leave Thursday, but I only have free time Sunday night through Tuesdayish. Call/email.

Oui? À bientôt!

There is no spoon

The Beastie Boys were effing awesome tonight at the Greek! If you're in LA, get your butt to the Wiltern Tuesday night and buy a scalped ticket. So worth it, even without them playing all their hits. I do love going to concerts alone. You meet the coolest people to dance with. For a very sweaty hour and a half.

I'm down two pant sizes now in 20 days, firmed up my breasts but not lost a smidge of cupsize. Impossible? There is no spoon.

LA buddies: I'm planning another pirate CD exchange party and an 80s dance night for Labor Day week-ish. Email me. And does anyone west coast swing? I've got a hankering. I've got a date elsewhere, but David Lynch is available again this week to you...Barnes and Noble at the Grove Tuesday night; wristbands at 5:30 pm. My fascination with Lynch is well-documented here. You really must meet him.

So here's the single most important book you could ever read in your entire life:
The 4 Hour Work week.

The 4 Hour Work-week is the exact lifestyle I'm designing right now. Less work, less things, more happiness. World travel unlike anything Americans experience, though personally I'd be thrilled with hot ballooning in Croatia, theatre in Prague, looooong gourmet meals and laughing with friends while they play the guitar under a Buenos Aires sunset.

Utter freedom and no itinerary forever. Adventure. Experience.

I double dog dare you. If you have kids, I triple dog dare you. "Your horizons must be widened."

(Is it wrong that I've seen "Becoming Jane" enough that I can mimic James McAvoy? I've finally realized I don't want him, I want to be him. Oh my gods, what a fantastic insight...somebody good give me a blurb that says "Elisabeth Fies is the female James McAvoy" so that I can CONFOUND industry folk...Loooove!)

By the way, has anyone had any insight yet as to which orifice I stuffed my Rome Season 2 DVDs into? Because they're due back at Blockbuster, and I've looked everywhere thrice. Including my ass and the freezer.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Pistoleras news!!

WAIT until you see the blurb we got from A-list action director Paul W. S. Anderson about the Pistoleras script.

Oh. My. God.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Why I'll always love Roger

Yes, it's because of his ability to distinguish whether a film is good within its genre rather than based on its genre, and because of his feminist viewpoint...but also because of this:

This funeral has Peter Dinklage (as Peter), who is becoming my favorite go-to actor for any movie that needs someone to go to. Like Rosie Perez, Danny De Vito, Queen Latifah or Christopher Walken, he has that ability to make you brighten up and take notice, because with such a person on the screen something interesting is bound to happen. Dinklage can look handsome in that menacing way that suggests he's about to dine out on your fondest hopes and dreams. - excerpt from Death at a Funeral review

I always learn something about humanity when I read his reviews. Sadly, often more than I would from viewing the films themselves.

Stick around the planet, Mr. Ebert. With mom gone, you're the one I want to show the films I make.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

The Fountain


Beautiful graphic novel version of the feature film "The Fountain." Epic sci-fi story about true love.

And wouldn't you know it, the characters slept together on the first date...just like Sydney Poitier and his wife of 20 plus years. Rules, Schmules. If your guy is emotionally mature, it doesn't matter. When it's love at first sight, you know it.

It's a cool story about the graphic novel. When studio funding fell through for the Brad Pitt movie version, Darren called Vertigo and they started working on the comic...the "ultimate director's cut". Then Darren remembered his guerilla film roots, slashed the script and the budget, and got to make the movie version with his future wife Rachel Weisz. L'amour. The graphic novel and the film ended up coming out at the same time. Synchronicity.

Warning: it's a cancer plot. Death ensues. If you're not up for a crying jag, avoid for now.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Love note to a stranger


To whomever found my site after googling "Success stories of winning your girlfriend back":

Go find her. Please. Get her back.

If there's one thing I learned by caretaking for Mom those years...

Life is so short. People make the stupidest excuses to protect their hearts. Nothing is more important than love. Nothing. Nothing can't be done for love.

Someone you feel affinity for...that ease and connection...that hardly ever happens in a lifetime.

It's the only thing that makes life worth living. Fight for it.

There's AMAZING coaching out there to help men and women understand each other and build powerful relationships.

Commit to working on your relationship, and go get your woman. Make her your wife.

Go.

When I'm 64

Watching "The Abyss" right now on Sci Fi. Ed Harris' ex-wife just chose to drown to save them both. Oh, there she goes...so beautiful. Now he has to swim back to the sub and try to revive her. Sigh.

Okay, yesterday was so fun...Hollyshorts was a great networking opportunity. Cindy kicked ass in her on-camera interview.

Then last night was my friend Melinda's b-day party at the Hollywood Bowl. Every year she gets a group of 40 friends together to buy out three rows. Last night was the best one ever...


One of my favorite artists...Joan Osbourne (go buy her "Righteous Love" CD now), Aimee Mann, Cheap Trick, Ministry

Oh, Ed's slapping his dead wife right now, yelling at her "You've never backed away from anything in your life, now FIGHT!!!!"...and she wakes up. Now he's just staring at her, stroking her hand.

Wow. Someday a man's going to love me that much. Or at least enough to call me to say thank you after I let him into my holiest of holies.

Phew, okay, back to the concert: you missed out. It was gorgeous. An awesome experience. The entire album as relevant and insightful about the human experience as it was forty years ago. To hear some of the songs live was crazy and moving. I still have lyrics floating through my head:

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

The discovery of the night was Ian Bell, guitarist of the British band "Gomez". We all thought he was nineteen, but from what I found online he must be 28ish. Soooo talented. So utterly adorable, playful, authentic. Sigh. He's from Liverpool too, and when he messed up a lyric and uttered a joyful laugh, it was like injecting a piece of John into my heart.

Ed Harris is dying now..."Love you WIFE."

Ah, god.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Manifestation 101

I'm 8.5 pounds down. Sweet.

Through a date I had a few weeks ago, I realized some important things and have made some big changes in my life. I'm totally clear on what I want to manifest:

To share my life with a partner. I want to meet that person I'll love for a lifetime.

What I'm looking for?

Top three? Social, happy, sweet.

Monogamous. Has chemistry with me. He's actively pursuing some avocation he loves - even if not making money at it yet. Supportive. We spur each other on in our respective creative ventures. Kind. Proximity, at least part of the year. Fun and quick to laugh. Genuine. Not hung up on materialism, popularity, surface. Strong and secure. Turned on by a dame with brains. Feminist. A foodie. Romantic and gentle in bed. Always kissing me, and likes to hold hands. Wants to leave the world a better place. Not sure he wants kids. Loves to travel. Cherishes me. Is open and authentic with me. Believes in himself and gets pleasure from being a good man.

Dealbreakers? Smoker. Drugs. In debt and not working on it. Doesn't want me as much as I want him. Lack of courtesy. Doesn't get along with my friends.

Have to think about it more. I'm not a big believer in lists. The only things my exes had in common was their uniqueness and passion for me.

But I met someone great I would have had a second date with, and his dealbreaker was living two hours apart. Important to know. See, I would love having one great date a week and sending a romantic letter or a couple emails in between. It would help keep me from falling for him too fast, and at the same time I tend to fall in love in men's absences. If things worked out and we were exclusive? His city was already on my list of places I'm looking at moving to. If I thought it was a soulmate thing, two hours is childsplay. A fun challenge to make me creative. I can be reallllly creative. And fun.

What seems totally doable and a goofy excuse to one person is death to another. You can rationalize it all you want, but you can't convince someone out of their dealbreaker. You just walk away and go meet someone else. I'm learning. Learning not to be a romantic.

What are your preferred qualities and dealbreakers?

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Hollyshorts

Going to spend the weekend with my amazing friend Cindy Baer at Hollshorts at Cinespace. Join us for only $30 for three days! Her b-day is Sunday, when her short film "Morbid Curiousity" screens at 2:30.

Smart cookie Cindy continues to amaze and inspire,this time by being interviewed in today's Backstage West article.

"Actor-director-producer Cindy Baer, whose award-winning short Morbid Curiosity will screen at the festival Aug. 12, previously found success on the festival circuit with her feature directorial debut, 2004's Purgatory House. She said, "By creating your films, not only do you get to focus on projects you love but it provides a great opportunity to build relationships with other filmmakers who will cast you in future projects...Baer urged actors to take the director's seat. "You have to do it for yourself because nobody else -- not even your agent until you get to a certain point -- is going to do it for you," she said. "It's not fun to be at the mercy of other people, hoping they will hire you."


Amen! Cindy rules, and is one of the nicest and best-intentioned Leo's I know. Remind me to do everything she suggests career-wise. Sometimes I don't, and I always regret it.

And rent "Purgatory House" from Blockbuster or Netflix.

What time is it?

Anyone want to go to Sunset Junction next week? Morris Day and the Times on Saturday!!!! Buzzcocks and She Wants Revenge Sunday night. Plus those amaaaaazing corn on the cob vendors who pour butter, lime juice and chili powder on the freshest white kernels ever....

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Happiness diet

Okay, I've tried to explain this biochemistry weirdness to my male friends before and they never believe that women can do everything right with diet and exercise and still not change their bodies. But it's absolute when I'm stressed and in mourning, and for a lot of you caretakers out there this will ring true.

Now that I'm happy and don't give a fig about my weight, I'm losing it. No diet, no exercise, but I'm five pounds down and an entire size since last week. It's both a "yea!" and a "harumph". I'm a big believer in energy and chakras, so it's probably more about me being happy enough again to operate out of my normal state of excitement and joy and openess about life. Regardless, things are working and I need some weight off just to be able to captain a film shoot, so I'm going to ride this train and diet and do Pilates so I can be another ten pounds of grief down by September. I just hope I don't lose too much too quickly, because I'd like to still be a "real woman" size to play my character in this film. It's really important to me to get on camera that earthy and curvy can be totally sexy, before I lose my double Ds and sucumb to the Hollywood twig mentality to be able to sell the film this winter in meetings.

I also joined a high calibre matchmaking group. I highly recommend it. I'm not entirely sure why I'm doing this now when I'm so busy, because when I joined Match while Mom was sick I was completely overwhelmed by men. But I have to learn how to date properly somehow so that I don't pick someone by default and I get a better feel for men romantically in general. I always liked being Marion Dashwood and liked that I only let maybe one great guy have a shot a year, but that hasn't worked for me now, has it? So it's time to grow and let go of who I was. Time to learn to be authentic and in integrity with men while they're pitching themselves to me, and how to be so compassionate and kind when I say no that it's a good experience for both of us, and not to give my heart away for free to the Willoughby scoundrel who makes it flutter. How exciting! I think I'm about to meet some really quality people who get that love is what makes life worth living.

Ah god, enough enough enough about me. Here is my friend David Lago's supersexy celebrity slimdown diet. He regularly adds or drops ten pounds in a week for Y & R and other movies (though I still maintain that's because he's a hunter/forager and that women's childbearing bodies don't allow it):

Eat six small meals a day so you're never hungry, never full. Mostly eat low fat protein. If you normally have a tuna fish sandwich for lunch, eat half at one meal and half at the next. Drink lots of water before and after each meal. Don't eat less than four hours before bedtime. If you're starved and have to, enjoy something easily digestible like a few egg whites or a protein shake with no carbs. An hour of cardio and and hour of weightlifting a day.

That's it! Not that easy, not that hard...sort of in the middle discipline area of things I've done in the past. Though honestly, he was more convincing when I was stoned. But at least you're eating more than the average starlet's tic tac diet, so that's pretty good. Let me know if you try it and it works. I'm starting this week.


I've personally seen Dave drop what, twenty pounds in two weeks? That was last spring for "Obsidere." And now that he's playing a main character in my film that we're shooting this October, he's got a bur up his butt to get cut like a Spartan for it. For the record, I am no nasty producer/director. I told him he looks great the way he is now. It's all him ladies, so you can thank him for the discipline when he takes off his shirt on camera.

Have you guys taken my advice and bought "300" yet? I'm telling you, you can toss out your porn and just wear out this DVD. In constant rotation at my place. Thigh trembling will ensue.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Tickled pink

I'm so ridiculously blessed. Of course I miss mom and always will, but at the same time I think this may be the happiest time of my life. So far.

I was able to stand by my mom through her death. I've processed my grief. I've had time to be alone, to be with friends, to read, to write. I'm beholden to no one, no thing.

And here I am now, finally beginning to feel accomplished and believing my writing can contribute something to people. I can do it anywhere in the world, choose any path I want. I have true freedom. I just finished a script I love, that mom would have loved, and we're planning to shoot it this fall. Amazing.

I went to "Becoming Jane Austen" tonight with Heidi, and realized it's amazing how lucky I am living in this era as an intelligent woman. My choices and opportunities are almost as great as a man's, and that's really something too many people take for granted. I can say yes or no to anything I want. I don't need anyone's permission to have a life I love living.

I had a beautiful date last Saturday that I appreciated beyond words. He put thought into it, the locations were lovely, the conversation was fantastic, he was generous and warm and open to me, and a spectacular person. Attractive inside and out. I enjoyed the small part of him I got to know. The evening couldn't have been more fun or made me happier. Just incredibly pleased.

It was all unexpected and accidental, and brought into technicolor that I'm ready to date again. I've turned down so many kind men because of mom's illness, and then her death. There have always been men there for me, but I felt like a ghost of myself. They had all this emotion for me, and expectaction, or wanted an instant relationship, and I was so run down and shut down from supporting mom. Just a shell. It hurt them so much. And their kindness and disappointment cut me.

But now, after Saturday, I've rediscovered how much I have to give, and to receive, and that I can just laugh again and enjoy a man's company and connect with his delightful eyes and feel even happier about my life, just sharing the moment with him.

Like a drug, it makes me want to go experience it again. So many opportunities and sweet men who want to take me out and make me happy. The timing couldn't be better, having just come back from Comic-Con where I was a geek goddess amongst 100,000 men. There were some really interesting guys who asked me out (only one marriage proposal this time), and this time I'm going to at least talk to them all. I even went to a single mingle at sushi last night. Didn't meet anyone I was attracted to, but then got asked out at Blockbuster.



It's spectacular. My life is awesome. Mom only ever wanted me to be happy, and here I am at last, doing her proud after all her hard work.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Revere

"Let your dream devour your life, not your life devour your dream." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I met someone over the weekend who has the exact life I wanted before Mom got sick and everything blew up for years. He works part-time as a contractor for corporations, setting his own hours to accomodate his night-owl proclivity. Lives in a beautiful city simply enough to use the rest of the time to pursue his passions: painting, music, travel, volunteering.

Exactly what I'd pictured.

And now that I'm moved into my lovely place, and almost all my boxes are unpacked, I'm looking around dissatisfied.

Too much stuff owns me.

I had dreamt of filling this apartment with laughing friends and a loving boyfriend. Cooking walnut-apple brie, fondue, fritattas, T-bone steaks, sauteed mushrooms, garlic mussels and my famous Caesar salad for them all. Sitting down at my round table on my purple velvet dining chairs with red wine and sweet martinis to play card games and discuss politics and books and life. We'd take turns on the baby grand piano, and have movie nights again, and maybe I'd put up the pole in my bedroom and dance for my man sometimes...

I've been moved in for three months now, and have only just had someone over Sunday night for dinner. And it was lovely. But.

I look around now and the dream seems empty compared to the adventure of traveling, helping people, living simply enough to not be a slave to the military industrial complex. "Sicko" made me so sick I'd even seriously consider moving out of the country to a place that would value me, where I could contribute. To stay is to be complicit.

There's nothing holding me here. No pets, no love, no job I couldn't do from a laptop. I'd always dreamed of traveling with a boyfriend, but what the hell...I've never been in danger alone; if anything I've always had carte blanche from strangers. Even at the Marriot in San Diego last weekend, the staff volunteered extra care of me. The cute room service guy was so sad he woke me up early, I thought he was going to tuck me back into bed. People will always take me in.

I can write anywhere. I can fly into LA and stay with my sister to maintain friendships and connections and have meetings. When it's production time, we might be in Mexico or Northern California anyway. And within six months I'll be able to make studio-quality films anywhere with the Red camera and distribute online.

Hmmmn...Palm Springs, Pheonix, San Diego, South Carolina, Memphis, Portland, Glastonbury, Montreal...


I could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody.

Meet a great love who wants to be with me in a taxi cab, an elevator, or Marrakesh. Revered mutually.

Sublime.


Perchance to dream.


If you were free, what would you be?

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

My Queen, my wife, my love



J'adore 300. J'adore.

That relationship, the love between the king and the queen, so sacred..my ultimate desire.

The orgy of beautiful men's bodies. The inimitable Frank Miller. Hand to hand combat. Strategy. Comic book framing.

And not to be underestimated, the fetishizing of men's bodies, at last. So it won't be done for the first time in Pistoleras...but still, what will be new is that our heroines will be in baggy sweatshirts as they usurp the male gaze.

Why didn't I see 300 in Imax? Stupid, stupid, stupid.


Wow. Don't remember any training like that on Power Rangers.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

I told you!!!!

Dammit, I went and killed Michelangelo Antinioni. Fuck me, fuck me!

Soderbergh and Fincher, watch your backs! There be falling pianos in the sky!

Maybe Tom Snyder counts, and the fates will stop at three. Tom, the intellectual conversationalist, whose pretty pictures floated over the air throughout my life.

I was talking recently with a friend about why I don't consider myself a writer, and when I read Snyder's lovely obit in Variety, I realized why: I'm not. I'm a conversationalist. All I do is type up the exact conversation going on in my head. How is that writing? It can't be. If someone were in the room with me, I'd just be saying it out loud instead of to my Toshiba.

Razor Sharp

Here's a movie that was making good use of Comic-con. Good for them.

I revisited "The Limey" and "Fight Club" yesterday and still adore them, if you haven't seen.

The Monster we sleep with


Joss Whedon was at Comic-con, and no I didn't get to meet him.

Next to David Milch, Bergman (RIP), Wilder, and Chris Claremont, Joss is of course one of the genius storytellers of the last century. I don't say this lightly, given as I believe storytelling is the sacred job of shamans, and that it and indoor plumbing are what separate us from apes.

Joss has dedicated his Hollywood career and his philanthropy to understanding and empowering females, and has my utter respect. Many of you probably never watched "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", but it's apt that college courses exist to dissect the mythology and messages of the series.

The most beloved and excrutiating season is Two, wherein the arc is the fallout of Buffy succumbing to the physical charms of her supposed soul mate Angel, the vampire. Obviously, the rudimentary conflict of their relationship is built into their monikers: Buffy the Vampire Slayer loves Angel the Vampire.



But Joss doesn't settle for cheap fears. He goes for the primal-seated horror, and turns the season into every woman's worst nightmare: that the loving, infatuated man you fall asleep with post-coitus turns into the covertly hostile, indifferent, afraid-of-commitment freak show women wake up to.

Joss is a Samurai Master, so he of course takes this storyline to the negation of the negation: Angel has transformed back into the evil Angelus because of the perfect moment of orgasm while in love, and is now bent on killing Buffy's family and friends in front of her for giving him human emotion.

Powerful stuff.

It was written ten years ago. Yet it's even more relevant now that I'm in my thirties, competing for men my age with nineteen-year-olds who learned sex-ed by watching internet porn and model their dating behavior on Paris Hilton.

Does one give it away for the price of dinner like our slutty little sisters, knowing full well we will never hear from the man again? Or do we say good night chastely, and drive home to our goody drawer filled with Rabbits, Magic Wands, lube to plug into another night of solitary love, knowing he won't call because we're too much work?

Both choices suck, and are all that's on the dating buffet. The only other choice is to give up personal identity to one of the overbearing suitors bent on caging with motherhood, and that...that is not an option. Especially not when it comes from a space of owning instead of partnership. Men in their 30s might be afraid of love, but women in their 30s are legitimately afraid of slavery.

The dream of equal partnership equally desired? Well...who the fuck do you know who has that?

Talking with girlfriends my age, we lament many things. Chief among them is that now that we are phsycially insatiable, it's almost impossible to find a man our age who actually wants to have sex. Worse, once you find one and lower your standards to hoping to have sex with them on a regular basis without any kind of male-petrifying emotion involved, men would rather conquer once and move on to the next bimbo. Especially in southern California, the drive to experience new outweighs a sure thing.

While that's satisying biologically to them, it's physically torturous to women because a one-night-stand realeases a hormone in our brains punishing us with extreme depression for violating the more advantageous biological strategy of mating with someone who gives a shit about us and won't discard us after sex. The depression level is so severe that positive memories from the night are erased, and even Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey can't make the harsh punishment for the brief pleasure worth it.

Brief is really the key, because no matter how good the sex was in the moment, that moment was in the past. Once you start me up, I'll never stop. So while a man wakes up with his biochemistry satisfied by the romance leading to sex the previous night, mission accomplished, the woman wakes up ready to cum again with the person who gave her an orgasm. Getting kicked out of bed without breakfast does not unfortunately trigger that craved orgasm.

Perhaps if women are to evolve and survive, they will have to learn to orgasm from rejection.

The only logical conclusion to the above is that it's better to be celibate. No highs followed by stronger lows, just an even-keel middle ground as a sexless but productive member of society.


Get the feeling Mother Nature abhors women?

A girlfriend asked me recently if understanding biochemistry and Evolutionary Psychology as predetermined destiny helped me any in dealing with the hormones that cause depression after a fun one night stand.


Nope. Not at all.


FAN TRANSCRIPT of Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Cut to Angelus's apartment. Buffy opens the door. She walks over to the bed and sees it's been made. One of his shirts is laid out on it. She goes over to the bed and reaches for the shirt. Behind her Angelus steps over to a statue, picks up a necklace hanging from it and puts it on. Buffy turns, sees him.

Buffy: Angel! (runs to him)

Angelus: Hey!

Buffy: Oh!

Angelus: Hey.

She kisses him and they hug.

Buffy: Oh, my God! I was so worried!

Angelus: I didn't mean to frighten you.

Buffy: Where did you go?

Angelus: Been around.

Buffy: Ohhh. Oh, my God! (hugs him again) I was freaking out! You just disappeared.

Angelus: What? I took off. (goes to his bed for the shirt)

Buffy: (confused) But you didn't say anything. You just left.

Angelus: (pulls on the shirt) Yeah. Like I really wanted to stick around after that.

Buffy: What?

Angelus: You got a lot to learn about men, kiddo. Although I guess you proved that last night.

Buffy: What are you saying?

Angelus: Let's not make an issue out of it, okay? (goes for his coat)In fact, let's not talk about it at all. (pulls it on) It happened.

Buffy: I, I don't understand. Was it m-me? (meekly) Was I not good?

Angelus: (laughs) You were great. Really. (snidely) I thought you were a pro.

Buffy: How can you say this to me?

Angelus: Lighten up. It was a good time. It doesn't mean like we have to make a big deal.

Buffy: It *is* a big deal!

Angelus: It's what? Bells ringing, fireworks, a dulcet choir of pretty little birdies? (laughs) Come on, Buffy. It's not like I've never been there before.

He reaches his hand up to her face and she jerks back.

Buffy: Don't touch me.

Angelus: (shakes his finger at her) I should've known you wouldn't be able to handle it. (starts to go)

Buffy: Angel! (he stops and faces her) (teary-eyed) I love you.

Angelus: (points coolly at her) Love you, too. (turns away)
I'll call you.

RIP


Of course I just bought eight of his screenplays last week.

I'm the kiss of death to my idols, truly. Just wait, Jodorowsky's going next, because I've been using my Terminator-like movie disecting powers on his work, too. By which logic, we will also soon be hearing that Billy Wilder has reanimated. Look out world, I'm destroying auteurs. Stop me before I kill again.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Apologies


Sorry I've been withholding lately...if there's anyone out there still reading, I'm going to give this confessional blog thingie another shot. Gets confusing because some people don't want me to blog about them, I really can't blog about work, and I chased off the spec-screenwriters last year when they were rude to my cancer caregiver crowd, so that leaves what to talk about? Not sure.

Just finished an emotionally difficult/fulfilling script on Wednesday (been working on it for a year and a half, so that feels gooood), then went to Comic-con. Had an awesome weekend. Saw my brother and sister-in-law and some confriends. Charles Yoakum and I had several successful meetings with our target publishers who are interested in the Pistoleras graphic novel. Got through the first gate...yea!

Really enjoyed being at Geek Prom as a seller instead of a buyer this year. Charles and I swore last year we weren't coming back until we were pros with a property, and we did it. So that's really something. And he got to meet Valerie D'Orazio, and I left without buying more original art, so that's all good. That the trip cost more than we'll make on the book...not good, but the reality of the comic industry. Got some great life advice relayed to me from our mutual good friend Todd, who has been worried about me since I disappeared off the planet a month ago in my writing spell. So from now on when I'm writing strong, I need to put an autoresponder letting people know I'm writing and that if they hear back from me it's completely by accident. Good advice. Witty with a hint of bitterness and longterm knowledge of me, but you get the gist. Thanks Todd, and sorry!

Also met some new cool friends over the weekend, some from LA at the Eisner Awards (congrats guys!) and one from San Diego who also does powerful activism work for underdogs; very brave and effective, flying around the world and to DC to change policies. Had a perceptive phone conversation with a best girlfriend on the short trip home from San Diego where we solved all our personal issues and negotiated world peace. Then a lovely talkfest/dinner with my cosmic twin Sarah. Sarah's continuing to do amazing, world-changing activism, work on her documentary, and is up for several professional screenwriting jobs that have powerful themes and issues. Kudos to Sarah! Though somehow everytime we get together we manage to make each other cry over our dead moms. I guess that's good. Yeah, that's good, right Sarah?

In general, I'm feeling really good. I like my life. A lot. I love that I have two fantastic girlfriends who told me they loved me on the same day that I came home from my celebration of all things male at Dorkapalooza. One of my favorite things about my life is that I'm blessed with great male and female friends.

Have any of you been watching "Confessions of a Matchmaker?" My sister turned me on to it, and I find it so sweet. I think if anyone gets down on humans hurting each other, they should watch this show and the way everyone just wants love. The soft-hearted, hard-edge matchmaker is spot-on at laying down boundaries and helping people become better and happier and more self-aware. If the personal is politicial, then she's doing some powerful gender work there in Buffalo New York.

Another way to get in touch fast with humanity is to watch this amazing video made with all the love and joy of children...who just happen to be "hardened" criminals in a jail in the Philippines. See if you can open your hearts and enjoy life and all our ongoing rehabilitation with them:


I just got the weirdest urge for a V-8. I always wonder if that's a fishie from Mom, because that was her drink when I was a kid, and I never liked them until after she died. Now it's my most reliable vegetable source. Of course, my cupboards are bare at the moment...Time for bed. Sleep well, bloggers.

Monday, July 02, 2007

Fade In Magazine




What a great Monday!

Out of thousands of entries, I've placed SECOND in the Action Category of FADE IN MAGAZINE'S 11th Annual Screenplay Contest (Click the bottom link that says "2006 Winners" to see the 12 screenplays. I'm one of three women out of fourteen writers, which is even cooler since I'm in Action).

It's a big deal. I'll be in an upcoming issue of their magazine, there will be an announcement in Variety and Hollywood Reporter, and even more importantly...Fade In is good about helping their winners get meetings around town. Their winners get work.

The plan for PISTOLERAS is to get back Fade In's notes, do another polish, then go talk to some nice Hollywood producers. If it isn't sold to someone we like be Fall, Heidi and I will go make it ourselves with my Red camera.

Also today, got the news that A-list action director Paul W. S. Anderson (Alien Vs. Predator, Resident Evil) is giving us a blurb for PISTOLERAS!

And...CONVENTIONEERS was just released on DVD (The amazing, Indy Spirit Award winning film I was an Associate Producer on). Go rent it from Netflix or Blockbuster, or better yet...BUY it on Amazon!

Champagne time!

Chicks With Flicks

Here's an Amazing Article by SuperProducer Lynda Obst on how there are too many Katherines in Hollywood and not enough Spencers. Personally, I'm looking for a Thin Man and a dog named Asta.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Weekend in review

After a particularly crappy Thursday being abused by actors, had a wonderful Friday with my producing partner Heidi and friend/fellow director Leslie Lello checking out a buddy's
comedy show. Troy Conrad does an amazing job ripping his religous upbringing to shreds, and commenting on current political issues, all while wearing a robe and ridiculous wig. I highly recommend checking out his Comedy Jesus Show, either live on tour, in this month's Hustler magazine, or get a glimpse of the comedy through short movies on his website.



Troy played the protagonist in my Diva's Inc. reading last December. We're looking forward to casting him in our upcoming movies so that you can see the supermagic he's already broughten.



So after the comedy show (which included free alcohol!), Heidi and Leslie and I ended up next door at Tokyo Delves (putting the Ho in Noho!). Still one of my favorite places on Earth, even if the 20-something crowd doesn't seem to know they're supposed to dance on the tables (it's okay...I did it for them, and had a hot waiter worshipping my ass for my troubles). Tokyo Delves has been the site of many a b-day party of mine. Perhaps someday I'll post a Delves retrospective, but for now look at the header above...the pic of the Fies family frolicking is from our favorite sushi bar cum Club Med.

Saturday brought my best friend Valencia and her sweet boyfriend Mike into town. After having way too much fun giggling with Valencia and running around my newish apartment showing her my pretty things, we went to the Grove/Farmers Market to get some more pretty things. Ah, there's nothing like hanging with a friend from high school. So effortless and fulfilling. Then we went to Manhattan Beach for a great party with great new people, that we frequently exited to go girl talk in the guest bedroom.

Sunday morning was the Pistoleras girls' graduation from Impact Safety Training, which was so moving and inspiring. Great to be in the audience and to hear the crowd's laughter and support of seeing women actually fight for their lives. Can't wait to get these techniques into the mainstream through movies. I was a proud Mama Bear.


Then it was back to the Farmer's Market for brunch with new friends from the party. And the evening ended perfectly: The Cinespia screening at Hollywood Forever Cemetary with Leslie, Troy, and his awesome wife Liz (who got her MA today...congrats!). We saw Holy Mountain, which is just now back in print. It's amazing; rent it through Netflix!

Friday, June 15, 2007

Deep thoughts without Jack Handy

When the heart grieves over what it has lost, the spirit rejoices over what it has left.-Sufi epigram

Thursday, June 14, 2007

For Sopranos viewers...

Feeling betrayed, yet again, by a tv show you've invested years in? Here is the best of the "Director's Cuts" floating around YouTube. Number 3 being the one that nicely sums up how all us Twin Peaks/X-Files/Lost/Sopranos viewers now feel...



Still upset? Read Salon.

I say god daaaaam!


Rescue Me was on fire last night. Freaking love this TV renaissance. This is more exciting than living in Dickens's time. And series creator Peter Tolan now places right below David Lynch as Best Director Cameo. Sooooo great. But they better drop that boring insurance scam plot and get back to Tommy talking to dead people.

What did you guys think of The Shield finale? I thought it was tooooo much pipe-laying. I wanted more sex, violence, tension, shit hitting the fan...give me something more than the promise of the final showdown with Vic and Shane! The Dutch moment was sweet, but everytime I look at him I see him killing that kitty. How could the show just move on from that? I don't like it when writers adapt that angle of The Sopranos and X-Files...more unrewarded details, just like life. Too much for my head.

You are not my father

Click to appreciate the genius. Your Freudian mileage may vary:



Finally, an appropriate father's day gift for the majority of children on this planet! You know, the 75% living in a single-parent home below the poverty level...

And a funnier take on the gift/covert hostility award.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Thriller Night

A friend of mine is writing a thriller and is looking for screenwriting info, which got me all happy...Thrillers are my absolute fav to write and to view. And apparently they're very hard to do, because most are crap. So since it's on my brain, here's my favs. They're all flypaper movies for me. Even though I own them all, I'll stop and watch any of them if I'm flipping the channel.

Notorious
Unbreakable
Alien
Seven
The Silence of the Lambs
Witness
No Way Out
The Shining
The Wicker Man
Rosemary's Baby
The Big Easy
Gaslight
Blue Steel
Blue Velvet
Misery

Some are hybrids with horror or crime, but I'm not in the mood to argue screenwriting genre definitions, since no one can agree anyway and the people who are loudest about it all have a book to sell. I just know when I'm in the mood for a smart, scary mystery that grips me from start to finish and gives me a rush, these are what I watch.

Decent recent ones:

Tape
Hard Candy

And if you've seen all the above and want more:

Apt Pupil
The Seventh Sign
Heavenly Creatures

Plastic Surgery

The Ten Worst Celebrity Boob Jobs

Friday, June 08, 2007

Apropos

Weird. Just got this email from my friends Sianna and Fed. I had forgotten they were making this video for her pretty song. Check out their great work:



Pretty typical coincidence in my life. But isn't it great? Pass the link on!

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Question of the Night

Have you ever dated anyone who has killed anyone? I'm specifically thinking of military service, though I suppose the issue applies to reformed criminals, too. Did it queer you out, or did you not think about it?

Friday, June 01, 2007

Measure of a Man

Every man has three characters:
that which he shows,
that which he has,
and that which he thinks he has.

-Alphonse Karr

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Perfect

Posted here without permission, obviously:

AMANDA GUINZBURG
Split Scene


Every time Rosie O’Donnell would walk on stage during The View’s opening, she made a gesture of feigned shock that there were all these people wildly applauding for her. She would turn her hands upwards and furrow her brow in exaggerated confusion and then as she’d continue out towards the table (trailed by the other consistently waving co-hosts), her open Irish face would break into a bright wide smile. She was, it seemed from the very start, saying to everyone who watched: I am going to take you with me now, into the land of bright lights, quick touch-ups and major league pretend.

But doing that while still following the rest of the rules of network television proved ultimately an impossible balancing act for a woman who has remarkably balanced a great deal. Or rather a task whose compromises, not just of time away from her beloved family (a family, it can safely be said, she made a natural part of morning conversation despite the fact that it is unconventional by traditional — and it would seem now, in large part thanks to her — almost archaic standards) but of her fiercely held moral standards of what is right and what is real.

Television has taken almost every ounce of reality away from the very genre so named. We are all supposed to be in on the joke now — that everything we see is edited and manipulated to serve some larger narrative. To wit: the debauched kids on MTV’s Real World: The Moon! (Not really, but they’re seriously running out of places to house these drunken whores), the wrecked and weeping women riding away mascara-streaked in limousines after being dumped by the latest Bachelor, or the ever available desperados of afternoon talk shows. Jerry Springer is still perhaps the most extreme, and even he now has his own meta-show, The Springer Hustle where we see that guests are so heavily prepped by producers they’re actually told at what point to physically attack their cheating spouse (when the lie detector or DNA test comes back positive) or racist neighbor (when he or she inevitably and often gleefully uses the “n” word)

For Rosie what is real is synonymous with the truth and the truth is as precious a commodity as it is rare, at least in the realm of show business. On her heavily trafficked website, she often writes about things like feeding geese, befriending squirrels, baby birds hatching in a corner of her roof, her wife’s conservative family, her children’s small triumphs and the ordinary people she encounters’ various struggles to survive. She puts her money where her mouth is and consistently gives it away, threatening to fire her financial advisors should she ever wind up on a Richest Celeb list. But she’s also fully recognized and taken advantage of the national audience she regained by joining The View this year, speaking out and devoting whole hours to issues like depression, autism, and the devastating illnesses now ravaging the 9/11 first responders.

Then there is The War. Rosie has relentlessly, with unmistakable rage and palpable grief refused, despite Barbara Walter’s awkward discomfort with it, to stop speaking out about this criminal administration and the Iraq War it made up, dressed up, and sold to our nation. “WAKE UP, AMERICA!” Rosie has, for years now, commanded from within the sometimes-confusing typographical trenches of her blog. Despite the fact that the media’s manipulations drove her from the very show she reinvented, Rosie’s fights with Elisabeth Hasselbeck did nothing if they did not wake us up. They were riveting in their rawness and to the extent one side of them ever seemed prepped, Rosie made no attempt to hide her disgust with such executively borne machinations.

On what O’Donnell has since called Nuclear Wednesday, Hasselbeck made an analogy about a deadline for pulling out of the war and a timed football pass. Nothing could have articulated more clearly what Rosie seemed to find so anathema about this woman’s politics and ultimately her personal comportment. While Elisabeth appeared to almost relish the supposed gamesmanship of their political throw downs — going off to do sound bytes for the nightly “entertainment” show after Wednesday’s meltdown and assuring the public she wasn’t “mad” and that they would most definitely remain friends, they wore Rosie O’Donnell so far down you could literally see it in her eyes. They grew distant long before that eventual (and perhaps inevitable) dénouement.

Rosie said it was the split screen that was the final nail in her View coffin. It makes sense. The split screen implied that these feelings and ideas Rosie holds so dear and was trying, so very hard it seemed, to communicate to Elisabeth (but also to anyone who had ever twisted her words to serve their personal agenda) about truth and justice and loyalty and humanity could be turned into an empty gesture of celluloid commercialism: Selling Rosie as the worst and most dishonest caricature of herself, one side of a two dimensional screen. Kind of like what the government has done to our nation. Every day veracity is under siege in America as the current administration tries to warp what’s actually happening while the vast majority of our mainstream media remains complicit with their systematic airbrushing of the bloody facts.

We who compulsively tuned into the video blog she began a few weeks ago with her quirky long time producer-cum-mustache artist and giant-turkey-wing-eating hair stylist saw that Rosie was clearly far more at ease back stage, behind closed doors with a face naked of all concealers, singing along to Amy Winehouse or Tina Turner and answering some of the thousands of questions she gets daily than she ever would be out on that carefully orchestrated studio set.

I am confident, however, that Rosie will return. Not to The View, but to the unmatched power that is television. She’ll don the necessary war paint and head out under the hot white lights and blinking audience signs. She may act more or less surprised that people still love her, despite and because of her rage. The fact is this: A steadfast quest to reveal what is really real requires Rosie stay out here, on the front lines of truth.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Grrgh

I'm so upset about the whole Rosie thing going on. I really shouldn't even by typing about it. Lots of love and light to Rosie for having the cajones to take on an institution of lies through its own media source. Of course it couldn't last, and the punishment was brutal. So classy of her to leave and not make a statement. Watched the View today for the last time. What a pack of lies.

I can't wait until technology and the audience reach the point where she can have her own real show online, and say whatever she feels. For now, I'll watch Jahero reruns on Rosie.com.



Purchase

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Blowing Wind

The highlight of the American Idol finale should not be me yelling (at the screen)at the bloated, leathered Bette Midler "Don't do it!" as she goes for the high "fly" note.

What a career killer. I can hear the pink bragade calling Vegas to refund their tickets as I type...

Friday, May 18, 2007

Float My Boat

Now how did Disney manage this publicity stunt?



Richest Shipwreck Treasure

As if the kids weren't already wetting their inner child jammies over seeing Depp as Jack again.

Mutant Swingers From Mars

From my friend Bill Cunningham at www.D2DVD.Blogspot.com:

http://headbangersblog.com/2007/05/10/movies-for-metalheads-sex-machine-white-slave-collection-swamp-zombies-a-secret-handshake-ghost/

Thank you all for taking a look at the link and please spread the word about Christopher Sharpe's cool little flick that's winning the hearts and minds of pulp moviegoers across the globe. I am proud to represent this movie (distributed worldwide by Anthem Pictures) as well as the upcoming scifi-horror-comedy MUTANT SWINGER FROM MARS featuring Jack White (of The White Stripes in his first movie role).

MUTANT SWINGER FROM MARS is writer-director Mike Kallio's love letter to Ed Wood, swing music and cinema cheese. You can watch the trailer on YouTube .

All rights to MSFM are currently available.


Thursday, May 17, 2007

Girth and Nudity: A Pictorial Mission


The New York Times
By ABBY ELLIN
Published: May 13, 2007


BEFORE we begin, let’s get one thing out of the way: Yes, Leonard Nimoy is more than happy to do it — the Vulcan salute, the gesture that launched a thousand spaceships. He does so easily, effortlessly: palm outward, fingers extended, the index and middle finger smashed together, the ring finger and pinky touching, the thumb sticking out on its own.

ROLE MODELS Leonard Nimoy’s “Full Body Project” features nude obese women.
“People ask me all the time,” Mr. Nimoy said, carrying saucers of coffee and tea into his art-filled living room off Central Park West. He placed them next to galleys of his forthcoming photography book, which sat near a copy of “Carnal Knowing: Female Nakedness and Religious Meaning in the Christian West,” by Margaret R. Miles, and a folder of news clippings on obesity.

“You see what I have here, about the health guidelines for models?” he asked, pointing a long, tapered finger toward the file.

The basso profundo voice was unmistakable, his words occasionally clipped with his native Boston accent. “They now have to have at least a certain weight to qualify,” Mr. Nimoy added. He looked pleased. This is a subject that speaks to him.

He knows that he is an unlikely champion for the size-acceptance movement; body image is a topic he never really thought about before. But for the last eight years, Mr. Nimoy, who is 76 and an established photographer, has been snapping pictures of plus-size women in all their naked glory.

He has a show of photographs of obese women on view at the R. Michelson Galleries in Northampton, Mass., through June; a larger show at the gallery is scheduled to coincide with the November publication of his book on the subject, “The Full Body Project,” from Five Ties Publishing. The Louis Stern Fine Arts gallery in Los Angeles and the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston have acquired a few images from the project. A few hang at the Bonni Benrubi Gallery in New York. (Their explicitness prevents the images from being reprinted here.)

These women are not hiding beneath muumuus or waving from the bottom of the Grand Canyon à la Carnie Wilson in early Wilson Phillips videos. They are fleshy and proud, celebrating their girth, reveling in it. It is, Mr. Nimoy says, a direct response to the pressure women face to conform to a Size 2.

“The average American woman, according to articles I’ve read, weighs 25 percent more than the models who are showing the clothes they are being sold,” Mr. Nimoy said, his breathing slightly labored by allergies and a mild case of emphysema. “So, most women will not be able to look like those models. But they’re being presented with clothes, cosmetics, surgery, diet pills, diet programs, therapy, with the idea that they can aspire to look like those people. It’s a big, big industry. Billions of dollars. And the cruelest part of it is that these women are being told, ‘You don’t look right.’ ”

Mr. Nimoy, who divides his time among homes in New York and Los Angeles and on Lake Tahoe, in California, admits that before he began this project, it had never occurred to him that beauty might be culture driven, that a fat body in Africa is treated quite differently from one in the United States. “In some cultures their weight is a sign of affluence: their husbands can afford to feed them well,” he noted.

His enlightenment came about eight years ago, when he had been showing pictures from his Shekhina series — sensual, provocative images of naked women in religious Jewish wear — at a lecture in Nevada. Afterward, a 250-pound woman approached him and asked if he wanted to take pictures of her, a different body type. He agreed, and she came to the studio at his Tahoe house. She arrived with all sorts of clothes and props, “as if she were playing a farmer’s wife in a butter commercial,” he said.

His wife, Susan, who was assisting him, said, “No, we want to shoot nude.” So the model removed her clothing and lay down on the table. At first Mr. Nimoy was very nervous, he said.

“The nudity wasn’t the problem,” he said, “but I’d never worked with that kind of a figure before. I didn’t quite know how to treat her. I didn’t want to do her some kind of injustice. I was concerned that I would present this person within the envelope of an art form.”

But soon he relaxed into it, lulled by the clicking of the camera and the woman’s comfort with her body. He placed some of the shots in various exhibitions, and they invariably garnered the most attention. “People always wanted to know: ‘Who is she? How did you come to shoot her? Why? Where? What was it all about?’ ”

He decided to pursue the subject further and was led to Heather MacAllister, the founder and artistic director of Big Burlesque and the Fat Bottom Revue, a troupe of plus-size female performers in San Francisco. Ms. MacAllister died in February of ovarian cancer, but something she said to Mr. Nimoy in one of their first meetings struck a chord. “ ‘Any time a fat person gets on a stage to perform and is not the butt of a joke — that’s a political statement,’ ” he recalled. “I thought that was profound.”

Initially, he was interested in replicating Herb Ritts’s popular image of a group of nude supermodels clustered together on the floor, and a Helmut Newton diptych of women clothed and then unclothed in the identical pose. Ms. MacAllister and some of her friends agreed to be his subjects. He then posed the women to simulate Matisse’s “Dance” and Marcel Duchamp’s “Nude Descending a Staircase.”

The responses have ranged from joy to horror. One formerly obese woman said the photos terrified her; she said they recalled a picture she kept in her wallet as a reminder of her former self. Other women have thanked Richard Michelson, the Northampton gallery owner, for displaying the images, and even asked if Mr. Nimoy wanted to photograph them.

“I am actually amazed at how little negative reaction there has been,” said Mr. Michelson. “I attribute this in part to the gallery setting, and the fact that Northampton, Massachusetts, is perhaps the most liberal city in the most liberal state in the nation.”

“We do overhear some reductive ‘Is Nimoy into fat chicks’ comments when the gallery room is first entered,” he continued, “but in fact the fun nature of the work and the quality seem to shut people up by the time they leave. I’ve had a few crank e-mails with snide remarks, but not a one from gallery visitors.”

The Big Fat Blog, a Web site devoted to fat acceptance, wrote about Mr. Nimoy’s photographs in 2005. A woman calling herself Nellicat wrote in response: “I’m 5’5" and weigh between 130 and 135. But I don’t feel as comfortable in my own skin as I should. I look at those women strutting, posing, laughing, and I feel real envy towards them. There they are, posing for a man (!) knowing that the whole world will be able to see them naked (!!) and they are LOVING it. Oh, to be that free! To be that comfortable and beautiful in your body — I truly envy them.”

Though most people think of performers as naturally more unabashed than the rest of us, Ms. MacAllister said it is sometimes difficult for them, too. “We get scared and struggle w/self-acceptance and self-love just like you,” she posted on the blog at the time. “Just want you to know that ‘freedom is not free’; the freedom you see us enjoying is the result of constant hard work and eternal vigilance against the ‘tyranny of slenderness.’ ”

Mr. Nimoy was born in Boston to Russian Jews; he speaks and reads Yiddish. He began acting at 8, but his big break came at 17, when he was cast as Ralphie in a Boston production of Clifford Odets’s “Awake and Sing.” In 1966, he landed a gig on a little television show called “Star Trek,” which ran for only three seasons but would resonate for decades. He spent two seasons on “Mission Impossible” and in 1971 went to U.C.L.A. to study photography. He didn’t graduate, but he has a master’s in education and an honorary doctorate from Antioch College. He hasn’t acted since 1990, choosing to devote himself to art collecting, voiceover work and various philanthropic endeavors, including an artists’ foundation he and his wife run.

Most people know him as Mr. Spock, the terminally rational Vulcan with the famous hand signal. (The signal, which he said was his design, is actually rooted in Judaism. It represents the Hebrew letter “shin,” the first letter in the word Shaddai, which means God.)

In 2002, he published a book of photographs entitled “The Shekhina Project.” Shekhina is the feminine aspect of God; the photographs are sensual, erotic images of women draped in phylacteries, religious garments typically worn by Jewish males. The pictures were very controversial within the Jewish community: some people objected to the nudity, while others were offended by women in traditionally male garb. On the latter point, Mr. Nimoy said that he was not the first to put forth the idea. “There are historical writings of famous Jewish women, daughters of rabbis, who have done that,” he said.

He expects his second book to provoke an equally strong reaction, though he hopes the audience will gain a new perspective on the issue and learn something.

As for whether people will think he has a fetish, he said he can’t help that. “I just have no way of dealing with that,” he said with a laugh. “People will think what they’re going to think. I understand that.”

And what of his own attitude toward fat women?

“I do think they’re beautiful,” he said. “They’re full-bodied, full-blooded human beings.”

He doesn’t necessarily find them sexually attractive. “But I do think they’re beautiful.”

Blooker Award!

Congratulations to Brian for another cool award for Mom's Cancer!

http://pwbeat.publishersweekly.com/blog/2007/05/16/moms-cancer-wins-blooker/#respond

Friday, May 04, 2007

Don't forget

This Saturday is Free Comic Day! Take yourself and/or a kid to your local store...