Screenwriter alert

Watch Eureka's "I Do Over". Amazing episode.

Lunchtime Poll - Epic lip lock

Had an amazing conversation with sassy, brilliant, empowering go-getter Julia Gogosha about many things, among them: self-expression, empowering teen girls, "Heathers", "La Femme Nikita", standing up to bullies, being ditched by carpools, sexy geeks, sexy men with big noses, music, terrible eyeglasses in famous movies, the amazing industry guy she wants to set me up with, and....

Great Kissing Scenes. She named "Bourne Identity" as a favorite, and the first time Matt Damon really became interesting to her.

Marky Mark has a greaaaat kiss on a doorstop in "Invincible." "300" melts me every time in the bedroom and the field. "A Room With a View" in the field.

Fields are good. You all know what I think of James McAvoy's talent. Ummm...the "Sabrina" remake turned me off of Harrison Ford forever. That was disgusting the way his lips were all gummy on her; completely erased the great memory of "Witness". Trevor was fantastic, but I'm biased:
Is it just me, or is our lighting in "The Commune" the best? By the way, actors saying you don't get turned on during love scenes are lying to save their relationships. The hot lights and grumpy crew guys watching just add to the turn-on. If Trevor was interested and single, I would have called lunch and cleared the room. It was already almost too brain-hazy for this directress to call cut...rough day at the office...hahaha am I the only one with the balls to tell the truth about that?

Oh geez, EVERY Ralph Fiennes movie has a rocking kiss. Lordy that man...I believe that he is a sex addict. No trouble swallowing that gossip.

Y'all know my favorite real-life one.

What are yours? Comments, please!


AFTER you've played my game, you can play this one:

Your Famous Movie Kiss is from Spiderman

"I have always been standing in your doorway. Isn't it about time somebody saved your life?"

What Famous Movie Kiss Are You?

RIP Paul Newman

My five star Netflix review:

"All you gotta do is learn to feel sorry for yourself. One of the best indoor sports, feeling sorry for yourself. A sport enjoyed by all. Especially the born loser."

Snappy script. Effortless acting, especially for the time period. How many modern movies are this entertaining and insightful about character development? This movie is racy, interesting, heartbreaking to watch Fast Eddie self-destruct, and even worse to witness his sweetly codepenedent relationship with drunkard Sarah Packard. A raw, emotional story with no holds-barred. Pretty ugly and honest for 1961. They don't even allude to the casual sex between him and Sarah, they come right out with it in the dialogue. Ballsy, pun intended.

Stories where boys become men fascinate me (particularly now when the Peter Pan syndrome is celebrated in films). This classic is a doozy. Will he learn to love unconditionally? Can he forge character? Or will he always be a self-destructive loser? A beautiful, deep journey where every character is flesh and blood, and instrumental to Eddie's journey. No cheap shots here. They made shots nobody's ever made before.

Oh, you!

One of my gfriends in LA facebooked me an adorable pic of a cherubic 5 year old girl saying she looked like me.

She's really freaking cute.

This gfriend of mine is single, so she just meant it as a cute hey. But I still had a momentary tiny flutter of one ovary. I think the left one.

And a memory of how close my mom and I were, and what it was like to hug her. Who wouldn't want that closeness to another being again? Especially when it's been three years, and no one has come close to filling that void.

Suckage.

Okay, look. You other guys out there with the "But you'd be a great mom!" mantra. (Ahem: Charlie/Mark/Raquel/Valencia/Todd/Charles. The SuperParents who rock the world doing it ALL, and doing it awesome.)

Lay off. I'm like a fly with half a wing. Or a mad scientist. Pick your metaphor:

You know I can barely tie my own shoes.

Seriously.

I can't be responsible for a PET's life.

Sigh.

Mmmm...here's the deal. You guys GUARANTEE me I get two years of uninterrupted awesome partnership and sex with a great guy to make up for the decade I just spent celibate...and find me a guy who has enough money to buy a wife/nanny/maid for us, 'cuz I can't do that either and stay sane...oh AND guarantee me four hours or less of labor like Meg just had...and we don't even CONSIDER the subject until I'm 38and have had some damn fun...

I might be able to be talked into it. MIGHT.

Smidgen of a...


Nope. Just can't. Nevermind, it's not for me. If the universe wanted me to be a mom, my life wouldn't have gone this way. As is, I just have to choose between being a wife and artist OR a mom.

I choose the two things I know I love and want and can't live happily without... expressing myself artistically and having a partnership with someone I've hand-picked.

Some women can have it all. Some women can buy it all. Some women can do it all.

I am not one of those women.

To think I could add a third impossibly hard task onto my life plan with the current resources at my disposal...would be unthinkable, disastrous hubris on my part.

Plus...my baby voice is BEYOND INSUFFERABLE:

Hero!
PLEASE don't tell me I sound like that in bed with my lovahs when I'm giving my patented record-breaking back massage or one hour bj. Oh the horror! Take me now, Jeebus!

Two fun facts

A girlfriend of mine just had her first baby. Rad chick. Down to earth, smart as a whip, won't take your BS: basically at home in a Lubitsch movie or "His Girl Friday." Her hubby is equally wonderful and terminally smitten...the wonderful term from "The English Patient" was uxorious. He fell for her when he read on her eHarmony profile that she was "Passionate about Ranch Dressing."

She went into the hospital last night at 9 pm and popped baby William out at 10:24 pm. Holy crap! I think we came preeeetty close to that baby being born in taxi cab. Figures, since she's a screenwriter!

Second fun fact? She's in the 35 and over crowd, and they stamped all her natal paperwork these last nine months with "Elderly."

Elderly.

Sorry. Just had to say it again. Elderly.

Another awesome fact to add to my "I'm not having kids and you can't make me" argument file. :)

How sweet is this music video?

Oh my.

Three phone calls from guy friends yesterday...one who said he couldn't tell if he was thinking about me because he missed me or because I needed him, another to remind me of a wonderful list of qualities he and his wife think I possess, the other friend just because. Oh, and a nice little email from another clearing up a misunderstanding.

Have I blathered on lately about how much I love, admire, respect men? And now I can add psychic to the list of wonders they bring to my life.

File under "your life is not that bad"

For the love of Benji...Just go back to bed already, and pray a plane doesn't hit your house.

"I'm Chuck Bass"

This post is for wonderful Jose at Gogosha. We both agree you all need to watch Mr. Ed Westwick to learn how to kiss properly. Pleeeease!



And this one because it still makes me howl.

Wrong about Match commercial

Instead of waiting to see what they want to do with me, I SHOULD just spec direct it and sell it to them! After viewing this edgier piece, and this one, I think they would TOTALLY grok my vision of me giggling and rollerskating after the dwarf. Obviously!

The October Plan

Putting mah stuff in storage and headed to Italy for Will and Sanna's wedding, then Prague to see Jen and Coral. If I get super ambitious, will consider adding on a trip to Lis in Bath, Philip in Glastonbury (if he's still there...yes THAT Philip, he of the taxi driver story) and swing by Paris to have another Best Meal Ever. We shall see. I will, of course, continue to blog. Surprisingly enough, this should all cost less than a regular month living in Los Angeles. And make me feel very very happy.

Apropos of nothing

So do you hate watching me on webcam? Is that what the silence means? You know how I read into things.

Drew Barrymore just solved my cougar age dilemma for me by attacking Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl in public. Apparently a dozen years age difference is perfectly acceptable. She freaking rules. I'm sorry, I wore out my DVR watching him make out with Blair on Gossip Girl last week. There is nothing more sexually titilating to a woman in her O prime than a man who knows how to grab a woman and KISS HER. Ravage me, Chuck Bass. Want me. jeebus.

I love that they were making out to Sex on Fire. That is one hoooot song. By the way, dating this guy is going to last even less time than I predicted she'd be with Justin Long. Notice how her two arms are around him and he's holding back a little? Yup. Same with how she leaned all over Justin Long. Ladies, lean back and let the guy come to you if you want it to last. It's not in men's nature to enjoy being chased. Speaking of:

Just got my first marriage proposal on Match. From a conservative. He offered to write me a poem, a screenplay, and a song all in one evening if I just smiled and giggled at him. This email was his opener to me; first time I've ever heard from him. I told you; conservative men flat-out love me. Can't get a liberal guy to commit like that. He even offered to move from Ohio ANYWHERE. I am not fucking kidding. In case you wonder how I end up happy in Prague or Berlin having sex everyday and swearing dinosaur bones were planted, it started today.

In case you want to immigrate with me to Canada, be warned.

From the MANITOBA HERALD, Canada (a very underground paper):


A flood of American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past weeks, sparking calls for increased patrols to stop the illegal immigration.

The possibility of a McCain/Palin election is prompting the exodus among left-leaning citizens who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, and agree with Bill O'Reilly.

Canadian border farmers say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, animal rights activists and Unitarians crossing their fields at night.

I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn," said Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota.

The producer was cold, exhausted and hungry. "He asked me if I could spare a latte and some free-range chicken.

When I said I didn't have any, he left. Didn't even get a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?"

In an effort to stop the illegal aliens, Greenfield erected higher fences, but the liberals scaled them. So he tried installing speakers that blare Rush Limbaugh across the fields. "Not real effective," he said. "The liberals still got through, and Rush annoyed the cows so much they wouldn't give milk."

More after the jump

Prague in Black and Gold

I messed around with my webcam for the first time. Thinking I might start mixing it up a bit around here. Anyway, here's my first test run. Nothing too exciting; just what I was working on at the moment. Namely, lounging on my couch reading a dry historical perspective of Prague by Peter Demetz. Need to figure out why the volume recorded so low, and next time perhaps I'll actually shower and put on makeup for y'all.

Lis reading from Elisabeth Fies on Vimeo.

John Rogers is back...

Just in time to explain the bail out. I've missed his updates!

Catwoman specs

Don't worry Batman, I'm not getting them but...

Meow.

Air Sex Championships

WORLD air sex championships, mind you. Important stuff.

Other plans in motion

By the way, I'm simultaneously working on several plans. We shall see which one the universe endorses.

Operation: Sellout. The Gersh agent currently reviewing Pistoleras sells it, we sell The Commune with a profitable distribution deal, and I get to travel the world working on my next batch of empowering screenplays and novelizations and microbudget movies. Meet my partner and have a lot of sublime sex and learn all about what he's into and support his dreams, too. Oh I reaaaaally want to sell out!!

Operation: Hollywood. The Gersh agent currently reviewing Pistoleras signs me and I become a screenwriter for hire for production companies, on the path to landing my dream job of feature script doctor. And I get WGA health insurance! And probably many months a year I can still travel, and freedom to live within a few hours of LA. Direct Pistoleras myself. Become mini Tarantino with boobs.

Operation: Burger King. I get six roommates in North Hollywood, an assistant management job in fast food, continue writing spec screenplays and blogging for free before and after double shifts.

Congrats to "the Elaine May of her generation"

May she continue making empowering media for underdogs, subversives, others and rebels. And making the world safe for dissident sassy brunette spec-wearers.

The Commune script to screen #2

EXT. COMMUNE - ENTRANCE - DAY
Puck parks in front of the Obelisk.
Shuts off the engine.

INT./EXT. PUCK’S SUV - CONTINUOUS - DAY

JENNY
Know what? Don’t even know your last name.

PUCK
Yes, Officer.

He pulls out his red leather dragon wallet. Hands her his driver’s license.

JENNY
Cernunnos? Really? My last name’s Celtic, too. But, it’s a real surname. It didn’t come to any of my ancestors in an acid flashback.

PUCK
Told ya. My mom.

He whistles and twirls a finger around his temple.

JENNY
(studying the address)
You live on my street? The boy next door.

She hands his license back.

PUCK
Just a brisk four-mile hike.

JENNY
So lucky to have a car. I’m a prisoner.

Jenny leans back. Puck slips an arm around her. She leans into him as he strokes her hair.

JENNY (CONT’D)
Thank you. This is how summer should be. I loved the picnic. I loved the river.

He wraps a tendril of her hair around his finger.

PUCK
So how old are you, anyway? You a siren luring me to jail?

JENNY
You can kiss me.

PUCK
Yeah? What else can I do?

They stare, chemistry zapping.

JENNY
My birthday’s not for two more weeks...

He strokes her face (with the hand with the bracelet). She lifts a hand up to his chest, her wrist now adorned with the other bracelet.

He leans forward--

Jenny’s eyes widen in fear as she looks behind Puck.

Tries to warn Puck but ends up HEAD-BUTTING HIM instead as

THE DOCTOR

appears in the driver side window.

RAPS on it.

PUCK
(Jumps, holding his forehead)
I’m sorry sir, you scared the bejesus out of me. We didn’t officially meet. My name is--

THE DOCTOR
(Muffled through the glass window; Coldly to Jenny)
Let’s go. Now.

He waits as she

EXITS PUCK’S SUV
Jenny mouths “sorry” to Puck, who does the “he’s crazy” sign.

She trails The Doctor to the Prius. Gets in.

INT. PRIUS (MOVING) - CONTINUOUS - DAY
He grips the steering wheel, fuming.

THE DOCTOR
I don’t care what your mother allowed. There will be no whoring anymore. And no fast food.

JENNY
“Whoring.” I wasn’t--

THE DOCTOR
Ohhh, Gwyn-y-fhar. This is exactly why I should have full custody.

Jenny reacts to the word full.

THE DOCTOR (CONT’D)
You reek of french fries.

Dr. Polieos revs the engine.

Cuts off Puck, pulling out onto the road like an adversary.

Drives past him, angrily flipping him the “peace” sign.

Jenny looks back at Puck.


Ah, the almost first kiss. This scene is a favorite. Great pace to it. Several plot points are actually laid here, but telling you what they are would blow the surprise.

There were no issues with this scene. Fairly seamless to shoot. Reading the screenplay again, I'd say DP Marc Shap and the actors did an amazing translation job and my vision of the scene is there.

The biggest change you'll note is the staging of the last part of the scene was moved from interior Doc's car to exterior. This change avoided a difficult and time-consuming relight, and also had the good fortune of playing more kinetically. More movement and rush to the delivery of the lines; great match for the raise in stakes and the phsyicality flows seamlessly into the next scene which ups everything even more.

Lago was always a good luck charm; we only trimmed one of his performances, just a few seconds worth. Everything else we shot of him went into the film, with him matching sighs and arm movements and everything perfectly on every take. Pretty amazing. I still remember the first time Todd showed me...we were in his editing bay, and it was Lago's first scene where he's painting Jenny's toenails black on his couch. Todd showed me a closeup on Jenny/Chauntal, and sure enough, in the exact same place where he did it on the two shot and his closeup, Lago was moving his arm off the couch to her leg. C'est fantastique! That's Todd's big advice to actors: you want every scene of yours used in a lowbudget movie, make the editing easy on the editor and be brilliant matching your movements everytime. You can change up the emotion, but don't change the lines or the movements once you've committed. Unless you've got a Meisner director with a big enough budget for more than four takes a scene.

We didn't shoot under the obelisk because it was pretty close to a busy loud street. Just being the distance we are from it makes a big sound quality difference. We get a good shot of it in a different scene, and really I just wanted to establish they were on the edge of The Commune property, which reads well in relation to the rest of the film (Even if you can't tell here, geography gets pretty firmly established.)

One detail I was proud of that gets dropped here is that Puck's wallet is a handmade Celtic dragon design, another allusion to Mists of Avalon and his pagan background. As a huge lover of that book, in real life I'm always on the lookout for little signs like that on my men...dragon tattoos, stag belt buckles, etc.

Puck's character is definitely an amalgam of Morgaine's lovers trinity Accalon, Arthur and Kevin. If you examine his plotline, you'll totally see the influence of the book on it. I think it's unmistakable. But I also think that the female trinity in The Commune is unmistable, and no one has gotten that yet but the actresses. I should probably write The Commune as a novel as well so that the detailed writing I put into it isn't wholly disregarded.

In this scene I originally stressed bracelets here, which was a little point that I'm glad we ended up dropping because it would have been a continuity nightmare. It was just a nice teenage dating detail, that becoming/dressing like your boyfriend thing was going to shorthand their growing intimacy. But hey, when you have actors who can act the pants off a scene, don't have to spell it out!

The song on in the background is the Puck and Jenny love theme I co-wrote with Jenn Oberle for the movie. You can hear it much clearer on the DVD. This version is the second time we've heard it, the first time it's been sung by Puck and Jenny instead of Jenn Oberle. It will be heard two more times in the film.

The head butt is something that happened to me. I went on a date with someone when I was 18...we'd been circling around each other since sophomore year in high school, went on a date, I was thinking everything was too complicated and not worth it, he leaned in for a kiss...and I effing head butted him. REALLY didn't mean to. He was humiliated. I never saw him again. Really nice, popular, musician, good looking brilliant guy. I gather it was the biggest rejection he'd ever received; and a primal one at that. Don't feel too bad, he's happily married with kids and I'm the weird head-butt girl ;) who has to live with having done that to another human being (so much for being a humanist). I always vowed that I would use that somewhere, so just in case I never make another movie I changed the circumstances and placed it here.

The peacenik throwing a peace sign as he road-rages is something my dad did all the time. It gets huge laughs.

The big dramatic moment of "Full Custody" didn't work the first few times it was edited. Then Todd the editor and I worked on sound design, and voila! That's my page 45 Reversal, so it had to be noticeable.

The whole idea of full custody and living on dad's commune actually comes from after my car accident, when the doctors and the judges were trying to figure out how to handle my head injury. Ideas were bantied about from going to live in facilities where I could macrame and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all day to my dad's idea that he should get me declared incompetent, have custody of me and I should live on his commune. I was 24 and absolutley horrified by the suggestion. Luckily, a different rehab plan worked out.

The car Doc P (Stuart G. Bennett) is driving is actually Nate Cohen's, our line producer. I desperately wanted a Prius, and we had a line on one to borrow but it didn't work out. Once I let go of the symbolism and character it would have added to The Doctor, it was of course more convenient to use a car we had constant access to. Although I bet we owe Nate new breaks for hard usuage in the scene right after this one!

UPDATE: What the #$%^!!!??? See, this is why you have to meticulously watch/listen to each edit version. The sound design channel for the "full custody" line got accidentally dropped (SUCH an easy thing to happen. No one's fault). Must email editor Todd. Ack, ack, ack. I tell ya, it's never done. The work on a movie goes on and on...just ask me, Todd, Heidi, or my sis who is selling more units for us. Ack!

No Shia!!!

Ohhhh the smoking is soooo disappointing. :( Such a cold shower.

Education porn

One of my best friends and I have been toying with the idea of living together. He expresed concerns that we wouldn't get along because we are too similar...namely, we're both messy, own too many books, masturbate too loudly to porn, and tend to have our depression cycles at the same time during which we only eat ice cream and watch Gilmore Girls (Actually I'll watch anything. He's the picky one.).

I love that someone on this planet knows me that well.

I've been using his obsessive research skills to formulate my Escape From USA plan when a creationist is elected on November 4th to what will undoubtedly end in her taking over the presidency (Nurses always know what's up, and Brenda is convinced McCain can't live out his term.). Can't everyone else hear The Dead Zone symphony and see apocalyptic hellfire over the capitol? Because I can, and it spells "Lis! Get out!"

Besides having the above similarities and unquenchable curiousity, my friend and I are also oddly entranced by University catalogs. We both have spent inordinate amounts of time mapping out at which stage in our lives we would get our multiple PhDs and MAs. It's rare that one of us isn't enrolled in a class somewhere. It was just last month that I finally tossed out my first MA classnotes, and...get this...my lovingly dogeared and highlighted freshman course catalogue.

Seriously. Eductation is porn to me and my friend. Absolutely enchanted and googley-eyed over all that knowledge out there waiting to be manhandled, tag-teamed, decorated and owned by us. I want to facefuck information.

It comes as no surprise that he has found universities in Sweden and Germany for us to apply to that offer full rides. Film theory PhD or film production MFA for me. Anything to get requalified for student loans and living in a sane, progressive country among citizens who don't want to kill me/send me to hell.

We spent Thursday night surfing the web together via cell phone, moaning over the fascinating classes being offered and the stunning guest lecturers we'd get to pummel into taking out to coffee. Soooooooo in love with Plan: Escape From USA.

Deepak Chopra on Obama, Palin and the Shadow

Amazing analysis. Why did I forget how great Deepak can be? Because he became popular/mainstream? I hate it when I do that...

MATCH.com cognitive dissonance

For the record, let me just say...it's super flattering. However:

I'm in so much trouble now if they call to book me. They've been running the 15 second ads of CuteBritChick non-stop on TV, and I did a little research and LOOOOOOOK!!!! Online the ladies aren't anonymous!!!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

The ads are beautiful and lovely, Match did a great job...

The Hilary Swank clone I told you about:


Oh crikey. This situation is so much potential trouble. I feel sick to my stomach again...I mean, it's exposure, but it's MASS EXPOSURE inviting freaks and stalkers and masturbators who make rude online comments like "I'm going to make you explode" and and and...

Ohhhhhhh noooooo. Avoiding this type of horrifying exposure is why I'm just a writer, pulling the puppet strings. Do you know how many freaks are out there? Oh god, me giggling in a commercial like this is an even worse idea than the former Playmate boss who wanted to get me into Playboy a decade ago...

Oh I have a headache now. God. The only good thing I can think of is...can I change my profile name? I promised the investors I'd do everything to get their money back...okay, if I can change my name to CommuneMovie.com I will do it. Otherwise HELL TO THE NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH!

Ohhhhh Universe, when I asked and asked for help and support, I didn't mean exposing me to danger and ridicule and mean mean horny men tearing apart my looks and blogging about tearing apart my asshole...I just wanted a straightforward little distribution deal for my movie that paid back my investors...

I never thought I'd be sitting here crying about the possibility of being offered a national commercial. Shit. Okay. They're not going to ask me and I won't have to choose...


Double dammit. Remember when I said my lesson this fall was to get a thicker skin and not care about anyone's opinion?

What if this commercial could be how my guy finds me? Men are the ones who always know on first sight and move heaven and earth to be with their one, so I SHOULD put myself out there massively so he can track me down...

I mean, yes, I could also get tracked down by some inmate penpals and stalkers and need a PO Box for the rest of my life like my former boss (I'm not kidding...over the years her entire 10k for the spread went to protection from the freaks still stalking her twenty years later)...but if there's a chance this could be how the love of my life found me...

Thick skin. eLizardBreath Fleas, Get. a. thick. skin.

God look at these guys' ads...I've literally never seen them anywhere, and I had those women's ads etched in my subconcious...so they're definitely still putting all the money into enticing men to sign up. Ergo, they would run my ad/any female ad they paid money to shoot often, and make it as sexy sweet as they can to make it appeal to the most...uhhhhhhh...my head is buzzing with spidey sense again...


Oops. That one wasn't flattering. "I can't wait until my ex-girlfriend sees this." WOW. There's a whole other issue...My god, my exes already want to rain all fiery hellfire down on me for leaving them...one even went around for years telling people he put a black magic curse on me because I didn't marry him...(I'm not kidding...I don't need help meeting freaks.)

I wonder which hobby of mine piqued Match's interest? The comics? The movies? The sci-fi? The feminist poledancing? Full-contact self-defense? Eating anything in butter and garlic?

David Lynch?

I do get a lot of emails about my David Lynch love.

Maybe Match wants to go edgier. Have a red curtain and have me chase a dwarf.

I could giggle and chase a dwarf.

Yeah. I'm giggling right now. Actually, I like that. I think my soulmate would like that.

I should make a little internet short. Okay, this is good. Now I'm crying laughing. Back in control. Just need to run an ad on craigslist for a dwarf actor. Or make Lago do it, like Mike Myers in the SNL sketch. :) Dude. I'm texting Lago right now. He can carry his Emmy and be Dorf!


Oh wait, I've got their next commercial right here. Maybe not a national. It's for the internet Suicide Girls crowd:

FADE IN:

Softly lit black and white studio. CommuneMovie.com enters abruptly in her new eyeglasses and her S-Factor feminist stipper outfit, running in continuous circles flapping her arms like a nervous chicken.

COMMUNEMOVIE.COM
(retching and vomiting as she runs in six inch empowering stripper heels)
I don't know if this is a good idea...Could I just do a Herpes national commercial instead...? Please...?

ON CARD: Match.com. It's alright to look.
FADE OUT.


Man. They would sell soooo many memberships.

Help me choose

I can't afford them yet, but coming up in the next two months I'm going to have to get new glasses. Because it's finally dawning on me that though I have four pairs including my sunglasses, I haven't actually bought a pair since before 9/11. Making my lens prescription...old. So...yeah. Oops!

Since I keep my frames for eight or more years and never wear contacts and frames are only supposed to be worn daily for 1-2 years... might as well get a new frame to spice things up.

Oh, and Jose at the wonderful store Gogosha is going to make me a "face of the day", which will be a nice little plug for The Commune!

Lets see what you think of the choices. You've never shopped with me before, so here are the rules:

No labels. Impeccable cut/fit and materials. I like a story behind the item (All but one of these frames are handmade in Toulous by citizens who only make glasses.).

The unbreakable rule that requires some looking: it has to be pretty/lovely on me.

The last criteria is more open-ended and fun to interpret. That's to find a personality match: bold, soft, easy, chic.

That's me in a nutshell; everything I buy matches the above or it can't be on me. Now you get to vote on the pix:

(It is me fresh out of the shower with wet hair, sans makeup or bra...Though I enjoy dressing up, this is my most frequent look for working at home/rolling out of bed. If my future guy partner is out there grooving to authentic me, then hey, we should talk...Oh but also, please imagine my eyebrows are plucked and have that Selina Kyle arch going like they do here.)

Choice 5:

Choice 5 sideshot:

Choice 4:

Choice 4 sideshot:

Choice 3:

Choice 2:

Choice 2 sideshot:

Choice 1:



Whaddya think? I can only get one :(

I don't want to influence you with knowing the prices. Right now I have a frontrunner, and it's the cheapest! That's a first...

Vanquishing venal villains

Big bro passed this on for my voracious, virtuous, valiant vivification. Et voila!

The Daily Show weighs in

Supposedly there's a two point difference between the candidates. Oh lord. I'm really going to have to leave the US before I get burned at a stake.

The Commune - page to screen

Thought some of you screenwriters out there might want to see my journey from page to screen. Even when you direct your own work, things change onset due to budget, time, and reality. Cuz real life is a bitch; not nearly as malleable as imaginaryland.

Anyhoo, here are the first two pages of THE COMMUNE screenplay, and how it matches the first two minutes of the film. Yup, I'm "Mom":

FADE IN:

INT. SONOMA HOSPITAL - DAY

CU on a GIRL’S eye, blinking. (Polanski’s “Repulsion”)

Pull back to reveal

JENNY CROSS (16) stares out the window, her feet dangling off the hospital bed. A POMERANIAN sleeps contentedly on her.

CU a WOMAN’S hand with a large turquoise ring, holding Jenny’s. She pats Jenny reassuringly.

Medium: The woman drops Jenny’s hand and goes back to her chair beside the hospital bed. Picks up her knitting. This is Jenny’s MOM (30s), worn down and haggard.

MOM
(singing)
“Covers the eternal blessed land”

A NURSE (40s) enters, calling Mom away. But we stay on

JENNY, still, looking out the window, face placid...
Her eyes shift to the duo on the other side of the room, arguing in hushed tones.

NURSE
...not possible--

MOM
Make it possible. You don’t realize who her father is. Know what he will do to you?

Jenny’s eyes narrow on her Mom’s flailing arms - empty:

No knitting needles.

Jenny’s dead eyes spark.

In that flash, she is across the bed and to the chair, her bare feet skidding on the cold linoleum.

The women turn to her in panic, but it is too late:

Jenny holds the knitting needles out like weapons, threatening, the colorful yarn dangling.

The DOG dances around her feet, YAPPING SHRILLY.

MOM (CONT’D)
Jenny. It’s alright. Your family loves you so much. He’s not worth it.
(Reaching out to her)
Please?

JENNY
Fuck you, Mom.

With a sudden, violent stab, the needles are in her own eyes.

Jenny gouges them deep, fighting past her own horrible, primal SCREAMS as she guts the sockets, BLOOD and GELATINOUS ORBS pouring down her face, down her patient gown, pooling on

HER SHELF-LIKE BELLY...pregnant, third trimester...

The knitting project soiled, irreparable...

BABY BOOTIES.

The dog barks as the women’s screams join Jenny’s.

DISSOLVE TO:

BEGIN CREDIT SEQUENCE

Paintings and statues of ancient gods fade upon another.

Mythical depictions of nude heathens and creatures in the forest. Leda coupling with the swan. Prometheus bound and eaten by crows.

Sumptious whirls of color by masters Klimt, Da Vinci, Waterhouse, Canova, Carvogio, Picot, Munzer, Rembrandt.

Tableaus of our ancestors: Zeus, Pan, Nehkbet, Judith, Trivia, Shiva, Baphomet, Tara, Green Man.

END CREDIT SEQUENCE



The biggest difficulty was in conveying her pregnancy. We accidentally didn't get the shot that day. We'd gone over the day before doing the big third act climax scene and had to go back to that shooting location for half the day, cutting our time in half at the mental hospital. The DP swore he remembered getting the shot, but it wasn't there on the hard drive, and because it's indie film the director and the script supervisor are IN the scene. Oops. Glamorous indie film!

Also, the fucking needle snapped in Chauntal's hand like a twig on the first take, so if you look closely we never stay on her and the knitting needles long because the stage left one is half the length...she's palming it to hide it. Fuck. That sucked. And yes, I know to buy two of everything...the first pair had broken either when we were rehearsing or when Heidi was knitting...I can't remember the details at the moment. Siiiigh. Oh, and we were in the middle of haunted deserted hospital in the middle of a town we didn't know, so it wasn't like "Hey PA Mike, we've got this leisurely schedule where we can wait for you to drive to find us replacements..." No, that was one of our "we have to shoot 6.5 pages today" days. You know, the shots to open and close the movie. Double siiiiigh.

Todd the editor did an amazing job making the first minute work, considering how little we gave him. He had to get really daring with the quick shots and the extra surveillance camera positions, but I think the overall feeling works and is scary as hell. The test audiences have definitely been shocked.

Heidi, Chauntal and I actually went back last June and did a reshoot insert shot of Jenny's belly and the blood dripping from the booties...and dammit, it just didn't read on camera. You couldn't tell what it was. DEFINITELY couldn't tell she was pregnant, no matter how we had Chauntal contort in that gown. Soooo...about half the audience will get that she's pregnant, and the other half will discover it in the third act and be horrified then. C'est la vie!

I REALY wanted the baby booty shot; I was so proud of the way it was written and thought it would be so horrifying.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh nooooooooooo

Does everyone get an email asking if they want to be in the next Match television commercial?

Or are they actually asking me to be in the next commercial? They did ask for my phone number.


I can't feel my stomach.


Is this very very good for me and my love life or very very bad? I'm scared.

They made that girl on rollerskates look very cute and Hilary Swankish...

oh my stars and garters.

Shit. If i'm about to meet my husband partner love of my life, maybe i should delete that Shia post...or would he find it authentically me and kind of cute and want me to lapdance him?

I think I'm having an anxiety attack! I'm totally sweating.

They probably ask everyone. It's probably some mass email. Right?

Beefy cougar hunter

Oh no. Please. I'm too vulnerable to read such naughty things.

Shia, don't tease your elders.

Dammit. Now I'm not going to be able to get him out of my head.

Shia cooking breakfast for me in the kitchen with nothing on but an apron and a knowing grin. Shia in an overstuffed plush chair as I give him a lapdance. Shia removing my sexy secretary glasses and telling me to leave my high heels on. Shia whispering he likes the way I smell, the way I scream. Shia nuzzling at my neck, then pinning my arms above my head and stretching me leg over his...

Dammit!!!!

I've got work to being doing tonight! I don't have two hours to waste on Shiagasms!!!


C'mon Lis, you can do it. Picture him smoking.

Or driving drunk.

Or kissing one of the Olsen twins...BOTH the Olsen twins as they do heroin...

That's it...

Breathe...and release Shia.

Ahhhhh...


Phew.

THAT WAS CLOSE.


God. Do you think celebrities can tell when we masturbate to them? What a terrible existence.

Remember, remember the fifth of November

V for Vendetta
by Moore & The Wachowskis

...I thought we could mark this November the fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are, of course, people who do not want us to speak. In fact, even now, orders are being shouted into telephones and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why?

Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of the truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?

Cruelty and injustice. Intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance, coercing your conformity and submission. How did this happen? Who is to blame?

Certainly, there are those who are more responsible than others and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty you need only look into a mirror.

I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War. Terror. Disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you.

And in your panic, you turned to the now- High Chancellor Adam Sutler. He promised you order. He promised you peace. And all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent.

Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago, a great citizen wished to imbed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice and freedom are more than words. They are perspectives.

So if you see nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked.

But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never ever be forgotten.

Frankly, my dear

Ohhhhh I've got V for Vendatta on right now, when Hugh saves Natalie from gangrape by the cops. I forgot how good this tale is. Joy!

Listened to a disheartening conversations between friends today. Political, of course. I no longer see the point. I know no one who has ever changed their point of view. So why all the philosophizing, as if anyone heard each other?

I'm going to some good friends' wedding in October in Italy, and am trying to figure out visiting Prague again. Still have an open invitation from Jen and her daughter Coral to visit, though I hate to intrude on them for too long now that I'd be a house guest instead of a housesitter. Plus it's already been two years since I've been, and I hate to get that close to a Paris meal or visiting Lisa in Glastonbury and not going...we shall see. I am seriously going to be checking out Europe as new home.

The one-two punch of hearing the hopeless political discussion and viewing the vapid, embarrassing, sickeningly materialistic representation "The Women" today has kicked back in my need to find a country where I belong. It's certainly not anywhere that would elect one of our choices, and seeing as there's 50/50 chance (or more if you distrust Diebold machines...)

My life lesson this month has been learning not to care what other people think of my art. Good or bad, their opinions can't sway me as an artist. I have to nurture the stength to listen to my inner muse, even in making a movie that takes an army to create it. I'm still the visionary; the buck stops here.

Writing reviews on Netflix has been instrumental in drilling home that there is a movie for everybody, of every intelligence level and background. All movies are relevant. It's a subjective art. Name a movie and you can find someone on Netflix who loves it, and someone who hates it. Passionatetly. And for personal, moral, and political reasons. To read diatribes against films my friends have made, that I've been proud to work on, and some genius pieces that I wish I'd worked on is desensitizing me to the criticism.

It's good to get a thick skin now, before it's my heart on the bigscreen (Be it fiction, memories from my childhood, or last words Jeremy said to me...it all bleeds the same when judged.). And it's apropos to my apprehension about the results of the election. Come what may, I need to live my life daily in a manner that stands for what I believe in and expresses my soul. However and wherever that may be.

Marvel Vs. DC

Haven't seen an unfunny one yet. Still causing happy faces on me...

Twisted films of PES

Splendid imagination.

Exercises for better sex

For men to increase stamina and strength! Sounds like good stuff to me. Haven't had anyone hold me up since that rugby player Philip. Mmm. Philip. Great guy. That's a famous story of mine; might have to share it here sometime.

Thinking of Mom

Coming up on the third anniversary of her death. It's funny how it gets worse every year instead of better.

I just received a lovely email from a Canadian friend of the site who essentially said the same thing seven years now after his mom's death, and it gave me this feeling of permission and expansion. I'm sorry to say if you haven't experienced it; it never gets better. It's not a love affair that ended. It's your mom. And there's something so fundamentally wrong about not being able to ever turn to her again or throw your arms around her neck that you really won't understand until it happens to you.

Two memories are in my head right now, both of them my fuck ups. The thing about caretaking is your daily thought until the loved one dies is "Don't fuck up" because every choice you make has their life in the balance. You're the one responsible for the medication doses and for monitoring every health change and knowing if it's a symptom that their doctor is going to be either pissed that you called about, or pissed that you didn't call about. And there's no manual. It absolutely taught me I can't have children.

So my first memory is of my sister's b-day three years ago. She was working at the hospital and I was supposed to drive mom over and we were going to go do something. Can't remember what. On the way out the door, I decided to take an allergy pill. Figured out by the time I got to the hospital it was actually an Ambien. Worst car drive of my life, trying to keep it together for mom. I never even take aspirin and I rarely drink, so RX have huge effects on me. I was a drooling, comatose mess by the time I got us into the parking lot. That's all I remember, except their anger and disappointment in me, as usual.

The second memory is one I've shared before, of my big "day off". I was going to eat ice cream and watch Gilmore Girls all day with my friend Michael to celebrate graduating from the UCLA screenwriting program. Mom was trying to get onto the porta potty by herself alone downstairs and fell, wedging herself in an incredibly painful and vulnerable position inbetween the bed and the wall. She was half-naked in her own urine and humiliated and it was just awful for her. Burly, wonderful Michael rescued her, and if we weren't friends for life before then, well that was the moment. I couldn't have done anything to help her but call 911, so he was our calm, wonderful hero.

Those are the types of realities I wasn't supposed to share while she was alive. But they're the ones that haunt me in her death. The times I wasn't there for her, the humiliations she endured.

I don't know. I've been really emotional this month, and sleeping a lot and feeling awful about every area of my life in general. Every area except how I look, ironically (see below post). There's little movements where things could change for the better, but it's all really slow, and I'm supposed to be putting on this chipper face because I'm job hunting and dating and selling the movie/myself and any one of those people could look at this online record and see I'm actually a mess and reject me.

But I don't know. My gig is the truth, for better or worse. And the truth is I feel crappy and incapable of so much and wish the doctors would straighten out my depression medications a little quicker. Once they get the dose down, then I better be strong enough to take on why I'm working so hard to empower everyone but myself.

Doc Hollywood

My therapist keeps bringing up my need to lose weight.

Mind you, this is HIS need for me to lose weight. Before he studied psychology, he worked in weight loss. He's a too-skinny vegan.

I haven't ever brought up any interest in weight loss, said I was dissatisfied or unconfident, and I've always looked beautiful when I've seen him...

It's starting to piss me off.

I suppose the situation is good practice for not listening to every opinion one person has. But at the same time, I'm paying him to help me change the things I want to change, not the things he assumes I don't like or thinks I'm wrong to not like.

It's so very LA. And it makes me mad, because I've been every size from 0 to my current, and I've never felt sexier or better about myself or happier in bed than I do now. Being a smaller size doesn't pop your self-esteem up.

For gods sake, I was surrounded all Saturday night by three hot 26-year old guys who thought I was their age, and I've been asked out by three crew members who saw me running around naked twice oncamera. Something is working just fine with me and my presentation.

And when I weighed 100 pounds, people thought I was bullimic and I had non-stop trouble from fratboy types hitting on me. Being my current size weeds out the riff raff.

Plus, I love my breasts. Loooove them. Waited my whole life to feel like a woman with awesome breasts. And when I lose weight, I go from my current awesome D cup to a joyless B cup to a AA cup in no time flat. Why would I starve myself and work out hours a day to have less for a lover to play with and to look more like him? Makes no sense to me.

Besides, the right guy is going to be attracted to my body shape, and that doesn't really change whatever size I am. Once I meet someone who likes me for me, maybe I'd lose a little weight with him. Or if he makes me happy in bed, the weight tends to fall off fast anyway because I'm too happy to eat or do anything else but be in love...

I told the doc I didn't want to change my body, that I was this size as a feminist stance for other women and I loved it. And that besides, polls say men prefer a curvy size 10. He said the studies were wrong and named another study where husbands passive aggressively sabotaged their wives' diets so that the women would continue to have low self-esteem and be controllable. And that he just wants me to have the highest self-esteem possible so I can attract the best guy.

Grrrrrr. There's so much wrong with that whole paragraph above I don't even know where to begin. Hello, LA filter of viewing the world! And I assume I'm going to therapy so that I would NOT marry a passive aggressive control freak!

He also keeps talking about me eating smaller portions at each meal, assuming that I eat too much. That's not even my problem. My problem is that I eat too little. I have one meal a day. That puts my body into starvation mode. If I wanted to lose weight, I'd need to eat more calories and spread the meals out to 4-5 a day so that I constantly had fuel and my body stopped panicking. But I don't want to lose weight, and eating that way is a pain in the ass waste of time and money. Case closed.

I think I'm great the way I am.

I think I'm so great, I may just have to leave a therapist who insists I'm not.

Oh! Oh! I just remembered! Those pix of me in August at my USA High Reunion! THEY were always all super weight conscious, and I was a teen size 5 (What is that, a woman's 2?) when I started that TV show. My old castmates all thought I looked amazing at the reunion and wanted to know what was different, and could not believe it when I told them the difference was gaining weight! They poo-pooed it, but it's the truth! I look too angular Jewish scarecrow when I'm skinny, like Blossom or Jennifer Grey. When I'm curvy I FEEL like Angelina Jolie.

Screw that. Doc better not waste more time on it this week. It's his problem, not mine. I'm not taking that on. Professional opinion rejected.

Success!

I'm Netflix reviewer #110. Check out my reviews and vote them helpful!

Mark and Meg, I recant. I actually rented "Rent" and enjoyed it very much. Thanks for the tip!

New experiences

I double dated with a smart, gorgeous girlfriend. She set it up. Definitely out of my comfort zone, which was a good thing.

It was actually pretty funny, because I'd had a meeting with my therapist that day and he was drilling in all the characteristics I should be looking for. One of the big points he made was that I wouldn't like an impossibly handsome guy in a Rolex and Armani suit. Sure enough, BOTH the guys...

But still, a very cool experience. They were gorgeous Italian men. The older one owns the famously trendy restaurant we were in, along with a dozen other famous clubs and restaurants in Los Angeles that young hollywood attend. They were crushed that we barely recognized the names of the places, but we're both intellectual screenwriting gal Fridays.

It was interesting to be waited on hand and foot, order anything I wanted, and have the whole restaurant staring at us or coming over to our table. Not my cup of tea, but as a writer and occasional actor I was game to try it on for the experience.

I seemed to fit in fine. Genetics. The Jewish blue blood started circulating through my veins again. I received a half dozen compliments on my delicious Nanette Lepore dress, and a group of gentleman grabbed my arm on the way out and told me I was beautiful. I don't think they were trying to poach me, they just wanted me to know. Nice.

It was also helpful to watch Dana's behavior, because she's accustomed to these situations as an upperclass New Yorker. She was expert at deflecting the male attention at the end of the evening, and expected to be treated like a lady who owed nothing. She also happened to be allergic to fish in a sushi restaurant, so it was fascinating to watch the men rack their brains with ways to please her. They were crushed she couldn't enjoy the finest sushi in Los Angeles. I felt bad for them. They would have impressed the heck out of the right young ladies. We were appreciative, but not impressed. We're both conversationalists, so the endless expensive wine bottles needed to be accompanied by overflowing wit. But I was hysterical. I was cracking myself up, muttering unappreciated Dorothy Parker-esque words into my martini and wine glasses. At one point I had three full glasses sitting in front of my plate. Unreal.

The datees were definitely good contacts to make. It will be interesting to see if the non-restauranteer really helps me with his connection to the distributor I want.

It's all nice, but again these aren't my people or my value system. I like listening to brilliant people talk, or going to cultural events, or beer and pizza with a DVD. But now I know exactly what I want on the menu, so I can go in at an empty happy hour sometime and enjoy the orgasmic food. One of the sushi rolls haunts me...

Insightless

Things I can't make heads or tales (hahha) of:

What is it with me and younger men? Most of whom actually think I'm 26? Spent yesterday evening in a bar surrounded by three great hot 26 year olds. That seems to be a magic age for me. Very compatible. I wish Mom was around to talk to. She always thought I would end up with a much younger man. Some unconventional Tim Robbins/Susan Sarandon type relationship.

Why is it so hard to find a lover/filmmaking partner in Hollywood? There are all these guys who are single-focused on their career, but they don't get how powerful we'd be together, how much fun we would have. Look at the Duplass brothers and Jay's producer wife, the Coen brothers and Frances, Peter Jackson and his producer/writing wife Fran Walsh, Jonathan and Christopher Nolan and his producer wife Emma Thomas. Really there isn't one guy or family team in LA looking to add a good-hearted, generous, trustworthy, creative beacon of a woman to the mix...?Make movies instead of kids...?

What exactly was up with the ex-lover of mine who read this incredibly personal post and then tried making love to me that way last spring? It felt like he was a kid playing dress up. I totter between thinking it was sweet of him to try to please me, and that it was creepy. I don't know. I mean...if he wanted to make me happy he would have done one of the tiny things I asked for to feel a connection to him while we were dating. It's not like he doesn't know how to treat women (He gave all his platonic female friends flowers, lunch, gifts, phone calls, birthday wishes, time watching movies, invites to his shindigs.). I would have preferred that instead of spying on me on my blog and making me think of another man while I was in his arms. Strange. And hollow. Sort of a mockery of both relationships. I just can't figure out how I feel about it. There's no point in ever asking him because I'm not going to hear the truth. He lied to me constantly, and wouldn't admit he'd ever even read my blog.

May you die with wit on your tongue...

Oscar Wilde's final words:

"Either this wallpaper goes, or I do."

Apocalypse watch

Oh god, here it comes, we're all going to die...

You know, it's not the dying as much as the WAITING that's really stressful...that and the heavy sandwich board gives me a backache.

The Commune sneak peak #5