Tunnel Vision

He had lost all track of how far he had come down the tunnel. What began near the surface, with sunlight pouring in, illuminating the stairway had quickly become a winding, wet darkness that just seemed to stretch on forever.

The smell stuck with him the most. It was invasive. Choking. It reached its hand deep down into his chest and squeezed, forcing out all the air. He hadn't smelled anything similar in some time - not since he was a child in his basement. That moldy, mildew-ridden odor that just clung to everything - the closest smell to death without any loss of life. He swore he could hear it seeping from of the bricks that surrounded him, see it pouring out from between the cracks. The spores floating ahead of him in the air.

The initial group of calls that came in to the office were about how phones and electrical circuits were cutting out around the city. At first, no one thought anything about it. With the storm that had just rolled through, a few problems were bound to arise. But as a few days passed and more calls began flooding in, it became clear that something was seriously wrong. Paul had been sent down a couple hours before to check things out but no one had heard from him. Everyone assumed it was some major problem since Paul was known to have a fix for everything. His lack of contact was shrugged off. It could have been a number of things, dead batteries, poor reception, he was busy fixing something. The boss decided to send someone else down to see what was going on and it was just luck that he was next in line.

It had been some time since he had last been assigned to go into the tunnels - at least a year. They had been built long before, when the city was really just beginning to flourish. Usually, the lights that hung overhead would be on, but much like the rest of the city, they were out as well - just dangling glass shells, useless to him now.

There was something about walking deeper into the tunnel that was making him uneasy. It wasn't just the absence of light, but the slight breeze that kept playing with the hairs on the back of his neck. It wasn't constant, but almost pulsing, and warm. Sticky. Every time he'd feel it, he'd turn around, illuminating the path behind him, only to find nothing. There was also a faint sound that kept echoing along the walls around him, resonating from further ahead. It was a combination of what sounded like something heavy being dragged across the floor and nails running along a rough surface, stopping every couple of seconds as they got caught in a groove.

As he continued on his way, he had only made it a couple more feet when he heard the scream echo towards him. A scream that resonated from the pit of one's chest, as the last available air rushes out of the body - unlike anything he had heard before. So foreign he wasn't sure if it was even human. It came towards him, bouncing off the bricks, hitting him and continuing down the tunnel, echoing until it finally dissipated. When it was just about gone, his lights started to flicker.

He instinctively hit them, but knew it wasn't going to solve anything. He had made sure before he left the office to replace the batteries and to secure the lids. All he could think back to was when he was a child and he brothers and sisters would scare him at night telling him ghost stories. Specifically that the bogey man lived deep within burrows in the Earth and had the ability to absorb light, plunging the world into darkness. Fear attractive him. The flesh of humans fueled him.

Scared, he pushed his childhood memories and fears out of his head and continued on. He knew the type of man his boss was, and if he were to return to the office without and answer, he knew he'd never be able to live it down.

The deeper he went, the more his lights flickered. The spaces in between on and off grew.

Light.

Dark.

Light.

Dark.

It wasn't long before he was just walking forward, not expecting for his lights to come back on, hands gliding along the walls for guidance. When his fingers touched something wet, he stopped. It was warm. Praying, he smacked his headlamp. For a brief second, it turned on, revealing a large smear of blood that continued along the bricks. As the light flickered off he heard breathing not far up the tunnel from where he was standing. His heart dropped. Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he was turned around, running as fast as he could through the blackness, hoping he didn't fall. Somewhere behind him he swore he heard a snarl and the smacking of feet against cement.

Whatever it was - it was gaining on him. Fast. He didn't know what to do. To cry, call for help. To turn around and face it in the dark.

It wasn't until he felt the breath directly on the back of his neck did he realize that screaming was the correct answer.
______________________________________________________________

If the slamming of the phone didn't convey how angry he was, the deep crimson color of the Boss's face certainly did.

"Jerry! Get in here. I don't know what these boys are doing down there, but they're not answering their damn phones! You're next. Strap on your gear and get down there!"

                                                                                                                           48

Early Morning Locomotion

Every morning began the same. The children in the town would wake up early, quickly eat whatever breakfast their mother had managed to place in front of them and bolt out the door, making their way down to the tracks. There they'd wait. For the ground to begin rumbling underneath their feet. Those without shoes always knew before the others - keeping it to themselves as a surprise. Some days, depending on how the wind was blowing, they'd know ahead of time when the train was going to come around the bend - its trail of black smoke rising into the air.

When they could hear the grinding of the wheels against the cold steel tracks, the running began. Usually the smaller and younger children began first, leading the way. Their little legs pumping as fast as they could. Somewhere deep within their mind they thought they'd be able to outrun the train, even with the head start, but it was never the case. They'd be halfway down the road, past the first curve by the time the train came barreling around the bend and it didn't matter. Whether they grew too tired or just weren't fast enough, the train would always pass them.

Many of the older children were patient enough to wait to see the train before they took off down the road. For many of them, it was a game - who could outrun each other and who could outrun the train the longest. It didn't ever take them long to overtake the younger group that had started running before them. As they passed, they'd reach out and tussle their hair, playfully jeering some of them, while encouraging others. Some of the older boys would even slow down for a bit, running with the pack, in between all of them. Whenever this happened, all the younger boys would smile ear to ear and the girls would swoon.

As the train caught up, the men on board would lean out of the windows, cheering and waving their arms - beating the sides of the train. Many of their children made up the group. Occasionally, one of the older boys would hop up on the running boards, handing off a paper bag to their father - their lunch for the day neatly wrapped up in a tiny care package. All the others kids would watch in awe as those hanging off the train zoomed by. They looked majestic, hanging off the side, wind blowing through their hair, flapping their clothes. It was like they were untouchable when aboard the train, free from the constraints of the Earth. As if they were flying.

It never took too long for the train to finally pull away from the pack, but for the short while that the children were able to keep up with it, they felt special. The simple words of encouragement that poured out of the train from their fathers resonated deep within them, propelling the children forward, as if they were invincible, able to run with it forever. It made them feel loved.

None of them ever made it past the second bend, but then again, none of them ever expected to. Once the train disappeared around the mountain, they'd continue on their way to school, already anxious for the day to finish and to make it back to the tracks.

After all, the train had to bring their fathers back home.

                                                                                                                           49

Iron Man III

Ok - this is a little shameless Trailer Park plug.

The trailer has been out for a couple days, but yup, Trailer Park did it and I had the pleasure of working closely with the editor who cut it, while cutting it. This movie has literally ruled our lives the past couple months. To finally be able to release the trailer after logging so many hours into it and see/read all the positive feedback it has received is nice.

It's a film I'm certainly looking forward to next summer.

Hope you all enjoy it (do yourself a favor at watch it full screen).





                                                                                                                           50

Meandering Gelatine

As she stood there, nose pressed against the glass tank in front of her, she wasn't sure why so many people were scared of them. To her, they looked so harmless. Actually, they looked pretty stupid. And ugly. Just floating around aimlessly. From what she could tell, they didn't even have any eyes. How could they decide where they wanted to go? Could they tell up from down? What if something attacked them? How could they eat? They had no mouths! Honestly, how could they do anything?

She just didn't get it. They seemed so useless. Squishy, brainless globs of jelly that just floated around. What she really wanted was to be able to crawl inside the tank. Not her whole body of course, but maybe just her arm, just enough so that she'd be able to reach down and feel one of them. People said they hurt. That they were able to sting. She remembered in "Finding Nemo" how they zapped whatever touched them. But she saw no thorns or spikes and if they were electric, how could they be underwater? It didn't make any sense to her. If anything, they seemed soft and squishy, something she'd want to play with.

Backing up from the glass, she giggled a little bit at the smear that she left. To her it seemed obvious, but to everyone else, it would be indistinguishable from the wall of handprints that had come from the children before her.

It didn't take her long to notice the door that was to the right of the exhibit, clearly stating it was for employees only. She was determined. All she had to do was walk through the door and turn left. The tank would be right there, waiting for her to dip her arm into. With each step towards the door, she became less confident. What if something actually went wrong? What if it actually did hurt? Maybe she hadn't looked hard enough - missed the stinger, tucked away in one of the trailing tendrils. The risk was worth it though. She'd be the coolest girl in school. The one who had gone into the back of the aquarium and played with the jelly fish.

It was too late now. She had to do it. The door was only a couple feet away. Reaching out for the handle, her heart was racing - ready to jump out of her chest.

"Sarah? The class is going this way towards the otters. Time to go."

Turning, her teacher was standing there, arm stretched out, hand open, waiting patiently for hers. As she walked by the tank towards her teacher, she peered in again. Curious. Not ready to leave.

Oh, she'd be back. The jellies weren't going to get away that easily.

                                                                                                                           50

Song of the Day (Carolina Drama) 10.26.12

***Just a heads up - any song I post here that you like and would like a copy of, just let me know. I'll make sure to pass it along to you.***

Alright, so we're back to it! Song of the day and boy, do I have a doozy for you. Today technically should be referred to as song(s) of the day. I have three. Thats right, three. Buckle up.

So lets get to it shall we?

The first song is "Carolina Drama" by The Raconteurs (one of Jack White's side projects). Now, I'm sure I may have posted this song previously somewhere on my blog, but bare with me. It'll be worth it. Not only do I absolutely love this song, it is also the song I most want to turn into a music video. It's just so haunting and moving. Not to mention lyrically, it tells a complete story. I honestly can't remember a song that is able to produce such a strong visual landscape for the listener. Absolutely fantastic.




The next song is "I Found You" by The Alabama Shakes. They are a relatively new group - releasing their first album earlier this spring. I won't get into it too much, but there is just something about this band that makes me want to move. Groove back and forth. I honestly can't sit still when I listen to them, especially this song. It certainly reminds me of an earlier era of music - like something I could hear Odis Redding sing.




I'll be the first to admit, this next song is one that may or may not have been killed by the radio already. Usually, I try to stay away from music that is being played everywhere, but I just can't help it tonight. When I was driving home, it came on and it was instant. I knew it needed to be shared. It's just so damn catchy. Infectious. This is "Some Nights" by Fun.



                                                                                                                           54

Twilight Trapping

As she sat there, the wind gently swayed her back and forth, sending the tiniest of vibrations through her web, up her legs and to her core. When she was younger, before she was used to it, every shake got her on edge. Tensed her up. Ready to pounce. But as she matured, she learned what kind of vibration she needed to pay attention to - the kind that signaled a meal had been snared.

It was the time of night she looked forward to most. The sun was just beginning to burn off, falling lazily below the horizon. She had only a few more hours of warmth, before the night descended upon her and the moon would rise - illuminating her web in a brilliant light. That was the time she had to go to work, really be focused. Not long after the stars revealed themselves, the first moths would begin fluttering around the night air - their wings beating feverishly to propel themselves towards the moon, swooping back and forth, lost in their seemingly drunken flight patterns.

It was nearly impossible for her to know where they were headed. Each night was different. Where they could come from, where they would go. She'd have to guess. Pick the right spot to interrupt their path. Sometimes they would graze her web, covering her in the dust from their wings as they glided by. Teasing her. Other times one would become entangled, only to break free before she was able to pounce and paralyze it.

It was all just a game, but tonight she had a good feeling. The air was alive with the thumping of beating wings and she could see the sparkling trails they left behind. She was positioned perfectly - her web sprawled out as far as it would go.

All she had left to do was wait.

                                                                                                                           54

The Blob

I had always seen these as a kid on TV, in movies, at summer camps. But I've never been able to experience one first hand. Just sitting there, waiting to be launched into the air.

So take this crazy water device and combine it with the camera I'll be shooting my time lapse on and what to you get? The video below. And you have to admit, the footage is pretty cool, especially the "in air" footage and when the launched person finally enters the water.

It's simple. It's fun. It's Friday. It feels right to share.

Enjoy.



                                                                                                                           54

Night of Honor

When he first entered the lake, the water that lapsed at his ankles didn't bother him. It felt refreshing, pure. But the further he swam, it began to seep into his core, stealing its heat - slowing his muscles, tensing his joints, constricting his mind. He was ready for it though - he had practiced, come prepared. He just let go - let his mind wander, away from the tingling in his joints and the tremors that were rocketing through his body. It managed to find its way back to when he was younger. How he'd sit at his fathers feet, watching him polish the handle of his sword, telling glorious tales of battle, how one's honor was measured by their death. He'd discuss how when he was a child, he went through the same rite of passage. It had been that way for as far back as he could remember. Before the Englishmen had found their land and the discovery of gun powder. It had always been their tradition.

When he let his mind snap back to reality, he could finally see the island in the distance, standing erect amongst the mirror-like water. Looking over his shoulder, he was surprised at how far the shore was behind him - it was almost out of range, lost on the horizon. His kimono, hanging proudly on branch was the only beacon to where land was. By this point, his legs were becoming tired. He wasn't sure how long he had been swimming, but he knew he had to hurry to the island. It wouldn't be long.

As his hand finally grazed the edge of the rock, he was surprised at how smooth it was. He had expected it to be covered in a layer of algae, slimy to the touch. Yet, its whole surface was covered in a brilliant green moss. Radiant and beautiful. Soft against his fingers. It was welcoming.

There had been stories of how previous boys weren't able to climb upon it. Some gave up and swam back, ridiculed by their families, forced to leave. Heads hung low - shunned. Others kept trying, too proud to give up, eventually succumbing to exhaustion, drifting below the surface and drowning. As the images of their bodies flashed through his mind, he instinctively pulled his feet up, scared to graze the bottom. Before he knew it, he was on top of the rock - unaware of how he even managed to scale it or what path he chose.

Out of the group of boys that were selected this year, he was the first to go, but also the smallest, deemed ちび of the town. Others had doubted him. If he'd even be able to muster the courage to go through with it. He had heard that some believed he would spend the night in the woods and return back to the village the next day, claiming to have lasted the night. It all bothered him. All he wanted to do was make his father proud. And for that reason alone, he'd succeed.

As he sat there, back against the tree, he was as comfortable as possible. The rock he sat on barely offered any room and the tree that inhabited the island stood directly in the center, cutting off any hope he had of being able to spread out. His skin had dried some time ago, but the sun had fallen beyond the mountains that enclosed the lake and the wind was beginning to pick up, forming miniature waves along the surface of the lake, enough to dust his skin with mist - bringing forth goose bumps. The night was only beginning and it had far to stretch. It wasn't going to be easy. But he had to persevere.

For his family.

For his father.

To return home a man.

                                                                                                                           55

Visual Verification

Frisbee night, yadda yadda yadda, you're not getting a story out of me.

But, what you will get instead, are some videos, that show what I'm planning to do in Spain will work. The more and more I've thought about what I want to do, the more I honestly began to doubt it. Most time lapses are from a set angle or perspective and where there is camera movement, it is very controlled and super precise. With me having the camera strapped to me as I walk, I was concerned that my footage would be too jarring to show everyone - too jumpy or distracting for the viewer. In my head, I thought that I'd need to walk very rigidly, trying to not move too vertically - minimizing how my steps shifted my body.

Sure, I could go about this a completely different way and bring a tripod with me, taking a picture, moving a few feet, setting up, snapping another, etc. But come on, this would take forever and I honestly don't have the time (I'm cutting it close enough with my layover time as is).

So I've done some reasearch. Watched some other videos. Did some reading. Everything going on in my head seems very possible. Sure, depending on how radically one photo position is from the next, you'll notice it, but everything also relies on how fast or slow I show each photo (I could always smooth over awkward jumps by speeding things up). Throughout all my research, I found this one guy, who has gone around and shot some time lapses in much the same fashion I plan on shooting mine. From what I can tell, based on the length between shots, the constant walking, and his using a normal DSLR camera, instead of the action cam I'll be using, he did not use a tripod. A.K.A. what I plan on doing is totally feasible.

Wahoo! Crisis averted. 

Check below for some of his videos - I think they are a good preview of I'm trying to do - except mine will be 100% better or so I hope (he shot each using around 2000 photos, I plan on many more than that. Smoothness/Quality of time lapse = number of photos. The more you have, the better/less jarring everything is).

Enjoy!

                                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                           56

Late Night Journeys

Every night she looked forward to drifting away into sleep. It just felt so comforting. Curled up within her blankets - tangled in her sheets, buried deep between her pillows. There was that moment before she finally completely fell into the dream, when she felt light as a feather, as if only her sheets were keeping her from drifting up to the ceiling. It was that small window of time that she felt most at ease. She no longer was within herself, trapped by her body - her mind was just about to be let free, but she was still present, aware. It was only fleeting though, a few seconds at most, before she fell completely in, down the rabbit whole, into the dream.

Anything could happen once she let go and fell. She could become a captain of an old ship, parting the waves of the seas, traveling from continent to continent. A great dancer, performing on the largest stage in the world. Maybe she was at a movie with the cute boy from third period who lived down the street. Each time it was something different. She had no say. It was all up to her mind. Of course she had tried to control it - thinking hard about something in particular as the waves of sleep washed over her, concentrating on a place or person she wanted to spend the night with. There were those times she thought she had done it. She could feel it in the back of her mind, as she was drifting away, see the person's face, hear the sounds of the place, but it all didn't matter. Once she fell, she no longer had control. She'd have to wait until she'd wake up to remember what had happened.

It wasn't remembering the dream that was her favorite it. It was when she was in the dream, right before she'd awaken. For a brief second, she was aware of where she was, who she was there with, what she was doing. Then off in the distance, something would happen. Sometimes it was a noise, a wafting aroma, or a change in pressure. So slight that she wouldn't otherwise notice it if she hadn't been in a dream. Once she felt it, smelled it, or heard it - she would smile, knowing what was coming next.

Within seconds, she was zooming through the dream world at speeds she couldn't comprehend. Colors blurred together, shapes morphed into long streaks that stretched forever, sounds became one massive audible blob. She was moving so fast. Nothing could touch her as she flew by. She felt invincible. Each time was different. Sometimes she'd be traveling for what felt like a lifetime, other times it was quick, over in a matter of seconds. But each time, it ended the same. Right before her eyes would open, welcoming her back to the world, ending her journey, she'd burst through the window that was above her bed, shattering it's frame. Right then, everything would stop, letting the moment breath. Shards of  glass hovered around her, chips of paint stuck to her skin, sunlight poured into the room. She'd hang there for just a second, suspended by some unseen force, before falling into her bed, opening her eyes, awakened from her sleep.

There truly was no better way to wake up.

                                                                                                                           57

Song of the Day - Wait So Long

Ok, let's start a new routine. Spice it up a bit.

Based on how the previous week has gone, my mood, or if I think it is something you should hear, I'll throw up a song of the day every Friday. Just bare with me, since this is new, I'll try not to forget the first couple postings.

Work for you? Cool. Cause it works for me.

This Friday's song is "Wait So Long" by Trampled By Turtles.





                                                                                                                           61

It's Brewing

Ok - so from what I said the other night about trying to make a time lapse video of my time in Spain, my mind has not stopped racing.

I've been stuck on this concept. It's been a constant loop in the back of my head. So much so, that I've already sat down, with a good ol' pencil and paper and calculated:

A) How many hours a day I'd be shooting
B) What the time between photos would be (every five seconds, every ten, thirty, every minute, etc.)
C) How the number of photos would fit into a video (am I going to edit 24 fps or 29.97 fps)
D) Once the fps has been decided - then calculate how long the piece would be

A lot of numbers - I know I know. So what did I come up with? Not that it really matters to you, but early estimations lead me to believe that I'd take somewhere between 50,000 - 67,000 photos (a shit ton - pardon my french) and end up with a video somewhere between 30 and 50 minutes. So, from there, I've decided I need to scale back a little - maybe aim for a shorter piece, and spread the time between photos a bit - changing it depending on what and where I'm shooting.

Whats this all mean? I guess nothing - I'm just speaking out loud. But the good news? I've procured a camera for the trip. So that means - its happening. How it turns out? We'll see. No promises, since this will be my first full length, "big" time lapse.

But to give you an idea of what I'll be shooting on, enjoy the video below:



How insanely beautiful is that footage? Sure, it's been color corrected and edited, but I'll do all of that too. Make it as pretty as can be. What makes this camera even better? Not only will I be able to take all the photos to build a time lapse, but I'll be able to record videos just like what is above. So be prepared to see Spain in all of it's HD glory.

It's a wonderful little device. I can hold it in my hand. Strap it to my chest, my backpack - place it on my head for some POV footage. It's waterproof, shock proof. I'm so excited to get going on this piece. You'll see me packing the day(s) before, driving to the airport through the lovely LA traffic, checking my bags, walking through the airport, boarding the plane, making my way through customs. Possible cool idea? Seeing the camera on the conveyer belt as it goes through the x-ray machine. There are other things brewin' up there in my cabeza. Those I'll keep to myself as a surprise. But, everything I just said is in LA. Think about it - there is still London, Madrid, Seville, wherever else I travel - maybe Morocco, and NYC (on the way home). There is just so much material out there to be captured.

I'm a bit scared though.

If I'm thinking about it this much and I'm still two months out, god knows what it will have evolved into by then.

                                                                                                                           61

It's All Coming Back Now

He was reeling, watching the ceiling spin.

His eyes hurt, his head was throbbing. Everything still smelled of the spilt beer from the night before, mixed with the faint smell of oak lingering in the air from the shots of whiskey. His skin felt sticky. His eyelids didn't want to open. Sunlight poured into his room, splitting his blinds, somehow managing to land perfectly on his face. The trail of clothes that led from the door to his bed let him know what kind of evening it had been - like some sort of intoxicated roadmap. His shirt was hanging off a chair, a cup of water laid spilled on the carpet, one leg of his jeans inside out, belt thrown in the corner of the room.

It all went by in a blur. He remembered trying his hardest to look his best. "Presentable" as his mother would always say. His hands shook as he was shaving, causing him to nick himself along the way. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so nervous. There was something in the air that just told him that it was going to be a special night.

She had picked him up in a German car and drove him down to an Irish bar. He remembered standing there with her, entrapped by the color of her eyes. Deep, dark, rich. She was intelligent, funny, personable. The curls of her hair fell from her head and flowed over her shoulders like auburn waves that sucked him in. Her smile. Well, it was just impeccable. How her lips curled, revealing the dimples of her cheeks, how her nose scrunched up. He couldn't help but stare. There was something different about this woman and he immediately felt it. He didn't need to try. It just felt natural. It was easy. Everything just flowed out of him, unrestricted. As a result, he was relaxed, dropped his guard. Let loose. He remembered drinking out of a plastic cup until he had trouble standing up.

But that was all he recalled. Everything else was gone. After getting up, he only felt worse. His joints ached, deceiving his body of its age, like it was older that it actually was. Checking his pants, his phone was gone, as was his wallet. The odds didn't appear to be in his favor for another meeting with her. He wondered in his haze what he did or said that he might soon regret.

He was disappointed in himself. How could he have let it go - slip right between his fingers.

It wasn't until he checked his email that he was able to breath a bit more, when a message popped up on his screen that said "Pick me up at 8:45, we can give this one more try."

She had given him a second chance and he would always be in her debt.

It was the night he couldn't remember with the girl he'd never forget.

                                                                                                                          62

Natural Phenomenon

Holy hell.

According to the information about this video - this was the first time lapse the guy ever made.

How is that possible? This piece is absolutely ridiculous. Sure, I'll admit this song is a little over used recently - but that is just me being nit-picky, because I literally can't find anything that isn't amazing in this video.

I'll be honest - I've always wanted to dabble into the time lapse world, since I love them so much, but I've never had the time or the equipment. But, within the last couple days, I've planned a trip to Spain over the holidays (wahoo!) and will be in London, Madrid, Seville, and hopefully many other locations. So what does this have to do with anything? This video inspired me. I want to buy a camera (one of those 'action cams') and carry it with me. Doing everything. Packing. Driving to the airport. Walking around the airport. Boarding the plane. The connecting cities. My adventures in Spain. Who knows if it'll turn out, or if I'll have to time, but it's worth a shot.

And since this piece moved me enough to consider all the logistics, that only proves how amazing it is. To be honest, I've watched it probably 10 times since seeing it earlier today. It's absolutely mesmerizing. It's rare to see time lapses with a lot of camera movement, but this guy nailed it - even managing to time it to the music (or vice versa). Regardless - still impressive.

I'm literally in awe of this and can't get enough of it.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Barack Obama Clique

So one of my good friends from school (Joel Tager), who also lives out here, put his very impressive talent of drawing to use recently. He and a friend, also from Ithaca, did a parody rap music video about the upcoming election.

It's clever. It's witty. And I think the art is great.

Let's give them a little support of their efforts.

San Simeon

He was laughing. And he wasn't exactly sure why. That deep, rich, soulful laugh that comes from the core. The kind that made his stomach hurt - his body tingle. He was pretty sure he could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. There was absolutely no use trying to hold it back. It was a battle he had no chance of winning.

It could have been the absurdity of the situation. Standing there, on the little wooden platform that had angled down the cliff, stopping just above the water, with no where to sleep - staring out at the ocean.

But, it most likely was the smoke that had been in his lungs a few minutes ago. It had been a while since he had indulged. He had forgotten what it was like - how it tasted, burnt on the way in, but much more earthy and piney on the way out. He thought about it for a moment - looking down at the ocean as it beat against the rocks that made up the shore below him.  Everything seemed to move a half tick slower than it should. Just enough for his mind to notice. The world became narrower. His eye lids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. Everything glistened in the glow of the moon. He could hear it all. The wind in the grass, the waves against the rocks, even her breathing next to him. Yet he couldn't stop laughing.

Yup. It was definitely the weed.

It was like he was six years old again and someone had made a fart joke in class - it was that immature, uncontrollable, giddy laughter. The kind that if he wasn't careful enough, he could end up drooling.

It was amazing how he felt. Every ounce of him was happy. Light and frothy. Not a care in the world. His mind had broken free from its leash - lost and wandering amongst the clouds. All he wanted to do was stand there with her and soak it in. The world. Her company. Not twenty minutes before, he was upset that they didn't have a place to stay. To wash up. To relax. Then out came the joint. Then the lighter. And poof. Problem solved.

It all just felt right. Like they were supposed to be there, gazing out over the water. Nothing else seemed to matter.

Only that moment, as they were living it.

10x10

Recently at Trailer Park, we've been working hand in hand with a global action campaign that aims to bring education to girls around the world living in developing nations.

Being a theatrical trailer company, this is not something that I expected to be a part of. But, I have to say it has been a completely refreshing and enlightening experience. The footage that we've received has been nothing short of stunning and the message this organization is trying to spread is phenomenal.

The documentary we've been working on it titled Girl Rising and it is aiming to be released in the spring on 2013 on CNN - so you all should watch it.

Also, check out their website/cause/message - you can find links to it in the following brief write up:

http://www.fastcocreate.com/1681736/10x10-initiates-a-global-action-campaign-promoting-the-education-of-girls#4

So how do I play a role in this? If you click on the link above (our watch the embedded file below), about halfway down the page there is a teaser for Girl Rising. I was lucky enough to be able to get some hands on time and help create the teaser.

I guess what I'm trying to say is - while I had an amazing time being part of this process, the bigger picture of what this organization is doing needs to be recognized. It's a great cause and people should really open their eyes to it. Hopefully my sharing of this to the few of you out there that read this blog will only help in getting their efforts noticed.

Enjoy.

Saturated Comfort

It was the steady pitter patter of the rain against the roof that stirred him from his sleep. But he didn't mind. There truly was no better way to be woken up.

It's cadence always crept into his mind before he was full awake - drumming away above him. It'd just meander into his head, mid-dream. At first quietly, then more noticable. He always found himself smiling even before he opened his eyes. Then the smell would hit him. It'd sneak through the door frames and window panes, straight into his noise. The fresh, unmistakable smell of ozone.

There was something special about rainy mornings. It made everything feel older, darker, cozy. The little sun that managed to bleed into the room was so slight that it appeared as if the room itself was as grey as the clouds outside. It made everything feel timeless. He could lay in he bed for hours. Tangled in his sheets, lost among the folds of his comforter, buried deep within his pillows. The air around him was cooler, but his bed felt warmer. It didn't want to let go of him - to let the embrace end. As long as the rain continued, he didn't need to move. He was content to lay there, all day. It never felt like a waste. It just felt right. It felt necessary.

One of the best parts about a morning storm was how it felt comforting. It persuaded him to stay in bed. Reassured him that it was alright to close his eyes again, fall back into a dream, that nothing else was important. It'd still be there when he woke up again, ready to welcome him, spend time with him. It even was kind enough to lull him to sleep. Its rhythm guided his eyes shut while the droplets of water splashing against his window only further mesmerized him.

Everything just felt smaller to him when it rained. His walls seemed closer, the ceiling lower, his sheets tighter.

He felt embraced.

He wished it rained every day.

A Path Home

Although the sun had come up, he had no relation to what time it was. The fog that had begun to seep out from underneath the leaves that littered the forest floor only disoriented him more. He couldn't tell if the haze that was spread out before him was blocking out the moon or the sun. Everything around him had an eerie glow to it - a sort of aura that made him uncomfortable, like he could feel the life force oozing out of everything. Including himself.

As he pushed on, it was becoming harder and harder to stay upright. The gash in his abdomen had only continued to open with each step. He could feel his skin pulling - fighting the strain, trying to stay together, but losing. The blood had soaked through his shirt and run down his leg, matting down his hair, congealing and constricting his movement. But he couldn't stop. He knew, somewhere behind him, they were searching for him, tracking him, ready to bring him back to prison. Luckily for him, the fallen leaves all around him had turned the ground into a sea of red, concealing the droplets of blood that had managed to travel down the length of his leg and past the cuff of his pants. His only hope was to tread lightly, not leaving a path of disturbed leaves and pray that the men behind him hadn't brought out the hounds.

All that coursed through his mind was how he couldn't go back to his cell. The 10'x10' cement box that held no promises other than boredom, suffering, and death. He hadn't deserved to be placed in there. It was an unfair trial. A crime pinned against him that he didn't commit. It had been years since he had seen daylight. Locked away, below the surface. He had been forced to fight. The guards cheered them on, in their own sick version of a gladiator arena. There was no other option. It was either kill or be killed. So he did. It made his body harder, rougher, beaten down. It destroyed his mind. Weakened him, ate away at what made him human. Until he couldn't take it anymore. He missed his life. His wife. His kids.

So he broke free. Everything had gone so smoothly until the razor wire caught him. Reached out and kissed him through his jumpsuit. It was so sharp, slicing like a surgeon. Clean, quick, and as straight as could be.

By now his mouth was dry. His legs were sore. Joints throbbing. It wasn't possible to go any further.  So he stopped, falling to the ground. He breathed deeply, letting the smell of the rotting forest around him invade his nostrils. Damp, decaying leaves. Lush moss. It was a smell he had always loved since he was a kid. It was cyclical - carrying with it the smell of death, but also the smell of life. It was pungent, invasive. It made him smile. Allowed his mind to drift away into a peaceful place.

He swore the haze was encroaching on him, moving closer, ready to envelope him as soon as he gave up - carry him to some unseen part of the woods, away from all this. He just wanted to go home. It was almost time. The fog was only growing thicker by the moment, almost touching him, but keeping its distance, as if it was skittish of the man that had fallen down in front of it.

His eyes were growing heavy. Too heavy to keep open.

But before he let them fall shut for the last time, he swore through the haze he could see the outline of his wife and kids, standing before him, ready to welcome him home.

Off-Season

The beach was always empty - void of towels, pitched umbrellas, sand castles, laughter, the aroma of Banana Boat. All that remained were the footprints of sand pipers that darted down to the water between crashing waves, hoping to catch dinner and the gently rolling, wind swept dunes, held together by the swaying dune grass. And her.

She'd stand there, as the sun was falling from the sky, ready to be tucked beneath the waves, toes dug into the sand, holding onto the Earth. The wind felt good as it graced her cheeks - playing with the auburn hair that fell over her shoulders, like invisible fingers that only wanted to become entangled. It made her smile. Everything was natural. Clean. Silent.

Once the sky was a smoldering, ashy red, she'd enter the water, leaving her robe in a heap back on the sand, her skin glowing in the sunset - pure and smooth, accented by the occasional freckle. The water tickled her feet, numbing them, but not enough that she couldn't stand it. She knew she had to keep moving forward, allowing the water to crawl up her body, past her knees, then her thighs, over her waist, until it was resting against her chest. She could feel the goosebumps, her raised skin below the surface. It was so cold - forcing her to take shallow breaths, but she loved it - she felt vulnerable, alive.

She never was concerned that there were no life guards to watch her - to make sure that her movement wasn't hindered by the temperature. Confidence flowed through her. She knew that the pilings stood watch, ready to grab her if the current ever tried to sweep her away. Ever since she was old enough to get herself to the beach, she had felt protected by their barrier.

While she was out amongst the waves, the town was slowly shutting down. It had fattened up over the summer - now it was entering its hibernation. Shops were closing. Restaurants stopped serving earlier. The vacation homes and motels were beginning to close up their windows, boarding them up to protect from the oncoming harsh months - the swells that would rise from the sea, sleet that poured from above, the howling winds.

The off-season was over the horizon. And now was the time she could finally enjoy the ocean, free from the clutter of the vacationers, the noise of the ice cream trucks, the screaming children. She'd swim out until she couldn't touch anymore and just float. Ears below the water, drowning out the world.

It was when the water was cold enough to steal her breath, that she knew it was all hers.

Beyond the Brook

Ever since he could remember - he had wandered through the woods, down the overgrown paths, weaving in between the towering pines, over old stone walls that had once stood between family feuds -  shuffling through the dried, fragile leaves that littered the ground, down to the moss covered bridge that hung over the ever trickling brook. Once there, he'd sit, legs dangling over the edge, just hanging there, above the water that churned below him, bubbling and gurgling up at him, as if it was trying to carry a conversation, with the current always getting in the way.

He'd slide his hands over the lush moss - Mother Nature's carpet, soft under his touch, but full of life. He was looking for the perfect stone. Flat. Smooth. Circular. It never took long to find one, but when he did, he'd run his fingers over it, feeling for imperfections, judging its weight. When he was satisfied, he'd hurl it with all his might, up the stream, watching it skip across the glass-like water until it lost momentum and dove beneath the surface.

Growing up, he had always heard a rumor that beyond the bridge, lived a man in a dark suit. He was always meticulously dressed, tie pulled close to his neck, suit perfectly tailored, top hat positioned perfectly upon his head. People had claimed to have seen him, lingering in the woods, amongst the trees, just standing there, staring out to the other side of the bridge. Some said it was just a rumor, others swore it was the devil, horns hidden under the tall hat, waiting for someone to be foolish enough to cross the bridge into his territory.

These stories never bothered him. He didn't believe in them. For all the years he had come down to the bridge, he had never seen or heard of the man. Until today - when an applause began to his left after a good throw.

There he stood, as perfect as he had ever been described. Tall, gaunt, mustache curled around his lip, smiling - revealing elongated canines. His suit was pristine. Not a wrinkle to be found. A loose thread to pull. A darker black than the boy had ever seen - like an abyss that surrounded the man, able to suck one in. He made one simple offer - that from his side of the bridge, one could get a better angle to throw a stone. The boy should come over, give it a try.

But the boy knew better. He could see that the patch of moss the Man was standing on had turned brown and shriveled up, curling onto itself, like a slug that had come in contact with salt - withered and dry. It made him nervous that he couldn't see the Man's hands, tucked away behind his back. His imagination ran wild - picturing long gnarled fingers, punctuated with filed nails - claws. How they'd wrap around his shoulders the moment he stepped across the bridge, pulling him deeper into the woods. It scared him and he wasn't even sure if the man that stood before him was real.

Before his mind wandered any further, the boy was on his feet, dashing back towards his house, disregarding the path that he had taken to get to his bridge. He swore he could hear footsteps behind him, loud, crashing through the forest, leaves crunching. Every muscle in his body told him not to look and he didn't. He just kept running forward, until his lungs couldn't take it anymore.

Turning around, expecting the man to be there, ready to pounce, he saw absolutely nothing, but the lush green of the forest. His soul eased. He was safe.

But he swore, off in the distance, he could hear the distinct sound of stones skipping off water, accompanied by a low cackle.

The Last Passenger

As he stood there, the world seemed to slow down. It was the time of night that London feel silent, only inhabited by the mist that blanketed the ground, swept in on the cool breeze from the Thames.

Off in the distance he could hear sirens blaring, fading in and out, pulsing like an audible strobe light as the vehicles they were attached to drove up and down the cobblestone abbeys, looking for the source of the distress call.

He'd listen. For someone else to stir on the platform. But it was always just him, standing alone, waiting for the tube to arrive. At times, he'd find himself doubting if it was going to show up. If the rest of the city had a way of dying at this hour, maybe so would the train.

It didn't matter though. He didn't mind the silence. The lack of life. Stillness of the air. Even though the quiet caused the hair on the back of his neck to standup, nervous that it brought with it some unknown terror, he was at ease.

These were the hours that his mind was completely empty. Free from the stress of his job, the city, of life.

It was when he was alone, standing on the platform that he felt like the only remaining passenger in the world. But he didn't mind.

I just meant it was all his.

The Guilt Trip

The moment of truth has arrived.

I've been working on this for the last two years. Finally, I can fill you in on my little secret.

I wrote a script about my road trip to LA.

Since I've moved here, I've been coming home from work everyday, writing a script, passing it around to those in the industry. Hoping, praying, dreaming it would be made. Low an behold, someone bought it and cast Seth Rogan and Barbara Streisand as the leads. Jump forward a year, and the first trailer (aptly cut by Trailer Park, with my assistance) is released.

Surprise!

Ok, ok, I lie. I didn't write a script. I mean, I have - I've written many. Most of which you've read on this very blog. But the script that is showcased in the trailer below, I DID NOT WRITE (what I said above is ALL A JOKE).

But let's be honest here, after watching this trailer, especially you Mom, try and tell me someone didn't follow us across the country on our trip. I feel like I've been plagiarized. The lead character's name is Andrew. His mother is always looking out for him. The status of their family is pretty similar. They drive across the country together in pursuit of a job. Stopping in Vegas, at the Grand Canyon. Hell, even a Texas Steakhouse that has an eating contest. Discussions about hitchhiking, the GPS, staying in random motels.

Mom, a little help? How is this not our story!? I mean, shit, maybe I should have written a script about it - I guess this proves it would have sold. This just means that when time travel does happen, I can go back in time, write the script to our trip and sell it first. I mean, it wouldn't be cheating, since ours is real, and actually happened. Damn. If only.

But hey, just another thing we share together right?

So, this post, this trailer (which yes, I helped cut - because I have so much invested in this movie) is to you Mom. Hope you enjoy it and it stirs as many memories for you as it did for me.

Adios Summer

So its official. I guess it's been for a while really, but I don't pay attention. We all know summer is gone. It's time for the leaves to start changing. Turning bright hues of orange, red, and yellow. Screaming with color before finally shriveling up and falling to the ground.

Yes, this even happens in LA.

And as you could I guess, due to the lack of writing, it was frisbee night. Hot, humid, wet, muddy frisbee. Needless to say, I'm a mess. But, I think I've come up with a new solution to make sure you will have writing on Tuesdays, regardless if I play or not. If it works, it'll be glorious (for you). I'll try to kick it into effect next week.

But, I got sidetracked. So, summer. Yeah, it's gone. It's sad. Especially this summer. I have to say, this was one of the best summers I can remember in my lifetimes. I got to experience so many new things, go places I've never been before, and just finally got to do some of the things I've only dreamed of. It's a shame to see it go, but also, I'm excited for what the rest of this year holds. If everything works out - it'll go out in a bang.

So when I saw this video today, I couldn't help but realize I needed to share it with you. Sure, kids are pretty shotty actors, but let's be honest, they're damn cute, so that makes up for it. This piece instantly brought me back to my childhood. Ok, ok, you caught me. I didn't smash watermelons with a stick ball bat, but I sure as hell used the slip n' slide every chance I could. Man, I loved that thing. Sliding down, off the end, into the grass. The smell of the plastic. The spritz of the hose. It was heaven.

I hope it is as nostalgic for you as it was for me.

Heard Through The Grape Vine

This was the moment he had spent his whole life waiting for. Any minute now, he'd fall out, into the light, red skin shining brightly, ready to sell himself.

He could feel his friends all around him, bunched together, connected, rubbing each other, careful not to hurt one another. They were all there for the same purpose, but he had made it a personal goal to be one of the first to go. Stand out proudly against the rest. Picked first.

When the light hit him, he couldn't make anything out - it was brighter than he had ever thought. Lost in the blaze, he felt himself get plucked off. The fall felt like it was going to last forever. When he finally landed, it was much softer than he imagined. When he was finally able to see again, he realized the layer below him was comprised of his friends, all spread out on the bottom of the bowl. Some facing down, some up, others sideways. It didn't really matter - he was near the top - the prime location. Off to his left, he could see another bowl, filled to the brim with the enemy. Bigger. Plumper. Juicier. Green. Seemingly better in every way.

He'd show them.

But before he knew what was going on, she was standing over them, picking up both bowls and placing them in the refrigerator. When the door shut - the light flickered off. The freon hummed in the background. All went dark. He was scared. They had warned him of this. He just had to hope. Hope to one day get out of the darkness. Hope to get chosen by the woman. To satisfy her. He was a fruit of opportunity. Not because he had the opportunity, but because she did. If one of his comrades was bad, she could just pick another. To choose wisely. To choose him.

As the days passed, he quickly got used to her routine. The door would open in the morning, grabbing a handful of both reds and greens. No favorites between the two factions. No set number of each. However many fit between her fingers were the lucky ones. The rest would remain in their bowls, or fall out before they reached salvation, like one of those sick crane games at a carnival - dropping the plush stuffed animal right before the end.

It had happened to him a couple times. He had gotten excited. Felt the graze of her fingers, the smoothness of her skin against his. He knew she wanted him. She was just playing with him. Waiting for when he was perfectly ripe. Today he had sworn he was going to make it. She had opened the door, a large smile on her face, only taking a few greens before turning to the reds and plunging her hand into bowl. He was pressed against her knuckles. It was going to be his time. He would be remembered for this, his succulence, his sweetness. But as her hand was raising, he could feel the foundation below him slipping, tumbling out. Thats when he fell, back into the bowl, but not before he swore he heard another red call out to him,

"Don't worry! You'll get chosen too. Don't stop hoping!"

When he landed - he landed hard. There was no longer a base layer of reds to protect him from the porcelain. He bounced around a bit, able to see the greens were almost gone. They were winning. As bruised as he now was, he wasn't going to give up.

By his guess - it had been two weeks. Two whole weeks. She left him there. Abandoned, alone, at the bottom of his bowl, with a couple other reds that looked more like raisins at this point. He had lasted the longest - wrinkled, pasty, and fermented. All the juice he was able to retain had turned into alcohol, making him, cranky, volatile, and drunk. When he opened to the door, he let it pour out, slurred and sloppy,

"Hey bitch! Look who...finally decided to...s-s-show up! Let me guess, it's my turn to get chosen, right? Oooh nooooo, of course it's not. I'm too s-s-shriveled and small. I just got to keep h-h-hoping rightttt?"

She wasn't even paying attention to him. Her mind on other things - emptying the fridge, smelling items before deciding if they needed to be purged - thrown into the trash and discarded. As he scanned the fridge, his eyes made contact with a stick of butter that was gazing at him from behind its window on the door, "What are you looking at butter!?"

He paused for a moment - realizing that it was only a stick of butter and therefore could not respond, "Yeah, that's what I thought. You don't know me!"

He stopped mid thought as he saw her bend down, wrapping her fingers delicately around the edges of the bowl, lifting it into the air. This was it, this was his moment. He knew it'd come. Better late than never. He could see it all - the bowl as it continued it's trajectory up towards her mouth, tilting back, dumping him in, to be mashed between her molars. Rolled over her tongue. Tasted. But first she took a deep breath and instead of smiling, she scowled, coughing a bit.

Thats when everything turned upside down.

Literally.

And down he fell - straight into the trash.