The blood of filmmakers

I realized something lately. I realized that the people I relate most to, the people that I feel most comfortable around; the people that I am insanely attracted to are the crazy artists.

Filmmakers.
Musicians. (especially drummers – damn them and their rhythmic tendencies…)
Painters.
Photographers.
Actors.
Visual Artists.
Tattoo Artists.

Adam said it best the other day, “Face it, you’re always gonna be attracted to the fidgety geniuses.”

I – fucking – love – artists.

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The last time I was producing for film, I thought I would never be able to enjoy watching a movie – ever – again.

I lost my ability to sit back and enjoy watching a film. My detail-oriented mind was too busy processing what was going on behind the scenes, behind the camera. I saw the continuity issues everywhere, mismatched props and lines that were 1/10th of a second out of sync with the print.

I saw the extras and the PAs. I saw the always-disappointing craft services. I saw the long production days and all the shots that were lost due to time, due to lighting, due to budget.

I saw the everyday process that is entering the thinktank and trying to figure out how to salvage the beautiful story that’s trying to unfold.

I saw, everyday, walking into an amazing adventure. Everyday on set is full of unlimited possibilities, crazy encounters.

I saw the masterful art that is the collaborative climactic chaos of filmmaking.

I love being on a film set: the charge, the excitement, the whole “capturing what feels real, what feels present.”

I love making it happen.

I can’t wait to be on set again.

What can I say?

Filmmaking is in my blood and my veins are:
pumping, pulsating and thirsty.

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On the side:

Speaking of pumping, pulsating and thirsty:

It comes as no surprise that I scared off the ridiculously cute ex-mormon writer/religious studies virgo boy from the san fran trip. He’s 24 and full of artsy-angst.. We met on the flight and then ended up sitting right next to each other on the 45 minute BART-ride.

We talked empirical fall-out and the abolishment of religion.

He asked me out.

“Do you know that with all the 30 to 35-year-olds that I’m head over heels for right now, you’re the first boy who’s had the courage to ask me out?”

He smiled wide.

“Is that a yes?”

“That is most definitely a yes.”

We agreed to coffee at SFO before the return flight. I arrived on crutches and he helped me navigate and we had stellas.

We agreed to a second date this week and then I had to open my mouth. I had to use my words and using my words gets me into trouble.

“So you’re a virgo and an ex-mormon…I’m guessing that means you’ve got a lot of pent-up sexual energy that needs releasing.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“Sorry. I’ve been accused of coming on a bit strong lately.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. Still wanna go out again?”

His smile morphed into a sly smirk and he slowly nodded yes.

“Attaya boy.”

(He hasn’t called.)

Damn.
Damn.
Damn.

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Speaking of blood:

I’ve gotta hit up the hospital tonight – it simply has to happen.

I’ve been really good about listening to signs lately and in the past couple days, I’ve had 5 different people tell me that the whole bruising and swelling migrating up to my knee is indicative of blood clotting and that, in severe cases, I could be at risk of a stroke.

And if my blood is clotting, I need to know as I’m getting a lot of tattoo work done right now. So. After today’s meeting, a cab ride up to Harborview has gotta happen: nothing says kickin’ Thursday night quite like a county emergency waiting room.

Nice.

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Speaking of meetings:

I’m four hours away from the follow-up with the Producer and, for the life of me, I can’t seem to find my notebook from the meeting with Original Writer. I think I might’ve left it in Fairfax.

Son
Of
A
Bitch.

Oh well. I don’t really need it anyway – I can remember most of it…I think.

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Speaking of Fairfax:

Thanks to Dave for letting me interrupt his work-day so that I could get the naked “blood & ink” iPhoto CD out of this damnable laptop = that’s a BAD Cilantro.

Lesson learned: no more naked pix on the laptop. Period.

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Lastly:

Thanks to 303 for the movie last night. We may not have watched much of it, but it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

And, truly, thanks for the pitch deadline.

That is the one thing that I really

Have
To
Make
Happen.

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