Epic Yesterday

I'm sitting in my living room on my last morning at this house here in Pasadena. It's also Halloween, 2010.

Yesterday was an epic day - I don't know how familiar you are with the company Public Storage, but let me tell you they are a gold mine of excellent customer service and awesome locations. Their warehouses are like tri-story labyrinths from some 90's video game, with recurring hallways and a spooky concrete emptiness.

Concrete emptiness. That reminds me of valeting, something I rarely write about. I've been valeting on the side for about 10 months now, partially to make some extra $$ and partially because I secretly enjoy driving every vehicle ever been made, especially through the corridors and twists of our subterranean three-level garage. Sometimes when jogging back to the metal doors and stairwells that lead up into the motor court I find myself starkly alone, underground, surrounded by a concrete emptiness. It's such a strange thing, and so unique. There's pure silence, not unlike sitting on a mountaintop while powder is falling from the sky.. but it's the city's serenity. The only hint of life is an occasional distant echo of sirens, or some car alarm beeping armed two levels down. Running between the underground pillars, the further back you go the deeper you are locked in a silent prison of concrete. Next time you're surrounded by concrete on all 6 sides, stop and listen. It's an emptiness to recognize.

Yep, yesterday was epic, here's the list:
1) drove in the brisk morning beneath beautiful downtown LA to Ktown to pick up Karlee's awesome Ford truck
2) stopped by Sophie's house on the way back to swoop her up
3) fled to Pasadena for a rambunctious, anxiety-ridden moving-fest of craziness
4) Sophie politely listened to me rant and rave about all the crap I don't have enough time to accomplish
5) we moved all my stuff into my amazing 5x5 storage space (ironically numbered 365)
6) on the way a cop drove behind our unsecured mattress but we swiftly evaded him
7) we finished (hurray!) and I drove Sophie back home to Koreatown
8) she threw a rooftop pumpkin carving party and I made a picasso pumpkin
9) I was off again for a final show of ELEVATOR for the weekend
10) Show went spectacular
11) back to Ktown for a visit with Shane Patterson and Mariana, his incredible girlfriend
12) now on their rooftop talking about how 3D will never make it into the indie film world, unfortunately, and acting and such,
13) played charades and ping-pong and ate pumpkin hummus
14) drove to an undisclosed location to sleep. :) pretty swell day.


A HUGE thank you to Sophie Green ladies and gentlemen, for her saving my anxious skin in a time of need. She's amazing, this girl is the funniest, sweetest person this side of the Sierra Nevadas. If you don't know, now you do. Thanks Sophie. As they say in Brotown, you really did me a solid. Seriously, made my month. Thank you. :)

Now I have rehearsal for a new project I've barely touched on here called River. Let's just say, I'm excited to see this one out.. we have about 3 weeks left of pre-production, then we shoot it. Could be a whirlwind adventure in and of itself, so be on the lookout for River, a mumblecore film!

And I'm off. Adios

Moving

I can't believe I'm writing a 3rd thing in less than 24 hours. This could be a record.
It's probably my beautiful way of procrastinating from moving, which was my (and currently still is my) task du jour for the next two and a half days. I went to the Public Storage on Arroyo Pkwy this morning and scoped a storage space for my things, 5 hours later I'm sitting here typing away again because moving is miserable. I've probably done about a 1/3 of the work that I'm supposed to before this thing is done.. and that's just getting OUT of the house.

I want to throw everything I own away.

That's how moving makes me feel. I look at all this stuff that I never use because I'm never home and I think "WHY do I still have this?" But when I reach to the trash to toss a souvenir, I cower back to stop myself for some sentimental fear that I will forget. What, I can't throw away that coconut monkey yet? How many year will it stick with me? Thanks, KARA, for giving me this adorable little coconut monkey because now I will never be able to part with it FOREVER. It's been sitting in a box, it will remain in a box, but yet I can not throw the thing away.

This is why moving is miserable. The above paragraph, and the one below.

Nobody wants to move their things, they just want to move their body. It's easy to get in your car and drive to the next home. But that lovechair I have in the living room? Shred it. I don't care. And yet, like the coconut monkey, I can't part with the torn-up smelly chair (though I may have to, a 5x5 storage space doesn't cut it, chair). And the TV? It's covered in dust. It weighs 150 pounds of pure dead inanimate weight, has a frikkin VCR built in (which is awesome, by the way) and has several unremovable cables and cords dangling like an octopus. Moving it is like delivering a metal and plastic overweight infant.

What do you do with clothes you never wear?

NOT throw them away of course. I literally have to tear a shirt into two pieces in order for me to realize it's finished. One time i had a pair of boxers that had FAR more holes than is acceptable by most societies. But I kept wearing them, because there would always come a day when the laundry wasn't done and there they were staring me in the face with their many eye sockets. I'd put them on because they were available. One time I actually tossed the boxers into the garbage can, then a week later found myself digging through the same can looking for them because I had no time to do laundry and I needed some underwear.
How does the story end? One morning before stepping into the shower I half-awake tore them into two pieces, knowing that no matter what receptacle I put them into they still won't be wearable anymore. I moved on.

This is why I want to throw everything I have away.

So I can start from scratch, clean slate, no more pictures of exes or blue shoes I'll never wear, no more extraneous bathroom items or electronic devices with missing remotes, no more cumbersome keepsakes or piles of reread books, no more stuff to bog me down! If it doesn't fit into a backpack, CHUCK it!!
But you and I both know, I cannot.

What are you doing tomorrow?

Want to help me move? My favorite part about moving is buying those Mr Clean bars and whiping up everything you own with them. They're pure magic.

Gotta go to the play now.

Adios

Postcard

Just got a postcard in the mail from Joey. It's from New Mexico, a state I've always wanted to visit. You may or may not know this about me, but there was a brief but passionate year and a half of college (or uni as the brits would say) where I loved to study anything and everything native American. This largely included the Pueblo cultures, and Chaco Canyon, a totally fascinating ghost-indian-town in New Mexico...my closest thing to leaving town at the time was a potential internship working on a site in the Chaco Canyon area (archaeological site) but I ended up doing too many freakin pantomime shows and lost focus on my anthropology degree.

What's funny is I use the same knowledge every day here in LA - I mean, we basically live in a world of booming Chaco Canyons, aka cities that are alive as CC once was, fully-functioning, evolving, people-driven metropolises that will inevitably morph or vanish in our distant future.

The problem with America is we think we're OLD. We think this country has been around and owned by Americans forever, but honestly we're a bunch of toddlers! quite literally. We're fat, skinny, black, white, mexican, asian toddlers running around playing and getting real serious and pretending we know what we're doing all the time. We come from a country that has barely any history besides a little birthing and some womens' voting rights. Truth is, there were people here millennia before we showed up with our guns ablaze, and they were living extremely complex and fruitful, and much more epic, existences. They had gods and harvests, peace and war, gold and turquoise and complete societies. Roads, homes, pueblos, and Land. They loved the land, they were the true cowboys, roaming the mesas and mountains and canyons, worshipping the mysteries of the Earth like they were intended. Our science barely scratches the surface of the power of their beliefs.. I'm talking in generalities here which is probably not ok since there were so many dozens of native American societies, but you get my point.

In other words, when we say we lay claim to New Mexico and call it our own, it is as much a figment of our imagination as thinking that a kid playing with GI Joes in his parent's house is actually fighting battles with tiny figurines. It's great imaginative play, but obviously none of it is real. It works for us in the moment (believe me Los Angeles is a future archaeologist's dreamland) but I like to remember where we came from when looking out at where we might go. Like a tree growing from roots to tip of branch, we're still stretching but we can't think we're a sycamore when we're just a fledgling bush.

Slow down America. Remember who we are. And what we're doing here. Let your imagination wander, but don't forget that we own nothing, we come from nothing, and we're likely creating nothing with longevity. How far will the work of a real estate broker take him? Far enough to find a few dollars. But he who builds a road and follows with no regards for money, carves a path for the people to follow into tomorrow. I hope that in 1000 years from now the roads we build and words we write will last.

Mikie

David Goldstein

I need to get back into writing on here, and I will.

Partly because David Goldstein is an amazing man, and partly for myself.
Tonight I had a fantastic night at Dillons, my favorite restaurant/pub in Los Angeles. To be honest, I was taken by a lass who's brunette sideways glances pulled at my every heartstring.

Of course, I get overexcited over these things. But it's about time I'm in like for a girl.. if you know me then you know I love the challenge, and I certainly don't need any help. I'm a 'do-it-on-your-own-or-it-doesn't-get-done' kind of guy.

That isn't to say I'm giving this particular lady too much credit. She's lovely, but she might be some figmentation; a couple hours spent with someone only tells you whether or not you wouldn't mind spending a couple more with them.

This reminds me of some epic dreams I've been having lately, of infiltrating cities and saving the world in the face of apocalyptic threat.

In other words, it was a good night. One lovely girl, one rememberance of David Goldstein, and plenty of possibility ahead. A decent play despite my cracking voice, and the morning off. Not too bad.

Goodnight world. Look for more blogs, coming soon!

Love

Mikie

poem

Something's coming and going, dancing between the days.
It's the wind.. on a morning when the sky is grey and there's this wind that can't quite decide where to turn.
Outside the leaves rustle in little bunches, pushed against the edges of the sidewalks, drifting across the street like schizophrenic sailboats.

Iambics, let us verse it up

I'll call this: the stone hut

within a deep ravine between the hills
down, past a steep of rocks and choppy road
beyond the windy twist of curly trees
and under thicker mist and salty leaves
a little hut of stone and mortar built
by dead men's fingers digging to the bone
patted to perfect slabs of shale and stone
laid horizontal, vertical and flat
just wide enough to hold a single girl
rests up against the river rushing past.

The hut alone is nothing but a hut
stone cold and dead inanimate and grey
the rains begin to patter on the roof
the leaves crumple to wet and dampened mulch
the river raises just below the waist
just deep enough to carry leaves away.
long winter mornings batter at the sky
The hut now silent hides no bleating babe.

Not one warm breathing creature happens by
no boat caresses soft the river's flesh
only the cold and howl of empty trees
remembers who was bones beneath her dress,
now lost amongst the silent winter snow.
Is she alive and warm back in her home,
or frail and lost bones sunk buried beneath
the brown of dead and winter's dancing leaves?

And so I had a bunch of dreams last night, most of them about flying.
More iambic pentameter to come. Cheese and peace, fools

tis the season for Pumpkin Patches

Lambardi Farms. Excellent day, finally got to visit a pumpkin patch. Me and Sophie went up to Santa Clarita and had an epic day, from the journey up through the slushing rain, to the place itself, to coming back with Dan and making exotically delicious homemade pizzas and salad at my place - I could use these days more often. Check this awesome pumpkin-ridden place out.

Michael Jackson was there. Dead of course.

Here's Sophie petting a godlike creature on the hill

I think Inglehart was trying to tell us something.

googly-woogly eyes, I believe was Sophie's technical term for this scary crow scarecrow

Another scarecrow, probably one of the cooler images I've seen in a while. Grand Prize winner, even.

Check out this red car

Zhulga the scarecrow viking was depressed by the muddy grey skies. I cheered her up with several huge wet kisses on those perky lips. (not really) (well maybe) (no, honestly not really) (well... maybe)


I ate a starchy pear. Made my teeth kind of flare up

At the end of the day, I don't understand why people don't think Los Angeles is a beautiful city. This is from Sophie's roof this afternoon.


There's plenty more photos, but I'm too tired to mess with them. So there, my first pumpkin patch adventures for this Fall. Look for more in the near future, I'm gonna make this happen again soooooon

Migs

Letting go of an old Raft

I'm desperately in love with nothing. You know that feeling when you have a burn in your chest but its for no one or no thing, it's just there and it's inexplicable? Insolvable? That's it. A burn for some imagined city of riches I once believed in. The El Dorado of everything, somewhere just over the next ridge, around the next bend. How long can I drag this raft through the dry bed..

Once upon a time I was riding on the river, smoothly on my raft, anticipating obstacles and dashing wave trains joyfully. It was a psychological gold mine having nothing to do with success or riches, but a simple and profound state of mind. Then I saw a tributary gouging some darker canyon to the north, and like a curious dog I steered right when everyone else went left, thinking it a good idea to venture the length less traveled. As the afternoon wore into dusk, the waters slowly receded and shadowy rocks became more pronounced. More than once I found myself jammed between waterways, wading through the gravel, lifting my raft overhead, still keeping on. I believed in some unknown god, some city of riches at the end of the river, like a little Cortez, I'd found the be-all, end-all of ravines that would lead me to salvation

Soon night took me. Setting down the raft all I could do was wait and look at the stars. Try to love my surroundings for what they were, knowing deep down that I'm lost and my raft is now useless. Waiting for daybreak, sleeping when I could. Then the horizon hinted rose, a sweep of cool air danced through the valley, somewhere a bird chirped, and finally the sun sparked on my eastern horizon. Daylight had returned, as had hope. As the 6am hour passed, then 7, 8, there was still no release of water in the river bed. It stayed dry, because the season was over. And I'd had my one chance to see where this went. With little gumption, I picked up my finely-carved raft and continued down the dried up rocky gully in the rising morning.
Soon I was exhausted.. old intentions and old ideals still pushing me on but body holding back, aided by a growing sense of doubt that I'd come the wrong way.. stubbornness fighting ambition. Forward pushing, backward pulling. NO! I refuse to turn back. This has to lead somewhere, some city of gold.

Eventually it was clear to me. This riverbed leads only to a dead end.

Stranded in the twigs, rocks, leaves, the early afternoon with an overgrown riverbed, thorny and thistled ahead, I have to make a choice. It's clear that even the best raft-builders can folly-up. One builds a damn fine raft, but the matter of picking it's perfect river is just as crucial.

So I must make a choice.

The river flows from high to low. East to west. There's a mountain to my left, an impassable gully ahead, an impossible cliff to my right and from whence I came behind. So many options, and endless amounts of freedom to choose.Which way do I take? down the bed? over the mountain? scale the cliff?
The choice is there.

Adios for now

PS - this has nothing to do with leaving Los Angeles, Jason. :)

LA, Pville, Love, Liberty

I work in like 8 hours. But I'm back in LA, in my own bed again. After another hiatus from my vacant, $800/month room.

There are three things I want to talk about on my blog, and none of the three shall be discussed. Instead I'm going to sleep. Tomorrow is just another, preferably more Fallish, day.

so goodnight.

Mikie

Wait. Somebody's snoring in the apartment above me, but in hyperspeed; like 3 times the speed of a normal snore, still just as loud. Odd.