Screenplay is Now a TV Pilot

because the guy I sent the screenplay to never called me back.

No, that's not true. It's because this is what it's supposed to be. It's fun instead of anguished. And Hurt Locker or no Hurt Locker, movies are a wasteland. (Except of course for this franchise from heaven.*) And I was a TV writer in my past life. And the pilot is a live-action/animation concept, which fits my profile as an animation writer.** And I've been writing specs in the hope of finding an agent, and agents wants to see pilots in spec packages right now.

Plus it's probably the best time to be an over-40 would-be 4GrownUpsTV writer than at any time in my over-40-year history.

Meanwhile, the greenhouse is working. Basically. But I have a lot to learn. Gotta keep a hand in this. Because there's still a storm coming. (So why try writing for TV? Two words: Counter-recessionary. At least for now.)


*And yet... Don Cheadle? He's brilliant but... I'm not buying him as War Machine. Hopefully not everyone saw Hotel Rwanda.

**They called the show a loss because it looked like it would be too costly because it looked like the card game would never make as much money as they wanted. After all, every self-respecting CEO has to be able to snap up a federally-seized penthouse apartment every once in a while...recession or no recession.

Blessed Trinity

Wes and Noah: Life Aquatic and Mr. Fox (Wes also "begetting," in a broadly paternal sense, The Squid and the Whale); Wes and Ben: Royal Tenenbaums; Noah and Ben: Greenberg.

Since we're talking Wes, and since my little pilot is a super-hero origin-story, this post would be sorely lacking without a mention of this:

End of from-the-barn blog. Back to modifying the greenhouse.

Sold the Goats

and the TV company I work for is selling itself.

But we have a greenhouse now. (It's the one in this slide show. But with plastic over it.)

And someone might actually buy my screenplay.

The Hollywood Farmer is dead.

Long live The Hollywood Farmer.

Let's See...

...I'm getting even more writing work from the day-job these days, i.e., today, which is why I'm blogging right now (deadline is sundown, basically, and I can't take it) and why the God of writing is going to SMITE ME HARD in the next hour or so, and why I've made ZERO PROGRESS on the 4GrownUpsTV spec scripts (which may be pointless anyway)...

...the potatoes have all been harvested and they positively MELT IN YOUR MOUTH...

...the goats haven't had their bedding changed or been let out in the yard in about three weeks (which means GPS--Goat Protection Services--is going to be on my goat-stinky a** any day now because they monitor their goats using, well, you know)...

...and big beautiful fluffy flakes are falling through the late-afternoon-sunlight right now, making for a pre-Thanksgiving Christmas-postcard-from-back-home-on-the-farm (or maybe that should be a timely over-the-river-and-through-the-woods Thanksgiving postcard?).

Did I mention my inner city-boy almost bought a house in a village closer to where my daughters study ballet (and that they both have multiple parts in the school's production of The Nutcracker, which means they're going to have to buy cots and start sleeping over in the smells-like-never-been-washed-point-shoe-gel-inserts locker-room in a week or two)?

Or that the greenhouse film hasn't been put up yet, or that the ground it's sited on is mercifully-not-yet-but-soon-will-be frozen, or that the woodpile is almost gone and I have yet to call back either the cheaper-because-unsplit-wood guy or the people from whom I almost bought the Volvo XC60 of wood inserts to tell them that, no, I'm not actually moving, so get your highly-capable butts back here and make my hearth?

I didn't?

That's because I don't have time.

I'm writing right now.

Cooler than New York Magazine.

That's THF.

The proof:

Dunst told the October issue of Harper's Bazaar that [the rumors of romance between her and Justin Long] "are the funniest thing on planet Earth. I don't know him from Adam. I met him once and he and his friend were kind enough to walk me home. I've never seen him since." Bizarre old-lady expression aside, that clears that up. On her future plans, Kirsten says she won't always live in NYC. "I want to have kids and a farm with lots of animals on a lake," she said, presumably brushing her waist-length hair and buttoning her prairie dress.

"Bizarre old-lady expression"? You mean "traditional expression"? As in "not-born-yesterday" expression? Is it hip to be illiterate?

Actually, NYMag...THF doesn't want to hear your answer to that. Don't know that farming's not just for the Amish anymore, but rather for anybody who's awake? Don't know that more and more celebs are waking up all the time? Don't know that this is good news? Then you don't know. We know, though. But don't worry. We'll send you a link.

Everyone Loves A Music Video.

I know I do.

This is his best yet. It's also the most insane. That's why.

Burn, Baby.

I knew there was a reason why I love this show. Sure, Jeffrey Donovan, Bruce Campbell and super-smart creator-writer Matt Nix are all great reasons to love Burn Notice, but at the moment I'm excited about the fact that there are apparently not one but two ag-types in the cast:

Burn Notice, a breezy summer spy romp on the USA Network, is the kind of regular gig Mr. Campbell long ago stopped pursuing, deciding that instead of chasing stardom in Los Angeles he’d rather make his own movies, write a few books and basically not get involved in anything that would interfere with his ability to hang out on his middle-of-nowhere property, a lavender farm outside Ashland, Oregon. "I’m a fairly antisocial hermit type," he confesses. "So I like it up there."

But Campbell hasn’t been there much lately. Besides working on “Burn Notice” in Miami (where, he claims, he’s prone to “projectile sweating”), he’s been out on the hustings, finishing postproduction and greasing the promotional wheels for his next film, an indie horror-comedy called “My Name Is Bruce,” scheduled to open in October. He directed it and stars as a legendary B-movie actor named Bruce Campbell, who turns out to be a liquored-up jerk who ends up battling a nine-foot-tall sword-wielding Chinese god of war (and of bean curd) to save a small town. It is not a true story.

A recent screening of footage from the film, which has been long delayed (“because,” he explained, “low-budget movies aren’t released, they escape”), drew roars of approval at Comic-Con International in San Diego, with one fan loudly proclaiming Mr. Campbell his favorite actor, ever. After which Mr. Campbell opened his wallet and gave the guy $2.

So now I like him not only because he's hilarious, but because of his apparently equal love for film and farm. But that's not the only thing we have in common. We also both projectile-sweat.

UPDATE: Farmers are sleepy at the end of the day, which may be why I didn't notice my Burn Notice star here is THF's first American celebrity-ag tag! Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

Speculation.

They still made movies during the Great Depression, right?

WSJ writers who see it coming, unite.

I predict that every field (not just mine) will come to be split between people who recognized some kind of farming was necessary and did it--even though it made their lives insane--and people who scoffed and now are scraping.

OK, my oracle is done now. Time to pass out.

UPDATE: Well, this is some consolation, I suppose.

Country. City.

Went to a barn-dance.



Went to the Flatiron District.



The first was about tradition. The second was about writing for TV.

Hello, I'm The Hollywood Farmer. Sometimes I'm afraid I'm not sustainable.

Because I have to be.

Again with the U.K.

This from Gabrielle Anwar, the lovely lass from Burn Notice (which actually has an online clothing store that sells what's seen on the show):

I was just reading one of these magazines about nothing in particular...you know, about what everyone's wearing. And I guess I now have a sudden interest in what's hot and what's not. I discovered that I actually am interested in fashion. I don't know if I would actually incorporate that into my everyday existence. It's just not something that's as interesting to me as...growing a vegetable patch. [laughs]

The embarrassed laugh either indicates that she knows she sounds quaint or that she's bullshitting. If the latter, could it be that vegetable gardening is some sort of universally-acknowledged Activity of Fundamental Import (AFI)? As in "Of course I garden. I care, don't I?"

P.S.: Still listening for soundings from Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Shame on me for treating the U.K. without distinction. I'm rather Irish, so I really ought to know better.

OK, That's It

We've now heard from from the last remaining English-speaking country that's not this one (see here and here, and here): Nicole Kidman sings the garden organic in Vogue:

I’ve been in Tennessee, just sitting. We have a farm there, and I have an organic vegetable garden. This is a path I’d not taken before. My mum’s always gardened. My sister gardens. And I’ve now conformed to the Kidman women’s hobby of gardening. And it is just a hobby. I’m not feeding the troops. [laughs]

Yeah, but...you were thinking it. Anybody's who paying attention would be.

Nicole is also pregnant for the first time. Some cute bits:

"Would you like to touch it?" asks Nicole Kidman.

I lower my hand onto the rounded curve of her stomach. It's as firm to the touch as a melon. "I just felt some kicking," she says, giving me the look of unbridled delight you might expect from a 40-year-old woman who's soon to bear her first child.

"The whole experience is so primal," she says.

"Just look at how I'm sitting here with my legs apart"—her knees splay out at a 45-degree angle. "This is the way you have to sit when you're pregnant."

"When I first saw the baby on the ultrasound, I started crying. I didn't think I'd get to experience that in my lifetime," she says. "I like the unpredictable nature of it. To feel life growing with you is something very, very special, and I'm going to embrace that completely. I don't believe in flittering around the edges of things. You're either going to walk through life and experience it fully or you're going to be a voyeur. And I'm not a voyeur."

Visceral, yet clinical; immersed, yet self-conscious to a point just this side of detachment. No, not a voyeur. An actor.

With Love, From Hollywood.

My brother from out H'wood way sent these pics. He was location-scouting here for the upcoming "Beauty and Tranquility" from Touchstone. His old high-school buddy heard he was going to be headed back east for the annual family vaca and called in a favor. I hear Bruckheimer will be helming this one. It's going to kick beautiful, tranquil ass.

Ready For My Close-Up

Just as soon as they call me. Cuz you know I had to nominate myself. I mean, c'mon...a guy who does hilarious commentary on showbiz minutiae for his vlog while milking a goat? That's what I call "unique."

Wonder if a farmer-filmmaker filming the farmer-filmmakers filming the aforementioned farmer-filmmaker would be too, eh, meta. I don't get too many opportunities to use the camera these days, though, so they just might have to deal.

The fact that Ian Cheney is helping to make this film seems a good reason to finally link here.

is for Victory Garden.

Here's a particularly pleasing adaptation:

I'm in it for the revolution. But mostly I'm in it for the food.

I Don't Blog

because I'm too busy farming.

That either makes me extremely authentic/attractive or extremely disappointing.

Learning Curve.

acre = amount of hay a man can scythe in a day

schmacre = amount of hay a schmuck scythe in a day

one schmacre <<< one acre

I'll get the hang of it. I'd better. Because while our tractor is the kind you can hook a sickle bar up to, it's also the kind that runs on oil.

UPDATE: I am, in fact, getting the hang of it. "Before and after" pics soon.

Best. Agricultural Movie Line. Ever.

KEE

You know what they do to these cows? They cut off their tits. They do. Zzzt, gone. Bye. Only leave four. Four tits fits the machine. It’s wacko. Why not make machines that suck eight titties, eh?

Speaking of milking multiple titties, I now have as many goats as I have kids. And yet I do not have as many kids as I have goats. Because some of my goats are moms. Hey, you'd be easily amused too if you were as brain-dead as I am. I feel like I just ran a weekend-long caprine birth marathon. Because I did.




Speaking of cows, Rosebud the Bruiser (bred shortly before this vid) has an udder like one. And because she's been separated from her babies (she kept trying to head-butt them), before long we'll be getting two ginormous milkings a day all to ourselves, once babies are off the bottle, i.e., off milk for good. Quite unlike Daisy's baby, Hyacinth (who was bred shortly before this vid), who was never separated from her mom and nursed right up till the day she started nursing her own, which she now does beautifully. Much to our surprise, since in every other way she takes after her aunt Rosebud, probably because her aunt never missed an opportunity to give her young niece a lesson in goat-fu.

In other words, we'll be filling the pool with goat's milk this summer. It should be good for the skin. Like the soap we'll be making from it next year. Unless cheese comes first. Which it will if we can't find a spot for the pool in the shade.

Coming Home to Roost

Here's the official story. My question is: Has anybody raised the possibility of foul (or should I say fowl) play? In other words, do the chickens want their lot back? Or at least their own parking space, as in days of old?

In 1915, a movie pioneer named Carl Laemmle bought the 230-acre Taylor chicken ranch on the north side of the Hollywood Hills. He set up a motion picture studio on the ranch, but he kept the chickens. Laemmle figured movies might go out of fashion, but eggs wouldn't.

To help defray the cost of movie making, he decided to sell tickets to people who wanted to see his movies being made. He charged them 25 cents, which included a box lunch with chicken and egg salad sandwiches. The spectators watched from bleachers where they were encouraged to cheer the heroes and boo the villains. The directors told the crowds that the actors usually did a better job if they were given noisy encouragement. Of course, the movies being made were silent. As the spectators were leaving the studio, they were offered a good deal on eggs and many bought.

Maybe they could give the territorial clucks this house on Colonial Street. Only seems fitting. I hear that something like 95% of hens prefer Desperate Housewives over these chicks. There's something about Teri Hatcher they seem to relate to...

Cooking With Gas

Petrol, that is.

Actual horsepower may be our destiny. Our friends at Cold Brook Farm have horses now; "Astonishing animals," said the city boy. Though our eleven horses don't eat all that much, so for the moment, it makes sense.

Fun fact: James Watt used a (strong) Dray horse working a cotton gin for 8 hours and estimated an average of 22,00 foot-pounds per minute (which he then increased by 50%) to create the horsepower-unit. The 50% increase was based on the output that he expected would eventually be achieved in the future by robot (i.e., auto-motive, or to use Mr. Watt's term, "horseless") horses.

Another Canuck Talks Turkey

From Paste Vision (a podcast on Paste Station [on Paste Magazine]):

Ellen Page: I've been kind of obsessing about being self-sustainable [laughs nervously] before the shit hits the fan?

Josh Jackson (Editor-in-Chief): That's a nice place to be.

Ellen Page: My friends and I have been thinking of buying a farm and becoming self-sustainable.

Diablo Cody: That's a good idea.

Ellen Page: You're welcome.

This was in December, shortly before Not-Juno was voted Best Picture of 2007. Wonder if Ms. Page has made any progress since then. Wonder if she’ll actually do it at all. She doesn’t live in the desert -- she still calls Halifax home, keeps herself “grounded” there -- so maybe she’s actually familiar enough with reality to find farming (i.e., health, beauty, etc.) attractive. Somehow, though, I have a feeling that nobody (not even Ellen Page) is going to make any drastic changes in lifestyle until the shit hits the fan.

Then again, maybe it already has. Or is. A little at a time. Making a kind of steady spray. Sorry. They’re spreading manure down the road.

Lessee, so on The Hollywood Farmer Scoreboard now that’s a Brit and two Canucks, one talkin’ the talk and one startin' to walk…now how about an American celeb? Otherwise I might start to suspect I really haven’t hit upon the newest Hollywood trend…