Bringing Down Ben

This is Ben Mezrich.

This is Ben Mezrich on Hollywood.

Any questions?

There should be.

Like about Ben's answer to this question:

tbc: You got the movie deal even after exposing Hollywood's tracking boards in your Wired piece?

BM: That worked in a positive way. They like any kind of publicity. I didn't say anything people didn't already know: that Hollywood is a big game.

Actually, what he said in that piece were things like:

If the rumors are true, it means that the fix is in: major collusions between studios, arbitrary blackballing, a system that mocks any standard of fair play.

Opinions are one thing. But collusive behavior, or manipulative lies - like the pumping and dumping on an Internet stock board - these are more complicated issues. With no regulation, there's just no way to know how dirty the system really is.

I've seen how the system works, and can no longer pretend that projects are considered purely on their own merits. I am an insider now, reeling from a week that started in Utah, passed through LA, and ended in Sin City. I'm not starstruck anymore. I'm angry.

Guess schmooze, booze and flooze have a way of taking the edge off.

News from the Come-Back-Home Front

Ran out of hay yesterday, called our pals at Cold Brook Farm who usually hook us up, but they're out 'till the next cutting at the farm next door (i.e., June). So in desperation I took myself to the top of the south hill overlooking Cortland to a certain venerable establishment (farm founded 1810) for a) a couple of emergency bales of the grassiest horse/cow hay they had (goats are picky, picky, picky) and b) info on what seeds we should use to start growing hay that our goats will deign to eat.

I got to chatting with Dave, long-time business partner and friend of the family, and learned that the boy who broke that family's generations-long chain of farmers and headed for Hollywood (he got into USC film school--plus the barns aggravated his asthma) was coming home for a commencement speech at his high-school alma mater. (This local boy made good, you see, and is now helming pictures like Enchanted and National Treasure: Book of Secrets.) Moreover, this same local boy has reportedly been making noises about taking up residence in a house on the family farm. This after finally buying a house in the Hills--or somewhere equally astonishing, I can't remember--the top of Mount Olympus? Anyway, he's never there, says Dave. Is the "original Hollywood Farmer" looking to settle down back east?

Small talk travels fast in a small town. Updates as I get them.

The Latest Casualty of the Iraq War:

Jessica Queller's breasts.

Because an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of flesh. Or something.

Little known fact: The likelihood of Saddam Hussein developing WMDs from that great big nuclear stockpile of his was figured at 85.9 percent. So it actually makes perfect sense that Jessica declared war on her boobs.

In other news, come to the farm. For one thing, I need to fill a few stalls in the writers' barn. Writers' room. I need to fill a few seats in the writers' room. I also need fewer than two lives. Even if one is only imaginary.

Hey.

A vlog is a blog.

"Wow...that is so much less work," said my lazy ass.

Endings.

The end is the best part.

Why we are here.

Goat love. Alien love.

Sex. Babies. Reality.

Oh yes. We are, in fact, keeping it real.

Fertile mucous. Box office.

Teething troubles.

Glamorous.

The one that started it all. Whatever it is.