Our Man Is Down

And out.  But down and out?  As in down for the count?  Who knows.

Can't say it doesn't make sense.  Why pay for "High School Musical: China" when China likes "High School Musical" just fine? 

It only took a toe in the water out there to (re-)learn that it's not about who you know, it's about who you've known.  And the new Disney head Rick Ross has known Sean Bailey, the guy who's right now sitting in what probably should have been our man's chair, for years. 

Should've, that is, if Hollywood -- if people -- valued talent, intelligence, and experience over their old familiar relationships.   Which they don't.  And maybe can't.  And maybe for the best.   Community is not only how things happen, it's how humanity survives.  The perfect is the enemy of the done. 

I'll let (the two of) you know if I run into him up there on the hill.  It would be a good move, I think, for a lot of reasons... one of which is that people around here are the people who have known him.   But then that could also be a reason for staying as far away as ever.

UPDATE:  Our man down?  NOT SO MUCH.  He got 1.5 years severance pay/insurance plus an office for 6 months "off-campus."  Time to make his long-postponed dream-projects come true.  Or maybe just massive-money-making projects in which he gets to keep (most of) the money.  Plus some big agricultural endeavor?  Go go original Hollywood Farmer.  Let me know if you ever have any shit that needs shoveling.

UPDATE to UPDATE:  Shit?  Not so much.  Spam, maybe.  But sustainable ag needs initiatives like this too.  

Upon Coming Home

"Now we can get goats again!" -- The kids.

Deja Vu.

The Victory Garden continues to make its way back into the re-awakening popular consciousness.

WE DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE

Because WHO KNOWS what else AgriCorp's food is doing to us??

UPDATE: Think I might finally have come up with a script that's "out there" enough to get passed around as a calling card. My neighbor who got his start with The Farrelly Brothers inspired me to push the limit here. Maybe he'll find the time to read this one.

UPDATE to the UPDATE: I'm coming to the conclusion that hardly anyone has time for anyone else. Huzzah for my belated entrance into the real world.

BTW

From FishbowlLA:

According to The Right to Breathe, a 21-minute documentary that premiered earlier this week in Santa Monica, approximately 5,000 people die prematurely each year in Southern California because of air pollution. The health risks are even higher for those residing in or near the so-called “Diesel Death Zone,” an area bordered by the 405 freeway, the Port of Los Angeles and a railway line. Director Alexandre Phillipe tells The Lookout that it was no fun filming there:

Phillipe said he felt the effects of the pollution almost immediately. “Within 30 minutes, I literally started hurting. I could taste” the pollution, he said. It made him think about the people who live in the area–mostly low-income families or older people.

Here's the map that apparently nobody's editor wanted included in any story about this blight, probably for fear of drawing the ire of anybody concerned with the fate of all properties thereabouts:

View Larger Map

Meanwhile, in Santa Monica itself, a light layer of smog settles with the morning oceanside dew. But the ocean breeze keeps it at bay, mostly. But then, if I actually ever have to live in LA, Long Beach is probably my destiny. Writers get paid sh*t.

I can feel my asthma returning already.

UPDATE: NOTHING DOING. Writing, drawing, struggling, searching for a friend. Or at least a manager.

Back in Santa Monica

for a few months. We'll see who I run into. And what I can come up with. So far, my scripts have found no purchase. I choose not to take this the worst way possible. It's a difficult choice for me.

Been doing a lot of East-West bi-locating along the way. Managed to catch the stage debut of my twins Mary and Joan my future-guest-star Clare. And to set up the pool, this year with an even-better salt-to-chlorine machine.

The Hollywood Farmer. Still unsustainable. And loving/hating it.

Crap.

OK, new plan. If I get somebody like an agent or manager to take me on (e.g., on the strength of this aforementioned thing, which I actually finished, and which one of my more trusted readers says is my best concept yet), I'm going to insist that I work from the farm and Skype into the writers' room. Because I think it's arguable that it's irresponsible to ask someone today to abandon their means of food production for the family. Unless they paid me enough to buy a house in SoCal with a 1.5 acre backyard. And the requisite water.

Meanwhile Moviewood is banking on sure-fire-international-splashes like this because things are so scary. (As it happens my pilot is something reality-bending like this.) But if at some point in the near future it takes a global village to make a film like this, and if every single country in the world is heading into a depression/food shortage/pick-your-disaster, who knows if Hollywood will be able to make things like this (or anything else) anymore? Uprising of hyper-local cinema on the horizon? As in homemade shows in the barn?

Eat, drink and go to blockbusters. For tomorrow we work our fingers to the bone to survive.

MORE MUSICAL VIDEO-TYPE GOODNESS

It's hilarious even if you don't know the original. Which I will not pay $1.29 on iTunes to see. But those who have seen it say that it's even funnier if you have.

When I get back to the farm, I'll start posting about farming again. Meantime I continue to waste time while waiting, as opposed to, you know, doing anything productive.

Well, that's not quite true. I did write, but of course did not finish, this recently. And filmed this. And this. That might count as doing something. I also drew a few breaths. And took up a whole lot of space around the house where I'm currently freeloading.

Meanwhile, there are a lot of small farms (70,000) in California. But they're in decline. This could be a whole new cause for the wife and me, taking up a new battlefront against the invasion of Planet Eaarth. If I could get work here, that is.

Meanwhile, back east, an interesting development in one of the most important battlefronts in the aforementioned struggle: urban farming. Any thoughts, LA? Reactions? Acting is reacting, after all.

WASTING TIME

while waiting to hear back from an agent at WME and two working writers who say they're going to try to help me find an assistantship this season. Even as my resume and writing samples would probably be considered average for an undergrad at UCLA.

Meanwhile, after my dreams die, I'm thinking of training the chickens at home so I can make the next viral musical chicken video. They already have a head start.

THE HOLLYWOOD FARMER

likes this.

And not just because someone from their production office was nice enough to get back to me.

Now only if they can get renewed for a fourth season. And someone in the writers' room dies suddenly. And they can't find any of the other letters they got from all the people begging for the chance to get their coffee.

Headed back next week. Head spinning.

P.S.: If anyone from said production team actually reads this post and would rather I not lift even this esoteric little segment from the Season One box set, I trust they'll let me know, at which point I'll promptly pull it.

P.P.S.: They got it. Much good may it do me. But it's good even if not.