Coffeehouse Musings: 2008-2011
It's amazing what one will find in a Word doc that hasn't been opened in over a decade...
You know those magazine interviews in which stars are questioned by a hip writer in an even hipper, off-the-beaten-path coffeehouse in Los Angeles, sipping some chai while tossing questions and answers to each other about the paparazzi and the celeb's feelings about his overnight celebrity?
I’m in one of those places now, and a well-known indie actor-writer has just walked in, ordered a green tea, and placed himself by a window seat, possibly seeking some inspiration from the lighter-than-usual traffic on Beverly Boulevard outside.
Feb. 9, 2008
Although I feel like I’ve neglected my cute little coffeeshop on Beverly, I know I am still welcome among the other artists, writers, and audition-deprived actors who find solace within the confines of this establishment. There’s an unspoken sense of camaraderie within these walls, probably only expressed via the keyboards on which everyone in here types away.
The Asian woman who works the counter here every morning on the weekends keeps to herself, carefully separating the riffraff from the regulars in her head. A part of her feels for the familiar faces who come back to her week after week, using up their free time to pursue a goal many strive to achieve, and another part of her takes pride in knowing she is offering a haven for a least one or two customers who will go on to sell that screenplay, win that award and, in that acceptance speech, include a special thanks to the countless cups of caffeine supplied by Insomnia Café on Beverly during those struggling times when a four-dollar iced mocha was a trivial luxury best left for someone who annually raked in six-figures.
Her customers are potential publicity tools, either future failures or success stories grateful for the humble beginnings they experienced.
I am a writer. I am starting to feel more comfortable saying that despite the fact I haven’t been able to make a solid, legitimate living off of communicating my words to a mass audience. This confidence in declaring who I am stems from two things. First, everyone seems to be a writer nowadays, what with the rampant blogging and web journalism that exists in our world of what I like to call instantaneous infotainment. Second, I live in a city full of writers, each one of them thinking they’re better than the next, and I find it comforting, living in this bubble blanketed by aspirations and hopes, whether or not some of it may be seen as delusions.
R.I.P. Insomnia Cafe on Beverly Blvd.
Feb. 17, 2008
The guy who handed me his business card at the cocktail mixer on Friday night has met me once (maybe twice), and since I am one of the hosts of the evening, he feels the need to establish a connection with me, thinking we will meet again someday – at another party, over lattes, or while enjoying a succulent piece of prime rib at the new steakhouse on La Cienega. It is one of many contacts I make at Hot Mix, and I feel embarrassed because, of all nights, I neglected to replenish my wallet with several black-and-white cards from Anonymous Content. Major d’oh.
Living in this city full of favors and fuck-overs, one tends to develop an intangible skill, the ability to weed out the sincerity among the bullshit, the ability to carefully cherry-pick the choice-cuts from the flabby waste. In other words, you gradually become a master of scratching other people’s backs while maintaining the guarantee that they will indeed scratch yours. And you have to genuinely enjoy the scratching. True, feelings of obligation will get in the way, preventing you from having what could be a great experience. However, you need to look at the bigger picture and practice patience.
Quotes from Forever Odd, the novel I'm reading by Dean Koontz:
“The heart is an artist that paints over what profoundly disturbs it, leaving on the canvas a less dark, less sharp version of the truth.”
“This world, which has the potential to be Eden, is instead the hell before Hell. In our arrogance, we have made it so.”
Feb. 18. 2008
Tamara was occupying the couch I had used yesterday. Another writer among writers, a face from my production past.
“I still have your digits,” I tell her after we play catch-up (I’m still at Anonymous, she’s been out of work since the writers strike began).
“Well, call them,” she tells me, and I make promise to myself that I will.
March 8, 2008
It’s been over two weeks since I last visited Insomnia here on Beverly, and I’m pretty much running on empty with the Witty Thought tank. I have completed some much-needed reading with the past two issues of Entertainment Weekly, and I am somewhat replenished with pop culture nourishment while I wait to have lunch with the boys at Milk next door.
June 19, 2008
I hate the fact that all of my friends are in a part of our lives where we're all so distracted with advancing our careers that we hardly see each other anymore. I hate that gas is more than $4.50 a gallon.
June 21, 2008
The longest day of the year. Happy Summer Solstice. I feel bad for my beautiful leather journal I purchased at an Urban Outfitters four years ago. It sits neglected at home on my dresser, unwritten in. Pen hasn’t touched paper since…who knows? Last summer?
I’m back in Insomnia after quite the hiatus. The times here with Corey haven’t been recorded because, of course, we had been busy drafting our screenplay that shall get purchased and premiere at Outfest 2010 (wishful thinking).
Okay, gotta work on my spec…due date is a week away.
November 10, 2008
Message to my long-distance crush on Facebook:
Look at you, adding the friends and posting the pics...looks like you're adapting to Facebook well.
My Halloween was alrght. Had some people over for drinks...then actually ended up in Weho, but stayed at The Abbey for two hours to avoid the crazy masses outside and enjoyed a VIP booth and free drinks (friend knows a bartender)...muy drunko...chatted it up with Candis Cayne from "Dirty Sexy Money" (she performed in an annual celeb AIDS benefit I work on....it's called Hot in Hollywood...the blogsite is an extension of the benefit), then walked a mile with some girlfriends to a 24-hour diner (yes, we have those in LA) and gorged ourselves on fried goodness.
Totally separated from the 12 people we came with, and I kept warning everyone it was gonna be messy! Santa Monica Boulevard was insane. Definitely not doing it next year, especially when Halloween will be on a Saturday – that's when we'll have our party (on the actual date) – so save it or book a flight now ;)
And yours? How do the Cleveland kids celebrate? Any debauchery? Drunkenness?
Enjoy your Sunday (I'm thinking of playing hooky from work on Monday by calling in sick.....shhhh).
April 11, 2010
Peet’s Coffee on Westwood Blvd.
Long time no see…
In a world where millions of people interact with each other via email, IM, texts and tweets, I can’t help but wonder what people talk about when they actually meet up for coffee. What brings them to an establishment like this? A first date between two guys who wanted to meet in person after chatting each other up online...Two housewives getting together to gossip about their mutual friends...A pair of bros catching up...
January 8, 2011
Starbucks on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica.
One week into the New Year in Los Angeles, and just as the gyms are filled with bodies looking to keep their pledges to tone themselves and shed the holiday poundage, coffeeshops are filled with writers struggling to keep their promises to meet their personal deadlines and finish the scripts they think will sell.
I’ve now gained back all of my Game On weight, plus ten more, making me just as heavy as I was during my freshman year of high school. The shame is just as stifling as the depression. And the fact that I absolutely hate my job doesn’t help. Right now, all I want to do is sit on the couch, watch British films and television (God, I forgot what a great movie Notting Hill is), eat cupcakes, and daydream about returning to London, shopping on Bond Street, and taking in some high tea in Knightsbridge so that I could order some scones and clotted cream on the side – and that’s before I hop on a flight to Paris to see Kathleen, stuff my face with crepes, and walk the cobblestoned streets of a city I once visited (shudder) a decade ago.
I’ve felt depressed before because I felt like I wasn’t really going anywhere – love-life-wise. But now it’s 100% career-wise. Turning 31 in less than three months with a salary that’s still under 40K a year is preventing me from looking at any possible bright side. Fuck the New Year and its way of making us analyze our shitty lives and magnify the dissatisfaction we feel. Fuck the New Year for forcing us to make up resolutions that we never keep and goals we’ll lose track of. I don’t do resolutions, I do to-do lists, and here is mine for 2011:
1. Submit my script to the Outfest Screenwriters Lab
2. Quit my job
3. Apply for the CBS Diversity program
4. Go to Europe (I know that sounds vague, not listing what places I’d want to visit, but at least I’ll get my ass out of this country for a while)
5. But first I need to renew my passport
6. Get new passport photos taken
7. Write another spec – any show. Just get it done.
Come on, self. Let’s do this.
8. Lose thirty pounds. At least.
October 15, 2011
Starbucks on Westwood at Olympic.
Father and son sit at a table. Dad’s reading the Times while junior fidgets with his smartphone.
I need to finish this Taco Bell director's treatment and get my ass downtown for some Halloween costume browsing with Christine and some catching up with Michael.
@TheFirstEcho
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