Sugar Mountain

Last night, my roommate and I were discussing childhood. We both realized that we couldn't piece together one single day from anything longer than 10 years ago. I remember bits and pieces of course, but it's weird not being able to pinpoint a date and time (birthdays not included). Especially for me--remembering dates are my strong suit.

I remember going into surgery when I was 3. I think that's my earliest memory. I remember arguing with my stepmother that I was 3 years old on my 4th birthday. I remember bits and pieces of kindergarden. I remember my first day of private school . . . and my first day of public school. I remember camping and ball games and theater experiences. But in most cases, I can't remember what happened in what year, let alone a single, full day. It sucks when you really think about it.

Anyway, I didn't sleep at all last night, thanks in part to my roommate for putting me in a downer mood. I kinda think I'm regretting it now. I gotta say, however, there's something exciting about walking around the city alone around 4 a.m. I ended up stopping at a Starbucks and doing some writing. I can't believe I only just now found out that brewed coffee only costs $.50 when you bring your own mug. I'll never be uncaffeinated again.

I thought about skipping my first class today, Intro to Producing, to sleep. It's a make-up day, and I'm not behind on any assignments. However, I chose to write a blog instead.

I can't say things have gotten any more interesting over here. After you live in the city for, say, about six months, nothing's that interesting anymore. Not even seeing someone put out a cigarette on a bum's forehead. Not even seeing someone taking a shit in the middle of the sidewalk. And not even when you see someone dancing around naked at city hall.

I find my apathy growing the more I live out here. I've gone from feeling sympathy for the homeless people on the street, to outright ignoring them--if I didn't, I'd be out of change and cigarettes every time I went from my place to class.

I don't say this to rag on San Francisco, or city living in general for that matter. Sometimes though, living here does makes me feel like too much of an adult. Anyone that knows me well enough, knows that I'm not exactly eager to grow up. I believe they call it the Peter Pan complex.

I just have to keep promising myself that I'll still act like a child when I'm 60. For better, or worse.

;)

With haunted hearts through the heat and cold

We never thought we could ever get very old

We thought we could sit forever in fun

Our chances really was a million to one.

Anxiety

Ugh. So the closer it gets to the end of a semester, I notice I get more ancy to be back home. Having so little to do around here in SF makes me about ten times more anxious.

I want to drive my car. I want to hang with my WA friends. I want to sleep in my bedroom. I want some Dick's.

Also, the fact that people I've kind of grown apart from (Brittany, Stevie, Amber) have started talking to me about wanting to hang out . . . it's fucking KILLING me.

Lately, the real challenge has to been to find ways of fighting off boredom. I feel like I'm in the Big Brother house. I've been going on long walks around the city just to get some air and see the sky. Last night, I rubbed shoulders with all the creeps and pervs of the city for the better part of two hours, just out of the desire to not be at my apartment.

Anyways, this blog is really nothing but a rant.

Peace.

When you call for help when you are lost

Forevermore at whatever cost

And the world will begin,

Exactly how it ends.

Generation Gaps

So, I turned 20 last week, and how things have already begun to transform in my life.

My sister had a baby on the 9th--a day before my birthday. For some reason, I've felt very estranged from my family--particularly my dad, sisters, and stepmother. I'm rarely on the phone with them anymore, and it's a bit of a bummer. Looking at pictures of my nephew, I think that needs to change.


I decided to end an intimate relationship I had kept with a girl down here in California. I was very reluctant to let this girl, Nataley, go for now, but it felt necessary. Her dad died shortly before we met, and I should've expected no less for her to be at a crossroad in her own life. I was glad to be a source of comfort for her. But I feel too strongly for her to want to sustain a long-distance relationship. On top of that, I feel like I'm at a place in my life where I know where I'm going and I know what I want. Naturally, she is in the process of figuring that out for herself. And while I would be glad to have a future with her, it's been increasingly apparent over the last few months, that she needs to find herself. And I can't help her do that.

Strangely enough, a day or two within me ending that, an ex-girlfriend--Amber is her name--re-emerged in my life, quite unexpectedly. It's been nice to sort of reconcile things with her. Things ended badly last Spring, to say the least. Ever since, I've resented the hostility I showed toward her when she was living at my house. In retrospect, while neither of us were completely innocent, a lot of that relationship's meltdown had to do with my own insecurities. I had a constant need to measure myself up to the other men in her life, mostly when we weren't even dating. I had, in a sense, been asking her to apologize for incidents that were not only beyond my control, but became before and/or after our relationship. While I can't say for sure what will come of talking to her now, it's been pleasant just to move on from all those bad memories.


Beyond this, I've become something of an insomniac lately. Not only thanks to conversations that seem to last into the break of dawn, but I've been slaving away at writing outlines and all kinds of other bullshit, hoping that something sticks, and survives the incubation process.

Right now, I'm mostly focusing on the period piece. It's sort of a personal horror film for myself. Set in 1968, it deals with two guys who hope to escape the realities of being drafted into Vietnam by going to Canada. Intertwined is the story of a former World War II POW who lives a reclusive life, disillusioned by and unable to relate to the counterculture period going around the world. Both stories converge in the end when he decides to show these two draft dodgers the horrors of war himself. Think Takashi Miike's Audition combined with the Coen brothers' Fargo in terms of tone and structure. At least that's what I'm aspiring to.

While writing it, I've found that I'm sort of going on the journey with these characters myself. I'm writing this because I've had it in my head since senior year of high school, where I was dealing with some serious questions myself--Am I coward? being a primary example. As someone who once vocally and even pompously supported the Iraq War, why wasn't I signing up to enlist? Granted, I made a few trips to the recruitment office my junior year. I still never strongly considered fighting for the so-called convictions I had.

I've struggled writing this for the above reasons. I find myself trying to answer that central question, even to this day, where my personal and political views tend to conflict with one another at times. I'm often uncomfortable in my own skin, and in away, writing this is helping me sort out what I believe in, which is more important to me right now than figuring out how and when I'll ever try to actually get this film made.

I've received a lot of indirect help from my English Comprehension class. Pretty much since the class has started, we've been working on autobiographies, and then workshopping eachother's in class. Each week we spend three hours picking apart two students' work. Intentionally or not, this has been an interesting way of getting to know my classmates. There's no more than fifteen students in this particular class, so the personal attention helps as well. The teacher also provides a kind of bohemian atmosphere, which I suppose is expected at a San Francisco art school. These autobiographies, at times, read like confessionals. It's fascinating how much empathy I feel toward these other students whom I rarely talk to outside of class. In class, we pin-point the narrative archs in everybody's life story. The teacher gets us to the core story of everyone's life. It's very slice-of-life, and very inspiring.

In addition, I've been emersing myself in the 1960's counterculture. From reading interviews with major figures of the period, to watching documentaries on Bob Dylan, to hearing about the Summer of Love and the changes our country faced in the wake of JFK's assassination and the escalation of the Vietnam War. Whenever I do a little bit of research, I find that I'm kind of shaken up afterward. I find it interesting the parallels that period has to right now, and also the contrasts that living in the information age brings.

I've been studying some flicks from the period too,--The Graduate, Rosemary's Baby, Easy Rider, and Five Easy Pieces in particular--which is always enjoyable. The one I've most interested in is Bonnie & Clyde, a movie that, despite being a period piece, was really about the Baby Boomers. That's essentially what I'm trying to do in regard to my generation. That may be self-indulgent, or pretentious of me, but not if I succeed at it.


Anyway, I stayed up until about 7 am in the morning, and I probably should probably stop lounging in front of the computer now.

Until next time. . . .