Making a Movie is Painfully Frustrating.

So, I'm making a movie. No, there's absolutely nothing above this sentence that might have informed you of that prior to this very moment.

Now, the reason this is so frustrating, is that just about every aspect of planning this film has just whipped its metaphorical genitalia out and began slapping me in the face with it. This film is a modern testament to Murphy's Law in just about every aspect.

First, we need money. Now, we always seem to think we have a doable budget for just about everything, we always say we're going to build original sets, buy costumes, better equipment, and make it a big, fancy production. How ever, I can't think of a single time any of that happened. We just about always pull out the bare minimum from the back of our closets just so we can wipe off our shoulders and say "Well, we got it over with. Next time will be a really good project." and the cycle continues. How are we going to get money? Well, I think it's obvious. I'm going to have to get a job and do it myself.

Now, that shouldn't be too hard, right? Get a job, get money, do what you want! Well, that's not entirely so easy.

I've noticed with jobs, you basically have three things.

1. Time.
2. Money.
3. Sleep.

You can only pick two. And all three are required for adequate film making.

Now, you may be asking, "Well, surely there are ways around it, aren't there? I mean, there's millions of movies that exist in the world..." Yes, there are ways around it. And it's called movie making BEING your job. But with a full time job AND making movies, well that's damn near impossible.

Now, I'm afraid I'll never find the time to make this movie. But I'd obviously have days off from time to time. However, what are the odds that all the actors will have the same days off? And there's no way we can take some vacation time and film an entire movie in a week. And even so, it would take about a year to do it.

So, I would have little time, and we'd never be able to meet up on the same days.

Also, I wrote the script myself. And literally not one. other. person. in. existence will read it. I had people eagerly awaiting it, and I've sent it to multiple people, and no one will read it and tell me what they think. So, I'm afraid we'll wait until the very last day and read the script AS we film or something, then someone's going to be like "Dude... The script sucks..." or something, and I won't have time to change it because everyone waited too long to tell me about it.

Also, as most of you know, I live in a different city than all of my friends. I live about an hour away from Hutchinson (My hometown, where everyone lives.). So, it's doable distance wise, and I can get a ride there if I need one, but only for like... An hour because my Dad would basically be hanging out at his Mom's house until I was ready to leave, and he wouldn't want to sit there and watch TV for eight hours. Now, I keep getting a roommate and we would plan to move in together. But something always happens. One of them hurt me and I can't bring myself to live with them, one of them suddenly doesn't want to anymore, and one just never gets around to talking to me, so I eventually assumed it was off. So, I have no idea how it's going to happen. And I need to be in Hutchinson long enough to plan with the actors and co-director. So, I need to actually reside in the town, not just visit for a couple of days.

And to top all of this off, I'm constantly afraid that all of this frustration, anger, excitement, effort, and obsessing is going to be wasted some day. I'm afraid this whole project will see the day where I've done just enough work to go insane, but just little enough for it to be scrappable. Then it actually becomes scrapped. Why wouldn't it? Everyone says it won't, but I'm not falling for it. Less difficult projects than this get cancelled in our group every month. Why would this (The second most difficult project I've ever been a part of) be the one that's spared? The only project that was more stressful than this was a Batman show we were designing. And it got scrapped.

So, I'm angered, depressed, excited, nervous, FRRUUUSSSTTRRAATTTEEEDDD, and confused by this whole process.

If you have any insight, for THE LOVE OF GOD, give me some input in the comments. Thanks.

-TCGodd

I hate politics.

Or rather, I hate people that obsess over politics. As you most likely know, (if you don't, you're kind of out of the loop.) There's a new election coming up. And everyone seems to be shitting themselves over it.

And yes, I understand who's running this country is an important matter, but people aren't really thinking it  through. It's getting to the point that I'm seeing someone say one thing, Obama/Romney says something different on TV, then their entire point of view on the hypothetical subject has changed.

It's getting to the point if Obama had a button to fix all the problems, and Romney wanted to press a button to destroy the world, (or vice versa, let's not get bias here.) The people on the bad guy's side would lay down and happily await the death of their country, just so long as the leader of their respected political party was the one telling them to do so.

No one (A lot will defend to the death that I'm wrong, but it's becoming blatantly obvious to me) seems to care about the people. Or what the politicians even want to do, honestly. It's starting to look like it's all about political parties. Democrats would let the world burn if Obama told them to, and Republicans would do the same with Romney.

Everyone claims "This is such a good point, I believe this, this is right, this is wrong!" and their entire reasoning behind it seems to be "Because the candidate in my political party said so." They have no interest in what the topic is, they just think the opinion of their political candidate is right. Despite how horrible of an idea it may be.

So, I'm afraid the next Hitler may some day approach the oval office, and be given free rein, and be allowed to do just as many horrible things as Hitler did, just because the citizens of the person's political party are covering their ears saying "LALALALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" when someone tries to tell them the danger that may be approaching.

Now, I'm not saying either of the current candidates ARE the next Hitler by any means. I'm just saying if somehow someone with that amount of hatred became President, he'd immediately get defended by his party. Democrats and Republicans have become too black and white, in my opinion. No one hears out what each party believes anymore. They just stick to their party, and defend it to the death, no matter what.

I'm starting to think if I wanted to destroy a race, or even America, and I was capable of becoming President, I could just choose the larger party, and no one would question me (with the exception of the opposing party). I won't (and wouldn't, even if I could) do any of this, but it's getting to the point that no one cares how insane your ideas are. Just as long as you have the same label as them.

So, I'm done ranting. Enjoy.

I Have Returned, Bring Me Your Virgins!

Hello, army of those who would kill and/or die by my command. I'm back because quite frankly, it's been far too long, hasn't it? That, and my internet is acting slower than balls right now, so I am just completely beside myself on entertainment. So, I figured the most logical course of action would be to write, and my blog feels like the place to perform such a devious act.

Alright, well, I'm still in my hotel room without a life, so the amount of stories I currently possess to tell you leaves a lot to be desired. I did manage to flee the dungeon for a day, but... It took quite the dramatically startling turn that I can't bring myself to talk about right now.

To sum it up, females. Seeing as how the majority of my audience appears to be female, I demand an explanation for your behavior. But in all seriousness, it's the same old story you see on bad HBO movies every week, where a guy likes a girl, girl likes a guy, and the sky cannonballs around them. Nothing new, and nothing more significant than what I told you in the story about Peanut Butter and Jelly that I now realize I never gave a title to. Let's call it the Peanut Butter Jelly escapade of 2012. I'm not even sure what escapade means, but for the sake of conversation, let's assume it means "Dastardly deed."

So, I have no metaphorical devil on my shoulder at this moment telling me that rambling about it is necessary. Therefore, I will not. So, you may be scratching your scrotum asking, what WILL you be telling us about, Trenchy?

Well, you just give me one nipple twisting second to type it up before you ask me such world altering questions.

I'm here to talk about... Well, I really have nothing to talk about. It is beginning to occur to me that stories are a crucial factor in the story telling experience. So... Let me dig around my past for a moment, and see if there's any old news in my arsenal that I can spew at you, as I did in "The Day I Lost a Foot."

...

Alright, this is going nowhere slowly. I have absolutely no more conflicts that I have not yet spoken to you about. How can this be? I have distinct memories of--Wait a turtle flipping moment now, I'm onto something.

Alright, strap your big boy panties on, I am about to tell you a mind boggling story of twists, turns, romance, drama, story archs, excitement, fear, perseverance, ignorance, conflict, and above all, obscene amounts of adult content.

Alright, this part of the story consists back in high school, when I was about fifteen. I was exceptionally emo during this period of time, so allow me to alter my caricature's appearance for this story.

Alright, we are now rolling with the big boys. This feels like a fairly accurate caricature of my annoying teenage self. 

Alright, let's set up some back story here, I'm about fifteen, in high school, and decided I really didn't want to go to school that day. And above all, I wanted a cigarette. Being that I lived with my grandparents, it was a rarity that I was able to smoke, since they had the noses of freaking legend. That, and they were non smokers, so supplies wore thin rapidly. 

Now, I had a friend named Travis, oh shit, you all know Travis. 

Yeah, remember that charming sack of class in this picture? He's going to make an appearance, so, contain your orgasms. 

Now, let me go into a bit more depth with Travis than I did back in the day. Travis has a peculiar gift/talent/whatever you want to call it. He can get you anything. You want cigarettes? Call Travis. You want a flower found only in Africa? You call Travis. You want a pink llama that can talk? ...Call Travis, but don't expect amazing results. 

I have no idea how many things I just happened to want/need, and he already had it hanging from his back pocket. He's hooked me up (within the hour) with fancy hats, suits, wine (for those special occasions with my Xbox), props, cameras, CD's, cell phones, lighters... Not just any lighters. Disguised lighters. He gave me a flashlight once, that if you popped the top off of, it's revealed to be a lighter. You can't trust anything in this man's house, you try make a collect call, and the phone spits fire in your face.

Alright, let me set the mood for this man's talents with the story that I find most peculiar of all, but not by a whole lot.

He had. An actual. Prison. Jumpsuit. In his room. I still to this day am not entirely sure why he had this in his possession, but I quickly began to realize the answer may reveal secrets I'm not at all interested in knowing about. And don't get me wrong, it wasn't a halloween costume. He had an actual orange jumpsuit, that they make inmates wear. So, point of this story is, he has random things for absolutely no reason. He doesn't even set out to acquire that reputation. He just HAPPENS to have this shit on hand. 

Alright, so now that we have finished our total 180 turn to discuss Travis, let me get to the actual point of this story...

So, I don't want to go to school, I want cigarettes, and Travis somehow had an obtuse amount amount of cigarettes on hand. At the time, to appropriate course of action seemed to be skipping school and running off to Travis' house. 

So, I did this, and everything seemed fairly basic. Travis lived just a couple houses away from me, so I felt it was safest to take a long route over there, to deceive any possible watchers. Now, I'm aware that there was probably no relatives watching me, but I was still on the same street and block as my own house, so I felt the wisest choice would be to walk around, and sneak into the back yard of Travis' house.

Alright, the blue prints had been drawn up, Travis had been contacted, I was wielding my golden gun, and at this point had become fairly accustomed to referring to myself as "007."

Shit had officially become real. 

Alright, with the plan in fruition, I was now exiting my home, and walking down the street. I'd gotten fairly far, when I turned the corner and saw a cop car pulled over. I hadn't been paying attention immediately as I turned, so it would now become suspicious if I turned back.

Realizing I was an obvious teenager in high-school, and every school that would match my age requirements was in the opposite direction, I panicked. So, I figured I couldn't turn around, since it would cause obvious suspicions, and the alley way leading to Travis' house was right next to me, so the obvious course of action was to turn down the alley, and pray for some omnipotent being to shine some mercy upon me.

I was not quite so lucky.

So, with there now being a thin line between my current state and crying with a notable amount of urine in my trousers, I approached the officers. 

Now, remember how I said back in "The Day I Lost a Foot" that I pretty much block all logical thought when things go awry? Something similar happened here, except, I would have given a limb (Pun intended) to be able to think clearly. However, I was not too lucky. I theorize that any intelligence I had on board saw the car and said "Oh, you're fucked, I'm out." and fled the scene, leaving me in a robotic state, letting any combination of words spew out of my mouth. 

 

So, I said that. This was my elaborate ace in the hole, bound by destiny to fool these officers. However, they must have been trained in the Jedi force, because they saw right through my complex rouse almost immediately.

However, refusing to give up so easily, I continued to speak without weighing the outcomes.

 This is when I began to comprehend just how slick and determined these investigators were, because even the concept of a fifteen year old not knowing where his school is in March could not fool them. My smoke and mirror acts were just bouncing right off them, their minds were impenetrable.

I figured it was time to admit defeat. I had thrown every possible story I could at them, things the Secret Service would be baffled by, and they remained unfazed by my elegant words.

They requested to search my backpack that I am just now realizing I forgot to draw... Well fuck you, I'm not reuploading these pictures. Pretend there's been a backpack this whole time. It could be off camera, it could be a small backpack in my pocket, it could be lodged up the officer's anus, I really don't care.

Now, as to progress with this story, I'm gonna have to go off the trail once again and tell you a small story about my girlfriend at the time. (Or possibly, the girlfriend I had later on. But the point is, I was either dating her, or going to date her shortly. I'm not entirely on track with the time era right now.) 

It's a bag of cookies. The artistic quality of the cookies are not necessary. Well, they probably are. But shut up, no one likes you.

You may remember her from WAAAAAAY back in my blog, in "The Wheels..." I think it's called the wheels. That's how long it's been, I have no idea what the name was. But point is, she's floated around on my blog before. 

Now, she used to make me cookies both during and prior to our relationship. During the "prior" section of the relationship, I had no idea that the cookies meant anything more than "I was bored, so I made you cookies last night." Once I got older and my hormones and all that nonsense got out of my eyes, I realized the cookies were a sign that she liked me. Why else would someone take time out of their day to bake for you? Especially since we'd never hung out or anything, we weren't particularly close at this time. But I walked away eating the cookies thinking "Fuck yeah, cookies." 

So, after eating some of them, I stored them in the side pocket of my backpack, and forgot them after a while. Now, while that may seem heartless that a girl gave me cookies, and I left a bunch of them to lay in my backpack... I would like to once again mention that I was unaware of any meaning beyond... Well, I honestly didn't think of any meaning. I took the whole scenario in, and filtered it into my mind as "YOU HAVE COOKIES: You may...

 A. Injest.

 B. Store for later snacking.

 C. Throw away.

 D. Insert cookies rectally."

I chose both A and B... Possibly D, but I'm not going to tell you such secrets.

Now,  I was not aware at the time, for whatever reason, that the thin line of fabric between the actual backpack and outter pockets of the backpack wouldn't protect the cookies from the large books in the large portion of the bag. Point of this being, after the long period of time between receiving the cookies and this incident with the cops, they had been crushed to dust. They no longer held any resemblance to actual cookies whatsoever. 

So, they shoved the cookies in my face, and demanded to know what they were. I had no presentable answer for several moments. They were suspicious, and laid the cookies down on the hood. After a while, it dawned on me, and I explained that it was a bag of cookie crumbs. They accepted this, most likely because they went through extensive training on deciphering cookie crumbs from illegal narcotics... Surely, that should have its own branch in the law enforcement training world.

So, they packed it up, and told me that a man dressed entirely in black (Just like I was) had commited a series of break-ins in the area, and felt I fit the description.

Now, I currently suspect that James Holmes was nowhere to be seen in my neighborhood, and they were just dicking my balls so they could have a reason to pull me over for skipping class.

So, the story gets pretty boring from here. But my grandpa came to get me, yelled at me on sight, and took me home. The cops were actually fairly decent to get along with, I don't see why everyone hates cops. But after my grandfather got the initial shock out of his system, he took it fairly well and drove me to school, where I never dreamed of skipping high school again. And I didn't... Technically.

I did end up skipping class in college a few times (During my short time of being there... the skipping isn't related to my no longer attending, I just got my GED and moved about my business.).

But point of this story is, I skipped class for a whopping twenty minutes. So yeah, tremble before my rebellious fury.

Alright, well, until next time. I think this story has been wrapped up nicely, so I'll come back around when the time feels right. So long.

~Levi