Empire of the Old

Drove out to see my cousin yesterday in Sun City. Located in Riverside County near Perris, this is a community where you must be over 55 to live. (I would qualify.) My cousin has a psychotic cat, overamped on feline energy. Psycho Cat enjoys perching atop the TV where it has a better view of the front door. As I entered the apartment, the cat bit me on the wrist bone.

My cuz assured me "Tabby" never bites anyone. Basking in the warmth of this unique status, I cleaned the wound and put on a Band Aid. Outside the bathroom, Tabby waited. She hissed and swiped at my ankle. I kicked and missed. She swiped and missed. I kicked again and connected as if booting a 40-yard field goal. Tabby sailed into the bedroom, thumped to the floor and scrambled under the bed. I slammed the bedroom door.

"But she never does that."

"Let's go eat."

Every restaurant and mall abounds with the elderly. At the coffee shop where we ate, the muzak featured songs from the 50s and 60s ala Jay and the Americans. We each had the over-55 soup and half sandwich special that included a dessert of cake and heart medicine. Afterwards, we sat outside her apartment and talked family and politics until it was time for me to drive 90 minutes back to L.A.

"She never bites anyone."

"Except me."

"Except you."

"Trade the cat in for gold fish. They're safer and if they die suddenly, who cares?

She thought it over. "I might."

Next time I visit, I'll be wearing steel gloves.

Moon Day

A mere 39 years ago, the U.S. landed on the moon in glorious black & white. (At least at our house. We didn't get color TV until 1972.) That afternoon, I'd hitchhiked out to a Chicago Forest Preserve for a picnic with some high school friends. Holding Old Style long-neck bottles in our sophomore hands, we listened to the radio as lunar module Eagle set down in the Sea of Tranquility.

This awesome moment was soured by a massive drunken senior who began randomly kicking ass. Quickly, the mayhem spread. Big Drunk's chum threw a beer bottle, hitting me in the head. I punched him. Then Big Drunk hit me between the eyes. I went down faster than IndyMac stock. Someone carried me to a car and I was dropped off near home.

By now it was evening. Inside my house, the only light was the glow of the TV. My brother, sister and parents watched the lunar module, waiting for something to happen. I'd arrived just in time. As my bruises blossomed, I saw Neil Armstrong step onto lunar soil. Wow! Someone was up there! A man was on the moon! (It must've been even more astounding to my parents.) That night, it seemed everything I'd ever read in science fiction was possible. What couldn't Mankind do?

Sustain the space program, for one. Three years later, the last manned lunar mission returned to Earth. We'd beaten the Soviets to the moon. Why keep going? Space money was needed to solve poverty and other pressing issues that money alone can't solve. I wish we'd kept going. (The spin-off technology alone would've made it worth while. ) I wish we'd pushed on into space. There is a part of Man that yearns to step across the comfortable threshold of the known and set foot in the beyond.

I think I'll have some Tang.

Strike Talks and Writing

WGA and Producer's Guild talks resume next Monday. Talent agents did a little back-channel negotiating and got things moving. We shall see.

Going from poi to Pai Gow poker, running partner Ernesto prepares for the Las Vegas Marathon now a mere two weeks away. This will be his first 26-miler since Honolulu last year.

Writing like a frenzied fellow on the second draft of my book, Dummy Fever.

An animated series I worked on this summer has begun airing. I haven't seen an episode yet, so I won't link. But the story editor told me most of the show's humor has been culled out to make way for a lengthy didactic message on proper behaviour for kids.

Just writing that caused me to slip into rem.

Pinky and The Brain and F5s

Ten years ago, I wrote a Pinky and the Brain episode called Brain Storm. Our intrepid mice decide to conquer the world via tornado power. To this end, Brain builds a clunky robotic device called a Verkimer Suit. Inside the suit, Pinky and the Brain allow a cyclone funnel to pass over them, hijacking the storm from within.

Last night, I caught Storm Chasers on the Discovery Channel. In addition to pursuing puffy clouds all over Tornado Alley, these chasers added an IMAX cameraman in his own vehicle known as a T.I.V., or Tornado Intercept Vehicle. Weighing 14,000 pounds, this mini-tank is designed to be overrun by a twister so the cameraman may obtain 70mm footage of tornado innards.

Watch a video here.

I should've copyrighted the Verkimer Suit.

"Clear and Smoky"

The above paradox appears courtesy of Weather Underground. Yesterday was particularly unclear and smoky. The Santa Clarita fires made our local mountains appear to be harboring a volcano. Ash fell on cars and the sun gleemed a brilliant red.

Today, fire conditions were such that the local high school cross country team moved into my health club en masse, grabbing all the ellipticals and tredmills. I guess outdoor practice was cancelled. I wonder what happened to their gym?

So long, Paulette Oates

Had lunch today with Tom Ruegger. As we bemoaned the current state of TV animation, he mentioned Paulette Oates had died. Paulette was the "supply sarge" at Warner TV Animation back in its prime. If you needed post-its or your office moved to another floor, call Paulette. She was one of the first employees brought in as the division staffed up for Tiny Toons. Paulette managed office operations in Sherman Oaks from the late 80s through the booming 90s into the spiral-down OOs. I'd often run into her outside the front door where we'd have a smoke and discuss our mutual love for Las Vegas and games of chance.

In recent years, Paulette successfully battled lung cancer. But as the TV animation division atrophied, she was laid off this summer, dying shortly thereafter from a heart attack. And while the division won a pile of Emmys then zero, Paulette continued on through the years, doing a host of vital unsung chores very well.

Rest peacefully, Paulette. What with bingo in churches, there's a good chance you'll find blackjack in Heaven. All the best. Don't split 10s.

Fat Bat in the Great Northwest

Gliding through the night, we see a plump bat. My sister sent me this photo, so it could be Washington state. Wherever it is, they sure have chubby bats.

DVDs Away!

Away, away, Casino, away Apocalypse Now, away to the web resale house! This selling of things is contagious. I've barely scratched the surface on markets for my books, CDs, and VHS tapes. Plus there's costly electronic equipment to unload. Away, away with it all!

Selling Old Dreams

Yes, I've sold a book! In fact, I've sold four books: two on film lighting, one on fillmmaking, and one on defensive football. I also set up a consignment sale for a pair of Alesis MI Active Biamplified reference monitors — a fancy term for speakers used in sound editing. They're a leftover from the days when I had tons of money and thought I'd make my own digital films for a living. Ah, but the real gold lies in cyberspace — at least until I run out of possessions to sell.

Game Day

Runner parking scuttled at the Rose Bowl this AM in order to make room for tailgaters. And they were there, too, in their RVs at 7:00 AM for a 3:30 PM game. (UCLA vs. BYU.)

Ernesto hurt his calf muscle Thursday and rested. So I ran 16.2 miles. Wearing my Disneyland Half Marathon tee-shirt proved a real conversation starter. It seemed half the runners I met, including non-TNT chums, had been at the race Monday and had a story to tell about the stinking heat. I mentioned seeing runners sitting down on every available curb space because it was too hot to warm up. They looked like forlorn passengers waiting for a train in Bangkok.

Took an ice bath after today's run —fifteen minutes in a cold tub with several pounds of ice cubes rattling around. Climbing out, my legs felt like frozen drumsticks. But, ah, the blood does return, speeding up the healing.

Finally got my lap top back this week. The techs weren't 100% sure what was wrong. I told them to swap out the hard drive and transfer all the data. That worked just dandy and I can now survey my dwindling fiances with the flick of a button.

Disney Half Marathon, and Risky Ventures

A day off today: from a long morning run, that is. And like most off days, filled with activity. I drove down to Anaheim early this morning and picked up my race number for Monday's Disneyland half-marathon. Then I dropped off my powerbook again to have a new hard drive installed. Gassed the car and now am preparing to write all day on Dummy Fever while awaiting word on where to meet wife and in-laws for dinner.

Ernesto is in New York for a friend's wedding. Next Saturday he'll run 12 and I'll do a mere 16.

Already a hundred degrees and it's not even noon. I'm fortunate not to be running today.

Another fortunate man was Risky Ventures. You can read about his luck at Products of a Diseased Mind. Then scroll down to absorb the cautionary tale of "Roscoe: The Sensible Sniper."

19.3 Mile Run, Going Broke, and King Kong

19.3 was Saturday's long run. (An odd number of miles, but satisfying nonetheless.) It included three laps around the Rose Bowl (9.3 miles) and a run up to the Elmer Smith Bridge (10 miles round-trip). Ernesto ran the Elmer circuit, then met me at various scenic spots with an ice cooler. As the temperature was in the balmy 70s, I finished on pace and feeling good.

Speaking of running, I'm running out of money. While my darling wife has gotten more work, the medium-sized dollars that sustain us are drying up. Two more checks coming in, but nothing lined up after that. A tense time, but opportunities have a way of appearing. I need to avoid getting so negative and filled with self pity that I fail to see them.

Tomorrow I learn the fate of my hard drive.

Finished the second draft outline for Dummy Fever. I'll polish it up this week and send it in to my agent.

I tried watching Peter Jackson's King Kong Friday night. Beautiful CG backgrounds, nice score but the story was so overwritten, filled with bloated, easily-cut moments, that I lost all interest and turned on Modern Marvels. Of the two major remakes— Jackson's and the 1976 laugher — there was a tendency to remove "the beast" from this Beauty and the Beast tale. The original Kong had sympathetic moments, but also killed people in horrible, unprovoked ways. You never forgot he was a big animal. Plus the 1933 film moved like lighting. Once Fay Wray was kidnapped, the story hit the gas and never slowed 'til "twas beauty killed the beast."

Thus endth my thoughts on giant monkey movies.

Sixteen & Change

A ragged run in the hot sun. My alliteration hasn't suffered, just my pacing. Very uneven. Afterwards, my car battery died, but Ernesto gave me a jump.

Computer remains in a state of crash. All my email addresses are stuck inside. I backed up most of my writing, but several newer projects weren't archived.

Unexpected expenses over the last two months: garage door, car, plumbing, computer, car. Oh, and I just discovered a leak in the shower.

Garage Door Down

Hit my garage door opener on Saturday on the way out for my run. Wham! The spring broke and the double-wide metal door crashed down like a huge mouse trap — luckily harming nothing, not even itself. I got two new door springs later in the day and now everything works great.

I just didn't have it in me to blog about running or writing.

Running, TV Animation Pitches, and Leukemia

Runs are short with lots of walk breaks. I stretch and ice the tear area. I've signed up for a 5K and will test out my recovery in two weeks.

My big pitch went well. Next week is stuffed with sales meetings.

Peter, an old Animaniacs' chum, recently learned his wife has a form of leukemia. She's facing chemo and a bone marrow transplant. Send your best wishes and prayers. For updates, check out Rosina's Road Trip.

And now back to being busy me.

5K

Not a race but 5,000 visits to this here site.

There are bloggers I know who pass that milestone every few weeks.

But I prefer a select, discriminating audience.

Murder in Pasadena

Yesterday, a body was discovered near the Rose Bowl. The deceased male lay atop a hill off Rosemont Avenue. The hill is part of a trail popular with runners. I've been up and down it many times with Team in Training.

To the west of the trail, seperated by a chain link fence, lies Brookside Country Club. Apparantly some golfers observed the body through the fence at around 7:00 AM. They called out to passing runners, asking if any of them had cell phones and could notify police. (Did the idea of not golfing and reporting the crime occur to them? One can only speculate. As I said, they were golfers.)

In any case, two walkers from Team in Training arrived shortly after, saw the body, and notified coaches Kate and Mel. Meanwhile, police arrived and sealed off the area, closing the trail. Runners and walkers were rerouted throughout the morning. Around 10:45 AM, I came down Rosemont Avenue on my way to World T'ai Chi Day. Cops, crime scene tape, badly-parked police vehicles, and Allison from Team in Training spilled off the trail. (I didn't ask Allison "whaz s'up?" 'cause there was traffic behind me.)

Later, I heard coach Kate had spoken with one of the detectives. He told her nightly drug deals take place around the Rose Bowl. That's what the murder appeared to stem from. Violence is the Court of Last Appeal — and often First Appeal — in the narcotics trade.

No idea if the killer has been caught or even identified.

TNT, Car Buying, Paris

Bumped into Raul, Audrey and other TNT alum running the hills this morning. Ernesto and I met earlier than usual as my wife and I were due to car-shop.

We're looking at the Toyota Matrix and the Honda Civic. We checked out a fleet dealer, a used car dealer and Carmax. Very low pressure. Only the used car guy suggested we "talk with his manager." We declined citing multiple other car-buying commitments. I'm leaning toward a slightly used Civic: well-engineered and "tall-guy" friendly. But the car is for my short wife, so I may have to get used to something else.

Two folks I know ran the Paris Marathon today. You sprint past famous monuments, stop to have a smoke, race around Moslem "youths" burning cars, then pause on the banks of the Seine to read depressing literature. If you don't kill yourself, you pass a wine station, grab a paper cup of chablis, then cross the finish line where you either receive a medal or a beret full of snails.

In any case, I'll be interested in hearing their stories.

Marjorie Jackson Adieu

Monday nights are busy. I have several long-standing commitments that absorb the evening. Nevertheless, yesterday I made time to drive to a small park in Burbank and bid farewell to my T'ai Chi teacher.

I've known Marjorie for almost ten years. First intermittently, then steadily I attended her classes in T'ai Chi and yoga. Marjorie taught in parks from the San Gabriel Valley to Northridge. She flew from one gig to another. The rear compartment of her little blue Toyota SUV was crammed with registers and sign-up sheets, flyers for martial arts events, T'ai Chi swords and knives plus a CD player that gave every class a New Age underscore: Inca flutes, harps or Tibetean bowls with a crashing surf background.

For awhile, I was underemployed and immersed myself in T'ai Chi and yoga. On Thursdays in 2001 and 2002, I took Marjorie's morning yoga class at Victory Park in Pasadena. Afterwards, I'd student teach her T'ai Chi beginners, then attend the advanced class that followed. As a reward for helping out, Marjorie would show me next-level moves and correct my form. By the time I left around noon, I was floating on endorphins. Calm. Almost too calm. I never got much of anything done on Thursdays.

Chakras, auras, and past lives were a part of Marjorie's beliefs. She would laugh and call it "wo-wo" stuff. And if you were so inclinded, Majorie would teach "wo-wo" (as well as yoga) out of her rented home. Four years ago Marjorie and her beau bought a small house in Pasadena. Wind chimes and Buddhist prayer flags decorated the front porch while incense flotated through the house like spirits. A student painted a cloudy, blue sky on her ceiling so that while doing yoga, you could look up and see something other than ceiling.

That house is in escrow, the cloudy ceiling painted over. And by the end of the month, Marjorie and her beau will be in Texas. After 31 years in Southern California, Marjorie will teach T'ai Chi and yoga as well as quality "wo-wo" to the residents of Austin.

I didn't ask why she was leaving. I guess that's because I always sensed she would. Marjorie says we each have our destinies. Mine now lies in marathons and hers in Austin. But for a time, we walked the same path.

A teacher is someone who shows you a door that only you can open. And for showing me the T'ai Chi door, I want to thank Marjorie and wish her a safe journey, a rewarding life, and, in time, a destiny fulfilled.

Thoughts on 300

My wife and I just returned from seeing 300. Based on a graphic novel, the movie featured enough stabbing and beheading to make Braveheart look like Remains of the Day. A handful of six-pack-abbed Spartans stands against the hordes of a giant, fruity Xerxes. The historical Xerxes was something of a logistical wiz. He moved a massive army from Asia to Greece across a boat bridge and pre-positioned supplies in their path. Subsequent armies well into the 20th century floundered on the march far worse than the Persian troops. What's more, Xerxes practiced early disinformation by bribing the Oracle at Delphi to put a negative spin on Greek war prophecies.

A few years back, author Steven Pressfield covered the same material in his book, Gates of Fire. The story of Leonidas and his Spartans was told through the character of a Spartan servant, found gravely wounded at Thermopylae, who relates the tale to his Persian captors. Gates covers the culture and politics of Sparta as well as other city states, divided on whether to resist Xerxes. Pressfield's descriptions of the Greek phalanx, or shield wall, are particularly riviting. (Essentially a big shoving match with spears.)

A few large historical liberties, but overall 300 was a fun film.

Did I mention lots of stabbing, rending, and slashing?