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Category Archives: By Jack

Jumping on the SOPA bandwagon –by Jack

18 Jan

I’ve been keeping to myself lately, holed up in my room strictly working on 30 Rock and Raising Hope spec scripts. And I’ve not been paying attention to anything else. But now the internet seems up and arms about SOPA/PIPA. No one seemed to care when Obama took away due process. And I stopped trying to affect politics back when The Supreme Court put the final nail in our election process by giving corporations the right to make unlimited expenditures with the Citizens United ruling.

But now that youtube and wikipedia are threatened, that’s when our generation rises up. Okay, cynacism aside now that I’ve started looking into it (and by looking into I saw a really funny video) I’ve decided to at least write my congressmen/women.

I don’t feel I have much else to add to the debate, so I’ll keep this post short. As apathetic as I am about most goings on of the outside world, I do think it would be a shame if the internet, which currently is a tool of both corporate enterprise and a tool for a citizen’s expressive freedom, lost the latter. It may be inevitable that internet will eventually become more controlled and even purely corporate owned and commercially run. But for now it is a tool to say anything you want (no matter how inane, uninformed, and offensive it maybe.) PIPA and SOPA are the first steps to take away this freedom. The legislation is shrouded behind copyright infringement protection, but the powers granted are too strong, poorly defined, and with too limited over site.  If you don’t care about this what do you care about?

–Jack Out

 
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Posted by on January 18, 2012 in By Jack

 

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Tony Understands part 1- By Jack

29 Dec

Tony understood.

He understood trudging through the snow.  He understood that his hat had blown away and that it was not the will of God. Tony did not understand a great many things. This world did not make any sense. But there was one thing he did understand and that was all that was important.  He pressed his folded arms deeper into his chest and trudged forward.

He cursed himself at the poor decision to dress so sparsely. He cursed that he had taken the lighter path. He thought it would be faster and easier. He should have known better. And that’s what stung so much harder than the needles of ices to his face.  But there in lied thesecret. It would never be better than this.

He arrived at the tree stump. The axe was untouched, like Arthur’s birthright. But this would award him no power. It was a chore. He began to chop the frozen wet wood. This world made no sense. He had to perform this task today at this time. No reason was given. Only the instruction.  Halfway though he gave the biggest cough of his life. The snow painted red. He pulled off his glove to wipe his mouth. As a kid, Tony used to appreciate the metal taste. But in this volume he’d kill for a Lifesaver Wint-O-green. He felt the need to relieve himself and wondered if the urine would mix with the blood to yield an orange mixture. It didn’t. It only bubbled and remained red.

After chopping what he prayed (to no one) was the last log Tony he stared down. In a moment he would look to his left. There would either be fresh logs to chop or there wouldn’t be.  Log of fresh wood piled themselves up out of nowhere. He would chop them. Then he would see a fresh pile. He would chop those. Some days there was just one pile. Some piles would refresh themselves for days.  But now looking at the snow, imagining dancing snow flakes or red designs that might shape if he coughed again,  he embraced the musings his mind, free to storm during this time out. These intermittent breaks seemed like all his life had become. Or maybe this was the only time he had to reflect.  Just ten more seconds and he would look. He hummed a song from his childhood. It must have a theme song. “Gummy Bears, dancing here and there and every where..” He couldn’t remember the next line. He sighed and look over.

A fresh pile awaited him. He lounged in denial.  How perfectly his imagination detailed the fresh wood. It seemed bigger than before. He went back to work for 2 more piles.

He collected the chopped wood into his back pack and sliced the axe in to the stump for the next lost soul. His backpack had infinite capacity.  The weight of the logs did not diminish like their volume. This world made no sense. He would to take the bus home.

Upon arriving he looked to the left and to the right. Yellow lights to the left were oncoming blessings. Red lights to the right were insult to injury. He saw neither. An old woman sat on the bench. She understood too. The bus would come soon enough. Tony and the old woman would get on the bus. They would journey silently. But not known to Tony or the old woman would be another passenger on the bus. This passenger would be young and frustrated. Erratic. He would not understand. And this would create a problem. Worse than the logs, worse than the snow, worse than the blood, the problem of the young man who did not understand would be the worst part of Tony’s day.  And at the end of it all Tony might end up heartbroken, except for the one fact…he understood. Could he make this young passenger understand? Or would he have to die?

To be continued…

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2011 in By Jack

 

But you move on. –by Mack Jack and Jill

21 Dec

Jack’s not doing so well.  He met this girl a few weeks ago. She was pretty hot actually. Some French girl. I was pretty surprised. Happy for the guy. But I knew it wasn’t going to work. 

 So this bitch used Jack to get back at her ex-boyfriend. 

Jill really didn’t like her.

It’s so nice to have someone to cuddle with while you watch Spirited Away. I was practically cradling her.

She was like 19. Why do older guys always go for infants?

I told Jack to keep a distance.  Have fun with her. Stay in charge.  But you can’t tell a thirsty guy to stop at a shot of water. 

I couldn’t believe she came so far to see me the first time we met up. She trained through half of Manhattan in rush hour to get coffee with me for like 15 minutes.

She just wanted a place to sleep outside of her dorm where she could smoke.  

He waited for those text messages like they were orgasms. 

She couldn’t for the life of her tell the difference between your and you’re. And God did she used “lol” so much.

I mean I get the need to have a little fun. But I think Jack falls into things. 

 Jack’s always going to take it to heart. Everything’s gonna be personal to him. He just can’t take it for what their worth. 

I knew exactly what Christmas gift to get her.

I’m always watching out for that turning point.

There’s that moment when you know you’re just wasting your time. 

When you can tell they aren’t attracted to you anymore…the text messages stop coming so fast…they’re not so excited when you plan to meet up. When you know you’re no longer the priority…

That’s when I end it. It’s better to be the dumper then the dumpie. It’s all a game. If you’re not having fun, stop playing. 

I had this friend from Paris. She said there isn’t even a word for dating in French.   

It felt so good to make her laugh. She used to be so pissed when she came to see me. The train was late, her phone wasn’t working, her ex said something mean to her. But in ten minutes I had her smiling.

It’s not real. There’s no substance there. 

That’s the beauty of these little short romances. You can be whoever and you can make your partner feel as good as they need. They’re like little escapes from reality.  

She was a brat. She threw tantrums. And the way he’d sit outside with her every time she smoked. It was like he was her puppy dog. 

She visited him when he was sick. It was too sweet of her. That’s when I knew Jack wasn’t keeping her at a distance. 

She would scratch my shoulder. With her nails. Lightly. It tickled. And I like the way she smelled. I did laundry yesterday. When I got to the shirt she slept in, I considered not washing it. I smelled it again. I think the laundromat is the one place you can smell clothes and not look like a weirdo.

But you just gotta dust yourself off. Get back out there. This wasn’t some long term relationship. Turn around time should be an hour and a half. Tops.

Jack’ll wallow. He’ll blame everything on himself. “What did I do wrong?” “Why wasn’t I good enough?” He’s sensitive. He’s not built for flings. You can tell that after five minutes of talking to the guy. I mean he still does the chivalry stuff. 

You never know how to look at yourself. You wonder about your accomplishments. Did you win them because you are bad ass or because no one else showed up? Maybe the judge was pissed at the other guy for some stupid reason. Are our miracle successes indicative of our progress or mere blips of chance?

It’s not about them. It’s about you. It’s your ride. If they wanna come along, great. If not, fuck’em. Then kick them to the curb. 

“You can’t hurry love. No you just have to wait. “

I’m just so tired of starting over.

–Happy Winter Solstice. 

-Big Mack Attack

-Jack Out

 
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Posted by on December 21, 2011 in By Jack, By Jill, By Mack, Dating

 

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The smallest things. — By Jack

29 Nov

Some small things:

  • The plane back from Dallas was delayed. It seems a light on a control panel had gone out. The flight crew at the attendants desk were quite up front about how insignificant the piece was. But that due to bureaucracy the plane would be held and hour.
  • We always make fun of Mark for showing up late for Jeng Chi (the best dumplings in America.) He showed up 20 minutes early to prove us wrong. Jake and I got there, didn’t see him, and sat another table for 20 minutes.
  • I got annoyed at a waiter at  a nice restaurant because I could tell he put the position numbers in the computer wrong.
  • I used the word emasculate as a synonym for humiliate (hyperbolically) and my father harped on my for half the day.

My family interrupts me. I don’t know if this is a small thing. It feels big. It’s marginalizing. Already when I’m around my family I don’t have much to talk about. We don’t share any interests, talk politics, or much of anything else. So my family tends not to know how to approach me.  Then end up asking me the same questions over and over again. So when I do have something to talk about, being cut off or sung off (yes my younger brother will start singing to interrupt me because he thinks it’s so funny) it’s pretty disheartening. Whenever I bring up that I don’t like it, I tend to get an eye roll, the brush off,  then told that I’m too sensitive.

Faith. Is it a small thing?  In my family it is. Do my parents support me? Absolutely.  But do they have faith in me?  They like to shower me with outdated and out of touch advice. “You’re trying to do a very hard thing.” No shit it’s hard. You think I’ve been sitting with my thumb up my ass waiting staring at the phone just expecting a TV writing job?  I don’t need or want your advice about reading some news paper clipping involving a writer or that I should go back to grad school when most TV writers are my age or younger.

When I talk to people and they say they are close with their family, I tend to give them a cockeyed look. I just don’t get it. Really? Mark is really close with his family even though his parents are divorced. He just get’s close with the new parts of his family. They like to hear what he’s interested in. I imagine they don’t relentlessly interrupt him.

I got back to my apartment and I immediately went to the convenience store to get some club soda. There was a girl trying to buy a roll of toilet paper. She had 60 cents in change. It was a $1.29 and there was a $10 minimum to pay with credit card. I told the cashier to just put it with my stuff.  Then I said some cheesy line like “It’s the holidays now. Guess it’s time we start doing stuff like this.”

She was shocked and insisted on paying me back. I insisted otherwise, then asked where her accent was from. France. I told her, “I’m sure French people do stuff like this all the time for American tourists.” The irony was lost on her.  She apparently lives in my apartment. Actually a floor above me. I woke up this morning with a note at my door and a dollar in the envelope.

It really is all about the small things.

— Jack out.

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2011 in By Jack, Dating

 

A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas Review –By Jack

10 Nov

Seasons Greetings all. We’re passed Halloween which in America means all the stores can pretend it’s Christmas for the next 2 months. Rockefeller Center has the tree, the ice rink is being put together, and the subways are plastered with ads for Christmas movies.  Starting off the Christmas movie season early is A Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas. Below is  the red band trailer.

Harold and Kumar have always held a special place in my heart. When I first saw Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. I laughed. I laughed hard. When I go to movies, I don’t really laugh. I chuckle. I smile. I’ll like the jokes. But I don’t uproariously laugh. For H&K GT WK I did.  And I wasn’t even high.

White Castle had a lot going for it.  It was always willing to make a joke that perhaps we’d seen before then move the joke to the next level. Like when Kumar sees a giant bag of weed which has a fantasy about marrying. Sure, funny-ish joke. You see them dancing, getting their pictures taken, etc. But then the joke keeps going. Kumar is stressed doing work late into the night and the bag of weed, dressed in a bathrobe brings him coffee. Kumar spits the coffee out and yells at his wife and calls her a bitch. Cut to a scene of him apologizing. The idea that in Kumar’s love fantasy, it would go as far as the bad parts of marriage is just hilarious to me.

White Castle  also had very clever racial humor that spoke to the prejudices of society. Often the jokes would go that extra step like the example above.  The sequel Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay wasn’t nearly as clever. Daily Show alum Rob Corddry played a racist Homeland Security agent hunting the duo down. Most of the racial humor was from him and was flat and disappointing. Save one college flashback scene the movie never live up to its predecessor.

So where does that leave Harold and Kumar’s third outing? To cut to the chase. Better than the 2nd film. Not as good as the first.  The set up is a bit more interesting than Guantanamo Bay. From the first movie to the second, there is no time jump. The movie literally picks up where the first one left off.

Between the second movie and this one, it’s been 4 years. Harold and Kumar have grown up (or at least Harold has) and the duo has had a falling out. The catching up with the characters is interesting and a lot of fun. Harold is a wall street banker and has married Maria. They have a house in the suburbs and Harold is trying to impress her father (played by Danny Trejo of Machette.)

  

Harold's gotta impress this guy.

Kumar’s life has collapsed and his girl friend Vanessa has dumped him. A mysterious package addressed to Harold shows up on Kumar’s doorstep, bringing the two back together. When Kumar accidentally burns down Maria’s father’s personally grown Christmas tree, the new adventure ensues.

What works?

  • The clever humor is back. There is a hilarious scene with two black guys who switch off being the “crazy black guy.” Also the “getting older” humor works two. H & K find themselves surrounded by teenagers at a house party. A beer pong  challenge and a hilarious Karate Kid joke really has fun with the generational shift.
  • Neil Patrick Harris is a show stealer. Since the 2nd film NPH has come out of the closet. The movie does a hilarious job of rectifying the homosexuality so it works perfectly with the character.
  •  I honestly felt satisfied with the development of the characters and friendship. I’m actually glad they did some sort of emotional journey between the two of them.

What doesn’t work? Plenty.

  •  My biggest complaint is that the film itself doesn’t feel as epic as the other two. The first two movies feel like exhausting journeys. Almost Odysseys. This film feels very truncated. It may be because there is so much set up with the 4 year time jump. Also, Kumar’s conflict with Vanessa seems abrupt as well.
  • The side kicks. Both Harold and Kumar have new best friends. Harold has Todd (played by Thomas Lennon) a straight edged, boring, suburban dad who brings his daughter along on the adventure. His humor comes from his daughter continually but accidentally getting high from random narcotics.  Meanwhile, Kumar has Adrian (played by Collegehumor.com‘s Amir Blumenfeld.) As hilarious as I find Amir on collegehumor, he just didn’t work in this film. Neither of them do. The movie pretty much shoves them in a closet for half the film, which is pretty boring.
  • Wafflebot. Halfway through the film they introduce a waffle making robot/toy which Kumar finds endearing. But the design, execution, and integration of the walking trashcan is tiresome. It’s supposed to be  love able, but instead it weigh moments down. Imagine C3p0. Now make him move about about a 1/4 the speed. Replace that charming “beep-boop” sounds with a digitized whinny Jewish grandmother, and you have Wafflebot.
  • The 3D. The movie itself makes fun of the fact that no one cares about 3D. So why make this movie only available in 3D driving up the price of admission to $17?  There are some fun action sequences, but this movie didn’t need it. It’s about the dialogue and the jokes. There was one fun claymation scene (brought on by an acid trip) but the 3D added nothing to it. The hard core fans will pay the 17 bucks, but that’s about it. Way to kill your box office?
Ultimately, I do recommend the film. Kal Penn and John Cho always work well together and it’s a shame they rarely get as much screen time as they do in these films. If you’ve got the money to spend go for it. But if you need to wait for Netflix/Redbox, so be it. The cinematic 3D does add to the experience, just not the extra $7 worth.
Rating?
–Jack out.
 
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Posted by on November 10, 2011 in By Jack, Reviews, entertainment, etc...

 

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The TV facts of life — By JACK

23 Oct

I’ve started a TV writing class.  It’s been too long since I’ve been in a class room setting. It’s nice. I’ve missed it. People ask me why I want to write TV opposed to theatre or film or even novels. Then they ask me why I’m going after something that’s so hard to get into. As if maybe I should set my sights lower. Fuck it. I’m already in my late 20’s. I’ve only ever seen myself doing something in entertainment. I’m not going to change now. I can’t imagine myself in a 9-5 working for someone else’s benefit. If I’m going to devote 40 plus hours a week of my life to something, it’s going be creating some thing unique from me and meaningful.

The first thing the teacher said: “In TV writing you are not creating anything unique. You’re following a formula pieced to together from vaudville, film, and radio. It’s been perfected. You write in that formula or your fired.”  Well fuck. I still want to do it.

Here are the TV facts of life.
1. Less writing a script as you are executing a brand.
As a TV writer it is your job to safeguard the characters. A brand has been establish and it’s essential you protect it. Characters don’t change. They return to saneness. The audience identifies with something in the character. If we change that, we change the reason people watch the show

2. There are no pre-planned story arcs.
Each week you as a writer are given notes. From the top. YOU MUST FOLLOW THESE. The notes come from 3 sources which decide the direction of the show. Always.

Committee of Experts (bigwigs)
Primary Advertisers
Focus Groups

3. All news for about the inner works of a TV show is fake.
      A TV show’s news if a fiction that the network want to keep going.  Curb Your Enthusiasm isn’t improved, it has 14 writers.  When it comes to interviews every writer/actor/etc, is given talking points. If you deviate from that, you’re fired. The network spends a lot of money on the show and they’re not going to let anything get out that they don’t want.  Even the Charlie Sheen scandal was spun. You didn’t hear about the armed guards keeping him out of the studio.
Am I selling my soul? Probably. But I’ve spent a lot of time doing art and not getting paid for it. I still love shows like West Wing, LOST, Twin Peaks, Breaking Bad, and 30 Rock. If I get to be apart of anything like that, I’ll consider myself incredibly lucky. Even if it means I have to do crap the rest of the time.

-Jack out.

 
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Posted by on October 23, 2011 in By Jack, Writing

 

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What douche bags: part 2 – by Jack

13 Oct

I’ve found my script, an old 10 minute play called Stick Up. It was the first thing I wrote when I quit marketing to do writing. The rules to the Naked Fairy Tales website insist it only be 10 pages, and Stick Up is closer to 14 pages, but I figured a way to format it. I called them just to be clear on specifics. The girl told me to come with two copies of my play to the reading. Watch the play readings, then submit mine at the end for next week. Sounds wonderful.

I read through my play and timed it and it was about 9 minutes long. I thought I’d be fine. Only thing was I don’t have a printer. No problem, just stop by a Staples or Kinkos (now FedEX office.)  Sure enough there was a Staples around the theatre. I wanted to conserve paper so I had two pages printed per sheet. You know, so it reads like a book. Like so…

I go the show and boy did the plays sucks. There was only one that I didn’t hate. The rest of them had no conflict, no stakes, and insufferable pauses. Granted it was reading so the actors didn’t know the scripts but the plays died none the less. I don’t know where this “under 10 minutes” thing went because they went through 5 or 6 in the whole two hours.

Finally, the plays all done. People dispersed to the bar and it once again became a social environment. I looked for the two emcees to whom I was to submit my script. I find one of them and he’s talking to someone, I wait patiently back. In conversation with the other guy, the emcee stops, mid-sentence and addresses me, “What?.”

Startled, I presented my script. “I brought this for next week. My name is Jack.”

“It is 10 pages?” he jumps to.

“Yea, less, it’s 8.”

“Why’d you format it like this. You see my gray hair? I can’t read this.”

“It was to save paper. I can email it to you.”

“Why do you have two copies? You just need one.”

“I called ahead, the girl told me to bring 2 copies.”

“Well you don’t need two copies. Just one.”

And then he turned by to the guy he was talking to and we were done. Fuck that place.

–Jack out!

 
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Posted by on October 13, 2011 in By Jack, Writing

 

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What douche bags: part 1. — by JACK

05 Oct

Mack came into my room at 4 in the morning.

“Buddy! There’s this thing you gotta go to.”

He was pretty drunk. Getting woken up happens a lot. Rarely does he bust into my room though. Usually he just makes toast and slams doors. But last night I had to know about this “thing.”

“I’m at Ellen’s birthday party. You know Bourbon Street bar or whatever. I go to borrow this chair from another table and the guy’s reading Hamlet. I’m like why are you reading Hamlet at a bar?”

I chimed in, “Mack? Does this have  a point? ”

“Yea, well he’s an actor and we got to talking. Turns out his theatre company does play readings every Monday. You should send something.  It’s called ‘slutty pixie fairies’ or something. Google it. You want some toast?”

“I’m good,” I replied.

Now that couldn’t sleep I decided to look it up. Slutty pixie fairies yielded some wikis, a funny youtube video, and a bizarre fetish site. But nothing to help me get any of my plays read. Finally I found what most likely was what he was talking about; a theatre company called Naked Fairy Tales. They do, in fact “promote new and emerging playwrights” with readings every Monday night. I looked over a few of my plays, but I knew what I was going to submit. I watched a Futurama episode and tried to go back to bed. Zoidberg rules.

—Jack out!

 
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Posted by on October 5, 2011 in By Jack, Writing

 

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