Another Zombie Movie!

I have just begun a new script about something that has always been a fascination of mine: ZOMBIES.
Here's an early scene from the new script.

EXT. LONELY ROAD - MICHIGAN/INDIANA BORDER - DAWN

The sun rises, pushing through the deep gray smog.
A military-style Hummer sits parked on the gravel off of the northbound side of I-94. The freeway is silent and deserted except for a dozen or so abandoned automobile’s scattered on and around the roadway.

In the fully reclined driver’s seat of the Hummer lays a sleeping John Garrett. Thick necked and strong. 32 but looks early 40’s. Shaggy unkempt hair. He wears all black light winter military gear. Two huge silenced pistols are strapped to his thighs. A large silenced rifle with a scope lays across his lap.

Sleeping in the passenger seat are two American Bulldogs. They sleep peacefully almost on top of each other.

Slowly, the dogs eyes open. Their ears perk up. One and then the other raises their heads. They look to John.

He is already awake with the rifle pointed over their heads, eye pressed against the sight.

JOHN
Pinch, Roll. You boys keep quiet.

They do. With his left hand he finds the button and the passenger side window slowly lowers half way.
He follows the target.

John speaks to himself in a low, gravelly tone. An imitation of the voice-over from a movie preview.

JOHN (CONT'D)
John Garrett’s prowess with a rifle was made all the more impressive by the fact that he had no formal military training.

Through the scope: A few hundred yards away, his target disappears behind a small group of trees. He follows at pace to pick it up again on the other side.

JOHN (CONT'D)
It was said that Garrett’s natural ability with the iron would make Annie Oakley poop twice with jealousy.

Through the scope: The target reappears.

It’s a ZOMBIE!
A naked male that’s missing most of an arm and it’s skin is a mottled green. It stumbles along very slowly.

JOHN (CONT'D)
Oooohhh. You’re handsome.

John whistles quickly and quietly.
The zombie slowly turns, raises it’s arm and a half and moans.

John smirks and presses the trigger.
The rifle softly kicks with a metallic sounding PFFFT.

Through the scope: The zombie’s head disintegrates. It’s body falls sideways.

John sets the rifle back across his lap.

JOHN (CONT'D)
Green mist.

He returns his seat to an upright position and stretches.
He looks at the dogs.

JOHN (CONT'D)
You dick’s hungry?

They bark.

JOHN (CONT'D)
Me too.

He reaches in the back and pulls out a box of Triscuits. He puts a couple in his mouth and dumps the rest on the passenger side floor. The dogs scramble down and eat.

JOHN (CONT'D)
Ham and Eggs for the kids...

He grabs a baggie of white powder from the console.

JOHN (CONT'D)
...and a cup of coffee for the Dad.

He uses his pinkie fingernail to snort a bump into each nostril. He puts the coke back, sniffs and shakes his head.

He looks in the rearview mirror where a two zombie’s slowly approach.
Another crawls out of the brush fifty yards in front of him and starts toward the Hummer.

He lights a smoke and rubs his eyes.

JOHN (CONT'D)
Up!

The dogs pop up and jump into the backseat.
He starts the truck and rev’s the engine loudly.
He turns up the radio and slips on sunglasses.

He slams on the gas and SMASHES the crawling zombie into a thousand pieces.

As he races away, the sign above the freeway reads ‘I-94 East to DETROIT.’

BLACKOUT.

Bear Essentials

Hey.

What's up?

Yeah.

Uh huh.

Not great.

That's fine.

Okay.

That's me these days. Short. Uninspired. Bland. Hang-dog. Rudderless. A generally shitty attitude about most things. Mix in a healthy splash of bubbling frustration and even the occasional dash of wayward anger and you've just about nailed today's Petey Wheatstraw.
Sorry, you judgmental sonofabitch, but i just can't help it.
I really can't. It's like Dumbledore told Harry Potter, "difficult times lie ahead." No. Nope. That's untrue. Difficult times are here now, Albus. And I am going through the earliest growing pains of being separated from my fiancee/best friend/one-true-love, for SIX MONTHS! That's one half of one year. Ugh. Fuck, man!
I know. I know. It's fingerling potatoes in the history of awful shitty things that happen in one's days on the job. There are examples everywhere.
I put on my Ray Ban Wayfarer's (same sunglasses the ole' lady wears, by the way) while entering a 7-11 this morning, to avoid making eye contact with a slumped over homeless fellow who was in such a fuck-all state that he didn't even ASK for money. He just sat there. Can you imagine being so utterly hopeless and ruined that the simple act of begging or even putting out an empty coffee cup for pennies, is too much?! "Fuck it. If they want to, they can just drop some change on my chest. Or on the ground. Whatever." Makes me sad just thinking on it. And that was on my way to work this morning. People are eating tankers full of shit all over the world, over and over again and my problems aren't that tough. I do know that.

But I love someone.

Genuine all-in, baby-talk, warts-and-all, more-than-anything love. And when you love for real, nothing else matters all that much. Even something as terrible as a person that is unable to muster the strength to beg.

And right at this moment, she is very, very far away and I am sitting on my couch alone and I would do anything to hear her keys jingling as she unlocks our door.
Or for her to sit on the couch beside me and bitch about her old job for twenty minutes.
Or to hear the two honks from her car's horn as it passed by outside, that always marked her return home.

But that isn't going to happen and I know it.
She is there and I am here and that's how it's gonna be for a spell. We have been side-by-each for over six years. Almost every minute of the day. And I'm talking about good minutes. Great hours and spectacular seconds. Hardly ever a fight. Just the goods. That makes the bads more raw an unfamiliar.

So, in summation, it's balls right now.
But I believe in two things: First. It's going to get better. And Second. It could be much, much worse. There is a guy sitting on the sidewalk in front of a convenience store not far from where anyone is at anytime.

Could be a lot worse.

You gettin' mawwied?!!!

My longtime girlfriend, Bear, and I got engaged on November 2nd, 2008 in Cambria, California!

It was right in front of that bench behind the babbling fountain and it was one of those absolutely perfect moments.

I can't express how lucky I am to have found the perfect girl and that we'll be spending forever together.

I love you sweet Bear!

Cannon-balls Run Update: CASE DISMISSED!!!

I woke up at 8 am and set a pot of coffee to brewin'.
I had two hours until my "violation image viewing" at the West Hollywood Sheriff's Department and my mind was a wild brushfire of ominous criminal scenarios and premonitions of a life spent runnin' from Johnny Law, penniless and without hope of redemption.

And I was hungry.
Like Omar on The Wire, I poured a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and pondered the future of my meager finances. Would the mornings events throw me into a fiscal tailspin that not even Rockefeller himself could recover from? Would I be forced into poverty by a $380 ticket and the ensuing spike in my car insurance? Would I be counted alongside the thousands of dregs and vagabonds that litter the back alleys, lonely interstates and rusty rail cars of our country's landscape.

Those dark thoughts continued pummeling my subconscious as I moped through the glass doors of the WeHo Hooskow.
I was led down a hall, through an office, to a desk and finally, into a chair. I sat across from the Dep and laid bare my soul.
It was an impressive barrage of imagery and truth-hoods. I spoke of childhood disappointment, societal quandries, religious motiffs, spaghetti westerns, the plight of Hallie Flanagan, 9/11, organic deodorant options, a long-forgotten chili recipe, the spread offense and the proper usage of the term "makin' it rain".

I wept.
He gave me the up and down.
We shared a moment.
Never has so much been said without a parting of the lips.
Softly, he cited the positioning of my 2000 Dodge Neon to the truck directly in front of it. The angle of my sight line to the traffic light was troublesome, he agreed.
With a grace that would make Barishnykov piss on himself, he tapped out a dismissal of citation, printed it out and handed me my freedom.

I climbed into my car and sat for a spell. I looked out through the dusty windshield at Santa Monica Boulevard and let the relief wash over me.
We MUST allow ourselves to relish these moments in life, for they are fleeting and seldom seen.
And I smiled and exhaled.
Then I wondered what I should have for lunch.

Come here!!! Agggrrhhh!!!

This is a really good photo that makes me chuckle every time. Enjoy!

Cannon-balls Run!

I had one of those days.
You know the ones.
Wake up at 7 a.m. and somehow you're not too tired or burdened. The five hours of sleep you got was just enough
.
You pack your bag to the go to the gym BEFORE work, a major feat in itself. A bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and 2 cups of coffee later, you step out into a cool morning! Cool, I said. The LA heat has loosened it's steely grip and allowed the temp to drop below 80 degrees for the first time in months. And you suck it all in and stroll to your 2001 Dodge Neon (should you be so fortunate) with an uncharacteristic spring in your sneakers.

You cruise down the 'Bataan Death March' that is Brand Ave. in Glendale, without having to dodge one half-full cup of Jamba Juice tossed from the open window of an unhappy hairy shouldered, missing link behind the wheel of a leased Benz, who disagrees with your belief that because 3 old lady's are crossing the road, you should NOT plow through them so that he can get to 'Hypnotic' to suck on a Hookah until 6 pm when he has to visit his parole officer.

You have a semi-productive workout and for the first time since you joined the gym, not one man above the age of seventy feels the need to walk around the locker room with his ancient scrotum dangling between his leathery knees.

You go to the job that you don't hate but have no undying affection for, and you have FUN. Shockingly, for at least this special day, waiting tables doesn't suck cock! All of your favorite regulars come in. And THEY have fun! They enjoy their food and enjoy themselves and leave big tips. The end of shift tally is $85 bucks... on a day shift! A wonderful total in these uncertain financial times.

You come home and catch your girlfriend on her way out the door to her job and you remember for the thousandth time how great she is and truly lucky you are. You give her a hug and a kiss and there's genuine love in both. You joke around and love each other some more and then when she leaves, you silently wish her a great night and you think about how nice it'll be to hug her when she gets home.

You pour yourself a gin and diet tonic ('cause why waist the ten minutes you put in on that treadmill that very morning) and turn on a playoff baseball game. You don't much care about either team but they care a lot and that makes it a dramatic watch.

Wait! The mail! You dumb son-of-a-bitch! THE MAIL!

On a day like today, the mail must hold wonders. Anything could be in there? Your wildest fantasies could be fulfilled. A relative you never really knew or cared about much either way has left you a couple G's in her will. That HGTV 50-inch tv you entered to win 3 years ago is arriving on Monday. That recurring day dream about how that hotel commercial you did WAY back, didn't pay you for a whole 6 month cycle and now SAG has swooped in and ordered them to pay you in full, plus penalties, has finally come in! The resulting $16,365 check has left you in fine shape while the rest of the country swirls toward the drain in this toilet of an economy. It all could be in the mail box right this minute.

You hustle your tired yet excited bones down the two flights, slip your key in and snatch the healthy stack (always a good sign) and head back up the steps.

As you cross the threshold onto the 3rd floor, flipping through the bounty as you go, you come to an envelope that may as well be filled with satan's after-cinco de mayo shit.

Holding the evil parcel seems to even burn your bewildered fingertips.

In the top left corner it reads 'TRAFFIC VIOLATIONS BUREAU'.

Your heart falls into your lower intestine and the hallway wavers in front of you.
The only word that fits the moment is the word that escapes your lips. "Fuck."

You mope into your apartment, slit it open roughly with your index digit and read what you already knew what was coming.

You ran a red light on the way home from an audition. You remember the moment with great clarity (you thought it went quite well but yet didn't get called back) and they have photos of you doing it.

It get's worse. Not only did you do it, get caught red handed doing it, HAVE TO PAY $380 DOLLARS FOR DOING IT, but in the awfulness that is the multiple pictures of proof, you look like a fat wigger with gas station sunglasses on, smoking a cigarette and driving a total shitbox of a car. I look like an extra from '8 Mile' who thought that moment he hollered "peace out,
B Rabbit" during the final rap battle was gonna make all of the CAA crew moisten their boxer briefs, but it didn't quite happen.

You sit back and try to remember what really matters in life. Be positive! Life is too short. How lucky you truly are...

But you end up pouring a half-dozen more gin and diet tonics and using the implicating pictures as an extremely large and effective coaster.

$380 dollars? For that kind of scratch I feel like I should have done something much worse. Maybe roughed up a hipster or two. Stole a fucking bike... anything.

But.

He giveth, and he taketh... unflattering, expensive photos.

Making life worth living.

I am sad today.
Honestly sad.
Not upset or Angry or Unfulfilled.
Just sad.
I'd venture to say that many people all over the world are sad today.
And I need to write this down.
I just do.
I spend so much time trying to be funny. Trying to be accomodating. Trying to be ironic. And today, that day that Paul Newman died, I feel that it is absolutely necessary that I be honest and forthright. It's the way he'd of done it.
I loved Paul Newman!
And I always will.
Everything about him.
I just can't find flaw in him.
I don't want to find a flaw.
He was my my template for how a man should operate, behave and carry himself. All class.
I know, he was imperfect.
His son died of an accidental overdose while trying to find a life of his own in the shadow of an American icon, but his perfection manifested even more resolutely in how he responded to that horrifying event.
He spent the majority of his latter years building his non-profit food business and creating a welcoming camp for terminally ill kids with his 'Hole in the wall' organization.
In his biggest mistake, though he never called it that, I think he found a way to make peace with his own regrets through his philanthropy.
As an actor, I was stunned by what Paul Newman did in 'Cool Hand Luke'.
Even at twelve years old I was enthralled with that performance. I watched him fight, shake the bush, shovel tar, eat eggs and when it all ends in that abandoned church I had a new idea of what a man was. What cool was.
From Hud to Road to Perdition. So damn good!
Watch The Verdict, The Color of Money, Butch & Sundance, The Hustler, The Sting, Nobody's Fool, Slap Shot. Watch every film he ever made and you'll get a moving, heartfelt and honest performance.
And there won't be another. There won't be another Paul Newman movie and there will NEVER be another Paul Newman.
And that's why I'm sad today.