You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I just saw some images on Hardball with Chris Matthews of Sarah Palin on the campaign trail. Behind her, in almost every photo was a Hasidic Rabbi.

Let me make this perfectly clear. You can’t be a self respecting Jew and tote yourself around with the face of the extreme right, the Tea Baggers — I mean Party. Tea Party. This Rabbi has just lowered the overall IQ of the Jewish people.

Any Jew who alines themself with the Tea Party has amazingly managed to sell their soul to both Jesus and The Devil all at the same time… Which is no small feat.

 

Gauche Films! Yay for me!!!!!!!!!!!

So, as any self respecting writer has, I have started my own ProdCo. Yes, I am officially a cliche! Anywho, the site is up, even though it is merely one page. But I do have a fancy new email addy. david@gauchefilms.com. For those who are unawares, Gauche is French for Left. It also means Lacking Social Graces or Awkward. And anyone who knows me, knows I lack all social graces. So check out the site, while I sit in a public place and fart. www.gauchefilms.com

www.gauchefilms.com

 

The passing of a childhood classmate

A man I went to high school with passed away yesterday. I was friendly with him back then, but by no means was he my friend. I think acquaintance is the word. It had nothing to do with him or his character, we just hung around in different circles. Actually, he hung around in many circles. I was an outcast. But I digress. His name was Jason Oliver. He was a young man with big dreams. Specifically one very big, ambitious dream. He was going to be the President of The United States of America.  He just might have. Who knows? I am sure that anyone who ever set out to lead a nation began by having such a dream.

After graduating, I moved on with my life, swearing to never speak to anyone from my high school again. I stuck true to my conviction. Well, for the most part I did. I ran into a few people here and there and bars or nightclubs or what have you, but other than my high school pal, Brian, I had no contact with the graduates of ’92. That goes as well for ’90, ’91, ’93 and so on and so forth. Then, a crazy invention came about a few years ago called Facebook and before I knew it  I was “friends” with a large group of people I went to high school with. I guess some convictions we hold as true, become transparent and then finally just disappear over time. But again, I digress.

This isn’t about technology or reliving high school memories, good and bad, this is about something larger and more impactful than anything I have ever experienced, and for those who know me, it could be said that I have experienced a lot.

You see, something happened to me, for the first time ever, about a year ago. I realized I wasn’t immortal. Yes, I know this sounds ridiculous, but up until then I was young. I no longer feel young. I don’t feel old either, but I cannot say with conviction that I am a spring chicken. A wave of terror crashed down onto me that day. That terror was death. I knew, for the first time ever, that I was actually going to die.  I knew, in my bones, that one day I would cease to be. Fear and sweat and panic washed over me. I never faced this before. Sure, I have been alive long enough to bury two grand parents and a friend who committed suicide a year or two after graduating, but I had yet to FEEL death inside my core. To know him. His existence and to face him. I faced that inevitability that day and I was scared. Truly scared.

So, back to Jason Oliver. I couldn’t understand why the death of someone I barely knew had affected me so deeply. The sweet and wonderful words that everyone left for him on Facebook  hit like a sledge-hammer. I can say, with absolute certainty, that he was loved. He will be missed. The words and tears of his family and friends (and there are many) have stated as much. But why? Why was I – am I –  so affected? I think I know now. It’s because Jason is the first person I knew, who was my age, that I grew up with and schooled with, who ceased to be. It confirms that one day I will cease to be, as well…  I want to be.

 

My experiences in online dating… AKA The Ladies (cue the cheesy 70′s music)

So for a few years now, I have been on and off of the world of online dating. OkCupid, Plentyoffish, Jdate and I think I even took a stab at Lavalife once (Tons of prostitutes on that one). I am not writing today to complain about the women and the lack of quality… Actually I am, so leave now if this subject dost offend.

I can sum up the majority of the girls I have spoken to in one of three types. The Deluded, the Desperate and the Devoid. Let me explain each, one at a time.

The DELUDED: These women seem to be of the belief that because they were gifted with a pair of tits and a vagina that they deserve the creme de la creme of men. One girl actually stated that she is used to only dating doctors, so this is where her comfort level is. Seriously?! I have always known the golddiggers, but the internet has now given a forum for these women to be honest about it. I think I prefered it when I was ignorant of it.

I get that a woman doesn’t want a bum, but come on! Less than 1% of the population in the world is wealthy , yet at least  30% of the women online are looking for that less than 1%.  The math just doesn’t work. I am sure there is a correlation between the rise of  golddiggers and the increase in freakish plastic surgery, but I am no statistician, so I will leave that to the professionals.

All I am saying is, unless you look like Giselle, try lowering your expectations. 

The DESPERATE: In order to approach these women, one must be prepared to have all the answers prepped for a quick delivery.  Here are just a few (included is the real meaning of the question):

1. What are you looking for? (I want marriage and a family yesterday)
2. How many kids do you want? (I want four. I have already named them and I expect them two years apart and plan to raise them safetly in the suburbs close to my mom)
3. Are your parents still together? (Because I have studied enough pop psychology to know, without any education, that if your parents are together, we will be forever… how romantic)
4. Do you have a stable job? (Because I plan to go on a date with you and start poppin’ out the midgets the moment you say check please, so we need to make sure you can afford to house and pamper me and your dna)

The DEVOID: Because some spoons are sharper than these chicks. I just love the vapid. Here is an actual conversation with one of LA’s finest:

I will be played by the role of Davidartiste, The girl will be played by the role of  2cuteFLtoLA

• Davidartiste: Hi
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Hi
• Davidartiste: How are you? I’m David.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: lol
• Davidartiste: Huh?

5 minutes later

• Davidartiste: Still there?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: yah.
• Davidartiste: Do you have a name?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: yur funny.
• Davidartiste: I’m confused.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Hi.
• Davidartiste: My head hurts.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: I know. So whats up?
• Davidartiste: What Is Your Name?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Jennifer urs?
• Davidartiste: David… We’ve covered this.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: lol.
• Davidartiste: So, moving on. You are from Florida?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: yah
• Davidartiste: When did you come to Los Angeles?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: I was born here.
• Davidartiste: I thought you were from Florida?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Went to college there for a year. Then came back. 
• Davidartiste: So then you aren’t from Florida.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Ur funny.
• Davidartiste: I need an aspirin.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Headache? hang on a sec. k?
• Davidartiste: okay.

10 minutes later

• 2cuteFLtoLA: sorry. phone. 1 sec.

10 minutes later

• Davidartiste: Hello?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Hi!
• Davidartiste: Listen, I should get going?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: Goin out this weekend?
• Davidartiste: No. I need to write. You?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: prolly.
• Davidartiste: Prolly? What does that mean?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: lmao
• Davidartiste: huh?
• 2cuteFLtoLA: we should hang out. ur funny.
• Davidartiste: you’ve said this. I need to go.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: cool. bye.
• Davidartiste: ciao.
• 2cuteFLtoLA: call me.

Now, you may think I am making this up, but I am not. Trust me. 

I will leave you with an excerpt from one of the bereft. I will call her luv2laf1981. Mind you this was after 2 minutes of conversation.

Davidartiste: So how are the guys from OKcupid treating you?

luv2laf1981: i fucked one person, totally pissed off one guy, stood up one guy, basicly just chat like this with most.

Davidartiste: Huh? why are you telling me this?

luv2laf1981: he was a lil chubby

luv2laf1981: he gave good head tho 

Davidartiste: I gotta go.

luv2laf1981: cool. email me.

Davidartiste: Don’t count on it.

 

My friend is 1/16th Cherokee.

For those geniuses who haven’t figured it out yet, I am Jewish. A Heeb. Jewboy. ‘Tis what I am. I make no big thing about it, in fact, I am very unreligious. But the Jew folk are my folk, so I am Jew. But if you look at me, I’m a white boy. Again, ‘Tis what I am.

But this isn’t about me. It is about a nameless friend. He is of German (WASP), English (WASP) and Irish (WASP) descent. He is white. Wait! How dare I?! I forgot. His grandmother’s grandfather bitch-slapped a Cherokee in the mid 1800s, so he claims to be part Cherokee. He needs this. To him it’s his flavor. It’s his spice. Because it keeps him from being 100% bland. Instead, he’s 99.999999% bland. I can’t figure out if he is ashamed of being white or in denial.

I remember as a child, seeing all the WASPy kids celebrate Christmas and lead normal white lives of wholesome suburbia. I was the outcast. The 1 Jew in a classroom of 30+ WASPs who celebrated a strange eight day party (it wasn’t), had a big nose (I didn’t) and who’s ancestors killed Jesus (They didn’t). I was odd to them.

Sensitivity training didn’t start in the 70s. Back then, if you were different, you had to grow a thick skin. Embrace your freakness. You got tough. If someone called you “A stupid, no-good, cheap-ass Jew” you had two options. 1.) Respond with, “The cheapest Jew you ever saw!” or 2.) Kick him in the nuts. I usually optioned for 2. I had a tendency of knowing the Vice Principal by name.

My friend on the other hand has never lived a marginalized life. He’s always been on the inside. Now that he’s in his thirties, he wants to be part of this diverse world. So, now he’s a Cherokee. Dances With Wolves was such an important movie, for his people. Don’t get me wrong, I loved that film. It was wonderful on every level. But “his people”?! His people are the ones who killed the Native American. His people were the Victors not the Victims.

The point I’m getting at is embrace what you actually are and not what you wish you were. His point of view would be drastically different if he had actually been a Chrokee raised in 70s white suburbia. I appreciate a need to be unique. I appreciate a need to be undestood. I appreciate a need to have some flavor. But when a white man claims he is part of a lost people, who were violently and systematically removed from the Nation and is in fact, at best, maybe 1/16th of that people (the remaining 15/16th of him is the people who removed and killed them), then he is in fact being incredibly insulting to those who have lost. It would be as if a man who’s ancestry is not only German, but infact Nazi, but 200 years ago there was a Jew in his family and for that he claims Judaism.

He is white. White! White! White! Accept it, move on and shut up.

 

The Drama of The Olympian

I have to admit, I am a freak for the Olympics. Specifically, Winter Olympics. I can’t get enough. The athleticism and dedication surpass, in my humble opinion, that of the professional sporting world (Yes, I know they are pros now. That is a whole other conversation).

It has been going strong for two days and I can’t unglue myself from the television. But I have to admit, he hyperbole is almost too much. The drama they create is now going too far.

Except for the death of Nodar Kumaritashvili of Georgia during his practice luge run ( the video chilled me to the core…I wept), I think the forced tragedies are over the top. For example, this is the Third Olympics to be held in Canada. In the other two no Canadian won a Gold.

Tragic? No.  Sucky? Sure.

So, it’s day 1 of the Olympics and this terrible burdon is on the country’s shoulders. In an amazing run, Jennifer Heil, earns the top spot during the Woman’s Freestyle Mogul. The last runner, Hannah Kearney of the U.S., is up top waiting to make her run. Two camera’s are running. One on Kearney, the other locked on Heil’s face.

The Green Light.

Kearney goes. A near perfect run (to me, perfect, however, since if idid that run myself, I would have gotten an ice enema). She arrives at the bottom with confidence and excitement.

Cut to Heil. Stoic. Cool.

Back to Kearney. The Score…GOLD! America gets the Gold.

Cut to Heil. Upset. Now believe me, I get it. I would be upset to. She came to win, but came in second. I hold no ill will toward her.

What blows my mind was the recap about thirty minutes later. Canada’s hope for a Gold on their soil gone. Oh, the Tragedy! Oh, the Suffering! PLEASE!!! There are only two weeks left! Canada is fucked, for sure!

Man-oh-man, it was so melodramatic. Between their pontification and the dark forboding music they made it sound like Canada’s soul had been crushed.

You would think some died…oh, wait some one did. Yet Nodar Kumaritashvili got less coverage.

 

Beards = Divorce?

According to KTLA 5′s late breaking news, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt “May be calling it quits.” They determined this because Mr. Pitt is growing a beard. This is obviously true, because any time an actor changes their appearance it must mean 1 of 2 things. Either A.) They have a new role or B.)Their marriage is failing. And obviously choice A is extremely rare.

What does this mean in the real world? It means that any man I see with a beard, I will try to sleep with his wife. She is obviously not getting any love. Her marriage is failing and she is vulnerable. Good plan.

If I am wrong, however, can I sue KTLA 5 for damages done because I had the living snot beat out of me?

 

Do Movies Actually Get Made?

I am hitting my limit with the Hollywood Catch-22. No one and I mean NO ONE accepts unsolicited material. Studios and production companies won’t read your script because and I quote ” Although we appreciate your interest, we have a firm policy of returning all unsolicited material unread…Your unsolicited submission has not been, and will not be disclosed to any executive or other employee or any other person.  You should be aware that many ideas are generated by our employees and our clients or other sources.  To the extent that any projects are generated which contain elements similar to what you submitted, the similarities are purely coincidental.”

So Fine! I guess I need an agent. well here is what the agents say, ” Although we appreciate your interest, we have a firm policy of returning all unsolicited material unread…Your unsolicited submission has not been, and will not be disclosed to any executive or other employee or any other person.  You should be aware that many ideas are generated by our employees and our clients or other sources.  To the extent that any projects are generated which contain elements similar to what you submitted, the similarities are purely coincidental.”

Whoa! Hold on! An agent won’t read my script if it is unsolicited and a production company won’t read my script if it’s unsolicited? This begs the question, “Who does read scripts?” I guess I could ask the homeless man around the corner, he would certainly read it for ten bucks and a bottle of Boones.

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is why Hollywood puts out the same crap, over and over and over again. The executives tell their writers to write a movie based on what their charts and graphs and “research” have told them is a profitable film and VOILA you have “Love Happens.” Love Happens? Please?! Did the execs name it as well?!

Anyway, I shall continue to fight the good fight as things change. They always do. I have enoughconfidence in my work to know it will be read and sold…it just takes tenacity. I have buckets of that stuff.

 

My broken heart gets updates and texts.

The latest numbers to come out of the tragedy in Haiti is over one hundred thousand dead. Words can not describe the sadness I feel for them. What a loss. But thank god for AFP and Apple! They just released an new Haiti app for the iPhone! Way to go corporate America! Good job at finding a way to make a buck off of this! You do your mothers proud, I’m sure.

 

My Artwork.

For those interested in seeing my art, feel free to visit my website http://www.davidartiste.com