$28 billion, $28 schmillion...who cares!

The Los Angeles County Museum (LACMA), which I never visited while living in Cali, is planning to transport a 340 ton boulder from Riverside to Los Angeles as part of an art piece called, Levitated Mass. The cost is $1.5 million - just to move said rock.

Now, being an actor and a playwright (and an amateur photog) myself, I'm all for spending monies on art. I think more monies should be allocated to the arts (the liberal in me). However, seeing as we're in the throes of an economic recession, I'm perfectly aware that budgets are tight and "the arts" is one of the first things to get slashed (the conservative in me).

LACMA certainly has the right to spend its monies as it feels. It's just funny (to me) that California has a $28 billion deficit, yet LACMA has $1.5 million lying around to move a rock.

Wouldn't it be easier and cheaper to smash the boulder into tiny pieces first?

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PTSP @ LA ShortsFest July 24th!

Our short film, PASS THE SALT, PLEASE (based on my play), will have its Los Angeles premiere at the LA ShortsFest International Film Festival, the largest short film festival in the world. Jury Prize Winner at Palm Springs Int'l. Shortsfest Film Festival (Special Citation - Best OnScreen Pairing). Screened in Sydney, Big Sur, Rhode Island this fall and our European premiere in October (somewhere in Europe - can't say yet). Stars Fionnula Flanagan & Seymour Cassel. Directed by Tatjana Najdanovic, written by Jeff Ircink, ex. prod. Radha Mitchell & Jonathan Rhys Myers, prod by Max Maksimovic & Diana Jackson O'Keeffe. Sunday, July 24 @ 3:30 at Laemmle Sunset 5 on the Strip in Hollywood.

I will attend. You? Click here for fest, venue and ticket information. You have to go to the theater and get tickets there - in advance, in case it sells out. Don't wait 'til the last minute!

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Outta the cold and into LA.

Escaping the Wisconsin cool weather and jettin' off to LA tonite for a week. See my goddaughter and her family. Cali friends. Short film, PASSER LE SEL S’IL VOUS PLAÎT in production next week. Based on my short play, "Pass the Salt, Please." Cool.

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The last "Californian" TGIF! presents...Wang Chung's "To Live and Die in LA"!

Wang Chung - To Live and Die In LA
Uploaded by jpdc11 - See the latest featured music videos.


Goodbye California...and LA. This is officially my last "TGIF! presents..." as a Californian. I'm hittin' the road. Moving back to Wisconsin. After 11 1/4 years here, I need a break. I could be pessimistic about some of the time that I spent here - as easy as it would be to say that a lot of great shit happened to me while I lived here. I made some great friends - best friends. I became a god father. I fell in love. Met some interesting people - a lot of celebs. Some of you - and you know who you are...it breaks my heart to leave you. But in this day and age of Facebook and the Internet, we're not really that far away, are we? I'll be back to visit.

Right decision to move? Wrong decision? Who knows. It feels like the right decision NOW.

It was a wonderful adventure. No matter what I'm feeling now or how I'll feel about later, there is a part of me that will never leave LA.

This song is my homage to the City of Angels. And to the state of California, I say, "see ya later".

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To my friends in Los Angeles and California, I bid you "adieu".

...with a Beach Boys tune that Paul McCartney said was the saddest song he'd ever heard - "God Only Knows". I will miss you all. And I love you (most of you).

Jeff

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"See ya later", Marla!

Marla, Marla, Marla. We dated a number of years ago. I joined her and her girlfriends in Hollywood for her birthday in July. I really haven't frequented the Sunset Strip much in the 11 1/4 years I've been in LA. Not a Sunset Strip dude. Most of those were with Marla. But this night was the most fun I've ever had with Marla On the Strip, I mean.

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"Dear California, I'm dumping you."

Saw the most apropo opinion piece in the Los Angeles Times on August 16th. I was planning to post something on my blog in this vein but another writer beat me to the punch.

In Candice Reed's column, "Dear California, I'm dumping you.", Reed extols all the wondrous reasons she moved to California - then turns on each and every reason (like that UCLA couple during my visit to Cali in 1994 when Wisconsin beat UCLA in the Rose Bowl - Tom and I still can't figure out what we did to that couple). This paragraph sums up some of the reasons why I am departing this state and the City of Angels:

"I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time, and I’ve come to the conclusion that we should go our separate ways. I thought I loved you and it would last forever, but I was so very wrong…You’ve totally lost perspective, and I’m sinking into depression! We can’t pay our bills, and the phone is ringing off the hook with creditors calling from all over the world. Children across the state are losing healthcare, more than 766,300 Californians lost their jobs in the last year, and we’re at the top of the foreclosure charts. You need to change, and you refuse to admit it. For the first time in our relationship, I’m embarrassed to say that we are together…So that’s it, California, it’s over. You’ve cost me too much. I’m starting over, but I can see happy times ahead. Like we once had…You could be a great state again but I can’t wait in order for you to turn it around."

She pretty much hit the nail on the head. Add to that the runaway production in the entertainment industry, my eye injury (which made me feel like damaged goods and no I do not need a therapist), the onslaught of illegal aliens on every corner, a bankrupt city that seems to find money in its coffers to pay for the King of Pop's $1.4 million memorial service, and the traffic congestion and THAT...is a wrap.

Los Angeles isn't representative of the state of California. I'm a firm believer that if you put LA inside a snow globe and shipped it off on a one-way ticket to Greenland that it would survive just nicely THERE and no one would miss it HERE.

That being said, there's much I will miss. My best friends, Donovan & Maria & their two daughters, Grace and Gwyneth (my god daughter), other friends including Susie & Jay, Maria's parents and siblings - Mike and Bill and their families, Tat, Michael Gregory, Marla, Dave & Linda Parke, Stephen Carver, Rick the photographer, Michael Carrera, Bruce Johnson & Bill Baumann (my ex-bosses), the Nowak clan in Santa Barbara, and others.

Speaking of Santa Barbara - what a gem of a place! How I will miss the convenience of jumping into my car and driving up the 101 for an hour and a half and escaping LA (the Santa Inez wine country will be sorely missed by moi). Being a history buff and actor, it was far-out being in a city where so much history in the entertainment industry took place. To know that Dean Martin always ate at this table or that Brian Wilson lived in that house in Bel Air. I'll miss the intimate venues where you can catch a music act like Berlin, Gordon Lightfoot or The Zombies - and not just IF they roll through your town on a tour they go on once every five years. Or The Smoke House and Formosa Cafe (any eatery for that matter really) where you can run into just about any celebrity on any day of the week. The weather and the beaches - the goes without saying.

I'm fortunate to have been involved with the Carl Wilson (The Beach Boys) Cancer Foundation. Or to have struck up a friendship and mentor-ish relationship with guys like The Waltons creator, Earl Hamner, Jr. or actor Bo Svenson. I think it's cool that I lived in a guesthouse in Bel Air for seven years and lived a very surreal life...experiencing a way of life very few people get to experience. It's unfortunate that the last two years of all that was soured because of the bitch who lives there. (That's one feeling I can't shake - I want that bitch to rot in hell.)

Sorry. Where was I? California. Yeh, I do feel some sense of accomplishment after having lived in your state for 11 1/4 years. Being The Beach Boys groupie that I am, it felt like the right place to be...to experience. I met Brian Wilson and rubbed elbows with Beach Boys' ex-wives, children, ex-/current band members (CW Cancer Foundation) and had the honor of becoming friends with Dennis Wilson's ex-wife, Karen Lamm about a year before she died. I met Ricci Martin, the son of my favorite all-around entertainer, Dean Martin, and feel fortunate to call him "a friend". I got my SAG card (like everyone else in the state), met a few celebs, shared some awesome Brett Favre moments with Donovan & Maria at their home in Tujunga, started a blog in March 2007, started a career as playwright - finishing 4 full-length plays, one play adapted from a movie, a one-act, seven short plays, published twice and traveled to Cedar Rapids, Ireland, Miami and Seattle to watch my work performed by others. I even won the jackpot as a "seal trainer" on To Tell The Truth.

No - I never met Mel. Never got to see The Walton's house on the Warner lot. Never tried surfing (sharks). Never made it north of Monterey. Never got laid in Santa Barbara (well, I didn't). Never saw a performance at the Greek Theatre or been to LACMA or The Getty. Blah, blah, blah. But I did a lot of other shit.

Next week my brother arrives and we'll do some visiting around Cali, then pack up the car (the bulk of my belongings have been shipped home already) and make the long drive back to Wisconsin. So - "all good things...", as the saying goes. And unless you (Cali) fall into the ocean, I will return at least once a year to visit you and my god daughter, my extended family in Santa Barbara and friends. Maybe then I'll be able to do some of the things I never got around to doing when I lived here.

In the words of the great Dennis Wilson, drummer and co-founder of The Beach Boys (like I was gonna end this post with anything but something Beach Boy-related), from his 1977 tune "River Song" :

"...You know it's rough gettin' round this place, So crowded I can hardly breathe, You can only see about a block or two, In LA that's the truth, I'm lookin' for some country life, Some kickin' room, no more city life, I want the river...".

River Song - Dennis Wilson

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Ed Cotter's Obit In "Variety".

Not as morbid as you might think, really. When you make the "obit" section in Variety, shows you were somebody. 'Course, Ed was "somebody" when he didn't appear in the obit section, so...

Here's the post I did on Ed a few weeks ago. I was the "Narrator" in the musical Ed directed, "Blood Brothers". Great show. And a great director.

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Correction: "Janis Joplin SPENT..."

About 7 posts down I have a story on Harry Nilsson's song, "Me and My Arrow" from The Point! I wrote, "...and Janis Joplin spend her last night on earth there." However, once you post from YouTube you can't go back into the post and make corrections or you'll lose the video. At least, I haven't found a way to do it.

Look for more on The Troubadour (which I may have misspelled in that post as well) and The Leather Soles.

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Girlie-man Gov. Arnold verus California's ranaway film industry.

"To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women."

Spoken like only Conan could. But the real-life Conan, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger - along with the California legislature - continues to turn his back on the the state of California and HIS own film industry, resembling the "girl-man politicians" he vowed he would work against when he became governor.

An article in the Hollywood Reporter (1/19/09) bemoaned recent figures that show a dip in regional film production in California, blaming the loss on "run-away" productions to other states and countries. This isn't new news. This "ran-away" production can be placed solely on the shoulders of Californian Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and the state legislature. Period.

Film production dropped 8.1% in the fourth quarter last year, hitting the lowest level since FilmLA started tracking figures in 1993. The total slide for 2008 was 1.7%. Not a huge drop? Guess again. That's 7,043 production days for 2008, compared to 13, 980 in 1996. And that's millions of dollars gone. Disappeared. One would think California isn't in the midst of a budget crisis.

FilmLA's Paul Audley stated, "California simply is not competitive in the marketplace anymore". Hollywood not competitive? No. Not Tinseltown? "You have all the other states sweetening their incentives (but) we're sitting here just watching our entertainment industry slide away and not fighting back".

Commercial shoots are also down, a drop of 17.4% in the latest quarter and 10.9% on the year. When Arnold took office for his first term as governor of California in 2003, the first thing he should have done is put in place tax incentives to attract film production - like 48 other states have (and dozens of countries) initiated - in an effort to keep film production in California. He's an ACTOR, for Christ's sakes! He's publicly acknowledged that California is regarded as a laughingstock because of our decrease in film production. The arrogance that is Hollywood is exactly why Hollywood is in this mess and it DOESN'T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY.

Apparently, Arnold has asked California state legislators to add these tax incentives into the budget. So where are they? How hard is it to basically take another state's tax incentive, copy the motherfucker, vote on it, pass it, have Arnold sign it and be done with it???? No debating the issue. No caucuses or committees. Just do it. Idiots. I like Arnold but he needs to stop playing "the game" and get a move on. Or Hollywood will become a ghost town sooner than later. And "the industry" - and this state - has no one to blame but itself.

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Coffee rage in Culver City.

I'm at Tanner's Coffee Shop in Culver City writing. This guy behind me is watching something on his computer. He's got a headset on but he's laughing and making all sorts of other sounds ("oh no", "come on", "no way").

It's annoying me. If you hear siren's in the Culver City area or I don't answer my phone or emails for a few days, it's because I swear I'm gonna stab him with a sharp object.

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Trojans in Tears; Ripped by Beavers.

That headline is courtesy of my cousin, Scott Schmidt, of CRACTION fame (or soon to be famous, I should say).

Truly, there are (2) instances when a beaver beating a trojan is bad:
1) During sex - this is every man's worst nightmare (and I suppose a woman's too), and...

2) If you're a fan of the #1 ranked USC Trojans and you just got upset by the Oregon Beavers last night.

Heehaw. Now maybe LA will shut up about their invincible Trojans. Did I say, "HEEEEEHAWWWWW

“Idiocy is like hypnosis or ejaculation: if you want it, you can't have it-and if you don't want it, you can." - Lars von Trier!".

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Autumn.

The Autumnal Equinox. Fall in Los Angeles is...well there is no fall in Los Angeles. I need to see the leaves change - somewhere. This would do for starters, though I'm not sure where that is.

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“California is no ordinary state; it is an anomaly, a freak.”

So stated Carey McWilliams, the prolific mid-twentieth-century American author.

While perusing Francis Ford Coppola's site, Zoetrope: All Story, a quarterly magazine devoted to the best new short fiction and one-act plays (I'm thinking of submitting a one-act), I chanced upon John King's article, "The Lure of California: An Introduction" in a back issue and found it particularly pertinent to my life - as I've been struggling to figure out what exactly is my place here.

I've been in California 10 years this past April and have likened Los Angeles to a snow globe. Pick it up and place it in Antarctica and nothing would change. It is not representative of this state. Head south to the beach communities of Huntington, Laguna or Newport; head north to Santa Barbara and the Santa Inez wine country and Big Sur and Monterey, or east to the Sequoia National Forest. When I describe California to people, these are the places I mention - not LA.

If you'd like to read King's article, click on READ MORE! It's interesting.

(WAIT! There's more...)

California defies generalization not just because of its wondrous geographic variety, but because so much of its lure exists in our minds. The Golden State is tarnished and it glows triumphant and no two views are the same: the landscape yields mountains and tule-fogged marshes, pristine coastlines and ravaged hillsides. Earthquake faults hide waiting. There are spiked urban towers that want to be Chicago, and bits of Humboldt County still happy with 1967.

For each pair of eyes that sees what was lost, another takes in the glory that remains. That’s what beckons writers to try and pin down the place on paper—and why writers most often fail. The obvious touchstones are visual—Lake Tahoe, Coit Tower, the Hollywood sign—but how does one define and portray a place that continually reinvents itself, where the possibility of reinvention is perhaps the strongest magnet of all?

Carey McWilliams, the prolific mid-twentieth-century American author who headed east in 1950 to edit The Nation but considered himself a Californian to the end, wrote the most perceptive book about the Pacific Coast domain. In his 1949 study, California: The Great Exception, he argued: “The culture of California has two striking characteristics: the willingness of the people to abandon the old ways, and . . . the inventiveness, the quickness with which something new is devised.” McWilliams was neither the first nor the last writer to marvel at the strange effect California has on the people it attracts, but he may still be the best at describing the state’s constant rush toward change, its boom after boom, each one convincing the inhabitants of a particular era that they live in a time of unique peril and promise.

“California is no ordinary state; it is an anomaly, a freak,” he wrote a century after the first of many subsequent Gold Rushes and before Jack Kerouac or Charles Manson or the state’s robust new governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger. “In California you learn to wait for the next explosion and, when it comes, you run as far and as fast as you can and then dig in until the next explosion splits the air.”

These explosions are a mixed blessing, of course; they leave scars on the psyche and on the terrain, from mountains hollowed out in search of gold to the fertile farmland now buried beneath tract homes. When you see the transformation and remember what existed before, the pain is visceral—as if California is slipping away, lost finally beyond redemption.

And if that sense of rootless slipping is true of the physical terrain, it’s even more true of the culture, which has morphed through the decades in ways that baffled longtime inhabitants (longtime in California being defined as long enough to see changes you dislike). Imagine the trauma for good Iowans transplanted to Los Angeles, earnestly recreating their settled Midwest, when hedonistic Hollywood (de)flowered in the 1920s. California has been on the frontier of cultural and social trends ever since, which is great if you’re the explorer but traumatizing if the new trends clash with your existing values.

What John Steinbeck wrote of droughts in his Salinas Valley applies just as well to the state’s mood swings between a belief that this is the Promised Land and a conviction that the promise is broken once and for all: “it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.”

Always was and still is. In the 1960s, that now-hallowed age of wonder, the double whammy of growth and social disruption led to publications with such names as Cry California and The Destruction of California. Thirty years later, people inculcated with ’60s values looked at the frenzied reverberations of the dot-com boom and saw their own version of the end times. This was true of the Bay Area in particular. “San Francisco has been for most of its 150-year existence both a refuge and an anomaly. Soon it will be neither,” Rebecca Solnit intoned solemnly in 2000’s Hollow City. She warned that “bohemia may well go away altogether” and that “all of San Francisco is being delivered vacant to the brave new technology economy, and altruism and idealism are two of the tenants facing homelessness.”

Fast forward to the present: in November 47 percent of San Francisco’s voters wanted Green Party member Matt Gonzalez to be mayor, suggesting that at least a few bohos and idealists remain. Yet the same San Franciscans who embrace progressive politics vote to ban panhandling; statewide, meanwhile, in the past decade voters have tried to crack down on illegal immigrants and rein in university affirmative action policies, but they also gave their blessing to marijuana use with a doctor’s consent. As for Arnold Schwarzenegger’s election, it is nothing so much as confirmation of the cherished California belief that things would be great—again—if they would just get out of the way. Whoever they are.

All of which is fertile ground for writers, and the soil gets richer with each new element added to what is perhaps the most multicultural society the world has ever seen. But what doesn’t change is the motivation of the migrants. They are drawn not simply by wealth or a good job but because they are seduced—seduced by their own dreams. They imagine this place, their California, will give them a chance to have it all as they define all. “Who can be surprised that the world came to California and still wants to come here?” Richard Rodriguez asked in 1991. “Restless lives are the point of life here . . . the newcomer’s gift to California has always been the audacity of optimism and the assurance that one can forget the past.” Every newcomer who puts down roots keeps that restless spirit alive—and extends it into the future.

Wallace Stegner put it a different way twenty-five years before. “Bigots, we’ve got ’em. Rebellious and intransigent students, we’ve got ’em. Communists, fascists, Birchites, American Nazis, religious cranks, crooks, drunks, junkies, we’ve got ’em . . . California is a place where you find whatever you came looking for, and right next to it that which you most hoped to avoid.”

California’s ultimate lure. Here, anything is possible—except the assurance that other people are like you. Or that you, or anyone else, truly know what might loom next.

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"Cry-baby of the day" - Gina D. in Chicago.

On today's MSN homepage, there's an article on, "The Thing That Drives Me Nuts About My Co-Worker". Readers were asked to submit examples of annoying co-workers' habits (does that apostrophe go outside the "s" or inside - i never know).

The very first email response was this:

"I have an employee who is a Packers fan; I am a Bears fan. Every once in a while, I receive an e-mail that varies from photos of Brett Favre or just plain text that says, 'PACK.' It drives me nuts and I have to pretend it doesn't bother me one bit." - Gini D., Chicago

Here's my note back to Gina:

"Waa, waa, waa. Shut up, Gina - you whiny little bitch. No one cares about your dilemma with your co-worker. I'm also a Packer/Favre fan and native Wisconsinite and the Bears suck whether Brett's playing or not or whether the Packers are playing well or not. THE BEARS ALWAYS SUCK. Packer fans hate the Bears and vice versa. Give it a rest. In LA, I have to listen to more people cheering for more teams than you'll ever have to deal with. Grow a 'nad. Just ignore the emails and get back to work. Write your complaining, hostile emails on your own time." -
Jeff I., Los Angeles

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EXCLUSIVE! Brett Favre Wins at ESPYS!

Brett and Deanna Favre Wednesday night (last night) at the 2008 ESPY Awards held at NOKIA Theatre L.A. LIVE in Los Angeles. The 2008 ESPYS will air on Sunday, July 20 at 9PM ET on ESPN. Brett won (fan voting) "Best Record-Breaking Performance" for beating Dan Marino's TD pass record with 422 TDS last season for the Green Bay Packers.

Check out Packer responses on the red carpet (including QB Aaron Rogers) regarding the debacle going in Green Bay between Favre and the Packer brASS.

Favre was nominated along with Barry Bonds (can you say, 'taint'), San Francisco Giants; Usain Bolt (?), Track and Field; and Tom Brady (ass) & Randy Moss, New England Patriots. Hang in there, Brett! TT's gotta see the logic in bringing you back for another season!

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Again with the Peanut Butter & Butter...

Procuring my morning onion-toasted bagel with peanut butter AND butter shouldn't be this difficult. Maybe it's me.

Winchell's Donuts across the street. Every fricken time. Today, the woman (they're all Mexican and there's a definite language barrier ) throws the bagel into the toaster and pulls out the peanut butter AND butter in their respective carry-out containers. Ah! They remember me. So far so good.

She exits and another women enters, pulling my bagel out of the toaster. The peanut butter AND butter containers that were on the counter are nowhere to be seen. This new girl proceeds to put cream cheese on my bagel.

"No, wait. I wanted peanut butter and butter."
(She gets another bagel.)
"No - just scrap it off. You don't have to toast a new bagel.
(She scraps the cream cheese off and puts the bagel into a bag, handing it to me.)
"And my peanut butter AND butter, please."
(She reaches under the counter and pulls out a to-go container of peanut butter, putting it in the bag.)
"And my butter."
"This is peanut butter."
"I know - but I also want butter...separately."
(She reaches under the counter again and pulls out a to-go container of butter, placing it in the bag.)

Success. Like I said - maybe it's me.

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Nothing like a barefoot & pregant Minnie Driver to take my mind off Favre.

I'm sick. And I should've stayed home. I've seen her twice in the last year. But the allure of the artistry of Minnie Driver, for me, is as strong as the sirens, beckoning sailors into shore only to smash their brains upon the rocks then eat their - sorry. Minnie makes me emotional.

As does the Brett Favre/Green Bay Packer drama that's been unfolding and that I've been languishing over (how terribly draining) - as are so many of my friends and family back home in Wisconsin - and I needed to just get away. So, I caught Minnie Driver's show at the Hotel Cafe in Hollywood tonite - met a friend from work (Cami) and her friend, Justine. This was Minnie's last show before she pops - this picture was taken this month and as you can see she's due any day.

In case you don't know or haven't read my posts on Minnie in April 2008 or August 2007, she's not only an actress, but a singer/songwriter and one of the top 2 or 3 female voices I've heard in the last 5 years (she had a top hit in the UK before she got her break in American films). I LOVE her shit. That sultry voice of hers takes me away to - well...she just takes me away. And no matter how many times I've seen her perform (3 since August), each time is like it's the first time. Ya gotta check her CD out, Seastories - go to Amazon. Or check her Myspace site.

I LOVE MINNIE DRIVER! Hotel Cafe is an intimate venue and you're right there with Minnie as she performs (you know I met and talked with her in April - uh huh.). So did the people I was with. Minnie played all her best songs and was in perfect voice and for one hour I only thought about Brett Favre once (mental lapse). Congrats, Minnie, in advance on the birth of your child. She's got a talented mum and is a very lucky kid.

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Wine at The Alcove in Los Feliz.

I met a friend at The Alcove in Los Feliz last night for a couple glasses of wine. It's a place you visit and don't wanna leave. While standing in line to order, Val - who was sitting at our table outside to the left in the above picture - made this origami toy out of a napkin. Remember that game you played in school? There are numbers and letters and you keep choosing and opening flaps of paper until you get a special message?

My special message was "Klinggap" - and I made her laugh really hard.

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Ircink's solution to taggers

There's a Winchell's Donuts across the street from my office. They JUST re-painted the wall white last week because of the graffiti. I noticed the wall's been tagged already.

If it were up to me, any taggers caught in the act OR convicted of tagging would have the hands cut off. And I'll do it. They do it again - cut the other hand off. I'm sick of this bullshit. Do they have a theft problem in Asia? No - because they cut off your hand if you're caught stealing. Seems to work there, doesn't it?

Is that conservative enough for you, Scotty? I like pictures with my blog posts. Not today. I won't give the bastards the satisfaction of photographing their illegal, unintelligent, moronic, gang artwork and giving it credence on my blog.

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