more jolly in one place than i'm comfortable with.

You never know how you’ll react when confronted with a herd of Santas. But that’s what happened to me this morning. Didn’t expect it to happen, but there they were, standing on W 49th street, all jolly and gay. Some 20 or so Santas [real beards – none of that fake facial hair crap]. There was no visible explanation. They were all just standing there. Looking commercial; looking Christmas.

[I'm not sure, but at one point, I saw one of them go into his pocket, all Travis Bickle-like.]

So. I ask, “What’s up with the Santa thing?” One of them turned, and in a very thick Brooklyn accent said, “Heyyy, fellah. We’uh hee’uh foh Coca-Cola. Some soo’at of promotion.” I almost expected Father Christmas to say, “What that fock’s it to you??”

I’m now frightened by the prospect of him seeing me when I’m sleeping. And so should you.

But I was half-tempted to ask one of them about my Big Wheel. "What's the story with you making those things so cheap? After, like, ten rides, the damn wheel was cracked. And those elves? I say you can 'em. Sonsabitches. Get yourself a tribe of Oompa Loompas."

war, money, and richard nixon.

Cash.

I do love Johnny Cash. Being that my father’s a huge fan, it’s the first music I can recall hearing. Cash is also something I like to do with my checks. Having it around tends to be more enjoyable than not. And, believe me, I’ve been on both sides of the coin.

I mention cash because I’d like to share a position of mine, and I’d love to hear some feedback on it. (Unless you disagree. I mean, you think I really want to hear that?)

Anyhow, here's a thing: why the hell isn’t there just one currency in the world?

In my mind, if we tossed all of the national currencies of the world and embraced one global currency, the earth's population might — MIGHT — engage in fewer wars. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

To put it into perspective, I gotta go back.

One theory on the war in Iraq — which I happen to agree with — is that it has much to do with Richard Nixon. Nixon was a well-documented asshole. Check the history books. It’s right there, in the pages between Sirhan Sirhan and Squeaky Fromme.

But while President Nixon was an asshole (mind you, given the current administration, he’s starting to look like Chester A. Arthur), he was also one smart bastard. ‘Cause in 1972, he made a deal with OPEC. In that deal, he somehow managed to get the oil guys to agree to use the U.S. dollar for all financial transactions, thereby keeping our greenbacks valuable.

A few years ago? Yeah, Iraq said they were going to use the Euro instead.

But I’m sure it’s all just a coincidence. No, really. I’m sure we’re there to give them the gift of freedom. Like Putin distributing polonium-210.

So — sorry, Bush supporters — the war is about cash. Don't look at me like that. The word "freedom" means about as much as the word "quality." So go back to Narnia and deal.

Okay. Back to my point. Does it not make sense that, if there were one shared currency, the new currency would become education, skill, and man-power? Would it not, in theory, decrease the desire to set up shop in other nations?

I’m just throwing it out there. I may be smoking crack and such an act may plunge us all into a global depression. So, by all means, tell me if you think I am.

serial quarterback.

Is it just me or does the name "John David Booty" sound like a serial killer whose victims are made up entirely of women whom Sir Mix-A-Lot admires?

(This would make him the second USC Trojan guilty of murder.)

post-production post.

I start off this posting with a random thought (as if the rest of it won’t be): you’d think that if you owned a restaurant called “Colony,” your first priority, signage-wise, would be to make absolutely certain that the big, neon “Y” would never burn out. Turns out not everybody thinks of these things. No one should have to look up and be faced with that.

Except maybe Kyle. (Everyone who knows Kyle finds this funny. And even if you don’t, you still might.)

It’s been a waaaaay long time since I’ve posted, obviously, and a lot has happened in post-production. We’re in what could be the homestretch. That is, until the executives have their say. And it’s my assumption that they will. It’s not a complaint, it’s the nature of the mechanism. But this could mean another few weeks of production. We shall see.

At just under 90 minutes, we’ve made a feature-length movie. One that is, in the creator’s opinion, a little uneven. Nevertheless, to shoot an entire feature in 13 days is staggering. It’s fast-forward and then some. As nobody I know would say, "it's wicked fast."

People have told me that our method of shooting was extremely ambitious. Hadn’t thought of it that way. But what they’re talking about is the fact that each scene is one continuous shot. There are no cut-aways. We shot no coverage whatsoever. What this means is that we had no safety net. If someone blew a line, we had to start over from the beginning. Even if we were on the last line of dialogue, we had to start from the beginning. And while this was, at times, frustrating, it also served the fly-on-the-wall idea this project has always been.

If you know me (and if you don’t, why one earth would you be here — though, most of the people who DO know me are asking themselves the same question), you know that I’ve never been entirely happy with anything I’ve done. Including many, many, many first dates. And a prom night. And my dinner selection last night. And many, many, many other things. The same applies to this project. Some nights I wake up a bundle of nerves, absolutely certain that I did my job poorly. Other times I feel what could best be described as satisfaction.

I’m sure — or at least hope — most of my concerns are within the details that only I, Stevo, and Jeff will see. But they’re there. In any case, the court of public opinion will judge.

But, I gotta say, give me the standard schedule for a film shoot, and good things will happen. So if you know anyone who can make that happen…

This makes me laugh.

Why?

Is it because I'm a cold, heartless bastard? No, but I am.

No. It makes me laugh because when an American Nazi loses his job, I find it terribly, terribly funny. Even if it has an impact on his children. Sure, they didn't choose to be born into a life of white power. But they're still guilty by association.

Sounds awful. But it isn't, really. I just hate Nazis.

music.

In 2001, I emailed Bertis Downs. Bertis has a pretty good job: manager of R.E.M. In the email, I explained that I had an idea that was a little different and I thought R.E.M. would be perfect for it. Two days later, he called me back, explaining, "I have no idea why I'm calling you. I get emails liked yours every single day but for some reason, I felt compelled to respond to yours."

By the end of the call, he was sold. "I think the band would be very interested in that."

And that's where it started. Bertis gave me a contact at the Network and, about a year later, I had my first meeting. Unfortunately, budget prohibits us from R.E.M.'s involvement, but special thanks to Mr. Downs. He gets the first in a long line of thank yous.

It makes sense that the pea at the top of the mountain that is this project was a conversation about music. It probably isn't exactly a shocker to anyone when I say that music is a thing for me.

A big thing.

And every time I'm in New York, the same musicians come to mind: Bob Dylan. Leonard Cohen. Monk. Mingus. Coltrane. The Ramones. The Velvet Underground. And, for this trip, since I have to pass The Ed Sullivan Theater every morning and evening, The Beatles. All pretty great, right?

Don't answer. I already know.

Nnn- I said don't answer. Man. Some people.

I usually want to walk around 52nd street, where Birdland once stood. However, I have no interest in visiting the former site of Minton's Playhouse, on 118th Street. But I never do. [For anyone who isn't sure why, just listen to "Across 110th Street." It should explain everything.] Instead, for one reason or another, I end up somewhere around CBGB's or Max's Kansas City — both of which give Minton's and Birdland a run for their money.

Then there's The Brill Building — also on the way to my temp job. ...What? "The Brill Building?" Phil Spector. Neil Diamond. Carol King.

Never mind.

Anyhow, it makes sense that, at some point, the topic of music should come up on this blog. Like, say, now.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be in the sound design portion of our program. [And playing the roll of Terrence McClusky will be the talented Mr. Omar Epps.] I know I say this about every phase, but I really do love sound design. With a few strategic clicks of the mouse — okay, maybe more — a brilliant sound engineer can create explosions, tidal waves, Beatlemania, the birth of a platypus, and moon landings out of nothing. And I've been fortunate to work with truly brilliant engineers.

This time round is no different. I had never met Michael Wolf until this project, but within five minutes I knew we were going to get along famously. Jeff Garton made me look good. Michael will make me sound good. As will the bands we're compiling for the project.

I'm excited to have bands like TV on the Radio, The Doves, and Sigur Ros involved, because it's been years since they've played in their parents' garage. And they're being heard, which is nice.

Just as exciting for me is the involvement of bands that really should be heard - bands like The Gits. Anyone who enjoys enjoying punk will enjoy them. Whether they like it or not. And Matt Dresdner — friend and Gits bass player — was good enough to let me use one of their tracks for one of the stranger installments. I won't go into the scenario, but much thanks to him for being open minded. [Get The Gits' entire catalogue on iTunes.]

Next up is Visqueen. I can't say enough good things about them. To describe — infectious power pop comes to mind, but it's more than that. Rachel Flotard has an incredible voice. She too has been great about using her music, despite logistical nightmares. [Get Visqueen's entire catalogue on iTunes.]

At this point, thanks should be given to my good friend Seif "Gooshmandzadeh" Hamid for contributing one of his tracks —which would be yet another favor he's done for me on this thing. Not the least of which being lending his name to one of the characters. [Goosh, Seif. Goosh.]

All told, we have about a dozen tracks lined up for the soundtrack, featuring IQU, Band of Horses, United States of Electronica, and The Bees (U.S.). And I owe all of 'em a debt of gratitude.

And the network owes all of 'em greenbacks.

signs of the times square.

There's something surreal about leaving the tranquility of a darkened editing suite and stepping out into buzz and lights of Times Square. It's like walking into New Year's Eve. Or somewhere where people might gather for New Year's Eve, wherever that is. And what makes this even stranger is when you hear the words, "Hey. Borat is here today." (These words, evidently, cause people to behave as if the Beatles have just reformed to play "The Best of Oasis." All one song of it.)

By the way, Times Square, in my world, is actually Seizure Square. ("Seizures really can come, true.")

We're well into editing the project, and the more we do, the less my editor, Rebecca, and I feel like we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Still to come is sound design, color correction, and soundtrack - though, the soundtrack odds and ends are being handled concurrently.

There's no question that shooting is an extremely taxing, but enormously satisfying process. I love it. Particularly when I get to make the calls. (Who didn't see that comin'? But hey, when your calls are the correct ones... ) Even so, I've always loved the editing process too. Even though you have a video monitor on set, you don't really get to take in the detail of a shot until you're sitting in that suite, in front of several large monitors. And by "take in the details," I mean "dissect." And while dissection usually means that life thereafter is out of the question, it's just the opposite with editing.

The footage is just beautiful. Again, not enough praise can be showered down on the brilliant Jeff Garton. I couldn't be happier with the way it all looks.

I'm fortunate to be working with a tremendous editor. Rebecca is extremely talented, has an open and creative mind, and we dance well together. (It strikes me that I've had the same good fortune a number of times before, only to have the biosphere trashed by one arrogant colleague or another. Aaahhh... the ego-less world of advertising.)

Towards the end of our day, we discussed a new visual idea I'd had the night before as I trudged away from the bar where I'd just witnessed the Steelers get trounced right proper. It's one of those ideas that, when you put voice to thought, ends up beginning, "tell me if you think this is insane..." And by the time we left the suite about an hour later, I had a shot of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Jeff and Rebecca are making me look pretty damn good.

Can't wait to get back tomorrow morning.

food stuffs.

I enjoy food. In fact, I try to eat it everyday. That's just the way I've always been. And if you, like me, consider yourself to be a food enthusiast, I recommend you come to New York City. There are a lot of restaurants here. And some of them are very, very good.

One of the restaurants I enjoy enjoying when I visit New York is Katz's Deli. Katz's is what I like to call, "The Church of Dresdner" - a reference to sandwich enthusiast, Matt Dresdner. Most of you don't know Matt, but he has a sandwich named after him in Columbus, aptly named, "The Matt Special." I do not, however, recommend that you order a The Matt Special when in Thailand. I won't elaborate, but suffice it to say, you've been warned. (In a strange coincidence, if you order "Matt's Special" at Cantor's Deli in Los Angeles, you get the same sandwich. I know. Try not to think about it. But I digress, as usual...)

Back to Katz's.

Made famous by Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally, Katz's is best known for its food. And if you go, I have one word for you: brisket with mustard on rye with a sweet potato knish and an egg cream. [arc.]

I also recommend Pastis. I can think of no better French-inspired cuisine in the city.

My point?

Despite the quality and attention to detail for which both Pastis and Katz's are known, there is no better food establishment in New York than a place called T.G.I. Friday's. There are several throughout the city and I would argue that T.G.I.F. is the best reason to visit here. They have these things called "chicken sandwiches" as well as "cobb salads," and let me tell you, once you've had 'em, every other restaurant is wrecked.

So if you really want to experience New York, do as bus loads of seniors do - pile out of the bus, pull up a chair, and get the best pot stickers that American greenbacks can buy.

Mmm! You can really taste the gentrification!

the view from up there.

some views from the brooklyn bridge.

the brooklyn bridge.

I've always had a problem with snapshots. This is because I'm a terrible snob. I'm a music snob. I'm a movie snob. I'm a food and wine snob. And I'm unrepentant because I LIKE The Clash. I LIKE "The Fog Of War." I LIKE the Venus Diner's coffee and pie.

Yeah. I'm a snob.

But think about it: YOU love the music YOU love. No one can tell you that Mr. Mister was a talented band. YOU love the movies YOU love. No one can tell you that "Titanic" is a great film. You, then, are a snob too. You just have to embrace it as I have, you freakin' snob, you.

Oh, yeah. I said it.

Anyhow, my snobbery, at times, is manifested in my approach to photography. Granted, I have no right to actually BE a snob. When it comes to photography I'm no Annie Leibowitz or Barry Goldwater. But that's what a snob does. A snob is blind. So I'm a blind photographer. (You'll soon agree.) I figure, when you're at a landmark known the world over, unless you're taking a picture of a friend or loved one, or you can calculate that you've got maybe ten good years left, at best, you probably ought to just buy the postcard. (In the case of the latter, you may want to take the snapshot AND buy the postcard. What? Don't look at me that way, you snob.)

This in mind, as I walked through Manhattan and Brooklyn today, I felt like a tourist. I wanted to tell people, "Look, I'm not like these other people. I'm from out of town and I'm taking pictures of famous New York landmarks with my camera, here. So then, you know... I'm... I'm not like these other people... See?"

In all the years I've visited New York, I've never once walked across the Brooklyn Bridge. I have no idea why. I guess it's never come up, really. So I thought today would be a good day to change that. I did, after all, have to visit Grimaldi's for lunch. (For those of you unfamiliar, Grimaldi's is arguably the best pizzeria in New York, if not the country — other than, of course, Pizzaiolo in Mt. Lebanon, PA. See? Snob.)

So below you'll find the fruits of my hunger and snobbery. And, yeah, I'm sure most who visit this blog will look at them and say, "Ew. This guy's no Barry Goldwater," but I like 'em. And it's my blog, so that's where I come down on the "ew-this-guy-isn't-Barry-Goldwater" argument.

There you have it. This is what I did yesterday.