Shoulda woulda coulda

Only realized today that I could’ve submitted some of the pieces I had published last year to the National Magazine Awards (the deadline was in January). Things like awards just don’t cross my mind, especially when most awards for writers are for published books, not pieces in literary magazines. I think I probably wouldn’t feel as bad about not submitting anything if I hadn’t gotten “Underworld” published, which I think is probably the best, most literary thing I’ve written and could likely have gotten me something.

Oh well.

I’ll try to tell myself I’ll write even better things.

Saturday Morning Documentary: Collapse

Originally a documentary about the CIA, as it says in the opening titles of Collapse, the filmmakers, upon interviewing Michael Ruppert, a former journalist, discovered that he had a different and arguably more powerful message to say.  Filmed in 2009 in the middle of the global recession, the only person interviewed in the documentary is Ruppert — and he has, as we find out, a lot of things to say.  He starts off talking about the reason for the recession, believing the economy has reached peak oil, and the importance of it everywhere — oil is apparently in everything from tires to toothbrushes.  He outlines alternative fuel sources including solar power, electric, and nuclear, while also saying why these options aren’t any better (ie. since electric car parts such as tires need to be made from oil, they are, long-term, not a good solution, in his eyes).

Despite almost an hour and a half of him ranting, he comes across as an extremely intelligent and passionate man, really honestly trying to urge people to change, and he gives people advice that will either come across to viewers as helpful or crazy: he tells people to grow their own vegetables, keep seeds for crops, change your fiat currency (paper money) to gold since it pretty much will always have value, etc.  Some people might say he’s paranoid about the recession and that taking such drastic measures isn’t needed while others might find his words holding truth.  It is up to viewers to decide.

What is clear, however, is that at oil does impact the world at least more than I ever knew.  And as of the time of the filming, even after passionately pleading to people about all this, Ruppert was living with his dog, behind on his rent, and was apparently no longer giving talks anymore.  While he doesn’t come across as the most lovable man on the planet, you do feel some sympathy for him, especially after he fervently believes what he does.

A very well-made film that is definitely thought-provoking. How did this not get nominated for an Oscar?

Michael Ruppert

Anybody want to fund my next short film project?

I have some really good ideas for some blog posts but I always get to posting something at around 11pm when it doesn’t give me much time to really flesh out the idea, read it over at least once, and make it seem brilliant.  I should try and get my posts done earlier, eh?

In other news, does anyone reading this want to give me money to help me make my next short film?  I have two pet projects I hold fairly close to my heart that I want to take ample time to film and make sure it is utterly… well, brilliant.  They’re almost the same idea except told in different ways: the first is about a young man who meets a man claiming to be him from the future, who has come back in time to warn him about meeting a guy he will eventually fall in love with which would end badly.  This one would be easier to make even though it is a few pages less in length but only 3 locations.

The other script is more artistically and experimentally presented.  It’s about the same young man who is told, through images and scenes, that he will have to make a choice between love but ruin afterwards, or missing out on love but possibly never knowing it — a take on “it is better to have loved than to have never loved at all.”

I know I could try and make both of these without budgets but I actually have a couple actors in mind and am convinced that they would only do something like this if they got paid, not to mention everyone else helping out with the film.  I haven’t made a film with any sort of budget so it would be a good learning experience (not to mention, yay!  Money!).

Unfortunately, a lot of funding sources that I have looked at (Canada Council for the Arts, BC Film) require applicants to not be a full-time/undergrad student, of which I am, and I haven’t the slightest idea of how to find a producer who might be able to help (maybe craigslist…?  Kidding!).  If only I had richer friends… kidding!  Well, sort of.

So if anyone does indeed want to help out a lowly filmmaker realize a project or two that he has great belief in (which is rare for him) or know of a producer with some money lying around, send him an email and you will make one usually unlucky boy feel actually lucky: evil_ice_dragon@hotmail.com.

Blood = money

Me: “Guess what?  I had a dream last night that I got shot in the back and it hurt sooooo much!”
My mom: “Was there any blood?”
Me:  “Uh… maybe?  I think so… but it hurt so much!”
My mom: “Good.  If there’s blood, then that means you’re going to get money sometime soon.”
Me: “Oh.  But what about me getting shot?  Doesn’t that mean something bad?”
My mom:  “Um… no, not really.”

10 Defining Moments of My Life (so far) — #3: Daddy issues

3.  I must have been about 7 or 8 when this happened.  When I couldn’t find my favourite stuff reindeer (that would also play Christmas carols and flash a red light on his nose at the same time), I naturally became very upset.  I sat by the “cold heater” (the ventilator in the house), sulking.  My dad walked by and I asked him if he might know where it had gone.  He informed me that he taken it from me, probably because he wanted me to grow up and live without it.  I got angry and even more upset, and he laughed.  After thinking about it, I offered him $10 for the safe return of my reindeer, to which he quickly agreed, and the exchange was made.  I hugged my stuffed white reindeer, grateful that he was back in my arms.