"When am I going to be a big brother?"

This morning while driving to work, I mentioned to Zach that my best friend's son, who is a year younger than Zach, is going to be a "big brother" soon. Our friends are going to have their second child.

Zach asked me when he was going to be a big brother.

I couldn't answer him, because tears started pouring out of my eyes. Zach pressed me for an answer. As I gained control, I tried to explain that mommies and daddies need to be together to have another baby, but that since Momma and I weren't together, it was probably going to be a long time before he is a big brother.

If ever. And by the time it happens, he may not want it anymore...

I'm just a little person.

And the full lyrics for those hunting for them:

I'm just a little person,
One person in a sea
Of many little people
Who are not aware of me.

I do my little job
And live my little life,
Eat my little meals,
Miss my little lid and wife

And somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I'll find a second little person
who will look at me and say,

"I know you
You're the one I've waited for.
Let's have some fun."

Life is precious every minute,
and more precious with you in it,
so let's have some fun

We'll take a road trip way out west. You're the one I like the best.
I'm glad I've found you,
Like being around you
You're the one I like the best.

Somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I'll meet a second little person
And we'll go out and play.

-- Little Person, "Synecdoche, New York"

I'm at one of my lowest points in the last couple of months. Much of it, though not all of it, has been brought on by Synecdoche, New York, which created in me an overwhelming sense of malaise and alienation. It's almost like I saw the exact movie at the exact wrong moment to create the exact maximum impact on my psyche.

There are many reasons, I suppose. Work is a big one. The closure of my vertical has left me adrift in our department, waiting to find out what the Next Big. Thing is. In the meantime I'm doing mundane, tedious work that I graduated from nearly two years ago. I'm suddenly not important, central, creative or, frankly, very useful. It's a miserable feeling.

Second, the movie brought on a new round of discombobulation over my impending divorce. The protagonist (Philip Seymour Hoffman) of the movie never really recovers from the failure of his first marriage, which is dramatized in a way that he never fully knows what went wrong. That hit me so hard, and I could relate to it immensely, but then Hoffman spends much of the rest of the movie trying to find a way to connect with the child who was taken from him, poisoned against him in disgusting, horrible ways. It's a dark, horrific vision of parental alienation... Alec Baldwin shouldn't see this flick. He may end up making more angry phone calls...

I'm just a little person

One person in a sea

Of many little people

Who are not aware of me

I do my little job

And live my little life

Eat my little meals

Miss my little kid and wife

These are the lyrics to the heartbreaking closing credits song of Synecdoche, New York. These lines caused tears to pour down my face as the credits rolled. Everything about my failed marriage pouring out of me, channeled through those simple, simple lines. Which is followed by...

And somewhere maybe someday

Maybe somewhere far away

I'll find a second little person

Who will look at me and say...

I know you

You're the one I've waited for

Let's have some fun

And there's the third reason... my new friend is disappearing from me.

I don't know if it has anything to do with me. I can tell that she's reaching out to experience life in many forms. Sometimes includes me, but it seems that now it doesn't more often than not. Our last date was fantastic, with promises of more that week. She opened up in a lot of meaningful ways. We appear to be on the same wavelength. Then things started stalling out, and it suddenly feels like it turning into an one-way street, and I'm tired of being the chump going the wrong way.

And I absolutely know that I shouldn't be worked up about her at all, but yes, we're all reaching out for that bullshit that makes us forget just how alone and scared we all are, all fearful that it doesn't mean anything, that we can't get anything out of this world. Which is, after all, what Synecdoche, New York is about in many respects. It's a pretty nihilist film, though in a beautiful, tender-hearted way rather than caustic and bitter.

So it's been a perfect emotional storm this week. I'm rarely a depressive, morbid, sad person. But I feel like I've been one big ball of sadness since Sunday night when I watched that movie. I don't have any direction, I don't feel any hope...

Yes. I'm just a little person. One person in a sea of many people, who are not aware of me.

Part two of this story came almost three years later. Feel free to read it.

I am at a loss for words for...

Writing about a movie, or music, or even meaningless pop culture... it's in my nature to want to sound eloquent, intelligent, or at least like I have a clue what the fuck I'm talking about. 

But tonight I endured a movie that has left me an emotional wreck, and without any of the necessary words. Or the right words, or maybe not even the words that make a lick of sense. Which would be appropriate, given the movie that I watched tonight: 

Synecdoche, New York

Synec-what?! Who the hell has even heard of this movie. Well, it's the directorial debut of Charlie Kaufman, the screenwriter behind Being John Malkovich, Adaptation and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I have long had a hate him/love him relationship with Kaufman. "Malcovich" was an amusing trifle, a bit self-conscious and smug, while Adaptation was one of the most navel-gazing, self-indulgent movies ever that made me want to punch Meryl Streep. How often do you want to punch Meryl Streep? That said, I adored Eternal Sunshine. 

And in a lot of ways, this movie features similar themes of both those films I loved and hated, exploring the artistic process and the search for meaning within the context of one person's life. It's almost like Kaufman was teasing the edges of those themes in those latter two films, but Synecdoche, New York is so astonishingly raw, painful, achingly sad, and elegiac that it just might be one of the most important movies ever made. Hyperbole, yeah, but… god, I’m just at a total loss right now. I warned that I wouldn't sound coherent.

It was so gut-wrenching to watch, and so utterly illogical and random and all over the place and dream-like and non-narrative, that it was just an absolute mess, and that’s part of the point. It’s intentionally messy, and ugly and obtuse. It is self-obsessed, and universal-looking with gigantic open arms all at the same time. Years pass, and people describe them as weeks. Characters develop physical ailments, which then disappear. Some characters age, becoming old, while others don’t. So much of it makes no logical sense – and for people not willing to go along on the journey, it will be truly infuriating to the point of walking out – but the entire thing is about digging deep into our individual pain, which is really a universal pain, and trying to find truth, and meaning, and connection. And not finding it. And yet somehow finding it too. 

It’s so dreamlike that it’s not a tear-jerker as it unfolds, but I found tears pouring down my face during the final credits. After it all ended. Because I wasn’t crying for the movie, but I was crying for what the movie said about me, about everyone else, about life. It made me want to crawl under a bed and sob for the next two weeks.

There is craft, there is art, and then there’s something that’s almost beyond art. I kind of feel like I saw that tonight. Something that gets beyond image, and sound, and texture, and story, and meaning, and gets to a place that people can’t easily get to. And I bet that 7 out of 10 people who see that movie will hate it (maybe even 8 of 10)… but something really remarkable and depressing and transcendent took place on that screen… and I hated it, and loved it, and it’s something that’ll stay with me for a long time to come.

Sometimes...

There are times you just wish you could cry. 

You feel like everything is trending against you. You feel it right beneath the surface, begging to come out. It doesn't quite come to the surface, though you know it needs to. You know you want it to, that by letting out that pain, it will somehow make it more bearable.

That's how I feel tonight. Absolutely alone, and the tide is pulling out to sea, rather than lapping against the shore.

And I can't seem to cry.

Companies have Salieri Moments Too

The work I've been doing all year has been exploratory in hopes of finding new, diversified revenue streams for my company (we're a prominent player online). We have a vision of something that hasn't quite been done exactly in this way online, a business plan, a product vision, product specs, the whole deal. A great deal of thought, and effort went into this. And my presentation bowled over the CEO, who was firmly behind it.

The comes strategic planning for 2009, involving the entire executive team. Each person with their own agenda, and a collective vision that we need to radically shift our company's agenda for the next year. That's all well and good, but the problem is that it means decreasing the overall size of our business and revenue. Which means that a new revenue stream is ALL the more important.

Collectively, the group took an alternate view: they need all their best people on crucial, mission-centric tasks. That means no new business verticals. That means no product that I've developed, envisioned and championed. That means... that really sucks.

From a rational perspective, I get it. We are sharpening our focus and anything that consumes resources outside the core objectives can be both a distraction and a headache. Yet, the investment was minimal. My time, time of a few others, a couple tech assists, and a modest outlay of money. Not a gigantic deal, truthfully. But they didn't see it that way.

The upside is this, however. There's a certain amount of flattery that the company wants "good" people on important projects, and apparently, one of the main considerations was, "Hey, we can have this guy - who really stepped up to the plate - building us something new, or we could have him playing a role on something that we view as short-term critical". So it's nice to be felt of that way, but at the same time, it's like being kicked in the gut. A couple of times. A year's worth of work pissed down the tubes before we even saw any return. 

Ironically, our corporate shift is due to a desire to put long-term company stability ahead of short-term revenues in the pecking order. Yet, the irony is that, again, we fall prey to short-term thinking rather than long-term vision. 

A Salieri moment. For all of us.

The Most Depressing Place in the World

Von's Grocery Store, Centinela Blvd. Los Angeles. Tuesday, 6:40 pm. 

Maybe it's the fact that they are renovating. The floors are two different colors, the salad bar empty, the seafood counter vacant. Much of this clearly comes from the fact that they didn't have a salad bar previously, and frankly, I don't think it's a place you ever wanted to get seafood from in the first place. It's long been a lower-middle class area of town (I spent a charming year living just down the block), but I suppose every grocery chain feels inordinate pressure to compete with the Whole Foods of the world.

Stopping in for toothpaste and wine. Maybe an electric toothbrush for Zach... Hmm, does he want Wall-E or Spongebob? God, I hate Spongebob...

Realize I'm kind of hungry. Leftover pasta in the fridge at home doesn't sound very appealing. Cooking an actual meal even less so, given my work ambitions for the night, not to mention my general lack of creativity when the fridge door is open... Maybe just grab something to go. But the Vons isn't exactly a "grab and go" kind of grocery store, especially at a time when the floors are comprised of two different colors. 

Stand in the soup aisle, ponder the healthy brands. Nearly shoulder to shoulder with two sixty year old men who just have that appearance of being... my god... single. And old. Old and single.

Flashback to all those times I've stood in the checkout line, that matronly woman behind me, buying her Dinners-For-One. A single cup of yogurt. A pre-packaged salad. Probably a bottle of Kahlua. And I think to myself... so sad. So sad not to have anyone. So sad to be alone, all day and every night. God, what a lucky guy I am... what a lucky, lucky guy... 

Back in the soup aisle, Old & Single snorts a loogey into the back of his throat. Jesus, no wonder he's single. What's with the 5 pounds of broccoli? Well, at least it's healthy. More than I can say for myself tonight... or many nights as of late. My god, there are a lot of soups. Progresso, Campbells, Chunky, Healthy Classics... There are just too many, and nothing, all at the same time. I really can't handle this.

Wander to the wine section. Nearly done being remodeled, but I kind of miss the tall shelves. Now they end at eye-level, and the value options all seem to be missing. Don't tell me this Von's on Centinela and Washington dreams of being upscale. Hey, Mr. Vons Manager - have you seen your clientele lately? Mr. Broccoli Soup back on Aisle 9? Aint' gonna happen. 

But here I am. With my toothpaste, wine, Wall-E toothbrush, and some bananas and eggs. Not old, but single. Where did I find that high horse of mine? Shuffle off to the checkout counter. Getting really hungry now. 

But I can't bear the thought of a buying a Dinner-For-One. I don't think I've ever done that in my life, and I can't imagine starting now. This has been depressing enough.

For me, at this moment, Von's on Centinela, in Los Angeles, at 6:40 on a Tuesday, is the most depressing place in the world.

Reality as Imagination

Zach is coping with the loss of family stability in his life, in so many ways, even though he's doing a marvelous job of retaining his happiness, openness and personality. 

While taking a walk tonight, Zach turns and says, "I won't want Momma to died". I immediately stop, go down on one knee and ask Zach if he needs a hug. "Zach, Momma's not going to die. Why are you afraid she's going to die?". "I just don't want her to die". I give him a big hug, reassuring him that she's not going to die. 

Ironically, later that night, Zach wanted to look at pictures of Momma as a little girl. We're paging through a photo album, and then come across photos of her own mother, who passed away around 9 years ago. Far too young to die, of a freak blood condition that was left untreated by a hospital, leading to her very unnecessary death. Zach hasn't really heard much about her up until this point, but of course, I had to address the fact that she had... died. Thereby invalidating exactly what I had been telling him an hour earlier, saying that Mommas don't die. Because sometimes they do. My own mother died when I was 6 1/2. 

Driving home, Zach then said that he wanted Momma to be a little girl. "I want Momma to be a little girl, and I'll be a little boy, and you'll take care of us". I asked him if he wanted this so we could all be together. "Yeah... actually, I want you to be a little boy and me to be a little boy, and Momma will take care of both of us". Clearly, Zach was trying to work out a way in his own head for all of us to be together. If it can't happen in real life, he would prefer to imagine an alternate version of life where we are a family again.

He also said that he loves me even when I’m a potato that’s being cooked. So take that for what it's worth.

The carpool lane sucks anyway

It's no secret that traffic in Los Angeles is miserable. There are many other cities that can claim this painful distinction - Chicago, Atlanta, NY, Houston. Maybe it was the '80s, but Los Angeles may have a special place in the cultural consciousness when it comes to the hell that is freeways and traffic congestion. Hence, the carpool lane.

I've always been a big fan of the carpool lane. You need two people to drive it, and in some places on the edges of the city, even three. It's almost a statement - if you want to move forward, make progress... you better find yourself a friend. One of the greatest episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm featured Larry David picking up a hooker just so he could use the carpool lane to get to Dodger stadium. Somehow beautifully, they come to respect and admire each other too. That's the big joke: the process of movement is so fraught with peril in this city, that you will reach for just about anyone if it means going just a little bit faster. 

I came to appreciate the carpool lane. Grow accustomed to it. Accepting it as my city-given right as a couple and as a father. I can't tell you how many times I drove Zach in the back seat, perversely wishing that I'd get pulled over by some dickhead cop who thought I was abusing the privledge by being alone, only to point out my bubbly little kid in the backseat and say, "I don't think so..."

But recently, I've found myself driving alone more often than not. A lot of those trips from Hollywood, or downtown, back to my place on the westside, cruising down the 110, headed for home. And I am, frankly, habituated to using the carpool lane. Which is not an easy habit to break. More than once I've found myself driving in the carpool lane, listening to tunes at high decibel, only to glance in the rear view mirror and realize that... hey, Zachy isn't in the backseat.

No. I'm alone - in the carpool lane built for two. And I didn't even realize it until it was too late, until you know it's just as big of a fine to cross those triple yellow lines as it is to have unjustifiabily entered that lane to begin with. You dont know what to do. Do you forge ahead, waiting for the next turn-out? Or do you whip across the lane right now, calling even more attention to yourself as that single guy all alone in the carpool lane. The one who wasn't supposed to be there.

But which is it? The one who wasn't supposed to be alone in the carpool lane? Or just the one who wasn't supposed to be alone in the carpool lane?

Which is it?

Broken Up in the Plastic Land

Dan Bern is a singer I fell in love with a number of years ago. A kind of folksy, smirking, ironic but earnest commentator on life, music, pop culture and relationships. He puts on one of the best live shows around, usually just him, a guitar and songs about Tiger Woods' great, big balls. But one song, in particular, provides the perfect commentary on life in the plasticized, shallow metropolis of Los Angeles, a city filled with thousands trying to scrape and claw their way to fame, success, notoriety, etc. For Bern, he even takes it a step further - chasing fame and fortune is a threadbare way to find love, to fill the hole we all feel, to feel like someone meaningful.

I was part of that, although I really don't believe that I did that out of some psychological or emotional need to fill. I just love movies. More than most things. Although in later years, I felt increasingly disconnected to Hollywood, the industry and the kinds of movies being made, which I think proves my point - I wasn't doing it out of an insatiable need to be part of things, to be validated, etc. I wanted to contribute and work in movies. Sure, I wanted to be successful too. I wanted that big break - who doesn't? But at a certain point, even any upside seemed outweighed by my gradual lack of affection for the industry itself.

But this song... wow, it's such a perfect encapsulation of that experience that defines so many twenty-somethings here in LA. I remember when I aloofly sneered at the line, "And I watched, as the best of my generation abandoned their dreams... and settled for making a little money". God, what pathetic people those were! 

Except that's now me. And, frankly, I don't regret it at all, though I'm trying to dip my toe back into writing, little by little. But even with maturity, and time, and transitions, this song just gets more and more true. Some is truth for me, lots of it is truth for others... it's a sad love/hate song indeed.

I saw the best of my generation playing pinball
Maked up and caked up and lookin' like some kind of china doll
With all of Adolf Hitler's moves down cold
As they stood up in front of a rock and roll band
And always moving upward and ever upward
To this gentle golden promised land
With the smartest of them all moonlighting as a word processor
And the strongest of them all checking ID's outside saloons
And the prettiest of them all taking off her clothes
In front of men whose eyes look like they were in some
Little hick town near Omaha watching the police chief
Run his car off the side of a bridge
I saw men with dreams like the ones I'd had
Beg quarters outside the 7-11
Till it got so they didn't affect me anymore
Then the mailboxes I'd passed 'cept that sometimes
I'd put something in the mailbox
I'd had the wind at my back
Now I felt it cold in my face
And for an awful long time now you were the only one who ever
Called me late at night and I really never noticed till after
You stopped calling and the emptiness, silence got so heavy

Broken up in the wasteland
Broken up in the promised land
Broken up in Disneyland
Broken up in the plastic land
Broken up in the wasteland

I saw dead Marilyn Monroe strung up on every street corner
In Hollywood like some two bit whore offering a discount rate
And I wondered how Joe Dimmagio felt
I saw dead James Dean's ghost wandering the sidewalk
Looking troubled and I wondered how his mama felt
I saw signs that said head shots done for cheap
Signs that said extras wanted top dollars paid
Signs for haircuts signs for manicures and
Signs for tanning salons and signs for wardrobe specialists
Signs for cosmetic surgery and signs for assertiveness training
And I stopped to read them all
And every single block looked like every single block
Looked like every single block looked like every single block
Looked like every single block but you kept driving
Cause everyone else kept driving and cause gridlock
Is evil and not knowing your way is evil
And those that had money looked good but weren't too happy
And those who didn't have money didn't look so good
And weren't too happy either and in a city of three million
two hundred and sixty nine thousand nine hundred eighty four
Everyone was lonely

Broken up in the wasteland
Broken up in the promised land
Broken up in Disneyland
Broken up in the plastic land
Broken up in the wasteland

And I watched as everyone I knew spent their lives
Trying to be watched on a stage or watched on a film
Or listened to on a record and they thought well maybe
That way I could get a little love out of this life
And I watched as the best of my generation abandoned their dreams
And settled for making a little money
And I watched TV and read the papers and listened to the radio
And made all the fancy scenes and said all the right words
And wore all the right clothes and knew the names of the hip people
But I still felt out of touch so I stopped watching TV
And reading the papers and listening to the radio
And making the fancy scenes and saying the right words
And wearing the right clothes and knowing the names of the hip people
And I felt more out of touch than ever but I didn't care anymore
And I felt you slipping away, and I felt myself slipping from you
And I wanted more than anything else for it to rain for one
Whole day like it used to but all there ever was was sun
Relentless sun hot beating sun and everyone wore their
Sunglasses and walked around like flies under a magnifying glass
With their eyes removed

Broken up in the wasteland
Broken up in the promised land
Broken up in Disneyland
Broken up in the plastic land
Broken up in the wasteland, broken up in the wasteland

The hardest part...

"The hardest part, is realizing you're in charge".

This is an exchange from the exceptional and necessary Mad Men, in which a divorced (and inevitably, ostracized through 1960s mores), single mother is counseling the protagonist's wife, who has thrown Don Draper out of the house. She doesn't know whether her marriage will survive or fail, in the long run. 

"That's the worst", the single mother responds to Betty Draper. Commenting on the uncertainty surrounding a troubled marriage. This line is so simple, and hard won experience has proven to me that it's absolutely perfect. My inner screenwriter deeply admires the deceptively simple feat.

Yes, it's always better on the other side, because at least you know. Uncertainty is replaced by knowledge and certainty. But it's a cold, cold comfort. You search for hope, and think there may be glimmers of it, but it's probably just a mirage. Or maybe this is all just an extension of my inability to cope with that uncertainty. 

"The hardest part, is realizing you're in charge", says the single mother to Betty Draper.

Yes, you realize you are in charge. You have to answer to nobody. You have the counsel of no one. It's deeply, truly scary to be making all those decisions, all those calls, on your own. Humbling. Making them within a partnership provided a comfort, even if there was friction, because you knew you were trying to figure it out together. Sure, you may have disagreed, you may have different perspectives, but there was a common goal. At least in theory. Now, no one has my agenda, except for me. And now I'm responsible for that agenda, as well as a little child, so open-hearted and helpless without me. He needs me to know the answers, and I don't always have them. Frankly, I feel like I'm missing them a lot of the time. 

Sometimes being in charge isn't such a great thing. In fact, it just might be the hardest thing of all.

Imagination Gone Awry

Zach was rather naughty today at pre-school. Apparently egged on by Joshua, Zach covered both of his entire forearms with green marker. He proudly announced he was a Transformer. Dad was not sufficiently impressed. I gave him the stern voice, but gently, and he soon came around, announcing that he was never, ever, ever going to do it again. Somehow I don't believe him.

At least it washed off though. I suppose there are many, many other things that could've been worse for him to do... and probably will in the future.

Moments to love and hate

Having taken in a good amount of wine, finally decompressing after midnight to a Chris Rock special (no, not exciting, but it's parenthood...) and hearing the door creak open. Zach shuffles down the hall in his Spiderman pajamas. He puts out his arms, saying, "I needed a hug because I miss my daddy and my momma."

It's so beautiful, and somehow so sad, at the same time. He curls up like a monkey in my arms, nestling into my shoulder. He feels so, so perfect there. Fits exceptionally well. But the nagging thought... why did he need this at this point? Was this a natural childhood moment...? Or is this a hole that remains unfilled, that he's reaching, he's calling, he's begging to be filled?

A hole that I can't fill. 

Patience is a...

Virtue that I've never developed. I don't know if this was something organic to me, or if it's something that I got from my parents. I suspect it's more the latter than the former, but it's my gigantic Achilles heel as a person. It was a problem in my marriage, I suppose, and it was certainly a problem during its decline: when you are an impatient person, how do you cope with the inability to fix things, the inability to demonstrably make things better? 

In the weeks since admitting that we were over, I was really making strides in this. Taking life as it comes, day after day. Then I encounter something that makes me happy for the first time in a year, and I lose all that again. My balance, my calmness. Even though it's for good reasons, I'm just as insecure, just as pathetic, just as self-doubting. Because, I suppose, that I've become so ingrained with the idea that I'm unlovable, or whatever, that I am quick to presume that's been the case. And there's not a lot of reason for me to think this, I admit. Signals trend in the right direction, for the most part, but I guess my self-esteem is still so low that I don't have a lot of faith in myself, or in anything.

Patience... is lost on me.