Voulez Vous Pleurez Avec Moi?

Just got back from Montreal, and:

On a downtown walking tour (self-guided, not led by one of those fanny-pack wearing Masters students) I came across a sight so marvelous, so inspiring, I had to make mention.

Big movie theaters like we have here - 10, 12 screen multiplexes with overpriced concessions and weird space-pod motifs...were screening movies I'd never heard of. Massive, floor to ceiling posters, banners, die-cut advertisements...all for a bunch of French movies I couldn't even pronounce.

Other than Cars, there was not a single American Blockbuster on the schedule. I was confused at first, then hopeful, then angry. Angry because the anglophones cannot follow suit.

It's obvious that these films have some money behind them - and it's obvious that people will go to see homegrown Canadian features.

It's also painfully obvious that the French have one-upped us. But the MOST painful part is having to admit it.

Edit Your Scrabble Dictionary Accordingly

Attention writers:

It’s official.

From this day forward, you will no longer have the luxury of resting on the old, worn crutch to describe your characters, scenes, plots, conflicts, dialogue, imagery, tone, theme, and music. Assigning characteristics and attributes to the aforementioned must now require a whole 0.005 seconds of thought.

Say goodbye to ‘quirky’.

I’m killing it. Skewing this shitty little Q, setting it on fire, burying it 600 feet beneath the core of acceptable lexicon.

Why? That’s not the real question. The real question is: Why has it taken this long?

I interviewed for a staff job on a little show. The interviewer was a lovely lady, sharp and motivated - I’ll not hold her accountable for her handicap. On six distinct and separate occasions, she referred to her character by the dreaded Q. I tried to mask the violent tremors racing through my body like an Asian teen’s Accord - not sure I was successful.

The cherry? On the subway ride home, I checked out the one sheet she gave me to peruse. Guess how many times Q was used on a single 8.5x11 piece of paper? Twice. On ONE SHEET. That’s exactly four times more than it should have appeared.

It’s lazy. There’s no less descriptive descriptor. It’s vapid and vague and vacuous (This triple V thing has me beaming - Embarrassing Fact #326). It’s used to instil some sort of spice, but its very use carries exactly the opposite connotation - bland.

It’s an instant red flag.

Filmy McTuberstein: “You’ve got a great character. Really funny - I mean, quirky…[beat to let it sink in] … and not the usual quirks, either. Really quirky quirks --

Me: “ (inside my brain) MAYDAY!! Sinking ship!! Wait...wet shoes. Shit. I hate wet shoes. It means wet socks...and that’s no good…

It’s like a megaphone going off between my ears.

Here’s the thing: If you know your story, and have lived with any element of its being, you MUST be able to pinpoint what makes your [insert story element here] important and unique.

This is a blanket affliction, a disease industry-wide. I do my absolute best not to fall prey to its guiles. I think it replaced ‘zany’ in the mid 90’s. Well, quirky has met its maker now.

There’s no higher authority on this matter. Consider it done. And, please - use a real adjective.

Let us all join hands and say goodbye.

Random note I couldn’t fit into the body of this posting 1: I really wanted to call this post ‘Death Cab For Quirky’, but thought the title would steal the punch from my intro. Was I right?

Random note I couldn’t fit into the body of this posting 2: I don’t mean to sound elitist. Honest. It’s just the way it is.

The Great Outdoors

Life is good.

I’m three days into my office retirement, and all signs point to it ranking right up there with trying hummus and dating Ali on the ‘Best Decisions I’ve Ever Made’ list.

I write this post from Brechin, Ontario, which is Orillia-ish (I’m no Magellan). I’m at Ali’s cottage, sitting about 15 feet from the shores of Simcoe under arborous shade, semi-reclined on a semi-recliner. Shades down, shirt open, my furry tummy exposed to the elements…and I couldn’t be happier. This is what I was dreaming of when I declined my contract extension.

Ali’s father recently equipped this cottage with the holiest of holies - the internet - and one wireless hub later, I’m sitting dockside watching monkeys shit in football helmets on YouTube. God bless this World Wide Web.

Since acquiring my laptop a year ago, the Internet (capital I) has become my school, my gossipy gay friend, and my mistress all at once. Not to mention that having web access allows me to do freelance copy work from up here, and keeps me in communicato with the various projects I’ve got going on. Which I guess is important too…I can get to that stuff in between clicking ‘refresh’ on Bill Simmons web chats.

This is as close to heaven as I’ll ever be allowed to get. Other than meetings and social events, I’ve got no reason to be in the city this summer. I’ll be bouncing between Brechin and Wasaga Beach, where my parents and brothers will be ‘summering’ (I feel like a goddamn Kennedy).

Why do I need the city this summer? From the 705, I can write, contact agencies about work, send scripts/outlines/pitches wherever they need be, and generally enjoy life without an alarm clock.

That being said, 2006 is not going to be the summer of relaxation, where Josh pretends he’s much more financially endowed than his bank account indicates. It’s going to be a busy one. I’ve got no intention of sitting back - I made this transition to free up writing time, and I aim to make the most of it.

I’m in pre-production on a short series called Team Leader. It’s a serial comedy, each episode 5 minutes, to be viewed online, via podcast, or through vendors like Atom Films. Both the producer and the co-writer are well versed in the burgeoning mobile distribution field (they currently have a show boasting 20,000 downloads. Check it out HERE).

We’re all pretty pumped about Team Leader. The Team Leader Team is going at it on our own, which of course means scraping some sheckels together and begging for favors. But, there are perks. Having total creative control is like having Jared Leto’s black book. Let’s just hope we get better actors.

I’m excited to shoot something again. When I was making shorts, I loved the casting process, gathering the props, and scouting locations (yes, I’ve got a few responsibilities outside the realm of ‘writer’). By the way, if anyone knows of a cubicled office we can shoot in over an August weekend (skeleton crew), please contact me. Doing me this solid would guarantee your entrance to heaven (I've talked to the boss - he says it's cool), no matter how many family members you secretly hate or the number of intoxicated indiscretions notched on your bedpost (or rap sheet).

There is a potential distributor we’re chatting with - and there are even murmurs of some cash to help the production go along (which I’m not sure means bye-bye to creative control!). If this materializes, I’ll report, but regardless, I’m certain you’ll be hearing all of the successes and pitfalls of Team Leader over the next few months.

While I’m up here this week, I hope to finish the second draft of Chub. There are some production companies that have expressed interest in it from my agent’s trip out West. Talk about motivation - the minute I hear someone wants to read a project, I get into full re-write mode (followed by the requisite ‘I’ve ruined it! I’m finished’ hissy-fit. What a headcase…I know).

But up north, the air is fresh, the sun is out, and three little ducks are floating aimlessly across the lake. Just like them, my life up here is generally stress free. What is there to complain about? "Get these motherfucking spiders off this motherfucking deckchair!" will likely be the extent of my aggravation.

Yes, I hate bugs. Never has a more appropriate name been given. Despite entomophobia joining the growing list of my illogical hang-ups, I couldn’t be more excited about my future, both professionally, and personally. Big dreams from a small cottage...