Robert Altman and my best Location Manager job ever.

One night in Chicago, while I was working as location manager on a stupid commercial, and trying my best not to lose my temper with the stupid producer from LA, I got a call from a Chicago production manager friend of mine, Karyn McCarthy, asking me if I would like to come in to the office thenext morning and meet Robert Altman, and start location scouting for his new film, The Company. Would I ever? I said yes immediately. Suddenly I could deal with the present situation much easier, knowing it would be over in a matter of hours, and the next morning I would be starting a new job working for one of my film heroes. I was really floating on clouds the rest of the night, and even though we shot well into the early morning hours, I was up and ready to go downtown early for my meeting.

I was very nervous to meet Bob, but there was no need. He was so nice and warm, welcoming and charming. Our meeting only lasted five minutes, and he was a bit vague about his desire for locations, but since I hadn't even read the script yet, it didn't matter. I had met Robert Altman, and I was going to be the location manager on the film.

Over the next three months I got to watch Bob more than I had much meaningful direct contact with him. He didn't deal with tasks like locations very hands on, other people did most of that for him. Since The Company was mostly shot in the rehearsal studio and sets built for the film all in one building downtown, there wasn't a lot of on location work. Probably because he was 78 at the time, he wasn't up for that. Look at Gosford Park, one location, or Prairie Home, mostly one set.

I remember one day I was in Karyn's office talking, and Bob came in. He had to ask Karyn about something and he sat down and relaxed for a moment. Then we just started talking, and Karyn told him that I was a film maker and had just directed a feature. He asked me a bit about it and I started to tell him when his producer came in and had to take Bob away to deal with something. When Bob left, Karyn and I just looked at each other in disbelief at our brief tete a tete with Bob Altman. It was a real "wow" moment for me.

I never had a chance to speak with him so directly again, except at the wrap party, when I thanked him for the party and the opportunity to work on the film. Our wrap gift on the show was a black and white scarf with the words THE COMPANY knitted across the length of it, designed by Bob.

When we were on location, Bob always went out of his way to say hello to people. I remember when we shot the big dance in the rain scene for three nights at the Petrillo Band Shell in Grant Park. We invited the city of Chicago to join us for the big crowd scenes, we made rain, we had special effects, and everyone got wet. But hundreds of people came down to see Robert Altman work. And Bob came out on stage and said hello to everyone, and thanked them for being there. He was like that everywhere we worked; at the Auditorium Theatre, at a private mansion, at the club Neo, I could always count on Bob to be kind to everyone we dealt with; from the cops directing traffic for us to the people that rented us a lunch room location. That is not always the case with star directors. And it makes my job so much easier when I tell a location that Altman is directing the film, doors open a lot quicker. Everyone wanted the chance to meet him.

I was very impressed to watch him work on his first film in high definition video. He sat at a bank of monitors and watched the four cameras simultaneously, and after each take make adjustments. He was a perfectionist, and would do take after take, looking for something intangible that he was waiting to happen. At 78 years old and after so many films, here he was embracing this new technology and playing with it, creating with it, like the master artist he was.

The only time I got mad at Bob, and of course I kept this to myself, was when he cancelled a shot called for 8 PM at an exterior location downtown. It was November and cold, and I guess he just didn't feel up to it. I had spent three weeks setting up that location dealing with buildings, businesses, agreements, street closures and other entities, and he just pulled the plug on it because it was cold. That's power I thought. Oh, well, that's what I do. Things change. Of course the film didn't suffer with out that scene, so I guess he knew what he was doing.

I no longer work as a location manager, but working with Robert Altman on The Company was the best L.M. job I ever had.

I will always remember Bob Altman as a kind and creative man who made great films, loved actors, and took the crazy world of show-biz in stride. He inspires me today to continue to seek my way and stay true to my vision, the way any artist must. Thanks Bob.

I took the photo above while we were on a location scout. He is seated with the DoP of the film, Andrew Dunn, and (R) his son and camera operator, Bobby. Photo credit: Noel Olken © 2002

F.A.Q. # 1

Welcome to the Frequently Asked Questions page of the It's Okay web log. If you don't find the answer you are looking for here, please try looking on the internet. There are so many questions that we won't be able to get to them all on this page, so look for more F.A.Q. pages in the future.


Question: Why don't you write very often?

Answer: Writing a "blog" is very hard work. Sometimes after even creating a short entry I can't get out of bed for weeks.

Q: What is your favorite color?

A: I would have to say it's in the blue family, but the specific favorite shade of blue changes frequently. The color of Kris's eyes are amazing, so that's a big favorite. (for a photo of Kris go to kriscahill.com and check out those eyes!)

Q: What is the name of the Hopi ritual clown you wear on the left breast of your black denim jacket?

A: That is Koshari, or the Hano clown. Another name for Koshari is Koyala, which seems to refer to their babbling speech and antic movements, but may also refer to their headgear, koya'lashen.

Q: Why did you choose him?

A: I like him because he is also known as the glutton, and will often eat an entire watermelon by himself. Like me.

Q: When did you move to Los Angeles?

A: The year was 1878. The gold rush was on. I packed the family into the wagon and we headed out west from Ohio to strike it rich.

Q: What about this life time?

A: Oh. I moved here in March of ought six. I spent 7 long months living away from my blue eyed wife, which if you have a wife, I highly recommend you not live away from her for that long. It's very difficult.

Q: What happened, were you finally reunited?

A: Yes. In September of ought six we sold the homestead back in Illinois, and packed up the Penske (that's what they call wagons these days) and headed west. It was one of the most difficult moves in the history of moves. For one, the old penske was too small to accommodate all of our worldly possessions. As the last piece of furniture was placed on the back of ole penske and tied down, we still had a front yard full of boxes and furniture that we had no room for.

Q: What did you do?

A: We started a bon fire and burned everything.

Q: What happened next?

A: Well, it was late by the time we left the homestead, so we drove the penske as far as we could, and found a place to rest for the night. It was an inn of some kind that had a holiday theme to it. The next morning when we woke, the wife had taken ill with a pox of some kind. We sought out a doctor in Missouri who treated her, but the pain persisted for quite some time.
We had planned a wonderful journey/adventure/vacation, but it was not as much fun for the wife as we had hoped, as her face was on fire most of the trip. By the time we hit the big hole in the ground in Arizona, she was feeling much better, the swelling had gone down, and she could see again. Still, she refused to walk too close to the edge of the canyon. I'm not sure why.

Q: Who are you going to vote for on November 7th?

A: Anyone who is against the war, for the environment, and all the propositions that will tax the rich and the oil companies.

Q: Do you have any musical gigs coming up soon?

A: No.

Q: What about acting gigs?

A: I'm always auditioning for work, as all actors do. I was recently became a company member of the Atwater Playhouse
(www.atwaterplayhouse.com) a theatre and school that practices and teaches the Stanislavski Method. I am also
an understudy in their new play, Invisible Bars, that runs until Dec 16, 2006.

Q: Have you ever served any time in jail?

A: I was arrested twice, no convictions.

Q: How do you feel about the new planet that was just discovered?

A: I hope to get to know it better in the future, maybe at a cocktail party or some social event. I'm sure there are many more planets we will discover in the future.

Q: Were you ever a professional baseball player?

A: Yes, I played for the Washington Senators.

Q: What's it like living downtown in Los Angeles?

A: It's great. We are so close to everything. The air is dirty and it can be noisy at times, but that is most of LA. There are ten million souls here, it's an interesting place.

Q: Do you miss your friends and family back in Illinois?

A: Of course.

Q: Do you think the lunar landing in 1969 was a fake?

A: No. Green screen technology was not sophisticated enough then to fake such an event. I remember watching it live on television. It was very exciting. I hear the ratings were to the moon.

Q: If you were on a desert island, what three records and movies would you want with you?

A: How would I play them?

Q: A solar powered DVD/CD/MP3 player with built in monitor and speakers.

A: Okay. For music, I would choose Brian Eno's Another Green World, Frank Zappa's Hot Rats, and Bach's Preludes. Movies are bit harder, but I would have to say the original Willie Wonka with Gene Wilder, Woody Allen's What's Up Tiger Lilly, (so I could make up my own dialog when I got bored, and maybe some porn.

Q: Porn?

A: Yeah, I'm on a desert island alone with nothing but an MP3 player. What would you do, study fucking Latin?

Q: You seem upset now?

A: I'm not upset. I just don't want to be on the desert island anymore. End of questions, I need a nap.
If you have anymore questions, you can email me through my page on the world wide web, noelolken.com.
I have to go take a nap.

Zombies, Pirates and Priests

Last week I was a Zombie in an art film project by Jim Shaw. It's supposed to be shown in an art gallery in Paris next year. When I get more info I will post it here. There were 12 of us "Businessmen Zombies" (redundant, I know) and we are part of a bigger project Jim is putting together. I'm not sure what it is yet.

It was fun to get into latex makeup and breath in fogger smoke for hours in an enclosed studio in Pasadena.

For lunch I had a burrito, which is really hard to eat when your mouth won't open very wide.

In the last three weeks I've been a priest, a pirate, and a zombie.

Oh yeah, and a waiter. But that's real life. Or is it?

LA makes for some Strange Days

(photo: L 2 R Kevin, Noel, Nina)

One of my favorite Doors songs is Strange Days. No surprise Jim Morrison was from LA.

Yesterday was one of my strange and wonderful days in LA. A bit stressful, but fun and wonderful.

Yesterday I was booked to shoot the role of a Televangelist for Nina Menkes, director, in her newest independent film, Phantom Love. (www.ninamenkes.com) I've been booked for weeks and had the day blocked out. On Monday, I get an email from the extras casting director for Pirates of the Caribbean 3 that I have a look-see with Pirates director Gore Verbinski for the featured role of a French-speaking pirate. Awesome, but it's at 9 am in Burbank, at Disney, and I have a 10 am call in Venice, about 30 miles away. If everything went well, and traffic didn't suck too badly, I could have made it.

Then an hour later I get another email that the look-see has been pushed to 2 pm. This would be tight, because how could I know how long the shoot would go, and what I really wanted more than anything was to do both the shoot and the look see.

Well I got what I wanted. The shoot went great, Nina was happy, and I wrapped my scene at 12:50 pm. I took one picture with Nina and her producer Kevin in my Televangelist/priest garb, and headed for Burbank.

My roommate, Circus*Szalewski (www.atthecircus.com) lent me his white billowy sleeved pirate shirt, which I wore with a bandana around my neck and my curly toed renaissance shoes. It was fun to walk through the Disney lot dressed as a pirate. No one really looked twice.

When I got to the location, a courtyard in the Frank G Wells building, there were about twenty other pirates sitting or standing around, filling out paperwork. By the end, about 35 pirates were there, some in full pirate regalia, and some looking more like French cafe waiters. About 10-15 guys were French, about 5 were European, and the rest, like myself, not French. I speak French, but I could hear that some of these guys couldn't speak a word of French but were going to try to get in anyway.

There were some great looking pirates; guys with great character faces who really, if I had to choose 3, I would have cast before me. But I was excited to be there, and the chance to stand before Gore and get a shot. I had been practicing how to tell him to f*ck off in French as a greeting for hours.

In the end, after keeping us waiting for over 2 hours, Gore was a no show and we were taken to a rehearsal room in the basement of a production building where we were taped in groups of ten.

So from a priest in an indie film in Venice to a pirate on the Disney lot in one day; I think that qualifies as a Strange Day. If I end up getting a role in Pirates 3, you will surely read about it here.

Peace.

Happy In De Pants Day!

Hey, what's up, people? Are you wearing pants? It is In De Pants Day weekend, so come on, show your national pride and wear pants. What, it's In Depends Day?

Hey, up above you can see the knowwar photo I worked on a few weeks ago. The photographer, Zach Gold just sent it to us, and said to post it and show it and spread the word. So here it is. Feel free to pass it on. I hope it will get a lot of attention. I think it is an awesome photo and I was damn proud to be a part of it. 2500 hundred Americans dead in Iraq - and counting!

Remember I told you that about 50 of us showed up in the desert and we kept moving around in a group and Zach stitched it all together to make it look like 2500 of us? Well last week I had a job where we did the same thing, but it wasn't as much fun, or exciting or will it help stop the violence in Iraq or end the killing.

It was a photo for a brochure for a car company, and 50 of us moved around the seats of the Disney Concert Hall in downtown LA to make it look like 1600 people were watching a new car on stage. No heat. No dust, No burrs. No righteous anger at the stupid war.

And speaking of stupid war, as if it wasn't just the most outrageous travesty, now two American soldiers are accused of targeting, raping, and killing a Iraqi woman, and then her family to cover it up. Oh, and let's burn her house down too while we're at it.

Come on, guys, you're wearing 70 pounds of body armor, it's 120 degrees out. Are you getting all hot and bothered about a woman in a Burkha? What, did she show some ankle? These guys need a break. Obviously, not everyone can handle the stress very well. Bring these guys home. We really gotta get out of there. They are losing control, shooting at anything, and we are losing the war.

Speaking of war, are you out blowing shit up this weekend? Watch your fingers, though, you may need them on Wednesday. I personally don't like the sound of fireworks going off in my neighborhood. First there's the BOOM of an M80 or some such stupidity, followed by a car alarm or two. It's very distracting when I'm trying to watch Matlock reruns in Spanish.

It's been building up for weeks now. Tomorrow, the third, should be a blast!

Happy Birthday to all the July babies out there. I know quite a few of you.

And Happy Birthday, America. How old are you now? When will you grow up?

Richard C. Miller 1926-2006

Let me start by offering my sincerest condolences to the Miller family for your loss.

I'm sorry this is so long, but anything less from me just wouldn't be possible.

I had the honor and the privilege of knowing Richard Milller for over half of my life, but now, even that does not seem like enough. Should I feel guilty for being so greedy? No, I admit, I want more. But it was Richard's time, and I'm glad he went peacefully, surrounded by his family. He never stopped talking about you; he loved you all so much.

I want to share just a few of the many memories of my 26-year friendship with Richard. I know they will comfort, console, and amuse me for a long time.

I guess the way we met is remarkable enough. The year is 1979. There I was on the PCH hitchhiking in the rain when Richard picked me up. I believe he was driving a VW bug. We stopped for a beer, his idea of course. I forget where, maybe in Monterey. I was awestruck by this fascinating man. Soon he was telling me I had to meet a friend of his, who was at another bar. He gave me his car keys, told me how to get there, and instructed me to find him and bring him back. So off I go, in his car, to the bar, to find someone I don't know, for someone I don't know, in a town I've never been to before. I get to the bar, and the gentleman in question had just left. So back I go to Richard. I walk in and Richard starts laughing and slapping the bar. He won the bet! The bartender bet him I wouldn't come back, that I would steal his car and be half way to Los Angeles by now. Richard knew I would come back, and we were friends ever since.

Over the years Richard and I spent time in San Francisco, Chicago, New York and Paris, and at his wonderful home in Pacific Grove. In San Francisco we hatched a plan during the Iran Hostage Crisis for me to replace one of the hostages. The big story of the day was the mother of one of the hostages who wanted to travel to Iran to see her son, but wasn't allowed to. So we came up with a plan. I'll take his place; then he gets to go home to his mother. We even wrote a blues song about it, and thought that would help the idea and, if we could record it before I go, could help raise the money for our scheme. I remember the first few lines: "Ayatollah once, Ayatollah twice, taking Americans hostage just isn't nice!"

Richard knew we needed press, so he called the Chronicle. They were skeptical, but sent someone down to talk to us. The reporter listened politely as we told him our plan and sang him the song, asked how to spell our names, and then asked if we had spoken to anyone at the State Dept. Were we aware that there was a ban on travel to Iran? So then we called the State Dept. An agent politely listened and told me how noble the idea was, but that they could not sponsor a hostage trade like that. I'm sure both of our government dossiers grew a little bigger that day. But we laughed and sang that song over and over to anyone who would listen. Thinking back on it now, we never really thought about my mother, and that she would be pretty upset if I went through with such a scheme, but hey, we were having too much fun to be realistic!

Richard was always fascinated by human nature and behavior. In Paris one day, we sat outdoors at a cafe at lunchtime and Richard threw 5-franc pieces on the street just to watch the expressions on the faces of the people who found them. Or saw them and wouldn't pick them up. 5 Francs at the time was only about a buck, but enough for a sandwich or a cappuccino at a cafe. How we laughed as we kept throwing coins on the street. Other people at the cafe, who were appalled at what we were doing, also started watching and, God bless the shy and reticent French, were even amused as well.

One night in Chicago, I took Richard to meet some friends of mine. They were part of a small theatre company that traveled to prisons, and all lived together in a small crowded apartment in Lakeview. An Englishman named John Bergman ran the company. Bergman was sharp, intellectual, sarcastic, and loved a good debate. He and Richard started talking and the rest of us just sat back and watched the sparks fly! Bergman was having so much fun taking an opposing view on everything Richard said. Richard's knowledge of history, combined with his love of art and people, were diametrically opposed to Bergman's cynical and foreign view of American politics, art and people. It was a glorious night. These two intellectual monsters, both drinking, both enjoying the debate skill of the other, put on quite a show. That small kitchen really came to life that night!

Richard was my mentor as well as my friend. He encouraged me to write, act, direct, make music, make films, and be an artist. When a new version of Bohemia was going to be published, he encouraged me to write a new chapter about my years living in Paris, to update the Bohemian experience for a new generation. That was the first of many projects we would work on together over the years.

Richard loved everybody. He made everyone feel like they were important and included them in everything he did. When he met my wife, Kris, he instantly treated her like his best friend. He was like that. He loved her artwork, so much so that when he published Tanglefoot last year, it was important to him to use one of her paintings on the cover.

For the last 26 years, no matter where I was in the world, no matter what was going on in my life, if I came home to find a letter from Richard, I was always immediately filled with joy. I have boxes containing hundreds of letters of correspondence from Richard. Some hand written, some typed, but all containing the wonderful enthusiastic and creative energy of Richard. No one in the world had a greater influence in my development as an artist, and a person than Richard.

Richard always closed his letters in one of two ways; For Fun and Folly, or, We're Flying Now!

My friendship with Richard was one of mutual respect and admiration, and of fun and folly!

Richard, I love you and miss you terribly. You made this world a better place, and you are missed by so many.

Richard, wherever you are, I know you are flying now!

Some of Richard's 13 novels and books include Bohemia; The Protoculture Then and Now, Snail, Sowboy, Canam, and Seaville.

For fun and folly!

Last week sucked!

Last week I lost a friend, and suffered many small disappointments to boot. It was a bad week for me.
Somehow I made it through the weekend with only a few scratches.

This week will be better, I know. I'm working on a small piece about my friend, Richard C. Miller; a great man, a great artist, and a great writer. I really miss him. I never got to say good bye.

Goodbye, Richard.

The Blogs Of War

It was about 7:30 am the other day when I was startled awake by a pounding at my door.

Sleepily, I went to see who it was. I peered through the peep hole. I saw a couple of suits.

"Who's there?" I mumbled.

"Blog Police" came a response from the other side of the door.

"What do you want?" I was starting to wake up now, but I think my voice cracked a little.

"Federal Standards created by the Department of Blogs stipulates very clearly that a blogger must maintain his or her blog a minimum number of times per month. You have fallen below the minimum" came the voice from the other side.

"Yeah, right." I scoffed.

"This is serious, sir. Your right to blog may be revoked. The internet is not for the weak hearted, or those who can't put out a federally mandated number of words and spaces a month. Get with the program, sir, or get off the net. This is your first and last warning."

"Oh, yeah? And what are you going to do about it if I don't?" I asked, sarcasm dripping from my lips.

The voice on the other side of the door got very soft, almost a whisper. I stood motionless, listening to what he told me, and couldn't move again until the sound of scraping shoes down the hallway disappeared completely.

I immediately went to my computer, and started typing.

Know War

On June 3, 2006, I participated in an historic photographic event, Know War. http://www.knowwar.com

It was a project by NYC photographer Zach Gold http://www.zachgold.com

From the Know War website, "Imagine a photograph of more than 2,400 Americans strewn across a vast, desiccated expanse of desert. Know War is an ambitious non-profit project that aims to depict the human cost of the Iraq War by transforming the casualty number into a visible reality. This undertaking by renowned photographer, Zach Gold, will create an image that makes death come to life. Know War intends to raise continued public awareness by enabling people to visually understand the American death toll."

It was an awesome event and I'm glad I got to participate in it. The photo should be on the Know War site in about 10 days.
Tell everyone you can about it. Spread the word. Help stop the WAR!

Here are a couple of my photos from the event.

Pic 1. - laying down to strike our "dead" poses. Zach is in the crane on the right. Because only 50 people showed up, not 2500, we moved from place to place in the field and Zach shot the scene 50 different times. We changed positions and clothes as much as possible. He will photoshop it together to make it look like 2500 dead bodies, or approximately the number of American lives lost so far in Iraq. It didn't have the same impact that being there with 2500 people would have had, but the idea is there, and I think it will make a spectacular photo.

Pic. 2 - Taking a break from shooting. There were about 50 participants. The mountains made a spectacular back drop. The location is called Mystic Mesa, outside of Santa Clarita, CA., about 40 miles NW of my apt. LA. It is private property that is rented out as a filming location.

Pic. 3 - That's me with the photographer, Zach Gold, after the shoot. We were having a very nice conversation as someone was taking our picture.

It was a really fun way to spend an afternoon. Met some really cool people, and felt like I contributed something to the betterment of the universe.

Oh, you who scoff, I laugh in your general direction!


I'm a lite sleeper.

I really am a lite sleeper. If a spider farts on the other side of the apartment, I'm gonna wake up. And so, as much as I love this new apartment I'm in, as much as I can appreciate the southern and western exposure that makes it sunny all day long, as much as I appreciate the balcony overlooking the Hollywood Hills and the Griffith Park Observatory, as much as I appreciate the central location - it is noisy.

I am an early riser. Maybe it's a habit from working production jobs for so many years, where 4 am and 5 am calls are common, but I just can't sleep late. The problem is that I love to stay up late too, so no matter what time I go to bed, I get up early. But getting up early on your own, or being awakened by something outside are two different things.

So here are some of my noisy tales of woe. What about you? Do you live in a noisy neighborhood? Feel free to share your tales here and I'll post some of your comments.

My building:
Thankfully my building is really quiet. There is a musician living right downstairs, but music is not a problem. I actually like hearing music in the building. Other than that, I barely hear or see my neighbors. Even the kids are quiet.
There is a common washer/dryer area in the hallway, just on the other side of our living room. While I can hear it, so far no one has been doing laundry at 3 AM, so it's not so bad. The advantage however is I just open the door and do my laundry. It's almost like it's in the apartment.

Car alarms:
As usual, in any urban neighborhood, people have car alarms, and this one is no different. The thing about car alarms, is that when one goes off, the only person who DOESN'T hear it is the owner of the car. I also think some people like to hear their car alarms, like it's music to their ears. "Hell, I paid for it, I'm gonna enjoy it". Beep - Bop - Beep!!! Yeah, we all like it as much as you, especially after the 20th time.

Ice Cream Trucks:
At 4:30 pm every afternoon an ice cream truck playing Pop Goes The Weasel comes by and sits on my street for about 15 minutes. The mechanical strains of a digital rendition of this royalty free tune being pumped out of a crackly old speaker soon get me all nostalgic for an Orange Dreamsicle and a sledgehammer with which to destroy the offending speaker. Luckily I don't have one.

The thing about incessant noise is how quiet and lovely it seems when it finally ends. Unfortunately, the silence doesn't last long, because at about 5 pm, just 15 minutes later, another ice cream truck stops on the street in front of my building and it stays there for about 15 minutes also. I don't know the name of the song it plays, but I call it The Really Annoying Song on Ice Cream Truck Number Two.

Garbage Trucks:
Thursday is garbage truck day on our block. Have you ever noticed that garbage trucks always seen to pick up at about 7am? How do they do that? Do they only work from 6 to 7 am and then knock off? How come I have never lived in a neighborhood where they pick up at say, three in the afternoon? It's really odd. My Dad used to joke that garbage collectors had a great job - thirty bucks and hour and all they can eat. And they only work an hour a day!

Lawn Work:
There are no alleys in my neighborhood. The backs of the buildings face each other. Not right up against each other, as there is usually parking behind each building. On Wednesdays, the building just behind ours, which faces our balcony, gets their yard work done. There is no grass, there are only patches of dirt, but at 7am (again at 7 am!!!) a man with a gas engine blower on his back comes to clean the side walks and walk ways of the apartment building. He starts on the second floor. The front doors of the apartments are on an exterior walkway. And he blows all the dirt from the common areas of the building from one side to the other, and then over the porch to the ground below. Then he does the same thing on the first floor, and then he does the side walk beneath the porch that leads to the back of the building where the garbage cans are.
He doesn't sweep, he doesn't pick up anything up, he just blows it around. What a system? And he does it right outside the door of all these apartments. If I am still in bed at seven, which happens once in a while, it sounds like he is in my closet blowing my clothes around, that's how loud the machine is. Maybe once in a while they can come at three in the afternoon and have tea with the garbage men?

Neighbors & Music:
Again, our building is really quiet, but the building in front of ours, and the buildings behind ours, (we're in the back apartment, so those affect us the most) are rather boisterous.
Late night parties where people gather to YELL REALLY LOUDLY are a common occurrence. The music, of course really loud so they can YELL OVER IT, would not be my first choice.
Weekends, there is someone in the adjacent building who feels it is his duty to share his mariachi music with the neighborhood, a sort of community sharing event. But hey, who doesn't like a good mariachi tune to get the day started?
I wish I spoke Spanish, and of course I know I should, but I wish I did so I could understand the lyrics to these songs. I imagine it is, like most pop music I can understand, really deep and touching on the emotions of the human condition.

Dogs:
Dog lovers - skip this section, you won't like it. I myself am not a "dog lover". I don't dislike dogs or domesticated animals, I just don't feel the need or the desire to keep one. I never had a dog growing up, which may be one reason, and the cats that lived in my house - I can't say they were mine - they weren't - never made me a cat person. I appreciate animals, I love the souls that they are, but I don't want to "own" one.

I don't go crazy when I see a puppy or a dog and feel the need to pet the beast. I don't think that "small fit in a purse" dogs are cute. And I wish that all the people who mistreat dogs and other animals -well I wish them a karmic payback some day.

So here is the thing, there is a dog in one of the adjacent building behind mine, that must be let out for only 15 minutes a day, and always at - you guessed it, around 6:30 to 7am. And since the dog doesn't get out much, it feels the need to sing, or bark, loudly and constantly the entire time. There is nothing quite like waking up to a dog barking at 6:30 in the morning, unless of course its a dog barking at a garbage truck, a leaf blower, and a car alarm.

Helicopters:
We live near the 101 Freeway, the 5, and the CA2. Car chases are a fact of life in southern California, and the media helicopters are always nearby to catch it live and can break into the regularly scheduled programming.
It's usually worse during rush hours, but evening helicopters are quite frequent. Yesterday I was watching the news and saw a story about a boy who was burned in a fire in the valley and was being rushed to a medical center in LA by helicopter. Then I left my apartment and drove a few miles to the Goodwill store on Hollywood Blvd, and saw that same helicopter landing on the roof heliport of the children's hospital. That was weird.

Birds:
And last but not least, the birds. The people in the second floor apartment whose balcony is just across from ours have four birds which they keep in two, I'm sorry to say, small cages. The blue and orange birds, (I'm not sure what species they are, but they are bigger than parakeets) are put out on the porch from morning to night, unless it is raining. Birds sing, they talk, they communicate, and sometimes they sing mariachi songs too. Oh, well, what can you say about birds? I wouldn't choose to keep birds in a cage, but of all the noises and sounds around my apartment, it is the most pleasant.

Children:
There are a lot of children in the building around me. That's cool. I like kids. I like hearing them playing and screaming and laughing and fighting. No complaints there.

Well, that's my posting today about my noisy neighborhood. I'm glad it was quiet for an hour so I could write this in peace.

Shhhh.

Peace.

© 2006 Noel Olken

America - I'm proud of you.

Oh, America, you finally did it, you finally got off your ass and did something. Of course, it took the Mexicans, the Central Americans, the Asians, the dispossessed, the illegals, the immigrants, the " un-Americans", to get it started, but at least SOMETHING has started. May Day 2006 will go down in history. Across this country, millions and millions of people took the time, took the day off work, took the chance, to do something. A real force has been unleashed. The media was there to record it. The people were there to make it happen. And I was there too.

As you know, I lived in France for a while when I was younger. I was an illegal immigrant. I was undocumented for a time. I had no papers. I worked under the table. I did odd jobs. I worried about being stopped by the police. The advantage I had, of course, was that when I was stopped, (which happened quite frequently - especially during the terrorist bombings in Paris in 1988) I had an American passport to show. That pretty much ended the problem right there. But I haven't forgotten my time as an illegal alien. It will be with me always.

One thing I always appreciated about France, and still do, is that they will strike at the drop of a hat. Some labor trouble somewhere - strike for a day. Some bus driver was fired for running someone over - wild cat strike for a day. The price of tomatoes too low - drop a few tons of tomatoes on the Champs-Elysees. It's a pain in the ass, it messes things up, but hell, you get the day off work and you make a statement.

France is a Socialist country where every one has the right to health care and social benefits that put America to shame. And they will still risk it all to protest. We, however, who are not afforded these basic rights, do not have access to descent health care for all, can't be bothered. So, do you really think not making waves will get you what you want? Or only by making waves will we effect real change?

Here in America? The "free-est" country in the world, with a bill of rights to protect us, and no one has time to participate. Your government bombs a small country? What's on TV tonight? We go to war for no reason, or made up fantasy reasons? Oh, some starlet just had liposuction. The presidential election is stolen right out from under our noses, twice? Ho-hum, where are the comics? We stand by as millions of people are slaughtered in a genocide you can watch on TV? Hey, it's not our problem.

Americans are afraid to stand up and protest, to make their voices heard, get involved, work together and bring about change. No, who's got time? Who wants to get involved? Who wants to make waves?

Around the world, people do it all the time. They stand up for their rights, even when they don't have any. They stand in front of tanks. They get shot down by their own military. They raise their voices and make themselves heard.

And in America? A country built on protest and revolt? Please, except for a few hundred thousand hippies, lefties, communists, agitators, concerned students, Hollywood stars, and young people who don't know any better, Americans would rather stay at home watching TV and protect the status quo. Just keep pretending that the world is okay, that we aren't destroying the environment, that corporations really will take care of you, that we aren't hated around the world for the crimes of our government/military/industrial complex. Moo. Moo. Baa. Baa.

Not since the sixties, when the civil rights movement and anti-war protests shook things up, has something so interesting happened.

WTO rallies and marches? Who cares. Stop the war? Too marginal. Make 12 million *** illegal aliens felons? What? Hey, now wait a minute, that's just going too far. (*** 12 million is the number the media is using, who really knows.)

We really should thank Rep. F. James Sensenbrenner Jr. (R-WI) for proposing the extreme house bill that would have made illegal aliens felons. That was the spark that ignited this movement back in April. These people, and their supporters, both legal and non, American and non, have stood up and raised their voices.

It doesn't answer the question of illegal immigration. That is still a problem that is not going away. And a 700 miles fence will not stop someone from getting here if they really want to.

But I don't see Americans standing up and saying I want to pick lettuce, I want to wash dishes, I want to cook in a hot kitchen, I want to carve up cows in an abattoir, I want to bus tables at your summer resort - no, I don't see Americans flocking to fill those jobs. Would you let your sons and daughters bust their ass in a hot kitchen for $4.85 an hour? That's not a living wage. But if wages went up, wouldn't prices go up? "Inflation" cry the chicken little economists. Would you really stop eating in a restaurant if it cost on average a dollar more, knowing your food was being prepared by people making a decent wage in safe conditions? I wouldn't.

The other side of that coin, is, that more people are making more money, paying more taxes, spending more money. More money in the economy for the services we all depend on.

If there were no jobs, people would still come to The United States. America is as much a myth and a dream as it is a reality. And as long as we keep exporting that myth, and as long as we help create hostile conditions in other countries, people will come to America.

The illegal immigrant, who risks his or her life to get to America, who then has to live in fear of being caught, in fear of being sent back, will always come. They come here to work, to make a better live for themselves and their families. But because they are illegal, they have few of the protections afforded legal workers, basic rights like workers comp, fair wages, insurance, safe working conditions, protection from exploitation, and actually being paid for the work they do. They are being exploited every step of the way. Why? So we can pay a penny a pound less for lettuce and tomatoes? So you can get a .49 cent hamburger at a fast food joint? BTW, who is that person serving you?

Critics say (of course) that these marches and protests are bad for the cause, that there will be a back lash against the movement and no sympathy for the people. Forget it, that ain't gonna happen. More people will see the possibilities and be excited by the prospect for change.

America is waking up! Things are changing. And I am so damn happy.

So I went down to the march with my video camera, I wanted to document it and see what it was like. It really is amazing to see so many people in one place. Not a sporting event, not a rock concert, but a real movement for change. It was peaceful, it was fun, it was musical, it was like a family picnic with 500,000 of your closest friends. So many children, so many families. Something to remember.

I'll bet next year May Day becomes a real holiday, a real celebration of the workers of the world, like in other civilized countries. If so, I hope I can be there again.

Peace.

© Noel Olken 2006

Waiting for shots to be fired.

Funny times we live in, huh? On the news last night was a breaking story about a drive-by shooting at a coming-of-age celebration in North Hollywood, CA that left 5 people wounded, three of them seriously. A drive-by is so common these days, that except for a "small circle of friends", who really pays attention? The events leading up to the shootings are always the same. There's a party, some people show up who either aren't allowed to enter or, they are at the party but then are asked to leave, either nicely or by force. They leave, but they return a short time later, with a gun and go all western on whoever happens to be outside when they show up. Such was the case last night. Someday when they teach classes about drive by shootings, that will be in the dictionary as a text book case.

Is it simply pride? Was it a fight between tribes? Was it an insult or a perceived insult that triggered the series of unfortunate events? Why do these shootings continue to take place? Is it the easy availability of cheap weapons or the easy availability of cars? What's the real reason a young person (it is mostly young people pulling the triggers) would risk a long jail sentence if caught? They almost always are caught because they almost always are known by someone else who was at the party. The media like to dwell on the pain and suffering of those who happened to be in the way of the bullets. They usually were not even the intended targets. There's always someone happy to talk to reporters and say how scary it was, or how the victim was so nice. But it happens all the time, and so we just accept it as normal. And on to our next story - oh that poor cat up in a tree. As a society, we never really question why these events take place, we just report them.

Anyway, there is a party going on in the building next door. A loud and raucous party. The music is loud, the talking is loud, the yelling and screaming and whooping and hollering is loud. If guns make a person feel brave, then alcohol makes a person loud. And after midnight, it just got louder. So I wondered, a loud party like that might attract attention. People might want to come in and see what's going on. The people there might not like that. Words might be exchanged, hard looks thrown, and soon, someone might come back with a few friends, like Smith and Wesson, or Colt or Glock? And what if the shots fired go astray? Is my window in the line of fire?
Happens all the time. Better close the shades and duck and cover.

So there I am, lying in bed, waiting for shots to be fired. Because that's what happens at loud parties where people have been drinking and words are exchanged, right?

I don't like guns. I twice had a gun pointed in my face. I didn't like it. Sweet dreams.

P.S. - Morning. Next day. The party is over. I didn't hear any shots last night. I'm safe for another day.

My First Gig in LA

Hello. Thanks for all your comments. I really appreciate that people actually take the time to read this stuff and respond.

Anyway, I wanted to tell you about my first gig here in LA. It came from, of course, Craigs List, where I do all my shopping. I responded to an ad from a production company looking for people to try a new coffee maker and willing to give a taped testimonial about their experience. In exchange, you get the coffee maker.

Well, if you know me, you know I love coffee. So I responded, and the next day, a production assistant brought the Krups coffee maker you can see me holding, to my apartment. They also sent along some coffee to get me started.

It's a great coffee maker, really. And after doing some research, I discovered that the single serve coffee "pod" market is really big. There are dozens of review sites, blogs, and providers of these pods. You can even buy organic, shade grown, non-slave labor, unbleached cotton, environmentally friendly pods. Cool!

It's a little more expensive than buying bulk coffee, that is one draw back, but it is working out okay.

Next, I'll tell you about my 2nd gig, directing a short film, but I have to go to an audition now. Later.

Oh, did I tell you, I'm a Hollywood director?

peace

Stop me if you've heard this one...

Okay, most of the time, I like to be serious as a heart attack. But, on occasion, I have been known to be a pretty funny guy. I think my observations about life, sometimes wry and sarcastic, can be pretty amusing. I'm not a stand-up, but I like to make up jokes and I can get out a few good one-liners. Usually when I'm not trying.

So it was with great surprise, even to myself, when I actually wrote a joke. It was about 12 years ago, and since it is the only "joke" I think I have ever wrote, I have always remembered it. You might say it is really a pun, but here it is:

Q: Why did the monkey go to the Crow Bar?
A: He was looking for a pry mate (primate)

Get it?

My Dinner with Steven

Steven Soderbergh, Michael Apted, Taylor Hackford, Cameron Crowe, Haskell Wexler, Paris Barclay; these are just some of the people I had dinner with last night.

As a director, new to Hollywood, I found myself in pretty good company. Okay, I’m not that new, I have been here almost a week.

Okay, I didn’t sit at the same table as all those distinguished directors, but I was in the same room. Last night was the monthly Western Directors Council Meeting of the Directors Guild of America. I am a proud member of that distinguished guild, and so I may attend council meetings and observe, but not participate. I am invited to join the council for dinner before hand and listen to the proceedings of the night, until the privacy, council members only portion of the evening.

Michael Apted, Chairman of the council, ran the meeting. I can’t go into detail on the agenda, but most were not dealing with highly creative issues, but technical issues such as waivers to guild rules by individuals and studios. There was one interesting section about reality television and the lack of opportunity for guild members in that field.

I found it fascinating and exciting to be there. I hope to attend these monthly meetings in the future, not just for the free dinner, but also for the opportunity to meet and work with the council in the future.

Oh, yeah, I had just come from apartment hunting with Circus, who got into town earlier in the day, and we found an apartment. Today we put in the application. Hopefully we get accepted and move in early next week.

Searching for an apartment

Atwater, Studio City, Los Angeles, Burbank, Korea Town, Larchmont, Glendale, Valley Village, Glassell Park, Pico, and of course, Hollywood. These are just some of the neighborhoods I have visited, driven through, or looked at apartments in; 14 in the last three days.

Let me back up a bit. I arrived in Los Angeles on Saturday afternoon. It was a beautiful drive from Phoenix; desert into mountains into the snow capped peaks outside LA. I love driving through the southwest.

I made a quick stop in Redlands, about 60 miles east of LA, to see my old friend Roberto. Roberto has been in California about 7 years. He got married, has a 4 year old son, and now has a critically acclaimed restaurant in Redlands called Farm. It was so nice to get a chance to say hello, have a sandwich, and catch up a little. Soon I got back on the road for the final 60 miles. I arrived in Burbank at Betty and Mike’s about 4:30. It was still warm enough for Betty and I to sit on the front porch, in the sun, and have a beer.

Sunday was the Oscars telecast. Betty and Mike invited me to their friends Reed and Marny’s house for an Oscar Party. They live in Hollywood, about a mile from the Kodak Theatre. It is the closest to the Oscars I have been, so far. I say so far because I will definitely attend an Academy Awards ceremony one day as a nominee. I’m getting closer all the time.

There were several connections to the Oscars there in that room. Reed had a role in Good Night and Good Luck, so we were all hoping that it would win an award. I was one of the many crewmembers Robert Altman thanked while accepting his lifetime achievement award. Yeah!

Monday morning I hit the ground running. I did a lot of driving around different neighborhoods I thought I wanted to live in. I made a lot of calls, but mostly I left a lot of messages. Some people returned, many didn’t.

It took a lot of time, and while I did get to see three apartments, I decided to join a rental service and get more leads. Westside Rentals is the most popular, and at 70 dollars for two months of listings, it’s not unreasonable. Soon I had thousands of listings to narrow down into usable choices.

Tuesday I saw about 7 or 8 apartments, I can’t keep them straight in my mind. I did lots of driving back and forth across the hills into the valley, out of the valley and back again.
The good thing is I am getting a crash course in Los Angeles geography and streets. I am really getting to know it and be more comfortable with it each day. But after seeing so many places, I was exhausted, and nothing I saw was any good.

The housing stock in LA is very different than in Chicago, where we have, I think, a much finer rental pool to choose from. Many of the places I saw in my price range, $1200 a month, (for a 2 bed/2 bath) were boxy and ugly, like the 4 plus ones you see on Sheridan Rd. in Rodgers Park. No style, no details, and mostly small and dirty. For $1200 a month in Chicago you could get a pretty nice place in a nice neighborhood, not here.

Today, Wednesday, I had more luck. I upped the price range and started seeing slightly better prospects. I saw some places I really liked. I decided to stop looking in the Valley. I want a real LA urban experience right now, and I want to be closer to all the action. Besides, if I live in the Valley I’ll end up working in Santa Monica, and if I live in Santa Monica, I’ll end up working across town in the Valley. In Hollywood, I’m right in the middle.

I think I found a couple of good ones that I will show Circus on Friday morning. Maybe we can just get one and move this weekend. That would be ideal.

It’s so wonderful that I have such a nice place to stay with Betty and Mike; they are so welcoming and accommodating, but I have to get started on my new life here, and the first step is having a place of my own.

I haven’t even been here 5 days yet, and yet it feels like I’ve been here a lot longer. There are many people I miss back in Chicago, one especially, and that is very difficult, but there is so much going on to keep me busy that the days pass quickly.

I must practice patience.

On The Road

Days 1 & 2 of my driving trip to LA:

I don’t really feel like I am anywhere. I’m in New Mexico, yes, but I am traveling at 70 miles an hour. I watch the country pass by, but I’m still in my car! It’s a strangely cool sensation.

Day one went great. I packed from 5:30 am till 2:00pm. But it’s okay, I kept telling myself, because noon is the new 7am!

I tried to pack way too much stuff into my Jeep, so I ended up stopping at Fed Ex and shipping 7 big boxes to myself. I really tried to have all this done before the last minute, but I worked until 7:30 PM the night before I left!

I finally got on the road about 3PM. I just put on some tunes and wanted to put as much distance between Chicago and myself as I could the first night. No turning back now.
I made it as far as Rolla, MO, 400 miles, which is pretty close to where I wanted to be.

Day 2:

Waking up at 6, I was out the motel door by 6:30. Man I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Went next door to a place called the Waffle House. You’d think with a name like that, they could make a decent waffle? Uh-uh, not to be. And the grits, swimming in butter? I don’t think so.

Yesterday I drove through MO, OK, and TX, 758 miles to Tucumcari, NM. I like driving so it was easy. I listened to local radio part of the morning, and my playlist for yesterday included Jim White, Johnny Cash, Moby, Buckethead, Joni Mitchell, and some classical music.

If I wasn’t in such a hurry to get to California, I might have stopped along the way at some of the fine monuments along the way. Instead I passed up some fine roadside attractions. I missed Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, I missed the worlds largest collection of precious moment statues, and the worlds biggest knife collection.

I really did want to stop in Oklahoma City and see the memorial to the Oklahoma City bombing, and the new federal building, but I didn’t. Another time.

I drove for 12 hours, and I was dreaming of a Margarita, chips and salsa, and a hot plate of Mexican food when I arrived. I got into Mountain time in NM, so I gained an hour when I arrived. I checked out the restaurant/bar at the motel and decided to drive through town instead. Well, on the whole 5 mile strip of old Rt. 66 that is Tucumcari, there was only one Mexican restaurant, and there were no cars in the parking lot at all, so I gave it a pass. There were only a couple of local chain restaurants, a Dean’s, and a Del’s, and they didn’t look too good to me either. So many motels; so few food options. Am I spoiled or what?

A disappointing Margarita and some mediocre appetizers back at the motel bar. They were out of chips! This is the southwest, how can you be out of chips? I wanted to ask the bartender. But she was too busy chewing loudly on her dinner at the end of the bar to hear me. “Just a sec”, she said to a new customer at the bar, holding up a finger and shoveling another forkful of food in her mouth. “I’wl be wight wit chew” she said with her mouth full.

Leaving Tucumcari in a few minutes. I’ll be in Phoenix tonight, 650 miles from here.
They have good Mexican restaurants in Phoenix.

Does anyone really care about this?

3.1.06

One small step; that is all that separates me from here, to on my way to there.
Today is the day. If I had more time to prepare, I still wouldn’t be ready. I just have to go.
I’m taking a little more with me than a stick with a bandana tied to the end, but I couldn’t get my computer in a bandana. I always thought my Jeep was pretty big, until I started to pack it.

It’s hard not to think of oneself as the center of the universe, and really, that’s not a bad thing. It’s not as if my life, my trip, and my adventure is that important in the grand scheme of things, but it sure is to me.

Silly interpretive dance # 426: I’m on the jungle gym, the bars you crossed in the playground by grabbing on to the bar in front and swinging to the next bar, hanging a few inches above the ground. Only I’m not a few inches above the ground. These bars cross over a huge canyon. There is nothing below me for miles. I look down into the void, I look up into the sky, and I’m hanging here. I’m afraid. I let go of one hand. I look around again. I could scream, but no one would hear me. I smile. I let go. I fall, but I don’t keep falling. I am suddenly flying, flying over and out of the canyon. I am soaring. That is how I see my heroic journey going.

I’m going to write about my journey here, because I can. Read it if you want. Or go write your own story. It’s up to you.
Peace.

Jim White and the Handsome Family

Jim White and the Handsome Family at the Old Town School of Folk Music
Chicago, IL Feb. 11. 2006

Jim White - http://jimwhite.net/

Okay, how do you answer the question, "If you were on a desert island, what three albums (CD's) would you absolutely have to have with you?"

I usually start by asking, "if I'm on a desert island how am I going to listen to music?” But then I was born sarcastic.

Let's say I have a solar powered iPod?

One of my top three albums would be Jim White's, The Mysterious Tale Of How I Shouted Wrong-Eyed Jesus. A difficult title, I agree, but an even more difficult and complex piece of music. I put this in the category of "perfect albums". Albums so complete and wonderful you can listen to them over and over and never get tired, and always hear them fresh. For me, there are a few albums like that. Brian Eno's Another Green World, Zappa's Hot Rats, (with the divine Peaches 'n Regalia) and Bach's Preludes.

I’ve listened to Wrong Eyed Jesus so many times, and I never tire of it. The music so haunting, the lyrics so beguiling, and Jim White’s voice so soulful. I sometimes listen to it over and over and hear something new each time.

So when I heard that Jim White was going to open for the Handsome Family, I knew we had to be there.

We had just seen a movie by Andrew Douglas called Searching For The Wrong Eyed Jesus, which featured Jim White. It was based on the album, but different. Andrew Douglas obviously liked the album so much he wanted to use it as a starting off point for a film. The Handsome Family appear in the film, in two or three wonderful musical interludes. On one, they are on the roof of a house that is floating along a river. And this was just after Katrina hit.

I wasn’t as excited about the movie as I am by the album, mainly because I wanted to hear more music, but it was a neat film which will be released on DVD in March, so check it out.

But back to last night’s concert. Jim takes the stage, a solo performer with a blond Telecaster and a “band” of digital toys, (Mr. Drum machine, Mr. Looper # 1, Mr. Looper #2). He created these textured layered backgrounds for his songs to ride on with guitar parts, backing vocals and wind sounds, and a little breath powered keyboard. And it’s magical the way you watch him blow a few notes into the looper and then sing along with his creation, right in front of you. A couple of times the digital technology got away from him, but for the most part he was so adept at it that it felt seamless.

Mixing songs from Wrong Eyed Jesus and his new album, Drill A Hole In That Substrate And Tell Me What You See, his set of a little more than an hour was simply magical. He likes to talk and tell stories between songs, and sometimes his between song banter was longer than the song. But I liked hearing him, it added something too the music for me, to know a little bit more about the person I am listening to. Like his story of being rejected by the Scientologists in Amsterdam was inspired.

He alludes to a sort of imbalance in his life, a sort of instability due to his mind working very fast and his need to catch up to it, and all the religious brainwashing he received as a child, and his need to figure it out. But he has such a wonderful sense of humor about himself, that it isn’t sad or scary, but charming. Very charming. A uniquely gifted performer who knows how to tell stories only he can tell. His musical style is wide-open chords, ethereal notes ringing out, layered and textured. He plays effortlessly, almost not moving, his fingers barely hitting the strings. He looks down most of the time he’s singing, and apologized to the audience in the balcony that they have to look at the top of his head most of the time because he “genuflects” while he sings, and thinks about other things.

Signing CD’s and posters in the lobby after his set, he took the time to speak with everyone who wanted to say hello, gracious and gentle, especially with the “2nd grader” who wanted to have a poster signed. Jim gave him a hat from his suitcase of used clothes he sells at his “Jim-boutique” after gigs. “Celebrity - worn clothing at thrift store prices”.
A unique performer you should try to see someday.

The Handsome Family - http://www.handsomefamily.com/

Then the Handsome Family took the stage. Rennie and Brett Sparks. A husband wife duo, joined on the slide guitar by man whose name I just can’t remember. He added a lot to their music, though, playing electric slide guitar, mandolin and violin.

The handsome Family’s music has been described as alternative country and Americana. It is dark and haunting stuff. Songs of ghosts haunting malls, bottomless wells, dead girls, and self-destruction.

The first thing you notice though is Brett’s booming and magnificent baritone. I would kill for a voice like his. How wonderful to be able to sing so effortlessly. He just opens his mouth a little and this amazing sound comes out, so controlled, so pure. Rennie sings harmony and plays bass guitar, while Brett played a beautiful old Gibson acoustic. And just so you don’t think they are too folk music-y, they use a laptop on stage playing a rhythm track to almost all their songs.

The only album of theirs I own is the Live at Shuba’s from 2002, that their website says is now out of print. It’s a very funny show, and I wasn’t sure if they would be like that last night or not. They were a little more subdued, buts till very playful and very funny between songs. They appear very relaxed and comfortable on stage, even when they fretted about playing a new song and forgetting a verse. Their music is easy to get lost in, easy to drift off into the images they create.

The Handsome Family website is a fun place to poke around and get to know them a bit. Reading about their personal lives and past just make them so much more interesting.

Last night was one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time. The Old Town School is an intimate venue with great sound. The two acts were so connected and complimentary, they worked so well together. It doesn’t surprise me that they enjoy touring together.

Jim White, and Rennie and Brett Sparks all seem to have been able to overcome some personal demons by using humor and music to find a way to themselves. And I am glad they have chosen to share that with the world.

As a musician, as a music lover, as a song writer and as a performer; I was inspired. Thank you.

Going to California. Its time.

There are big changes ahead for me this year. I've never been one to just sit around and wait for things to happen. When I do, I'm never happy. I like action and adventure. So, in a few weeks, I'll be loading up my car, saying goodbye to friends and family, and moving across country to Los Angeles, California. Hollywood - home of the film industry. That's where I want to be. That's where I have to be.

16 years ago, after years of being a wandering traveler and a five-year stint in Europe, I moved back to Chicago. I have really enjoyed it. Chicago, my hometown, city of my childhood and my most lasting memories, is the place where I discovered who I am, met my wife, and found so much inspiration from the friends I have around me.

It's where I learned the craft of filmmaking. I worked for many years as a location manager, got into the DGA, and directed my first feature film. I am known as an independent producer, and closely associated with the IFP/Chicago, having served seven years on the board of directors of that fine organization. Many know me as the producer of the feature film, Cup Of My Blood, directed by Lance Catania, which I brought from a script to worldwide distribution. If you haven't seen it, you should check it out.

I didn’t even know how important it was to me to move to California until I decided to do it. A decision I made with my significant other. The lovely and amazing Kris C. has encouraged me to run off and join the circus! With support and encouragement like that, how could I not do it? With a woman in my life who wants only the truth for me, how will I not succeed?

The Beatles sang, “All you need is love”. Well, what do you do with all that love when you get it? The answer is, you will do amazing things. It's true for me. True for us. True wins! Just gimme the truth! (John Lennon)

Why did Dillinger rob banks? Because, he rightly concluded, that’s where the money was. I am a filmmaker in search of my next film. Los Angeles is where the film business is.

I’m so sorry Chicago; don’t look at me like that, like I’m ah, ah, like I’m a traitor. I can’t take it when you do that. I know I said I would always be a Midwest filmmaker, and I will, I just won’t be in the Midwest! I’ll try to come back, I promise. You know how sometimes people just can’t see you until you go away? That’s what I think will happen. You’ll see.

Like I told someone today, I love making films, I don’t care what my role is, I just love being a part of the process. I’ve produced, directed, written, acted, edited, composed, done foley and ADR, location scouted, P.A’d, made the coffee, parked the trucks, and once, I even got yelled at by a director for not picking up his dirty laundry.

That will never happen on one of my films, I can guarantee you that. People like to work on my films. I take care of people, we have fun, and the work is better for it.

Why leave home to join the circus?

I am moving to LA to be a director, an actor, a writer, and a musician, kind of in that order. I know what you might be saying, how can you do all that? There are so many people there already! Well, I don’t want to hear it. There is only one of me, and no one can do or would do what I do. Yeah, I’m unique and special all right.

I am getting so many good ideas and clear visions for what I want to do there. How I am going to accomplish all this, you ask? I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out. I am not worried that I don’t have a place to live yet, let alone all the answers to all the questions. It’s coming to me. I just trust that if I follow my heart, and live my dreams, the dream will come true.

You see there is nothing to be afraid of, except not doing what you really have to do this lifetime. Identifying it is the first step. For me, once that’s done, the rest is easy.

Years ago I just picked up and moved to France. I didn't even speak the language; I just knew I had to be there. It all worked out pretty well. And when I decided I wanted to be somewhere else, I just moved again. For me, it’s just that easy.

Well, that's the story of my move to Los Angeles. Drop in again soon, as this blog will become more active and posts will appear more often. Maybe even everyday. Wow, what a concept.

Peace out and wish me luck.

Noel