Yatagarasu Is My New God

A few months ago I converted to the Shinto religion. Dude, it's WAY better than Christianity.

I was writing at my office away from the office: the green at the LA County Museum of Art.

I was working on a difficult scene - the entrance of the villain - and getting frustrated. The sun was setting. It was getting cold. I was ready to give up.

And then something unusual happened.

Crows began to descend upon LACMA. And not just a few - an enormous, angry flock, darkening the sky. They lazily and endlessly swirled around a grove of trees, cawing incessantly. A rondo of discord.

It was scary. So I left.

But I also took it as a sign not to give up. Because my villain - the one I was writing about when the birds arrived - is a crow.

His name is Yatagarasu. Who is he?

1) Three-legged crow.

2) Japanese Shinto deity.

3) Messenger to the sun goddess Amaterasu.

4) Mascot of the National Japanese Football team, proudly adorning the jersey I wear to yoga.

5) The dastardly villain in my screenplay Lobsters vs. Butterflies.

7) A demon who fights on your behalf in my new favorite video game Persona 3. (And yes, he is on my roster. He's got a lethal ice attack.)

As you can see, this bird is a constant companion in my life.



As if that weren't enough, I've been spending the past few weeks attempting to master the Bakasana yoga pose - also known as CROW POSE. You can see my instructor demonstrating Bakasana above (Yes, that's really her, and not some anonymous hot yoga model. She loves her leg warmers.) Every time she asks for requests during class, I'm the first to call out, "Crow!" My classmates HATE ME (when they aren't totally loving me, that is). But the upshot is that I can hold this pose for almost ten seconds.

A substitute instructor of mine said, "Bakasana can be also translated as crane pose, as well as crow pose. I prefer crane. Crows are elegant - but they're also kind of naughty."

Lady, you have no idea.

Happy Halloween.

Three Pieces of Asian Wisdom

Right before I quit my job, I attended a lecture by a Buddhist monk on the subject of meditation. I was curious because all of my training in meditation is taken from Hindu traditions, and I wanted to know how the Buddhists roll. Buddhist meditation, as it turns out, is complete weaksauce. Buddhists totally suck at meditation. However, I still remember that lecture to this very day, because of a story the monk told about a Buddhist master finding his guru.

The master was supposed to meditate in a cave until the guru appeared, but kept giving up and leaving, only to encounter typically Buddhist moments of inspiration which would draw him back. On one particular occasion, he journeyed from the cave until he encountered an old man rubbing an anvil with a feather. He stopped and asked the old man what he was doing.

"See how the feather leaves a trace on the anvil as I draw the feather against it," said the old man. "If I continue as I have, I will BREAK THIS ANVIL IN HALF."

I love that story. I was reminded of it in the process of researching Lobsters vs. Butterflies, which contains a couple pieces of Japanese wisdom. The first is a Japanese proverb:

Nana korobi, ya oki. Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

Pretty good, eh? I'm still trying to figure out where exactly to insert that nugget of sage advice. The second comprises one of my favorite monologues in the movie, and it's taken from the Hagakure, the book of samurai wisdom that was an inspiration for things like the attack on Pearl Harbor and the rape of Nanking.

"Young men should discipline themselves rigorously in intention and courage. This will be accomplished if only courage is fixed in one's heart. If his hands are cut off, he will strike with his hands. If his hands are cut off, he will press the enemy down with his shoulders. If his shoulders are cut away, he will bite through ten or fifteen enemy necks with his teeth. Courage is such a thing."

Of course, these aren't just proverbs and folk tales I'm putting in the script I'm writing.

They are allegories for my career.

Everything I Know About Fashion: Denim Edition

The buttons on my jeans say: "Denim is dead." I know what they mean. Are we all just really going to wear jeans for the rest of our lives? Pretty much. And so the rivets on the same pair say, "Long live denim."

Here's what I know about denim.

1) Ignore the labels and focus on color and texture. You'll be less likely to make a mistake.

2) The darker the blue the more useful. The lighter, the more casual. However, if the color is so dark it can not be easily discerned as a shade of blue, you've probably gone too dark.

3) The more ornamentation on the jean, the quicker it will go out of style. I personally think that color, texture, and cut are much more important than fancy stitching or distressing.

4) The slim straight leg cut is the one that will last for the foreseeable future. The bootleg cut is diminishing in popularity, and that's too bad, because it flattered everyone - which is precisely why fashionistas have started wearing skinny jeans that normal people can't fit into. My preference: a slim bootleg, with flaring so subtle you barely notice it. See: Crate Denim.

5) Try on multiple pairs of the exact same size. And then try on multiple pairs of the neighboring sizes. Quality control among jeans manufacturers is notoriously lax, even among high-end labels. You're more likely to get the perfect fit by trying on as many pairs as possible.

6) It should be an effort, but not an impossible one, to button the top button. The jeans should feel tight and snug around your hips and waist. Jeans only get looser as they break in - they don't get tighter. So you want a very snug fit.

7) Turn around and check out the rear view. It's actually just as important for guys to do this as it is for girls. Your curves should be discernible. It should not look like a circus tent back there.

8) Have a seat. After all, this is how you'll spend most of your time in these jeans. How do they look? Are they comfortable? Are the legs riding up? Is the seat too low?

9) The break. This is how the fabric hits your ankles. Some people, like me, prefer a clean break, preserving the lines of the jeans. Others like the fabric to scrunch up around the ankles. Whatever you choose, make sure the back of the leg touches the floor when you try them on in your bare feet.

10) Most jeans don't shrink, so don't count on achieving a perfect fit through the laundry. If they do shrink, it'll be length-wise; jeans will never shrink around your waist.

11) Some garments only get better-looking with age and wear. Raw selvage denim is one of them. I'm talking about dark jeans that come with a warning label which cautions you to stay away from light fabrics and upholstery. As you wear these jeans, the indigo slowly rubs off, and they develop unique wear patterns. The downside? You can't wash them. Ever. Please consult Google for ways of mitigating this. The warning label on a pair of Crate Denim jeans says: "Do not wash. But if you wear stinky jeans, your girlfriend may not make out with you. Your call."

12) Know what the new hotness is? Rigid grey denim. Not soft grey denim, mind you. If you can find a pair, you'll know what I'm talking about. Rock 'em. You won't regret it.

13) You simply don't know until you try them on. Words for buying jeans. Words for life.

To be continued in Part 5.

Peeling Off Retail Stickers

I used to suck at peeling off retail stickers - price tags and the like - from things I purchase. I would tear the sticker, or worse, leave a sticky residue. This inept tendency eventually discouraged me from peeling off stickers at all - I would resign myself to the sight of the effluvia of commerce.

But I've since discovered the secret: a stoic equanimity to endure the protracted task of pulling millimeter by millimeter, combined with a forbearing willingness to reverse or change course if necessary.

Apparently, I've become a much more patient person.

Fomenting the Revolution

I was at a social gathering a couple nights ago, trading workplace horror stories with some other folks, and generating quite a bit of laughter, especially from the young ladies.

(You have to wake up pretty early in the AM to beat me at the workplace horror story game, as I used to work for the video game industry. Whose resume is iller than mine is?)

Anyway, as a young woman laughed and lamented her inability to escape her own workplace, I gave her the whole spiel about handing an infant to a stranger, and how her employer was not watching over her best interests.

Her smile immediately vanished, and her expression turned intense.

"You're right," she said.

And I could immediately see the beginnings of a new plan forming in her mind. Now that's what I'm talking about.

Afterwards, another young woman said to me, "You should write a blog."

You don't say.

When A Compromise Is A Betrayal

There is absolutely no shame in showing up to sit at a desk every day, doing what other people tell you to do. It pays the rent. It gives you health insurance. It allows you to plan for a safe and knowable future.

The shame lies in pretending that this course of action is your highest dream, your greatest goal, when in fact, it is a way of deferring precisely these things. It is a terrible betrayal of the self.

Of course, people don't call it a betrayal - they call it a compromise. As if someday, in the ineffable future, the act of betraying your own dreams might actually provide provide the money and time to manifest them.

Your employer is not responsible for your best interests. You are. If you are coasting along in the job, assuming that your boss or company will take care of you in the long run, you are being irresponsible.

You are handing an infant to a stranger.

Beck, The Beach, Stefanie, and My Knee

A long time ago, when I was working for the good old video game company, I used to take long walks on the beach after work. I was miserable - Stefanie had just kicked me out of her life after the kidnapping, and I was working on well-intentioned but mediocre video game under a well-intentioned but mediocre manager. I even got hit by a car while crossing the street coming into work.

On a weekend.

It was a lonely and unfulfilling time, to say the least.

There were only two things I really enjoyed during that era. Beck's album Sea Change on constant repeat (as sampled here, and now you know why I chose that song) and the Santa Monica beach, where my office was located. I remember walking (or limping, as the case may be) up and down the beach, watching a hundred different sunsets, asking when, if ever, my life would truly begin. Each of those walks was a prayer to a dead god - not only did I not have an answer, I wasn't sure one existed.

I often wondered during that time, if and how and when I would be rescued. I had no idea that I would do it myself.

Nowadays, I ask the question, when will my life truly begin? And the answer is always the same: IT BEGINS NOW. And when I answer that question, you can see the angry nine-tailed demon fox that lives inside me, burning behind my eyes.

As for the knee, the doctors said it would never be quite the same - that I would always experience a bit of wobbliness. And they were right, for a time - the knee remained a bit wobbly for over four years - and then I took my first yoga class.

The knee is stronger, more flexible than it ever was. It can do lunges. It can support and balance the weight of my entire body on its own. It can run three miles at a seven minute pace. It serves as a pointed reminder of that time - of the job, the beach, Beck, and Stefanie.

And how I made it through.

And also how - and this is the important part - I cannot and will not go back to any of that.

Why Film School Tuition Is Totally Worth It

One of my classmates recently wrote a movie starring Kate Hudson and Owen Wilson. He's writing another starring Morgan Freeman and William H. Macy.

Another created the hit television show "Criminal Minds" for CBS.

Another is a staff writer on "30 Rock". She just won an Emmy.

And then there's me.

Wait 'til you see what I'm gonna do.

It's taken seven years to get to this point. But still.

We only had thirty students in our class.

That means film school gives you at least a ten percent chance of making it big. It may not sound like much, but in Hollywood, a ten percent chance means you are robbing the house.