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cry baby cry!

March 6, 2014

 

Word is [via Slate] Getty images just dropped the pay wall and is trying something new, embeds that link back to the original source. I see that news and think, cool, I can go link some of my Getty photos without the watermark. [See for even me to use Getty photos of me without the watermark, there was some sort of pay scheme going --- which seems wrong but there you have it.]

I do a search. They come up, but not on Getty. On Zimio. Whut?

Here’s a Getty photo from the 25th Nicholl Fellowships Awards ceremony. Look how spiff we all look yay!

 

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[L-R: Rafael Arrieta, Donna McNeely, Michele Sutter, Max Adams and David Kurtz attend AMPAS' 25th Annual Don & Gee Nicholl Fellowships In Screenwriting Dinner at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel on November 4, 2010 in Beverly Hills, California.]

 


I love that photo but that’s not my favorite photo from that night. My favorite photo is not even a Getty photo it is an iPhone photo shot on the way to the awards when I hadn’t put my heels on yet and was stopping for a Diet Coke on the way. Yay!

 

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[I had been off sugar, chocolate, sodas, coffee, bread and booze for two freaking weeks before the awards ceremony. Your face looks pretty for the camera if you knock all that crud off for a couple weeks --- but you are crying hard for a soda. Cry baby cry!]

 

biological imperative

February 27, 2014

 

max_viper_bw_375Every once in a while, I remember, almost everyone I know wants to join up with another human being and create children.

Most of the time I forget other people have that imperative.

It startles me.

 

 

marilyn_head_shotThis really darling piece —

Showed up on Jezebel the other day, all about women needing stronger [or at least with better dialogue] roles in Hollywood. [I'll give you the link later, hang in there.] It features a youtube clip of actress and producer Olivia Wilde.

[From House, you punks, start reading the fucking credits.]

It’s titled “Olivia Wilde Crushes It When She Talks About Women in Hollywood.”

Olivia Wilde totally does crush it too. [I'll give you that link too if you stick around.]

[Stop scrolling, you attention deficit bastards, there is method to my madness.]

The problem is the Jezebel writer, Hillary Crosley, doesn’t “crush it.”

[Sorry, Hillary, I'm sure you're a lovely person.]

 



 

Here is how Hillary’s “go girls” article ends:

“First you get the producers, then you get the power, then you get the women.”

Cute. But. No. Though it is a darling twist on the protest quote “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.”

That is Gandhi right?

 



 

Hollywood is not Occupy Wall Street. Hollywood is a corporate living breathing high school metaphor — that is supposed to make a profit, not topple banking corruption or withstand pepper spray in New York parks. And the emphasis there though it should maybe be on “high school” is on “make a profit.” As in “huge fucking profit.” And if you don’t get that? You don’t get Hollywood.

Oops.

 



 

In Hollywood, producers don’t bring in the money – or the power.

Producers in Hollywood are matchmakers. They match talent [actors, actresses, directors, writers] with projects [books, adaptations, concepts, specs] and studios [studios are the purse that is highly corporate and also linked into more corporate deals like “distribution” which is often with other studios and often highly problematic and is also another subject entirely that would take a whole other post so moving on].

Or, using another metaphor, let’s pretend we’re planning a home coming dance.

Yay! Back to high school!

 



 

Producers are the party planners. Producers bring everyone together, but producers in Hollywood aren’t paying for the dance or directing the dance. They are just matching all the right players up so it sounds like a really fun party and everyone goes, “Hey, great party, fuck, everyone will come, let’s do it!” Then the studios supply the cash and you know, if you’re bankrolling the party, that gives you some say. But if you throw [bankroll] a party and no one comes to the party [no cover charges, no drink sales, ahhh!]? Like, the homecoming queen and king say, Fuck you, dead party, we’re going to the country club instead?

Dead in the water.

So that’s why the [prom queen] talent can have more clout than the studio [bank roll]. The talent [prom queen] is the core of the equation. Because if the prom queen boycotts your party?

No fucking party.

Did the metaphor work?

 



 

So the power, making Hollywood films? Resides with studios [the money], and with talent [the people the studios will throw money into a project with because if those people boycott future parties?, no more parties].

So how does this all boil down in terms of hot female lead and hot dialogue for female characters projects in Hollywood?

You don’t go to the producer. You go to the toughest female Hollywood talent on the block, with or without tats, they have served their time and fought their way up through the hierarchy and have the clout.

 



 

This does not mean producers are not important. Producers are crazy important. Mostly the party would not even happen without producers. But do you know who Gale Anne Hurd is? [God I hope so but doubt it. Go IMDB you fools. Ahhh!] How about Robert Evans? [No? Ahhh!]

 



 

In other words, Miss Crosley? You got it wrong.

You want to make hot female driven projects? You do not start with “the producers.” You start with the toughest women in Hollywood.

And when I say “tough,” I don’t mean prison tats. I mean, they are the prom queens of Hollywood. They have such powerful track records with the studios, have starred in so many films that made the studios so much money, if they say, I want to make this or star in this or produce this or direct this? The studio suits will say, “I can’t risk you not showing up at my next party, I will write this check.”

But —

There is a caveat.

[There always fucking is a caveat. This is Hollywood. Bummer.]

“If this party fails, you go to Tough Hollywood Babe With Clout Jail” and stop making me fund parties no one shows up to.”

That means the tough girls in Hollywood have something to lose every single time they back something. See, if the suits get really pissed? They could screw up that other thing we don’t have time to talk about — distribution. And something we haven’t even mentioned here — promotion. And to cannon ball past all that? That’s a lot of effort. And why would they do that for another woman instead of for themselves making profit off a film that is important to them, stars them, and will keep them and their film career alive another decade or more?

And that’s another subject that would make this post too long. So. Let’s go back to the original point.

 



 

You want more women dominated films in Hollywood? You want better roles for women in film? You want better dialogue for women in films? You don’t talk to the party planner [producers]. You talk to the prom queens [tough ass kicker women actors and directors and writers in Hollywood -- and the big prom queens are the actresses, you can't fire them halfway through principal photography without dropping millions, everyone else is fungible].

 



Wait, I promised you the Olivia Wilde clip too. Here you go yay!:

 

 

Also, I should link you to the Jezebel piece. Sigh:

:::jezebel piece:::

 



 

PS: Dear Jezebel Peeps: If you need someone who actually understands Hollywood on the payroll? Hit my link. If I’m too busy or expensive? I’ll refer you.

You’re welcome.

 

the face

February 17, 2014

 

A friend was reading the recent Max interview and said, That’s great, but when are you doing something live so I can see your face?

No live interviews any time soon but here is the face.

 

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Also, here is a dog in goggles for the less easily entertained.

 

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action figure max!

February 5, 2014

 

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Just because it is fun and me and my friend Kim were goofing off with this idea over on Facebook, voila, Action Figure Max!

 

[Okay not really, that is really an action figure I lifted off the net and I will probably get sued, but close enough yay!]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


PS: If that is not all self absorbed enough for you, do not miss the :::Max Pop Queen Paper Doll::: [Oh quit it, I must amuse myself somehow]

 

 

 

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[This survey swiped liberally and without apology because I am just like that from Rachel.]

 

VALENTINE’S SURVEY!

1. Do you like anyone? Oh yes, madly. Say what’s the polite time limit on tossing possessions an ex left at your place?
2. Do they know it? Oh hell no, no one needs that kind of power.

 

IN THE LAST MONTH HAVE YOU:

1. Had someone buy you something? Rumor has it birthday prezzies are in the mail.  Yay!
2. Bought something? Food and rent, Baby, food and rent.
3. Gotten sick? I do not refer to it as “sick,” I refer to it as “dancing like the lights aren’t on.”
4. Been hugged? Oh you madman. It is germ season.
5. Felt stupid? Before or after espresso doubleshots?
6. Talked to an ex? Why “talk” when you can exchange passive aggressive texts?
7. Missed someone? That Fed Ex guy is so wiley.
8. Danced crazy? What about “dancing like the lights aren’t on” was not clear?
9. Gotten your hair cut? No but my color is fabulous.
10. Lied? I am sure so but it comes so naturally — oh wait, you mean to other people?

 

HAVE YOU EVER. . .

1. Said “I Love you” and meant it? Of course.  I was not hatched from an egg.
2. Given money to a homeless person? I have given money to people on the street — I did not ask about their accommodations.
3. Waited all night for a phone call that never came? Does getting black out drunk count as “waiting”?
4. Sat and looked at the stars? Sure but those little bastards look back that is suspicious behavior if you ask me.
5. Do you swear? Exactly what the fuck do you mean by that?
6. You’re happy with your hair? In my universe, the correct question is, Is my hair happy with me?
7. Do you like to swim? This survey was written by a Golden Retriever right?
8. Call a friend when you’re bored? I blog to avoid boredom.
9. Flowers or angels? “I’ll have what the quiz writer is having.”
10. Gray or black? Gray. [That is my sassy attempt to convince the universe I am striving for harmonious balance. Did it work?]
11. Color or black and white photos? “Black and white” is gray, Cupcake.
12. Lust or love? Let’s go with lust. Big lust. Huge lust. Really amazing shocking rock hard abs slam you up against the wall sweat till you break… um, maybe we should skip this one.
13. Sunrise or sunset? Midnight, Baby, Midnight.

 

BONUS VALENTINE’S QUESTIONS:

1. You have a valentines planned out to have? No but I am counting on champagne and batteries coming through.
2. Do you like having a valentine? I am sorry that journal is in storage.
3. Does someone like you currently? Oh I have an ever-changing cast of stalkers….
4. Are you even worried about the upcoming holiday? Worry is for deadlines.  Holidays, I celebrate.
5. What’s the best gift to receive on the day?  I’m going with wall sex. Wait. It’s not my fault. You asked about love or lust! It’s subliminal suggestion. Entrapment! I was framed!

 


[Say, is there a special prize for the bonus questions? I missed that part. Also, my answers and Rachel's answers are so damn similar at times I am still checking for scars where an attached twin may have been surgically removed at birth.]

where the valentine survey came from : yoyo-dyne propulsion labs

 

the poetry meme

January 15, 2014

 

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On Facebook there is this poetry meme going around.

[Yes I did a poetry meme. I also sometimes watch Vampire Diaries just because I think Ian Somerhalder is hot. Don't judge!]

These are my two favorite poetry meme posts.

 

A Dog Has Died

My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I’ll join him right there,
but now he’s gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I’ll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I’ll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he’d keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea’s movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean’s spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don’t now and never did lie to each other.

So now he’s gone and I buried him,
and that’s all there is to it.

Pablo Neruda.

*Posted by Debi Hill

 

Stop All the Clocks

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden.

*Posted by Max Adams

 


The Meme: “Let’s flood Facebook with poetry. Someone assigns you a poet, you post a poem by that poet, and if someone likes your post, you assign them a poet.”

 


In case you are craving other poetry: :::bukowski:::

You’re welcome.

 


 

christmas miracles

December 26, 2013

banksy_north_dakota

Know what that is? Ohyez, that is Minot North Dakota going Banksy.

I did not think we were going to get North Dakota but that baby came in at the last minute, just was we were wrapping up the Stripes count for Christmas. And you know what that means, right?

[No? You so need to get out more.*]

We got every state by Christmas. Yay yay yay!

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*Don’t know what Going Banksy is? Wow where have you been hiding?

:::GO SEE:::

 

 

we are playing with photos

December 20, 2013

 

And when I say “we” there I mean “me,” not the Queen of England.

Settle down, you across the Atlantic peeps.

[Also just to be polite right now but not really because I am not actually sorry, I will say sorry for all those Fourth of July cards I sent the queen.]

[But not really. I am totally not sorry.]

[Look at the name. Adams? You really want an apology from an "Adams" if you are "English"? I thought not. Back to the blog post --- ]

 

max_collage_dec_2013

 

Those are mostly photos of me. That could be because I am freaky absorbed with my own face. Or. That could be because I am reviewing my life and putting it in perspective at the end of the year [yeah, that is freaky, who evaluates their life at the end of the year, nobody, right?] and also —

News Flash. Doy. It’s my blog.

 

 

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