Self Affirmation For the Dead - A Novel by Robert Eisner & Iain H. McLean

2010-07-10T02:14:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the web site for Self Affirmation For The Dead, a novel by Iain H. McLean and Robert Eisner.

The book is complete at 90,000 words and is available for representation / publishing.

An inexorable odyssey into the American psyche in the Mojave Desert.

Self Affirmation For The Dead focuses on Robert Eisner, a once sagacious television producer, who finds himself stranded and a felon in the Mojave Desert after a rash decision during a journey from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. Events are compounded with Robert going cold turkey from anti-depressants, fighting withdrawal effects as well as his predicament. Facets of Robert’s world weave together in counterpoint. Told from multiple view points at different times, Barstow explores how Robert deals with being stranded in the desert while struggling to remain sane.

Self Affirmation For The Dead explores the world where fiction and reality combine in a mixture of hardboiled writing and gonzo journalism techniques taking styling cues from Hunter S. Thompson, Charles Bukowski and Kurt Vonnegut.

Robert on Eisner

2010-07-10T02:07:00.000-07:00

Right back at the start of the whole episode Iain asked Robert to put down in writing of no more than one page who or what Robert Eisner is in his own words. The following is the unedited outpouring. It kind of gives a little depth to the source material. A bit of color.

Robert Eisner - Biography

Description: A graduate with an Journalism major. Wow. Get me! Robert Eisner. I guess I never found my niche unless that niche is trawling bars at night trying to workout what went wrong. Ambition got up and fucked off so long ago I can't even recall how I got the job I hate so much. I do know one thing though: I'm a loose cannon. Mad. Knowing that fact has saved my sanity so many times. Knowing you're a little fucked up and accepting it is fine, pretending you're a wholesome balanced member of the country club is suicide.

Those Kenneth Cole wearing bastards are the most screwed up of the lot of us. That's the joke. The only way to succeed is to be a degenerate. A piece of shit. Then people will smile at you.

I wear shoes, not sneakers. I don't have a hairstyle. I have hair and it gets cut when it grows long enough to mess with the legs of my eye glasses. I don't wear them all the time. Only in meetings when I feel the urge to look like I know what I'm doing. I like brown. It's like black but not as goth. Fucking goths. I absolutely abhor alternative youth culture. There's no such thing. It's the same as saying multi-cultural. They're both paradoxes. They sound good but can never really happen wholesale as the pivotal component of what make them exist is the very thing they are trying to destroy. I use cutlery. Cutlery is a knife AND fork. One in each hand. None of this chop and stab bullshit that everyone seems to go for. The Brits have some things down that we may take centuries to understand. They have evolved. We haven't. We are evolving. Make no mistake, we are not and will not be British but those Europeans have the whole lifestyle thing down. They really do. If they didn't Italians wouldn't be stallions! I don't want to be European, I want to be better. I like reading. I like whiskey. I like to do both together. Often. I like knowing I'm outstanding at my job and when this damn writer's strike is done I'll be better as I will have had time to re-center my mind again and get focused. The whole world of American television is mine for the taking. If I make the right choices I can be a controlling factor in the mass media and then I can begin to educate those middle America fucking retards who think God created the world in seven days, but just in case we're wrong we should have the last nuclear arsenal ready to strike at a second's notice. Make no mistake I'm not anti-American. I'm anti-asshole and right now those Republicans are killing our country from the inside out. The only way to get the international community to do what you want is to help them, be part of them, work with them not impose demands on countries whose culture is different from yours and sulk if you don't get the backing of the United Nations.

Chapter Three

2010-06-26T03:22:00.001-07:00

Cold Turkey

Friday, January 11 2008.

6:34am.

I think I'm in love with my pillow. Each morning it greets me without fail. Each night it soothes my head and watches over me as I sleep. I've stared at this pillow for years. We go a long way back. Back to the days of Lauren Fitzgerald. Lauren was amazing. She probably still is. We didn't drift apart so much as I became the dam that held her back so I did the right thing. I let her free. I let her touch her sky while mine closed in on me. I don't miss her anymore. I miss the feelings we had. In some way, deep down inside I still love her. It's not that college kind of ‘force your way through a crowd to get to her’ love; it's the ‘I hope she's doing well’ love. A lot of what she showed me about myself has been left to the ravages of time. I still send a card each Christmas. I've never gotten one for Hanukkah but I don't really expect one.

Who am I? I'm not sure that's the right question. My question would be what am I? What have I become? I guess the answer is only a few days away once my system detoxes and my mind opens for business again. I hope I'll find a good person again. I suppose I'm like a mom and pops business. I've been around for ages and everyone thinks they know Robert Eisner but if you ask them who I am I don't think too many would answer right away. Most would probably say something like: ‘he's a producer’. That's not me, that's my job. Who am I? I'm the son of a carpenter but I'm not the messiah. I'm a high school graduate with a college degree. I like to cook. I like to impress with my culinary skills to hide the fact that Paxil has robbed me of an emotional response to most things in my life. I'm sure all those dates were good women but they can't all have been with the wrong person. Maybe they were. Maybe I was the wrong person. That's why I'm not going to take any antidepressants anymore. I want to feel. Too long have small white pills organized my opinions, randomized my train of thought, censoring those that were deemed extravagant. I hate swearing. If you can’t think of a better way to say it, don’t.

I can see it. That white pill jar. It's on my bedside table. That small round piece of plastic, that plastic prison whose inmates have held me back for so long. I have to take back control. That pill jar has become my flagship of apathy. When our paths crossed I ceased to care. The world outside didn’t matter anymore. They got me. Like the drone I have become I cannot survive without the mother’s milk. I am one of the clan, one of the famous forty five, and our membership is tripling each decade.

Today I have a meeting. Nothing major just a one on one with Joel Katz at Television City. That goddamn network. They never do anything ahead of time. Always at the last minute. Reactionary. Blind-sided. Joel's a great guy; a small guy with a great smile. I thought he was gay at first but then I found out he's married with kids and uses his feminine side to charm both his clients and enemies. That's his best attorney tool. His girly good looks. No one takes him seriously; how could they? How could a five-foot-four faggot possibly win in court? Well he does. He's often told me how he has all the secrets of Hollywood in his files. The things no one wants to get out. The things that could stop business for the country’s largest television network. He's a facilitator. He makes things happen and he makes things disappear. He smiles, constantly. Probably because he knows the truth behind the rumor; the rumor he probably started to serve as a smoke screen.

Apparently Joel's secretary left him a voicemail at seven thirty while he was still home eating breakfast. Like he said in the message he woke me up with.

“What the fuck! What's so important she has to call so early? I was out all damn night! Hey Rudy came through. I don’t know what you’re getting into but play safe buddy. Play safe. As for work; I don't know what's going on but I wouldn't put anything past those assholes!” The message ended. The beep rang out in the apartment from my living room to me, still cocooned in bed. I've always agreed with Joel, not because one day I might need his services but because he's my friend. Bedsides we're not curing cancer, we make daytime television that keeps the brain-dead voting masses in their vegetative state.

All the time they'll be there: my small white pills. Just in case. They'll be safe in their white box and shoved deep in a pocket. Just in case. If things get too much; if that happens I'll postpone. I'll go cold turkey some other time. I wonder if I'll get my sex drive back. I hope so. I look cool. I smell cool but I feel nothing. I find it hard to stomach that one sixth of pre-pubescent children will never know the true emotions that course through your system when you are erotically charged. With the future mapped out for these poor kids the very fundamental element that makes our world what it is, sex and love making, the very thing everyone is searching for; the intimate touch of another caring human, will be stripped down to nothing but a mechanical impulse. Even better is the main side effect of putting kids on such magic medicine. Suicidal tendencies. On their way to fix us they push us to the brink first. Slowly the men in gray suits have built a wall around us without anyone realizing. I just smile. All the fucking time. Smile smile smile.

Every morning I do the same ritual. I lay in bed staring into the pillows and try to think affirming thoughts.

I am a wonderful person.

Today I will face the world and smile.

Today is a new day and I am one step closer to achieving my dream.

I am a unique and amazing person with a lot to offer.

It never works.

These mantras are a part of psychology called neuro-linguistic programming. NLP. Brainwashing. Killer salesmen use these techniques to make you believe you want the fabulous room addition they are offering. These arrogant assholes call themselves rainmakers. What's more, inside two hours on Thursday evening while you and your significant other sit around your kitchen table, beginning to wonder why you called them in the first place, they'll have you thinking you need the fucking room! Anyone who calls themselves a rainmaker deserves all the lambasting they get. I used to say the mantras to myself in the mirror after I had my daily ablutions but I kept getting cold. My mind used to wander. Now I just run them through my mind while I lay in bed. I sleep naked so standing in front of a mirror, staring at two hundred pounds of white sagging skin is not affirming no matter how you look at it.

I'm down to running them through my head now before I climb out of bed.

I am a wonderful person.

Today I will face the world and smile.

Today is a new day and I am one step closer to achieving my dream.

What's the point?

I put them at the back of my mind with the sheep I used to count each night before I became an addict. Lately the pressure of memory has become too much to bear. I am one of the lucky ones. I have insurance. I can afford the white hell. Some less fortunate than me cannot and there the spiral begins. The drug to end depression causes more depression. Forty five million citizens, fifteen percent of our nation, fall into the uninsured. A similar number are on Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitors. Maybe the chemicals should be praised as the new God since they teach us what we had was great. Like the paradox of humanity, our greed is driven by egotistical jealousy that makes us test ourselves. The one test all men strive for is to measure their greatness, and in so doing by the very nature of examination in order to determine how great something was it must first be destroyed before it can be fully comprehended. This cycle is the cross of humanity and we keep finding new ways to nail ourselves to it. I think I have tested myself enough. I need to examine what remains of my self; my life.

There is another reason I say my mantras in bed besides warmth and hidden cellulite; my best friend. My cock. For years now I have slept with the latest copy of Hustler under my pillow. Each morning, as the mantras begin to bore me, my hand usually slides up under the cotton to pull Larry Flynt's finest out.

Tits are wonderful. Men adore them, women check each other’s out and on a subconscious level homosexuals want them. No matter what you say we live in a matriarchal world. Boobs rule. I look at boobs every morning and wonder: why the fuck don't I get turned on anymore?

I remember jerking off when I was eleven. I used to walk in the back door of the house, ignoring my old man if he was home, and go straight to my room. Back then all I had to do was think about one of the girls from school; her white socks pushed down round her ankles and the hem of her pleated blue skirt barely halfway down her smooth thighs. Her pert young breasts tipping under her white blouse. M-mm! Fuck! School was good! I used to think about a girl for thirty seconds and get a boner. Before I knew what the deal was I worked things out for myself. I knew it felt good when I squeezed the end. That naturally developed into rolling my dick between my hands like I was trying to start a fire in my groin. Five minutes of furious fire starting and the explosion came. Now I get nothing. Not even when I wake up. I live in the hope that one day I'll be looking at some porn and have to adjust my jeans when I'll have an erection. Nonetheless I stroke myself under the covers every day. Who knows. Maybe something will trigger a relapse of my pubescent awakening. I like to pull back my foreskin and feel it slip over my head. That's as close to morning sex as I have been for a few years. Sad isn't it. I usually give it up as a bad job after I've read the jokes page. I try to gain something stimulating from my ritual.

My bed is warm and filled with my scent like a huge cotton womb to cradle me through the night. I have to get up. I have to go and see what is so amazingly fucking urgent that Joel had to call me so early. I watch my naked self in the mirror on the wall at the end of the hall as I walk to the bathroom. As I watch my penis bounce from side to side, engorged with blood, it's an impressive sight. Then as I pee the truth confronts me. I can't get aroused. The semi-on was only the result of my bladder holding back piss while I slept the required ten hours Paxil demands. Once my piss is finished so is my hard-on. This morning though I'm fighting back.

I'm twenty-four hours into my new self. Twenty four hours of no Paxil. Only a few days away from being a free man again. This morning I'm not using my carefully aimed stream of urine to push a cotton bud around the pan, I'm blasting a sea of small white pills. The last of my Paxil. I have made a decision. Today I go it alone.

Today it's time to be a man.

Today I learn who Robert Eisner is, learn who I am again.

Today I take control. Look out world, Bob's back!

This is my new mantra and it's already working.

Chapter Two

2010-06-22T04:39:00.001-07:00

Sex And Drugs

And Lost Control

“Will you be long tonight Mr. Katz?”

A short and immaculately dressed gentleman stepped out of his SUV. He looked like he was on a mission. “No. Thanks Juan.” He swapped the parking ticket in the valet’s hand for a ten-dollar bill and headed inside. Pausing by the glass doors to turn back round he said, “Don’t take it too far. You never know when I'll need to leave.”

“No problem señor. I understand.” Juan smiled. He knew the drill.

Something weighed heavy on Joel's mind as he waited for the elevator.

Outside, Juan backed Joel's Mercedes GLK onto the sidewalk, parking it feet away from the doors. He left the keys in as he got out. Nobody was about to jack any cars for a five block radius because Juan ran things. Before the end of the night he would convince a drunk production assistant that she came by cab since parts of her three year old Wrangler were already being crated up in a chopshop off Fountain in Hollywood, by the 101.

Looking up and down the lobby Joel was acutely aware how much his actions altered the lives of everyone he came into contact with. From the hotel concierge to the businessmen enjoying a mutual ego-pumping session in the bar. Even the beaners outside working the valet station. All this influence and no one knew who he was. That ate at his insides. His contract of employment at the network prohibited him from ever divulging what he really did for them. On paper, for the IRS, he was an entertainment attorney. In reality Joel Katz is one of the hidden men behind the Hollywood machine. He's not alone. There are something like six other people in town who perform similar roles. Joel is the only one working on a full-time contract and reports only to the network's President. The unique situation has its own share of positives and negatives.

The Skybar was buzzing. The atmosphere was, as usual, electric. Out on the roof patio under a myriad of heat lamps a fashion show for Zuma Stringz, a company specializing in beachwear clothing that does little, sometimes nothing, to cover the wearer’s body. That meant free cocktails. That meant Rudy would be there, somewhere, with his camera.

Appearing immune to the scent of sex in the air, Joel took his regular Cadillac margarita with him to the far wall of the patio. Admiring the view of the entire Los Angeles megalopolis he sipped his cocktail, hoping the sugar and alcohol would hit soon. He closed his eyes. It was already late and he hadn’t been home. By the time he took care of business, drove back across town and got home it would be past two in the morning, presuming all went smooth. It rarely did, hence the strong drink.

‘Hey, what’s up!”

A voice that in-your-ears loud and don’t give a shit proud could only belong to one person. Rudolph Whittman.

Joel shook the pap’s hand. “You get it?”

“Hang on.”

Rudy was watching a barman talk to a security gorilla in a tuxedo. He turned to see what they were looking at and pointed his lens in the opposite direction of the runway. While he snapped Joel prompted him.

“Well?”

“Oh hey, Joe, it’s cool. They’re in my bag. Four right?”

“Yeah. Who you shooting?” With all the nakedness in the opposite direction Joel wondered who Rudy was shooting.

Rudy looked from the viewfinder to Joel and nodded towards his subject.

“One of yours. You want to buy them? I’m the only guy who got in. I told them I was a Time snapper. The rest are kosher fashion princesses. They aren't hustlers.”

“You mean like you.”

Rudy nodded. He was a pure cunt. He sidled out for a better angle on the super slim guy smoking on a sofa like a linen clad demi-god complete with a metro-sexual pashmina draped round his neck.

“Yeah, he’s one of ours. So what? When did drinking become a crime? That’s hardly news my friend.”

Rudy checked what Joel was taking from his bag. Joel slipped the four five-ounce bottles into his pockets.

“No, but that is.” Rudy snapped more photos.

“What?” Joel strained his eyes. The bronzed god had tipped three white pills into his hand. Joel patted Rudy’s shoulder before walking to a quiet corner. “Fucking actors. The usual price?”

“Dude, it's Friday night!”

“So?”

“Give me fifty percent on top. I could be doing something.”

Joel stared at Rudy. “You don't have a life. What could you possibly do besides pester some fucking whore?”

“That's not the point. It's a precedent.”

“Give me a moment. I have to make a call.” Joel pulled his cell out and dialed. “Put me through to Les. I don’t care. Tell him I’m at the Skybar and we have a problem.”

While he waited for the call to be transferred Joel made his way through the crowd. He put his business card on the table in front of the sociopath Rudy was snapping. Rudy's camera flashed. Joel scowled at him. Rudy smiled and went to find some nubile flesh to photograph. He had made his payday. The spray-tan slim Jim looked up, bewildered by the card. Joel was about to show the world why he was paid so much. He glared at the actor.

“You're going to follow me. You won't speak. You'll walk ten feet behind me. If you don't I won't be able to get you out of jail.”

“What jail?” The actor knew that between the logo on the business card and Joel's no-nonsense attitude he had better do what he was told.

Joel nodded to the barman who was now pointing the actor out to three tuxedo wearing security guards.

“Les? Joel. Listen...” Joel stopped and turned round. The actor was still staring at the approaching guards. “Now!” Joel snapped back at his new service user before striding out of the bar talking into his phone.

The Story Continues...

2010-02-05T05:41:00.000-08:00

Since working on Self Affirmation For The Dead we dug deep into the events of that fateful weekend from the sanctity of our Los Angeles base. In the weeks spent compiling information to work out how to make the story interesting Rudy Whitman, a paparazzo associate of Joel Katz, delivered a scrap of paper that casts new light onto the fate of one of the people involved with the events in the Mojave Desert.

Read more about it here

UPDATE:
June 2010. Time has passed since the events that unfolded in the Mojave Desert changed Robert Eisner's outlook on the world. He moved north to the Bay Area to get out of the LA bubble and Iain McLean relocated to Melbourne, Australia but they're back on speaking terms and working together again.

Robert has been emailing regular updates to Iain since a brief return to his hunting ground in Southern California. They're not sure how the new project will turn out but so far the source material is interesting - a salesman from Detroit who runs a business in the Inland Empire with ties to the New Jersey maffia and an arsonist for hire.

Names will be changed to protect the guilty except for you, Ken, you fucking asshole.

Reviews

2010-02-05T05:17:00.000-08:00

Since the initial parts and various drafts of Self Affirmation For The Dead were handed out to readers (both professional readers for studios and other writers) it has been recieving great reviews. A collection of them are listed below:

"...The writing is crisp and well done with a richness in language and imagery. This is a definite must read."
P.S. Dunn
Author: The Wheels of Fire

"... A very accessible style. Grabs you from the outset..."
Alexander de Witte
Author: The Wisdom Tree And The Doormouse

"...Fast-moving, sardonic, stream of consciousness (a cross between Joyce and Tarantino) with an idiosyncratic turn of phrase that made me laugh on more than one occasion..."
Ian Cook

"...wow! This book takes prisoners, captivates, and leaves you gagging for more..."
Authonomy.com

"...In some ways, the style is evocative of the Kerouac era, many moons ago. I liked the underlying humour and the introspection of the narrator ..."
Mark Frankel
Author - Brief Encounters, A Collection Of Short Stories

"Truly OUTSTANDING work..."
Thomas J Winton
Author - Beyond Nostalgia

"... Holy smokes this is good stuff. The writing is crisp, there’s a laconic edge to your prose, world-weariness (Mr. Eisner) that shines through. This is very L.A."
Tom Bradley Jr.
Award Winning Journalist - The San Diego Union-Tribune

Themes

2010-02-05T05:16:00.001-08:00

Write about the themes in Self Affirmation For The Dead? That's a complex task.

How about: an intimate encounter with Robert Eisner while he attempts to gain control over his emotional being for the first time in years following anti-depressant use.

Anger is one emotion that surfaces, as is anxienty - obviously - but they are not alone as Robert pushes his body and mind to the limit in two days.

I think the overiding theme is an abstract of escapism: how pockets of differing socioeconomic groups deal with the modern American psyche, belief system, hedonistic lifestyles and capitalist regimes that are thrust upon us everyday and that leave few in thier wake.

Synopsis

2010-02-05T05:12:00.000-08:00

An inexorable odyssey into the American psyche in the Mojave Desert.

It’s Friday night and Robert Eisner, Bob to none of his friends, has just been ousted from his TV producing job. Heading for Vegas to blow off reality he finds himself stranded and a felon after the journey goes very wrong. Facets of Robert’s world weave together as his story unfolds. A blackmailing entertainment attorney, an online dating scam, a hooker chasing the American Dream, a soldier suffering from PTSD and the California Highway Patrol all crash together testing Robert to breaking point while he looks for serenity. Events are compounded when Robert decides to go cold turkey from his anti-depressants and has to fight severe withdrawal effects as well as his predicament.

After being unexpectedly ‘let go’ from his job, a phone call from an old associate in Vegas inspires Robert to head to sin city to re-invigorate his mind, cleanse his soul and amuse his body. Always a man in a hurry, Robert is pulled over en route by the California Highway Patrol. Unable to cope with another turn of bad-luck Robert erupts and the officer ends up unconscious in the trunk of his car. Panicked, Robert stops in Barstow to call Joel, his attorney, but is told to call back later. He rents a motel room and begins self-medicating to combat his escalating anxiety.

Heading out to find a liquor store Robert pretends to be a woman’s husband to help her escape rowdy rednecks in a bar. When the woman, an ex-hooker called Lola, learns Robert is from Hollywood she begs him to take her with him.

With the CHP officer still unconscious and Lola in tow, Robert drives out of town during the night to destroy all evidence of the officer’s kidnapping before wiping all trace of himself from the motel and ditching Lola, asleep in the room. The next morning the motel manager gives Lola an ultimatum: leave or he’ll call the cops. As they argue, the now conscious, semi-naked CHP officer makes his bid for freedom, stunning both the manager and Lola.

Picked up hitchhiking along I15 by Sergeant Macy from Fort Irwin, Robert finds himself driving back to Barstow. Macy just needs a few things before heading down to LA. Macy offers Robert a joint but when Robert refuses the sergeant launches into a psychotic rant. The two men fight and Robert narrowly escapes only to encounter Lola fleeing the motel. Reunited with her one chance at reaching LA, Lola defends Robert when he is ambushed by the furious CHP officer.

Against their judgment the three unite to steal Macy’s truck but get caught. Robert hides as Macy attempts to rape Lola. She fights back, killing him accidently. She jumps in Macy’s truck and takes off as Robert and the CHP officer escape, agreeing to a pact that neither will talk to anyone about what happened so they may save their reputations and liberty.

One week later Lola is arrested in Hollywood. She cuts a deal with the LAPD and tells them about the events in Barstow. In a final move of the chess game Robert meets Lola in a diner. He hands her a hot-shot, a drug concoction that will painlessly kill her, preventing the truth from ever getting out.

Exploring the relationships of reality and fiction Barstow is co-authored by the main character using his oratory as a launch pad for the narrative.

Witness Interviews

2010-02-05T04:59:00.000-08:00

As part of the research for Self Affirmation For The Dead interviews had to be carried out in order that I get a full picture of what happened, not only from Robert's point of view, but also from any witnesses there may have been. The whole exercise was time consuming and along the way I quickly learned just how much of an art interview technique really is.

Here is a list of some exerpts from those interviews:

Albert Towar
Read Albert's interview here

Ryan Altridge
Read Ryan's interview here

The Authors

2010-02-05T04:33:00.000-08:00

Robert Eisner

Robert is a veteran of the entertainment industry. He left his native Pacific Northwest home and a mundane cable network job armed with a degree in journalism to travel south to the media mecca of the western world, Los Angeles.

Since arriving in Hollywood over a decade ago Robert has worked his way up the often unaccredited career ladder from roles such as Hot Sheet Writer, through Production Assistant and Field Producer to his most recent position as Senior Q.A. Producer for one of the major television networks. Robert has taken an indefinite break from work, choosing to travel for the foreseeable future.

Email Robert Eisner

Iain H. McLean

Architecturally educated Los Angeles denizen Iain H. McLean resigned an illustrious position as R&D Director for one of America's largest home improvement companies to become a professional writer. Not a sensible move in most eyes.

Iain is now an award winning writer and has worked for two of the three major television networks on various prime time shows as well as freelance for independent production companies. Iain divides his time between Melbourne Australia, where he now lives with his wife, and Los Angeles where he has scripts both under option and in development.

Email Iain H. McLean

Iain has an other work currently under way called The Tulip Garden

Bob's Back... For One Night Only!

2008-12-06T21:44:00.000-08:00

Interesting thing happened today. I was half way done on the edit of the project when the phone rang. Lo and behold it was the mysterious mister Eisner.

He wanted to meet up and find out how things were progressing, and also to show me something he thought I'd like.

The one clause was I had to meet him downtown in the Biltmore. Cool. Don't know why he's staying there; and to be honest I didn't want to ask as I know there's a lot of pressure on him right these days following the fallout from the events back at the start of the year with Lola. It's made him almost transient in his lifestyle as he keeps ties to a minimum.

Anyway, I had a Grande Manhattan cocktail which I can highly recommend. We discussed the book and he was pleased about the progress it's making. That seemed to relax him while he chomped into a venison burger!

In the midst of all this he said my work pulling the his story into something readable and having it up on the web has inspired him to put pen to paper himself. He's got a few story ideas and a couple have already been written apparently. I guess now we know why he dropped out of being hand-on involved in this project.

The thing he had for me was nice. He's spent some cash on his Firebird and got her up the the standard my Corvette is, looks wise. His engine's a monster. Mine doesn't quite have the apcoalyptic, break-neck power of his. How he drives that thing daily without wrapping it round a lamppost is beyond me.

So ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, here she is... The love of Robert Eisner's life, Layla, the Firebird - and for what might prove to be one of the few times: Robert Eisner on film!

Brian Glazer Injects New Inspiration

2008-11-24T00:28:00.000-08:00

Hi.

I haven't been keeping up to date with the blog over the last few weeks as I have been working on some freelance gigs, earning the money while it's still out there, and also I have been hard at it on a major edit of the book.

Through most of this Rob has been elusive to say the least.

He now lives down in a place he's rented from some associate he knows that's north of Sunset on Hillhurst... so it's okay for some right?

The rest of us still have to live in the valley.

I'm on the home run with the edit and have made some major changes to the initial thrust that was Rob's vision. Having invested so much of myself in the project from the research and pulling the threads together I figured I was allowed to tighten the story a little here and there.

So far Rob likes what I'm doing.

Tonight I got a call. I was hard at it, watching TV, checking out the trash that's on offer when Rob called. The first thing is that he seldom calls and as we only met last week I was wondering what was up. The second thing is it's late on Sunday night.

Who the fuck calls anyone late on a Sunday night unless the call involves either drugs or a hooker at some point; or perhaps both?

So he tells me I have to meet him. Fuck me! Anyway he's rambling on like some kid on speed for the first time so I decide to head out. He also offered to shout me a cocktail so that kind of swung the deal as he's as tight as a ducks ass.

Any freebies from him are more than welcome!

Especially when it involves meeting at Formosa on Santa Monica and La Brea, who wouldn't like to have late night cocktails on one of Hollywood's original and iconic hangouts?

He tells me this weekend has been a killer two days as far as PGA (Producers Guild of America) members are concerned. They had screening of Bolt on Saturday morning, then Australia and a Q&A with Baz Luhrmann on Saturday evening.

Tonight he went to see Frost:Nixon and met Brian Glazer after the Q&A at the WGA theater.

Lucky fucker!

The one thing I got from the conversation that was had was something about Brian telling Rob that the main reason he [Brian Glazer] got on so well after having gotten Splash made was that he knew that the word "No" is only a temporary statement.

Rob told me that Brian said that when someone says "no" during a pitch meeting he asks them what they're actually saying no to... as the project hasn't been realized yet and is completely intangible so there is, in fact, nothing to say no to - only their inadequacies as a producer to make the vision real.

This, to me, sounded cool. No one will admit to that. A win win situation that takes balls to make but invariably, according to Mr. Glazer, gets you what you want.

So now thanks the spikey haired genius I have a lunatic on my hands pressing for the latest copy of the book to scan through and red-ink again.

The other thing he told me is I have to see Australia, if only to check out the size of the vein on Hugh Jackman's stomach on one of the campfire scenes.

Apparently Mr. Jackman has been working out and it shows!

I couldn't tell if Rob was jealous of the vein or scarily drawn to it.

Either way after the second drink and a plate of sliders (which by the way are awesome as they make them with fillet Mignon and Blue Stilton) I made my excuses and got the hell out of there before we ended up in one of those all night drinking sessions that happened so frequently while we were beginning this project.

I value my renal system too much for that to happen again, and bile tastes like shit at eleven thirty in the morning the next day.

Albert Towar

2008-09-25T23:55:00.000-07:00

Albert lives with his wife Janelle in the last house out of Barstow on the North side of town. During my interviews with Robert I learned about Albert who aparently heard voices outside their house at night and went outside to investigate. Albert recalls seeing someone, possibly two people, a little way up the road. What he does remember is the fire.

He was easy to track down. Their house kind of stands out. When I arrived He was working round the side of the property. We chatted for a few minutes before things really got going. One of the stipulations Albert laid down was that he wouldn’t let me speak with his wife. He told me she didn’t see anything and with her hearing not being as acute as it used to be I would be wasting my time.

One thing Janelle did do for me was make cheese and ham sandwiches. I was only there for a little under twenty minutes in total but I got practically force fed! Their place isn’t anything more than and old house for old people but they have lived there for years and have apparently seen Barstow grow.

That statement surprised me. If the Barstow of today has grown I’m thankful I never got to see what it used to be like.

I asked Albert what roused him. What noise got his attention?

Albert’s response:

“See, we were sleeping. Up back. Jan sleeps like a log, always has done really. There ain’t much can get her up from a slumber. Not even me sometimes! Hell, I struggle waking her in the winter mornings. See, I make breakfast, outta habit. I used to always be up with the cock when I was a working man… I guess the thing that got me was voices. It was late. We don’t get folk round here much. After dusk the only things moving are coyotes. The voices woke me up. I heard two. A man and a woman.”

I asked Albert what he did when he heard the voices.

“Got up! I was out on the stoop in one minute flat.”

I asked what he saw, what was out there?

“Two young folks. A guy. I couldn’t see what the other was. Don’t rightly know if it was a guy or a girl. What ever they was they was looking real suspicious. Out in here in the dead of night. There was smoke in the air. Like an almighty barbeque. Jan stirred so I called back inside to hush her up. I couldn’t see far, see my eyes are shot, so I called the fire department.”

I probed Albert for more. All he was open for talking about that had bearing on the events was:

“The police department found a car way up in the boonies. I got told by the time they fire department got there it was all but burned out on itself. They spent the night driving round the area looking for whoever set it going. I told them about the two I saw. They sent a car up all over this side of town. I don’t think they found a soul. Someone told me they found a cruiser a few days later. Washed up in a ditch on the south side of town. I ain’t got no idea ‘bout that. If you ask me anyone out walking at night in the dark is up to no good. They ain’t never going to catch him. We get so many strays here from Las Vegas and Los Angeles. I don’t think they care no more ‘bout catching them.”

Ryan Atlridge

2008-09-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

Ryan is a Private "velcro" in the US Army. He lives in the apartment complex formerly managed by Samuel Macy. When I got there he was packing a Wrangler ready to head out to the base. I asked if I could speak about Samuel Macy when I told him who I was.

After a bit of a struggle he agreed to answer some questions as long as I didn’t make him late for work. He was a bit reticent at first but opened up pretty quickly.

During the course of our interview I asked him about the rumors that Samuel Macy was experimenting with his sexuality, what he did in his down time, how he was as an army trainer, if he knew anything about the Phoenix Lounge and of course about the events in Samuel Macy’s apartment.

The whole interview started out good. Ryan was open to talking and seemed to like the chance to be heard. He seemed to revel in the spotlight for a brief time but when the topic turned to the darker side of Samuel Macy, Ryan stopped his open dialogue. In the final parts of the interview his body language changed completely from the person he was when I arrived to an aggressive, almost stereotypical angry soldier. It was a real eye opener to see how radically his personality switched.

The following excerpts from the interview have been condensed:

I asked Ryan about Samuel Macy’s lifestyle and demeanor.

Ryan’s response:

“I don’t know. Dude. What are you asking? Did he say he was into that shit? No. He kept himself to himself. I mean… I only knew him for a short while. He was, you know cool. Like, he was a pain in the ass at work. He really fucked you up if you didn’t get your shit in line but that’s his job. That’s what he did. You should speak to Scottie if you really wan to know Mace.”

I spoke to Ryan about Samuel’s truck having heard about it from Rob.

Ryan’s response:

“Sure. He was a nut job. When I got here he was drinking a lot but that seemed to stop. He got real into off-roading. He took his truck into the desert loads dude. He loved that thing. We used to share the odd six-pack sometimes while he fucked around with something on that thing. You should check out Larry De Gamo. He knew Mace for way more than me. He has a shop down in Victorville, some small place. It’s kinda hard to find but someone down there will know him.”

I knew Samuel was separated from his wife. I probed Ryan on this and the rumors surrounding Samuel’s separation.

Ryan’s response:

“I heard the rumors but that’s his business right? I mean, dude, if someone says that you’re a freak you’re not going to open up to the world are you. I figured he was just dealing with the rumors by keeping a low profile. I figured him for just another disillusioned vet. You see so many. The guys who come back from their tours and can’t deal with life. It’s fucked up. I have buddies that got trapped in the stop loss bullshit and fell to bits.”

I wanted to find out from Ryan if he or anyone he knew had ever been inside Samuel’s apartment. I wanted to know if Samuel have friends round at all?

Ryan’s response:

“Inside? I never went inside his place until I heard the commotion. Even then I waasn't sure. Fuck, he didn’t let anyone in. A fucking mess. The whole thing just freaked me out. I really don’t want to talk about it. Ask the cops. Fuck they won’t say shit. I dunno. He’s a cop. He was CHP right? There’s your clue! Those assholes close ranks. You ain’t gonna get anything from those guys. Look I’ll tell you what I told them. I heard the commotion. Macy’s truck got jacked and someone was in Sam's place with him. I don’t know what went down. I heard noise so I took a look. You know what? Fuck you! Ask your friend, maybe he was into the freaky shit.”

I wanted to find out about the bar Robert mentioned. I asked Ryan if he knew about it and the things that supposedly went on in there.

Ryan’s response:

“Do I drink in the Phoenix? Fuck no! Dude you want my advice? Keep the fuck away from that place. Look, sir, I have to go. I’m due on at the base. You done? Good. I’m finished. Please leave. Go. ‘kay? Leave. I’m done. Don’t come round here again.”

Cheers! ... in Barstow?

2008-09-10T23:36:00.000-07:00

I've been busy for the last week getting all my notes together. Since Robert dropped his therapy bombshell I have been frantically trying to get all my notes in one place so I can work out how to run this site single handed for the time being.

One interesting fact I have stumbled across this week is that the TV show Cheers was originally going to be set in Barstow!

The story I was told is that the first idea was to have an American version of the British show Fawlty Towers and base it in Barstow. The main character Sam Malone was going to be a former football player, not a baseball player. Apparently once they cast Ted Danson in the role they figured he looked more baseball that football so the producers switched out the locations and made Sam a Boston boy.

How different would life have been for Rob if Cheers! did air based in Boston. A whole different type of people would now be living there. Food for thought indeed.

Neutra Art & Rob's Sabbatical

2008-09-04T00:43:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Rob's place. We've got good news and bad news. As you already know from his previous post, Rob will be taking a breather from the site and posting for a few weeks to sort himself out so, all the best pal and come back fighting fit!

The other news is that following a meeting this earlier this week, Max Neutra has agreed to come on board as the artist for our project. We are all really delighted with that news and over the coming weeks hopefully you will begin to see the exclusive art collection as it grows.

An Official Statement.

2008-09-04T00:18:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone. It is with a heavy heart that I have to say for the immediate future, Iain will have sole control over this project. Since Rudy gave us the paper showing the call out to a Hollywood location for a deceased female I have not felt at all well. Posting the note on this site only forced me to over analyze my thoughts. I cannot continue to discuss the issues surrounding our project without jeopardizing my well-being. Seeing that note on the site hit me hard and brought the finite reality of all of this crashing down hard on me. In March I began working with Iain on our project and opened myself to examination. So far he is the only person to know the full list of events. That process of inward looking brought forth more than I imagined would come. I now need to heal and come to terms with what has happened.

I have given Iain the authority to keep up our work on here for all to see while I seek therapy. I have demons to deal with. That is the main reason Iain or myself have not posted for nearly a week since the previous issue. I asked Iain not to post until I had reached a decision in my own mind. After nights of little sleep and long unfilled days I know I have to let go and get help. The wounds form January are still raw for me. Iain has all the interviews and research at his disposal and shall both be in regular communication. I will be available via email for anyone who wants to ask any questions but I will not be, for the immediate future, posting.

I have heard from Chip in NYC that the meetings didn't go as well as I expected and my hope of an escape route from everything has not materialized.

What I have asked Iain to do is to fill everyone in with the roll call and who's who of the January saga. With new information coming to light recently we have learned that, as always things didn't end where we thought they did. Please support Iain in his efforts.

Until next time.
Peace.
RE

Lola's Call Sheet?

2008-08-29T17:55:00.000-07:00

As promised here it is. The latest offering from one Rudolph Whitman, scavenger extraordinaire. I don't want to know where this came from and neither does Robert.

Suffice to say since it's arrival in our presence Rob has been a preoccupied man more than usual.

Following my interviews with him about the week following his trip up Interstate 15 I know about the last time he met Lola, or Janine or whatever her real name was.

I also know the state he was in at that time; the blind panic and sudden rage. The drinking probably didn't help matters but every man has his vice. Those factors make the data contained on the sheet seem a credible explanation.

That said, without further ado I present item number Ω:

New Line Executive wants Barstow!

2008-08-28T21:05:00.000-07:00

Thought all you good people might like to see this. Ignore the bitchy part about my lack of phone etiquette and concentrate more on the first few lines. Seems young Mr McLean is making waves in the right area and dragging Barstow along behind him!

Here's what just landed in my inbox... typos and all!

Check out line 5. I think he means for me to "dig it out" but hey, he's only a writer! That's a good thing to have happen, don't you think? How many other book projects have a movie studio ask about their story before actual publication?
RE

A Threesome and a Scrap of Paper.

2008-08-28T11:50:00.000-07:00

So I drop my wife off at the airport last night and begin making my way back over the hill to the safety of the valley when I get two calls.

First up was Robert, telling me he'd had lunch with Joel, spoke about Rudy's 'find' and that he wanted me to call Joel to try and make sure I understand what it is Joel's telling us.

These lawyers, why do they speak in legalese all the time?

The second call just as I was passing under the Getty was from the man himself, Mr. Katz. His advice, after a lengthy call, turned out to be to publish the paper that Rudy gave us.

Joel said that due to Rudy's act of ripping the paper in two and luckily retaining the half with the phone numbers and ID number on it our scrap becomes more ambiguous.

That apparently works in our favor. Don't ask me how, I am not a lawyer.

Joel then went on to say that in the event of our publishing the artifact and causing someone somewhere problems the worst they can do, due to the lack of corroborating evidence on our half of the page Rudy left us, is send a cease and desist letter from an attorney asking we remove it from the blog and either destroy it or return it.

If that happens then we will certainly give it back to Rudy! What he does then is up to him.

So.

In the next week or so Robert and I shall be posting an image that will hopefully begin to shed light on the situation post Barstow. All I am waiting for is to get the piece of paper from Rob himself so I can scan it and get it on the site for you all to see.

You'd think a guy who works in such a high tech environment would have a scanner at home!

Nelson, Digital Kitchens & Burning Man

2008-08-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

First of all a huge shout out to Nelson for the re-skinning idea for the blog. Spoke to Iain about it and we now have a clean eyes and reader friendly site. Thanks Nelly. For the rest of you I met Nelson while in NYC waiting for a meeting. He was grabbing a coffee from the machine and recognized my name. We spoke for a bit then grabbed lunch later - he wanted to ask me about January and how I managed to pull my shit back together after Barstow. This post isn't much about the story behind the book but I wanted to put it up anyway. I had a great meeting with guys from Grundy and Thames so the future looks bright for sure. Nelson was in one of the offices as a freelance web geek. He told me his dream is to work for Digital Kitchen who apparently are the top when it comes to web design type stuff. Me? I'd just be happy with a kitchen that has a breakfast nook!

Nelson also casually informed me that he would be flying out to CA to meet up with some old Berkley college friends in the Black Rock Desert for Burning Man. I've never been but heard and seen plenty about it. He say's he's a part of The Naked Chess Federation. I have also heard a rumor about that from someone I used to work with. These guys, as Nelson puts it: "play interactive chess." What that means, I was amazed to find out after probing a little, is that they get naked but for a couple of items of costume and become chess pieces on a 192 square feet board in the playa! They invite passers-by to 'play them'. One team is apparently sprayed white and the other red. If you're up there at Burning Man this week look out for them. He told me the basic outfits were:

Pawn: Gimp hat and harness.
Castle: Hard hat and buff body.
Knight: Suit of armor helmet and pony tail style butt plug.
Bishop: Miter and green/gold stole.
Queen: Stockings and garter belt, bra, wig and female make-up.
King: A Prince Albert fastened to chain round midriff and a steel crown.

Makes you think doesn't it. When you think your life is crazy there's always someone else who is closer to the edge! Maybe it's things like this that have always kept me at arm's length from Burning Man. Back to the main theme tomorrow. Thanks for the great comments so far keep them coming!
RE

The Breast of LA Weekly

2008-08-24T00:56:00.000-07:00

I landed a few hours back at Burbank's statement of inadequacy, the Bob Hope Airport which is located in cunningly close proximity to Valhalla Memorial Park. Whether this is a designed town planning layout or a Freudian fuck-up I don't know but they could do with expanding the boundaries of the park to encompass the airport and be done with it.

NYC was a good trip I had a handful of great meetings and some really beneficial face time with people who can get me to where I want to be soon in this progression they call career. With the events of the last few days swimming in my cranium I got in the car after leaving the terminal and checked my cell only to get some garbled message from Iain. Apparently he's been hanging out at the Sunset Junction Festival and run into a really cool artist who he want's to hook me up with for a get together. I have no idea what he has in mind until I call him tomorrow.

Then I really know that I'm back in La-La Land when I grab a copy of LA Weekly and read on page 40 that today August 23, 2008 at Venice Beach I missed out on putting my best breast forward in support of Go Topless Protest Day. I'm sure the bums had smiles all round and the cops had their hands full. Literally. Only in LA would that happen. For the last few hours I've been sat smiling at the mental imagery of semi-naked men and women running down the boardwalk with cops chasing them... the sad part is you can bet your ass most of the nakedness will be from saggy granola eating hippies and not the pert fashionistas we'd like it to be.

Any-fucking-way. I am way tired to be up writing here. I see Iain's been spreading the word again with all the hits we've been getting and the remarks left in my inbox and on here so I'm off to consider vehemently self-polluting myself and further crippling my debased moral attitude with images of a 56 year old naked women running down Venice Beach with basset hound titties flapping in the salty air. Now that's why real estate prices down there are so high!

Pause to check out the cause. Vive le resistance! Did any of you get down there or catch a glimpse? It'd be kind of cool to know the authorities got all bothered by a brood of boobies!

RE

The Life Of A Hooker

2008-08-21T00:51:00.000-07:00

Who Is Lola Devine?

What we know is she was hard as nails. From Robert's recollections her real name was something like Janice, Janine or Janie. She only half-mentioned it once. Her work name of choice was Lola from the Kink's song.

The Devine part isn't what I would expect - it's not Godly in a sarcastic fashion... it's a homage to a porn star called Ava Devine!

While in Barstow Rob shared a few hours with the lovely Lola and learned a bit about her but more about himself in the process. She told him she was going back to Los Angeles after working for a term in Vegas as a hooker to make easy cash. Apparently the work there is better and safer than here in Hollywood.

Rob told me during one of our interviews that Lola started out by mistake. She was at some party and got carried away with two guys.

That lead to a drop in her inhibitions and she took the plunge as a hobby more than an source of income. I suppose it must be like Pringles... once you pop you can't stop!

Concerning STD's Lola had one word... well two actually and as a writer I'm jelous I didn't come up with them: Plastic Fantastic. She reckoned girls like her take more precautions against STD's than the typical person having a one night stand at 1:30am on a Saturday morning in Anahiem.

She said she once fell asleep in the middle of a poker game while she waited for her client to finish. Seems pretty scary to me but her, I'm only a normal person.

Rob also mentioned that the thing she said got her most angry was men who are flakes. He told me he pressed for a little clarification that statement just to be sure he wouldn't fall into the 'flake' category. Apparently Lola once drove 55 minutes to a guy's house for an appointment after a lot of email to-and-fro only to be told in the middle of things that he thought she wasn't charging for the first visit.

Now I've never gone down that route: being able to form sentences and shower I have always managed to be able to talk to nice girls in nice bars. This saddo though must have been as green as a gherkin or as dumb as a dickshit. What working girl in history gives the first time up for free?

If that was the case frat houses up and down the nation would have hooker-hotlines.

The thing I find most interesting in all of this is that these women post themselves on craigslist for business. It's a seemingly common thread. Rob wanted me to include some of these things Lola told him in the book but as it had little to do with the actual events I opted not to but while he's away the mice will play...

So I thought you might like to learn a little more while we're having the documents checked that Rudy 'found'.

Hopefully in a day or two we will have an answer on those and be able to post them.

In the mean time thanks for reading.

The ADD Guide To Barstow

2008-08-19T00:27:00.000-07:00

We know something happened to Robert in January. We know it involved a woman called Lola Devine who had a later run-in with the LAPD.

We know it also had something to do with Eric D'Angelo and Robert's nephew Ben. There's a guy called Rudy involved and an attorney called Joel.

There's also a television executive called C*** B********** in the mix.

So. You're still reading right?

Good. Here's the outline:

Man wakes up in LA.
Man decides to go cold turkey from SSRI's.
Man gets laid off due to writer's strike.
Man drives to Vegas to meet friend from NYC.
Man only gets as far as Barstow.
Man crosses paths with girl.
Man is followed by girl like a syphalitic shadow
Man leaves Barstow.
Man is promised ride to LA by Samuel Macy.
Man and Macy have altercation.
Man leaves Barstow for second time in one day.
Man has a secret.
Man gets back to LA with secret.
Man gets contacted by person who he shares secret with.
Man has to make sure the secret is secure.
Man take the law into his own hands and secures a future.

There are bits missing, namely subtext, counter-plot and one very important character who we will talk about later but there you have it. A book in 16 sentances.

The Secret To Sucess In Hollywood

2008-08-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

Hi.

While I have a break in my schedule here in NYC I wanted to post something that's become important to me over the last couple of years or so. Through my career I have worked my way up the greasy pole of Hollywood, initially in both film and TV but latterly solely in television. Along the way I have pitched a show to a network, had it produced and got the all coveted 'created by' credit. I never actually worked on the show but that doesn't matter; because of my credit I still get paid.

During that time I became embroiled with a guy we shall call CB. CB is a network executive and someone I know from my extremely infrequent visits to the temple. He's also a shark. When the show got momentum in the offices of power CB sidled into the fray. Initially we needed his input but he soon took over. It has taken a lot of time and effort but Joel has eventually leveled the playing field. While the writer's strike was on CB made his move to have me erased from the show's history. Luckily for me I had Joel in my pocket to do what he does best, fix things before they reach the media.

That's not what I wanted to say but hey, it must have needed to come out. What I wanted to say was that most of the power players in tinsel town are highly medicated. Most have a base level of prescription drugs in their systems. Things like Lexapro, Citalopram, Prozac, Fluvoxamine, Amitriptyline or Paxil. These are SSRI's and Tricylics. SSRI's increase mood by increasing serotonin levels in your brain. Tricylics are more potent and generally older styled drugs. They also have the huge drawback of suicidal tenancies. The benefit of these drugs is that they increase your mood and let stress or pressure affect you much less. This makes the user more efficient in the workplace.

Basically while on these drugs you don't have any major lows. You have temper outbursts but not huge swings of emotion. This means you also have no major highs. Smiles rarely truly happen when on one of these drugs. What this means for the high attrition rate of the entertainment is that you can go into any meeting fearless of rejection. That is how I pitched the show. I didn't care if they said no. I wouldn't feel anything. The drawback to all of this is that it leave the user an emotional wasteland and more often than not a history of broken relationships and failed friendships.

In January I went cold turkey from the drug I was being prescribed. I just woke up one morning and decided to do it. Then I got laid off in the writer's strike debacle. Then... I drove to Vegas to meet and old friend from New York but I never got there. Barstow happened instead. What I am saying is that if you or anyone you know is living a life that is adversely affected by one of these drugs please visit the links I got Iain to put on the site. No one should have to live like the executives in Los Angeles, no one deserves to be that afraid and lonely of happiness.

I made it off the damn things and feel 110% better for it. So can you with the support of the websites listed. Good luck in your attempts and email me if you need to talk. Right now I have to go to a meeting with Grundy Television. Thanks for reading. Thanks also for the great and supportive emails I have received from some of you. If any of you worked out ways to deal with your withdrawals share them in the comments section.

RE

Girls Girls Girls

2008-08-16T14:25:00.000-07:00

While Rob's in NYC I'm doing some more research, double checking you might say, and want to throw something out there...

Does anyone of you know or has come into contact with a person named "Janine Cork" in the Los Angeles area? It may be Janice or Jenine. I'm pretty sure the surname is Cork however. The handwriting is hard to make out clearly.

She would be slim, white with shortish dark hair. Not sure what eye color. Strong willed / foul mouthed and had been in Vegas for some time from January 2008 and prior.

She didn't mention areas in particular as far as Rob can recall but she was headed 'back to Hollywood'. We are not sure if she was a long term resident of the area of a transient person who moved a lot.

Following Rudy's 'find' I want to do some more digging.

It would be great to have your help on this one. We've exhausted our usual routes and nothing big has turned up so I thought you might be able to help and become involved with the project.

Robert and I would be extremely grateful if you would let us know any information that could help.

Thank you.

Paxil

2008-08-15T14:05:00.001-07:00

You may have noticed new links on the side bar.

Rob asked that I put them up as they are important to him and something he wants to share with everyone when he gets back in town.

With that said I will leave it for him to elaborate.

Legal Issues

2008-08-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

Morning.

Last night I drove over the hill to meet up with Rudy; Rob's already mentioned him so there's not need to bring him deeper in! Suffice to say he is the sort of person who defies logic.

Rudy is a all grizzled hair and sweat but manages to get himself in the best places. I don't know how and I don't ask; just put it this way, the guys you see working for TMZ are models compared to Rudy!

Anyhoo I met him over on Fairfax at Oki Dog where he gets his nightly nutrition. He gave me some info that brings new light to something we thought we would not get answers to. The info in question is a sheriff report from a call in January.

I have suspicions about it but it looks genuine. Firstly the sheet has three punched binder holes that are over some of the text boxes on the sheet. To me that says the sheet was not designed to be punched as some words now have letters missing. The holes have also been ripped out - like it was torn out of a file.

Secondly the bloody thing is filthy like someone's been holding onto it in the trunk of their car for ages.

He tore the thing in two. Rob and I have one half and he kept the half with the badge number and phone numbers on. He reckons that is his insurance.

Fuck! people like him piss me off. They ask for money then want more and more like we're some kind of frigging bank! Fair enough what he showed me was worth it but for the cash he got we should get all the sheet not half of it!

Last night Rob and I agreed extreme caution was needed until we can cross-check it to verify some of the details. Not that we don't trust Rudy, we just don't know where he gets this stuff so if he want's to play with fire that's fine. We'd rather not get burned thank you.

So... we'll not be posting the sheet just yet but keep checking back... Rob's making calls and hopefully by the time he gets back from a forthcoming New York trip he might have answers.

The only thing that made us stop in our tracks was the description on the sheet. From what we can make out the handwriting says: "White Tank w/Hollywood motif. Red Pleated..." Then it's torn in two.

The other thing is the name listed: "Janine" from what we can see.

Both these things match with what Rob can recall Lola telling him her real name was and what she was wearing. He's not 100% on the name but it's bloody close. Scarily close.

So. Until we have been advised how to handle this we're keeping it to ourselves. What we thought was dead and burred rises up again to bite us in the arse!

Rudolph Whittman

2008-08-14T14:21:00.000-07:00

For my next installment of the who's who of BARSTOW I'm going to introduce Rudy. Before late January I didn't know him. He's a photog, a pap, a low life basically. He's out round town at all hours getting shots of famous people that he can sell. This makes him the idea go-to man. He knows door staff, security men and all sorts of folk. A dude like that can pretty much find anything and that's why Joel Katz keeps him close. Like they say; friends close enemies closer! Anyway Rudy's a big hairy beast of a man with ihs own agenda and timezone. He called today out of the blue and said he'd got somethign for us so I guess we'll see what it is when Iain goes bring it back.

RE

*** BREAKING NEWS * The U.S. Department of Defense******

2008-08-13T18:41:00.000-07:00

"BARSTOW" is a hit!

I can't believe it! I just got of the phone with Robert and he's checking it out too!

We have a couple of gadgets in the code for this site that enable us to track who has been here and when and what they looked at. All good stuff when you consider our intellectual property is on display for all and sundry to look at. This type of technology is freely available on the web and will turn even the most technophobe into a pseudo-java geek in minutes.

Since sending out my mailshot thingummyjig yesterday we have had a horde of people hitting the site to read it. One of those hits was from the Advanced Research Project Agency or to use their buzz-word acronym: DARPA.

You can read DARPA’s Strategic Plan by clicking here.

Are we to be flattered? I think we are.

Yes this is an amazing project but I'm not quite sure what it has to do with developing new technology for use by the military.

So our little project has spread far and wide and is now being followed by the men in suits, who are probably reading this post from a bunker under a mountain somewhere. If Rob and I can brighten up their day by sharing "Barstow" with them then so be it. We'll consider it our national duty to keep the men who keep us safe happy and smiling!

Today's Mailshot

2008-08-12T21:05:00.000-07:00

If you've already read the previous post you'll have no doubts about why I'm on here. I got in the grip of email fever this morning with a new software program that allowed me to mail shot everyone I knew! I think that with all my hard work in this project so far telling a few friends about it shouldn't be anything bad.

We've had a lot of visitors today and a few great messages like the one from Michael in Encino who says:

".Jesus, Iain, this is amazing. I'm a sucker for this sort of thing (Hunter Thompson fan, low moral constitution), and I'll be checking in to the blog regularly...."

Then there was one from someone who wasn't so kind. All it said was:

"GET LOST!"

Over the next few weeks we'll be posting snippets of what Rob and I went through once we started this monster. I unearthed some pretty weird findings I'll tell you.

Most of the initial work was done in either Bob's Big Boy on Friday afternoons while both our cars were sat outside with all the other classics or in various cafes over brunch.

Following our initial meeting we both knew we liked great beer and it soon became evident we also shared a passion for old cars and good food. Rob owns a '68 Firebird in blue with a rag top and I have a numbers matching silver '75 Corvette with T tops.

With my initial discussions with Rob complete I took the recordings I made and worked out who I had to find and what I needed to know from them.

Using this as a base for almost everything in the book we both knew pretty early on that Barstow was going to be very much a roman à clef using Rob's point of view for the most part. The bits of included where Rob wasn't present or didn't actually see what happened were written to the best of my ability from the data available.

Once we settle in this blog should be a really great thing. Not many people get the chance to share their research as well as their results and get good reviews. Mind you not many people have the raw material to work with that I did.

Well I have had a terrific day and it's all but over now so I'm off to see what the Boss wants - he just called.

Eric D'Angelo Spawn Of The Devil

2008-08-12T20:20:00.000-07:00

So while I'm going over the messages from the people that on Iain's Mailshot today I figured I would tell you a bit more about what you'll be seeing in Barstow.

One of the undercurrents we discovered in our research involved my nephew Ben and his buddy Eric. Eric is one of those kids that makes me pissed when I drive through town. The kid's always running some scam here or dodging class or some shit. For the past year or so Ben has gotten himself more and more tangled with him. The way I see it is my sister don't have any major issues so neither do I. If one of them steps out of line big time then I'll have something to say but til then I'm cool just trying to ignore it all. Eric's old man is Paul Morella an DP who works in the Valley most days or sometimes gets a good gig and is flown to some location to shoot. His mom is Allison D'Angelo and she's a bit-part soap actress. Best bit is she doesn't even use her own name! They have a so-so place in Silver Lake. It's a place a few doors away from where Keanu Reeves's band practice and just a block over is Beck's buddy. I went there once but it's not really my scene. They're way too 'alternative' in the way they live for me. The best thing about the place for me is it's a ten minute walk from Good Microbrewery.

Back on topic. Eric and Ben have a few scams running. Didn't we all at that age? Who want's to be stuck in school when there's cold hard cash to be had someplace else! I knew they were up to tricks but had no idea how deep they were until Iain dug up some pretty heavy shit when he was doing his research. Suffice to say Eric is right on target to be a player for a few years after dropping out of college then he'll probably wind up either working in a bar or running short cons for dimes and nickels. Ben's a bright kid but way too easily distracted. After finding out how he got suckered in by Eric on the hooker's scam I gave the kid a talking-to. Seems fine now but then again until this whole thing got underway I figured him for a good kid!

There. That should be enough for you guys for now. I have a missed call and voicemail from Iain to attend to, so no guessing what that's about; I gave him an angry-man phone call this afternoon, what with all the mail hitting my inbox! I hate writing these things. This is most likely gonna be the longest post I'll be doing - why hire a dog and bark yourself, right?

Later
RE

Mass Mail

2008-08-12T13:15:00.000-07:00

This morning has been interesting. The Firebird didn't start so I got a cab into work. Then a few minutes ago I started getting a shitload of emails about the website. Seems Iain's got the marketing bug or some such and has emailed who every man and his dog about the site! Well all I can say is someone has a lot of spare time!

Hope you newbies enjoy the read.

RE

Lola Devine's LAPD Arrest Interview

2008-08-12T09:27:00.000-07:00

Hi. Robert here. I don't plan to be logging in here often - that's why I hired Iain to do the writing - but I figure this one is worth the premier Eisner post. I hope you've noticed in the sidebar on the right side of this page we have a FREE DOWNLOAD for you guys. With a lot of bent ears and passing of greenbacks Iain and me have been able to lay our hands on a copy of Lola's interview in the Hollywood Community Police Dept. We have more but we're going to hold it back as material like this isn't meant to be in the public domain. I'll have to check out what the deal is on this stuff before I let any more out so hold tight and I'll get back to you at some point.

Thanks for reading.

RE

Let The Flood Gates Open

2008-08-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

I'll introduce myself first.

My name is Iain H. McLean and I'm a writer. I am in the twelve step program and each day I try to get one step closer to becoming just an ordinary person but the pull of words is far too strong for me. I have written for television networks as a freelancer and also have a couple of feature scripts doing the rounds in town with one in development. I guess you'll learn more about me as I post on this blog we've started.

Until now Robert and I have held off from posting much as we (for we read me) have been compiling research and actually getting down to the nitty gritty of writing the book. Now that process has entered it's editorial stages we have more time to post here.

I am actually hoping Robert will learn how to use blogger and help me out so I can concentrate on the book and not get waylaid with the web. So far he's been an incredible memory of events, as during the course of our interviews he has dictated whole passages what happened in Barstow.

The main body of work for me over the last few months has been turning his streams of consciousness into readable text and using what he told me as a platform for my own investigations. I have felt from the outset of this project, and Robert has agreed, that nothing we put in the book should be too far removed from reality. With that fact in mind I have been a familiar face in a myriad of offices of lawyers, newspapers, police departments as well as meeting some of the protagonists in bars and restaurants all around the Hollywood and Barstow areas.

The last thing I have to say in this post is to thank Robert Eisner publicly for giving me the chance to be a part of this project. He has introduced me to some great and influential people in the process and I'm sure that will help my career no end. For that, Bob, I thank you. For the rest of you, I hope you enjoy reading about how "Barstow" happened.

Opening Quotes.

2008-07-07T20:24:00.000-07:00

Use anger to throw them into disarray, humility to make them haughty.

Tire them by flight, cause diversion amongst them.

Attack when they are ill prepared, move when they do not expect it.

Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness.

Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness.

Do this and you will direct your opponent’s fate.

Sun Tzu

The Art Of War.

Robert wanted to use the Art Of War quote as the opening gambit for the book. I'm not sure what his original reasons were at the time of asking but I have included it here. Basically, to me, it speaks of the edge. Hunter Thompson is famously quoted as saying:

"...the edge; there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones that have gone over..."

Now if I was solely in charge of this project that would have been my first choice for an opening quote. Maybe in time I can get Robert to change his mind. Who knows. Hopefully you guys can put some good old peer pressure on him via email!

I realize that we only have the opening to the book posted but I think you get the idea that Robert's experiences in January were as close to what I would call the edge as I think anyone should come.

Chapter 1

2008-01-24T02:14:00.001-08:00

Thujone And

The Green Fairy

Maybe it hasn’t always felt like it, but I don’t really remember anything different. I can recall the first time I had a panic attack. I can’t recollect what it felt like, just that three days later my emotions began to atrophy.

I live with a terrible sense that nothing ever changes. Perception and perspective are abstract; they change, subjects don’t. I’ve felt like this since childhood, only in adult life was I able to begin to describe the sensation. More than one person has told me I’m a hard man to get to know, that I have walls.

So I have been back in Los Angeles for nearly a week now. That’s what I meant to say. Today is Friday. Eight days after I took control of me again. One week since I sat in Joel Katz's office. One week since I set out to meet Chip in Vegas.

Six days since I met Samuel Macy.

Today is the first day for a long time that I can remember feeling when I woke up. Feeling Emotion. Feeling like Friday. I'm actually looking forward to the weekend. Smiling. I'm a big smiling freak amongst all these shadows.

This morning's brunch was topped with a glass of absinthe, the Green Fairy, from Guillame's private cellar. I had to. I have an envelope that arrived today in the mail from Barstow. From him. The contents of the envelope could be the end of me. It's a trust thing.

Hopefully the thujone in the absinthe will soften my world long enough for me to do what needs to be done. I like this feeling. The subtle high provided by nature. The best part is you don't know you are under its influence until you realize you can't stop thinking complete bullshit and making it seem like an intense debate on existentialism. Dr. Ordinaire I salute you and your all-purpose remedy.

I trusted Marvin. He holds my life in his hands as I do his. We haven't spoken since then. Not a word has come between us since it happened. I'm still healing mentally and physically. For the first time in nearly ten years I feel nervous anxiety but I am controlling it. My emotions are trying to take over my intellect. I know this cannot be good but I like it, you see, it means I am alive and I'm back. I need to suck cold air into my lungs and feel my fingers tingle with energy. Now I know when I'm smiling, really smiling from the inside, as my cheeks blush a little and my brow rises in temperature. My eyes smile again, this time of their own accord, an accord with the world around me. My world. My beautiful world.

I like to come to Figaro's once a week and always sit outside. It's a boulangerie on Melbourne and Vermont in fabulous Los Feliz darling. To those of you from Idaho that means it’s French. Fucking awesome bread. My usual order is a single vanilla latte before brunch and a follow up when I'm finished eating. For my sustenance I typically make a spur of the moment choice from either the provençale omelet or croque madame. Eggs Benedict was a mainstay for a long time but certain movies have made that a living cliché now. It all depends on my mood but eggs are good. One of my earliest memories is Grandad eating an egg before going to work. It took me a long time to work out how you go to work on an egg. Eggs don't have wheels.

I absolutely adore Figaro's. I find it amusing how a Hollywood landmark such as Figaro's is owned by an immigrant. Guillame, caretaker of the great American dream, is not American, but French. I like the place’s worn canopy above the front door. At some point in time it must have been a vivid blue. A bright aqua marine to cut through the fecal brown that is Vermont Avenue. When it was first installed the canopy's luster, I assume, must have matched the splendor of the food. Today the blue is a vague hint of what is inside, a hint only for those passers-by who choose to raise their heads as they walk past. Most people don't look up in Los Angeles. Angelenos, or Elasians as I prefer to call us, never look up in case the bubble bursts.

A lot of people are around, more than usual. For some time I've sat and stared at the empty building opposite and thought about turning it into condos. I'd have roughly ten apartments, one penthouse, two apartments at the rear and three stores along the front sidewalk. That would bring in money but you know why it won't work? To make money, real money, you need big money. While I may have a pleasurable lifestyle earning way more than I should for doing what I find second nature, I don't earn that much. Hollywood isn't that great. All that glitters is not gold. Trust me. I've smashed a few mirrors here in my time. Believe me. Ask Naomi.

Naomi is what the tourists come to see. Uma Thurman. That's what she gets paid to do. Naomi does Uma about once a week I'm told. I don't like to ask too much but she's paid well. All she does is act cool. Chic. Gentile. Uma. Naomi is a sacred woman. Six three tall and seven inches round her waist. She looks like a walking cover of some magazine my wife, if I had one, would read in a hair salon. She's a stand in, Naomi, not my wife. I'm not married. I have a career. This is L.A.! Hello! Naomi always has a trios oeuf omelet sans jaune d'oeuf avec asperge. Her piss must smell really bad. As nice as she is I could never date her knowing she likes asparagus. Just imagine. We lived in the same complex four blocks away for a while before I moved to Burbank yet we only really talk here. Maybe it's the fact Figaro's is a secret bastion of cosmopolitan elegance in a city that sucks the life out of everything it sees.

I want that block of apartments. My second latte has arrived. In a few minutes I'll walk up to the bookstore and see what gossip is being spread in the world of Hollyweird this week.

Like I don't already know.

Like I'm not one of the cogs that drive it.

The car is parked where I have always parked when I come here, even when I lived close by. It’s on a meter around the corner. Naomi used to tell me that by the time I had dealt with the lights I'd be quicker walking but this is Los Angeles. You don't walk here. Ever.

"Open it. Dare you!" Naomi quips, drawing on a cigarette. She has a way of being very direct without intruding. Never breaking personal space but always breaks conformity.

Smiling, I slide the envelope back into my jacket and lean over to her table, taking her hand in mine, "If I do I'll have to kill myself and you won't like that." For the first time in ages I use a line "Many women wouldn't like that!" I whisper and she laughs. I return to sipping my coffee doing my best Inspector Clouseau impersonation. I think I scored.

Naomi's thoughts are almost tangible as she sips her water. Her eyes are betraying her body language. To be honest her body isn’t really trying hard to disguise her intentions.

I can feel my heart beating. Wow. I feel remarkably similar now to what I did when I was eleven and kissing Laura Cross on the bus ride home from school. Back then a whole Marlboro-smoking circus of peer pressure was watching to make sure our tongues went in each other's mouths. Today nobody is watching but I feel the same pangs of excitement running through me.

"Cynical. Very cynical Bob. You look good today. I see the strike hasn't gotten to you yet." She's the only person who I let call me Bob. To everyone else I'm Rob. Robert. Mr. Eisner.

I shrug. It's all I can do without looking like a schoolboy with an erection who has just been told to write up the answer on the board in front of the class.

I like Naomi. Not because of what she looks like but because of what she is. She's a bohemian-chic survivor. Her family owns a ranch somewhere in Texas and apparently it makes enough money to underpin the Cuban economy but she likes to play her game here knowing full well what monsters lie in wait. We both like the game. Never ending summers and only three days of rain a year. The world media watches you and your work with an intense focus bordering on obsession. We influence the way the masses think and act yet we still eat hundred dollar brunches on sidewalk tables on Vermont Avenue with bums shuffling past that stink like hell. That's power. I pat her hand and bid my farewell for the day.

"Listen, I have something I have to take care of but if you're not doing anything later I'd love to--"

She interrupts me again, "Call me. It's about time a good woman got her hands on you." She smiles and scribbles on her slightly soiled serviette before handing it to me.

I've never had her number before. I used to think that she probably never gives it out and that she most definitely wouldn't give it to me. I guess I was wrong. That's what Los Angeles does to you. The only way to live here, to cope, is to realize that most people are lying to you most of the time and when they smile they're actually thinking ‘fuck you’ unless they are that rare and exciting breed; an intern.

Interns are cool. They're fun. So much fun. New, fresh and naive. Full of hope that their break is coming next week. It took me six years in the mailroom before someone recognized and realized I was an intelligent life form.

I don't bullshit. I used to drink a lot. Now I don't. Drink makes buying clothes too expensive and turns you into a fat oaf. Drinking doesn't fit in with my new-man lifestyle. Don't get me wrong: I'm not gay. I'm not in their mafia, the gay mafia, but I am good. Fucking good. You have to be to survive in the business. You have to tread a tightrope between metro and homo when you're single. The women have to want to sleep with you but don't ask if they think you're gay and the guys know you're not but want you to be. That way everyone is talking about how hot you are and what a great job you did on the last show while they all secretly lust after you and want to jump your bones. That’s kept the name Robert Eisner on the lips of everyone I've ever worked with. Then on the other hand I'm not from Orange County, I'm not in the twelve-step program; that is, I am not a friend of Bill. To hell with Bill Wilson! I run my own program and it works.

I'm halfway round the corner when I realize my unconscious decision to skip the bookstore today. I'm going back to the Firebird. My pride. My 1968 baby. She's two months younger than I am. So long as I don't refer to her as Layla in the bars I'm cool or if I do, I don't refer to her as a car. She has all the markings of a woman; an unmitigated knack of fucking up your plans and a way of draining all your cash without you realizing it. If I call her my car I'm a geek. Geeks don't have power. Geeks have sympathy. I don't want either. But I do want to see what he sent me. I want to see what was so damn important that he broke our one and only rule. The one rule that can keep us both enjoying the lives we both hate so much but cherish all the same.

The papers fall from the envelope onto my lap. The first to land has her signature on it. The name she told me in Barstow, the one that she doesn't use on her business cards. The last was the cover. It's staring up at me with that seal of fate. The L.A.P.D. seal. She fucked me. She fucked us both. I have to think. Take in what this means. Is she here? Did she? No. Really? Here? I trusted Marvin goddamnit! I know I don't know him but I trusted the bastard! I'm going to need some I- statements very soon if I don't calm down.

I notice a fine pair of woman’s legs walking in front of the car and don’t react. The legs are stunning and I have no desire to react sexually. I know they are something most men would be distracted by but not me. You see I am chemically enhanced by the guidance issued by government of the United States of America. I have had my own humanity removed from my control and all for my own benefit. It’s not that I need to call the eight hundred numbers on the television advertisements for drugs that will counter erectile dysfunction. I don’t have erectile dysfunction. Simply put, I am an example of modern medicine, just one of the miraculous fifteen percent of the nation that are inhibited. We won’t be in the minority for long. Over the last decade our reach has tripled as our kingdom of apathy continues its march onwards. What I do smile about, when I am alone at night, is that they are not considered addictive! Last week wasn't withdrawals. To use the terminology people like Joel invent, I was merely experiencing discontinuation effects.

Without thinking I check the pockets of my trousers. They are still there. Pretty soon she’ll be nothing but another casualty of the American dream.

I had been looking out the windshield for some time before my brain registered that my eyes were open. Layla's hood is all paint and chrome so to notice legs stride in front of it, those legs have to mean something to me. Right now Naomi means many things to me. Things one day I'll be able to describe one day soon when this electric light orchestra ceases to conduct its symphony on my nerves. I used to be shy but now they call the condition social phobia. By my crude reckoning most kids in the country will be inhibited by Aropax as the term becomes adopted. Poor fuckers won’t see it coming.

"How's about a ride before my call time?"

Does she mean the car or me? Fuck! I can't wait for my emotions to register properly again. My cheeks flush. I hide a smile. I am embarrassed! She must mean a ride in Layla. This baby's just had an eight grand engine rebuild. I wish my colon was as clean as her sump. She knows how to pick her moments. I roll down the window to speak but nothing comes out. Naomi leans down and gently kisses me. A small peck. No tongues, just a simple kiss then she waves her fingertips as she disappears with a smile back to her apartment.

Within the papers that lie in my lap is the secret to how the rest of my life will pan out and it's all in her hands. I'm helpless. I have to regain complete control of my life. Stop this train wreck before it happens. I have to stop Lola. I'm so close to my goal. She can't screw it up now.

Self Affirmation For the Dead - A Novel by Robert Eisner & Iain H. McLean

Robert on Eisner

Chapter Three

Chapter Two

The Story Continues...

Reviews

Themes

Synopsis

Witness Interviews

The Authors

Bob's Back... For One Night Only!

Brian Glazer Injects New Inspiration

Albert Towar

Ryan Atlridge

Cheers! ... in Barstow?

Neutra Art & Rob's Sabbatical

An Official Statement.

Lola's Call Sheet?

New Line Executive wants Barstow!

A Threesome and a Scrap of Paper.

Nelson, Digital Kitchens & Burning Man

The Breast of LA Weekly

The Life Of A Hooker

The ADD Guide To Barstow

The Secret To Sucess In Hollywood

Girls Girls Girls

Paxil

Legal Issues

Rudolph Whittman

************* BREAKING NEWS ************** ********* The U.S. Department of Defense**********

Today's Mailshot

Eric D'Angelo Spawn Of The Devil

Mass Mail

Lola Devine's LAPD Arrest Interview

Let The Flood Gates Open

Opening Quotes.

Chapter 1

*** BREAKING NEWS * The U.S. Department of Defense******