Not just death, not just taxes…some shit will always happen. Like your little girl having her heart broken. You see it coming – little boys knocking on the door to play in the backyard, shy boys calling her to see a movie, bigger boys asking her out for a date. And than it happens. You find her one day in her bedroom crying over a dumb boy. Everyone gets hurt, no one goes unscathed.

Hollywood films everywhere – like even more every where in LA than the rest of the world but well, I live here so maybe it just seems that way. Bladerunner and Kill Bill was shot in the Third street tunnel (oh, is that Japan?), The Shield is shooting in Silverlake and countless number of villainous lairs reside in Chinatown (because you know, thats the only place we chinese people live,eat and plan our nafarious schemes). Fucking everywhere. However, two to three times a week, I drive over to the valley to visit the Sherman Oaks Castle Park batting cages and line drive balls to the fence. Cheaper than therapy man but less effective than hearing my mom nag. No one bothers me there and I don’t bother anyone. And its one of the few places that I have yet to see production. Until last night. As I drove up on Sepulveda and approached my haven, I saw cube trucks parked in the lot, people production assistants wearing red panavision tee shirts milling around with walkie talkies hanging from their belt loop and fat men grips below the easy-ups eating M&M’s out of a bowl. But of course they would film there. Why wouldn’t they. Golly, they shot The Golden Child across from my god damn apt decades ago, why wouldn’t they eventually crowd my oasis even 30 miles away. By and large, I don’t mind production but when the cute attendant who sells me my token, told me they wanted to rent out three of the cages to close it down, I was annoyed. Thats where I pretend to be Milton Bradley. But the manager would have none of that…good looking out man, good looking out. So they kept shooting and I kept hitting. Incidentally, note to production, in addition to batting cages, you might also find bowling alleys and casino’s rather noisy as well.

Not exactly sure about my little girl and who’s going to break up with her imaginary heart. He might be a nice guy or even a big movie producer an asshole, but really, who can stand to see a girl cry. Not me. So when I find this guy, and I will, all my time practicing at the batting cages uninterrupted, will have come in handy. I’m just saying. And that is my fucking movie.