(For an unedited version of this blog, go to tempdiaries.com)
Some jerkoff named Josh Olson went off the other day because someone he barely knew asked him to read a script. Rather than just let it be, Mr. Olson decided to write an article for the Village Voice (and probably make a couple bucks) about such a violation of his person.
The more I read the article, the more annoyed it made me. So please allow me to speak on behalf of all the assistants and aspiring Hollywooders who saw this diatribe and wanted to punch him in the head …
I will not get your f—ing coffee.
That's simple enough, isn't it? "I WILL NOT GET YOUR F—ING COFFEE."
What's not clear about that? There's nothing personal about it, nothing complicated. I just have no interest in getting your coffee. None whatsoever.
I will also not get your lunch, your dry cleaning or your cocaine. I won't lie to your significant other about where you are or who you're with. If you want your car detailed, you can take it yourself. Oh, and while we're on the subject, I'm not gonna print out your phone sheet or your weekend read for you because you can just as easily do it from your computer.
This isn't anything personal. I have nothing against you. I'm sure you and your movies (which I haven't seen) are perfectly wonderful pieces of art and will end up in the pantheon of cinematic brilliance alongside "Citizen Kane," "The Godfather 1 & 2," "Apocalypse Now" and "Not Another Teen Movie" (really, I think it's a way underrated comedy). But go get your own f—ing coffee.
You're a perfectly able-bodied person from what I can tell. The fact of the matter is I am here to make movies, just like you. It's what I went to school for. It's my passion. So let me go to the set. Give me scripts to read. Let me review dailies. Involve me in the creative process.
If I wanted to sling coffee for a living, I'd get a job at Starbucks and probably make more per hour. But USC Film School didn't teach me how to prepare your coffee with three Splendas. In fact, there wasn't even a class on it, so I'm as clueless as you are on the matter.
And yes. You are a dick. A phallus that would make Ron Jeremy envious. For only a asshole like you would publicly take someone to task over this matter when you should have just politely declined and left it alone. Did it really merit an article in the Village Voice? Is a public flogging of such a random person really necessary? Have you considered anger management classes?
Listen you self-absorbed twit. I'm gonna guess that about 15 years ago, someone you barely knew took a chance on you and set you on your way. That is unless you're related to someone famous, in which case you only got your break because of your last name.
But if someone did take a chance on you, how about a little pay it forward? It's assholes like you that make this town unbearable for people like us who hope for the best in people only to routinely see the worst.
Oh, and if you think you're comparable to Picasso, think again. People study Picasso. His works hang in the great museums around the globe. I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that no film history class is ever going to deconstruct your 2002 feature "Infested" — a horror tale about insects who devour their victims from the inside out.
It's just not comparable to Picasso's Blue Period or any of his other Periods. Sorry to break the news.
And I'd love a decaf while you're in there.