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disneywizard
Third generation science/fantasy, pressed into noblesse oblige service, in service to the Los Angeles Science Fantasy Society, who named their first building for my father. Pop was a Radar Technician when I was conceived in West Germany, a Missile Technician then a celebrated cinematographer.
Mom was a NACA mathemetician, then NASA liaison 'computer' at MacDonald/Douglas Automation establishing software engineering practice in Long Beach, would bring home 132 column green bar fan-fold line printed Fortran code from which I learned GOTO and SIN()/COS(), pointing out logic and flow errors before I learned to read "Dick and Jane".
Between divorced parents I'd solder projects like the Altar 8080 on weekends with pop, then hexpad a KIM-1 at mom's.
When the Tandy TRS80 Model One personal computer from Radio Shack was announced, each parent asked me what I wanted for Christmas - "THAT!" I enthusiastically replied. "…too expensive." each responded. Staying with my pop at the time, he bought one contingent that the salesman toss in "Star Trek" game on cassette imploring it was his but I could use it. I learned BASIC in a weekend, and reverse engineered the StarTrek, improved the display, wrote my first published program "Battle Boat" [Battle Ship owned by Milton Bradley was not amused] in which the easy part was two player, but the one player required modeling my strategy in five levels easy through impossible [well, impossible was actually my sisters strategy, she peeked] and then using what I learned about peeks and pokes to plot my algebra homework which took four times longer as I had to manipulate polynomials to equal zero first, then I learned that mom bought a TRS-80 Model One independently as well. Mrs. Polanski, my math teacher, was impressed. Later Mrs. Seeds my college Business Data Processing sponsor complained that BattleBoat modified itself to adapt successful strategy into it's code, a big no-no. Today I look back regretting having allowed to be repressed from pursuing machine learning. Certain I knew software engineering was my future, having dropped out of 9th grade, completing self study, acing the California High School Proficiency Examination. For establishing a career at professional pinball I was pitched out on my ear by mom, I blew a gig at Fairchild in San Jose with a vehicular collision "If you're not in school get the F**K out!" It didn't help that I stole stepdad's Chevy Malibu to comply then wrecked it trying to save gas. I stayed with pop then, who asked what I want to do with my life "You can go to college right now with this certificate." "I'm GOING to college, but I'm not prepared, I haven't the skills yet." So I walked into Hollywood High and signed all my registration paperwork for Academy Fundamental as Senior the day "Alley Cat" Kirsty Alley took me home to her bedroom on the alley above the Paris House parking. My electives were Typing I and II. Being called queer for taking a 'home-ec' class I reminded the alpha-males bragging about auto, wood and metal shop that they can enjoy their hammer-hanging sausage-fest while I was the prime target as the only male (didn't hurt to be good-looking) in a room full of 36 fine developing females peaking on hormones. I used the opportunity to develop the study skills for college, a trapper keeper in a backpack wasn't it, which turned out to be a leather briefcase on light days or an Attaché case when more books went home holding a manila folder for each class using the face of the folder to record assignments, that and wearing glossy patent leather shoes, mirrored aviators, a white shirt and necktie, often a three piece suit earned me the nickname Double O Seven. I told Laurence Fishburn, who called me "The Don" he ought to have a stage name that didn't smell like burnt dinner - I'm glad he didn't take my advice. I was later told that Michael J. Fox character was modeled upon me, the "Young Republican" which they perceived. Since then my pattern was incorporated into Sam in "Benny and Joon," Homer Simpson and Sheldon Cooper, or so I've been told.
Then I financed my education as a Beverly Hills livery chauffeur, spending my retirement young and beautiful in a tux and top hat driving the finest stretch limousines and serving humbly as an actor playing the part of my interpretation of what, if I were rich and famous, would be most desirable in a servant for hire.
Two doctorates later, first in computer science specializing in modeling astrophysics and much later in comparative world theology, Kevin Costner invites me to Madonna's table, I've become, much unlike the Kardashians who are manufactured celebrity without cause or talent, I'm still bashful of onscreen fame, preferring to work my magic behind the camera, I've become celebrity to celebrities, yet I'm still your humble servant.
http://wiza.fun —(o=8> wiz.
Reviews
The Road (2011)
All filler, no killer. Creeping a film along does not a creepy film make.
A top-drawer script can be ruined by a poor director but no amount of top-drawer direction can improve a rotten script - I want my one-hundred-and-ten minutes back from this schmutz used to cover the porn hidden under the socks. This epic-fail is almost better than I could create in a weekend with some teenagers, an outline and a handy-cam with broken steady-shot because if it were well trimmed and tightly cut there would only be enough story to fill a quarter-hour. The plot is
is a decorated rogue cop who
, who
, oh yeah, there's no plot. The open-caption narrative subtitling in English throughout distracts even native Tagalog viewers, because the subtitling delivers the lines better than the actors. Schizophrenic hallucination transference (I must assume,) and the supernatural aren't enough undelivered explanation to fill the Kaybiang Tunnel sized plot-holes in this intentionally confusing yawner best screened in a theater for an air-conditioned nap. It's too easy to fall asleep trying to watch this pablum schlok, but there is no plot to miss should you do, it put the focus-puller to sleep over and over again. Low budget is no excuse for not employing a competent continuity script-girl, but apparently the fuzzy forms which vanish and re-appear among scene cuts and frame edges is. A tip to the viewer resulting from four frustrated attempts at genuinely trying to stay awake and stick with it - I was finally able watch it through to the credits, in fast forward. In FF you'll miss no story because the dialog is built into the open-captions, you'll not miss the easily forgettable laboriously long-drawn-out score and much of the film will return to normal speed. Here's a tip for Yam Laranas - Minutes do not manufacture mystery. Creeping a film along does not a creepy film make. If you're stuck with a thin script of kiddie-pool-shallow characters which is stretched several minutes between lines by vacuously empty repetitive images, don't liberally sprinkle your all-filler/no-killer film with over-crank and slow-motion to substitute for genuine tension or thrilling excitement. We want the killer, not the filler!