Sabu Quinn ¬ filmmaking, screenplays, photography

Yo, Adrian!

Sabu — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 05:29:27 +0000

What Rocky would drive if he didn’t buy American.

Christmas in L.A.

Sabu — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 03:37:46 +0000

From the sublime…

to the… well, you get the idea.

Conundrum at the L.A. County Fair

Sabu — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 05:42:32 +0000

It was a tough choice. But I chose the chair.

Love Gone Wrong

Sabu — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 09:21:22 +0000

The aftermath of a bad first date? Did he anger, disgust or bore her? Did they get into a fight on the way to that supposed-to-be romantic dinner at Sai Sai? Or was he all excited, ready to surprise her at lunchtime on Wednesday, when he saw her on that Downtown L.A. street with another man, smiling, laughing, the other man’s hand hugging that precious groove in the small of her back?

UPDATE: The Cove

Sabu — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 05:37:19 +0000

Here’s The Cove’s petition to stop the slaughter of dolphins. The film is now making its way around the country, so see it if you can. You won’t be sorry you made the effort.

Big Red

Sabu — Tue, 05 May 2009 02:16:12 +0000

Jeez… you can’t take this guy anywhere.

The Cove

Sabu — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 03:30:05 +0000

I saw an amazing film last night — The Cove — about dolphin hunting in Japan. I still can’t get it out of my mind. I could go on and on about it, but words have failed me since I saw it. It’s that moving. As good as the trailer is, the film is so much more. It’s scheduled to open first in NY and LA, on July 31. If you watch the trailer or go to the website, and the spirit hits you, don’t wait to see this film. Do or say something now.

The Cove

New York Cares

Sabu — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 02:45:35 +0000

I wonder if the TV my wife once heaved out a window wound up like this. I don’t think she wrapped hers, though. No, before someone tossed away this bad boy, they took the time and care to bundle it up against the cold and bitter wind. Or to keep its guts from spilling out. Either way, someone once loved this TV. And loved it enough to leave it a bottle.

Splat! on Park Ave.

Sabu — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 06:12:46 +0000

A red & black glove is gonna get it!

Men Know Everything

Sabu — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 04:54:28 +0000

I came across a file on my computer titled “Men Know Everything.” Sounded interesting, so I double-clicked it. I don’t remember writing it; I don’t remember the barbecue it mentions; I don’t remember any of it. The piece doesn’t quite feel finished, but I thought it interesting enough to post — uncut and (almost) unedited.

***

I am a man. I know everything.

I went to one of those Labor Day backyard barbecue party things this year, the year 2000 A.D. It didn’t take long to feel like 2000 B.C. But it did begin with all the pretense of innocence. The guests trickled in over the course of an hour or so. Greetings were given, hands shaken, cheeks kissed. We talked, we drank, we munched. It was very pleasant. There was even a kid.

When barbecue time came, we all chipped in where we could. We ate and we talked. Then something interesting happened. And it happened with elegant subtlety. The women, they were gone. Vanished. I suppose they were inside, although I couldn’t see what they were doing. They had left the men to themselves.

And we men, excuse me, those men did what so many men do when they get together. They grab their dicks, metaphorically of course. Not one subject could be raised where a bona fide expert wasn’t present. From computers to oceans to driving to You want to know the half-life of selenium, well I’ll just tell you then. I never knew they knew so much. I don’t think they knew they knew so much./Neither did they.

Did they know these things, these arcane, succulent drops of information? Or did they not? They spoke with such ease and confidence that disbelief wasn’t — shouldn’t, couldn’t — be an option. I was honored to be in their presence.

Now I don’t know why guys act this way. I suppose in all fairness, I should disclose that I Ann can act this stupid. In my case it comes from wanting to know everything, but realizing that the more I know, the more I know the less I know. That is as frustrating to swallow as it is for you to read. But more and more, when I don’t know something, I say I don’t know. And what liberation that is. Sometimes it’s so easy it’s too easy, and I have to watch myself.

There was one guy at the barbecue who knew nothing. And he repeatedly, and with admirable ease, said I don’t know. In his case, I suspected true ignorance was the culprit. I can’t tell you how refreshing that was. I don’t know if he knew ignorance was bliss, but if he didn’t, he’d say so.