Wednesday, November 14, 2007


Three years ago my wife and I pulled into our driveway and just as we were about to get out of the car my wife grabbed my arm and pointed. Hovering over our car some thirty feet in the air was an angry black cloud of bees, probably fifty thousand of them. We could hear them from inside the car, and it wasn't a buzzing but a deep thrumming, a low electric sound, like a power line.

I've seen that bad movie so like the pansy I am I backed my car the fuck up and drove it around to the other side of the house where my wife and I could sprint into the house squealing like the terrified children we were/are.

Three phone calls later and a man shows up, dressed in a bright yellow hazmat suit carrying some sort of vacuum cleaner type deal. He proceeds to fill a very large bag with bees, focusing on getting the queen and removing her from the premises. My wife is extremely PETA proud but at that moment if the bee guy had told her he was going to take out the queen with whatever cruel and unusual method bees hate the most, she probably would've tipped him an extra twenty bucks to do it quicker.

The vacuum cleaner did the trick, however, and afterwards we knocked open a wall in our porch and pulled out an enormous beehive which had been built inside. Free of the terrifying bees, there was an air of sadness to the whole affair, and the various pieces of broken hive reminded me that in this story I am Legend, the Omega Man who hunts and kills mercilessly and yet considers himself not monster but persecuted victim.

But I'm sensitive like that.

So we've been bee-free for years and whether or not that's a good or bad thing for the ecology of my own little biosphere I can only say what is what.

But recently I have this:

Every morning for the last few months I walk out onto my driveway and find it covered in dead bees. Not a few, or a dozen, but hundreds of them, curled up on the concrete directly under my porch light. I know they're attracted to the light at night, I see them buzzing around there when I take the dog out. But some time between then and morning something wicked this way comes and I have no idea what it is.

Of course there's a rational explanation for this, and I've heard the cell phone theory and a few others, but finding hundreds of dead bees on your doorstep every day tends to get a body feeling apocalyptic. I fear a bee death cult, and a very determined bee Marshall Applewhite leading thousands of others to their demise wearing the tiniest of black bee Nikes.

Why the bee death cult has picked my house is currently unclear but surely my fault. More than likely (and certainly more than once) I have not thanked the correct authority, or bent my knee to the proper idol. I cut sugar out of my diet two months ago and lost some weight, but in the last week or two certain stressors have caused me to revisit an old friend (breakfast pastries) and make a few new ones (waffles and beer). I'm sure there is a curse attending those actions, but I've been fat before and it never brought a rain of dead insects down upon my land.

If I didn't make it clear before I've always been afraid of bees; it's not just the stinging but the hive mind that freaks me out. Is it that they actually think the same thing at the same time, or is it that they communicate with the queen so quickly it's as if they're of one consciousness? Either way and with apologies to Alice Krige it scares the fuck out of me.

So it's even weirder when I consider the thousands of bees who have made their way to my home recently in order to buzz around my light one last time and die. Surely if there's something specifically deadly about my house, something murderous to bees and all bee brethren, surely if that's the case at least one or two of them could get word out to the others to stay the hell away from me. I'm sure what happened three years ago is legend in the bee community--if my bees were relocated as promised then it's certainly part of the larger Bee Diaspora; and if the guy in the hazmat suit was full of shit and he killed my fifty thousand bees then surely their names are written on some wall somewhere so the other bees will Never Forget. In any event, if the bees are harnessing the horsepower of the hive mind like I think they do, then it is inexplicable why they would ever venture near my property lines.

Still, they do. And they pay for it. Every night. So maybe something takes them by surprise and they don't have a chance, or even lures them in with some carnival barker's promise of a resurrected Queen. It's Los Angeles, after all. Shit like that happens all the time.

Our city is nothing if not dramatic. She will not be ignored or left off the front page. We have earthquake weather and droughts and storms of fire. These recent days I look through the haze to the Hollywood sign and all I see is the Statue of Liberty from Planet of the Apes and wonder if we're already living in the Forbidden Zone but nobody's told us.

Instead of pilot season it's plague season. The power-mad and the craven and the greasy quisling fat from the king's scraps huddle nightly to plot their next incantation. Perhaps the bees are just the first wave. There may be frogs next. Or locusts. I recall reading of cattle-death, and darkness. But this is ultimately a battle for the firstborn, and the concrete scar we call our River teems with orphan baskets thrown over the wall in a last desperate attempt to save our babies.

There are those who would burn our city to the ground, scorching the earth to smoke us out. They would have us believe the fire is ours, that we are the masses of our own destruction. They would have us believe this but we do not. The tremor in the city is not a tremble but a quickening, and I choose to read the bees at my doorstep as a sign and not a curse. Our numbers grow, in the streets we move as one. For this is not a planet of apes but a city of Infinite Monkeys. And if there is a hive-mind at work it creates, it honors sacrifice and does not destroy. The red you see is the bloodmark we've written on our doors, protecting our children from a wrathful God. The sound you hear is not a buzz but a thrum, like a power line, or a chant. And all the pharoahs hiding behind their walls should hear it loud and clear:

Let my motherfucking people go.


Blogger Tim said...

Josh's recent blog entry brought to you by Jerry Seinfeld's Bee Movie!

I'm sure you've seen this, but if not:

Best of luck and all the support in the world. It is past time for you guys to get what is fair.

11/14/2007 7:57 AM  
Anonymous Joan said...

Jesus. Glad you're back. Sort of.

Any idea how depressing that was???

11/14/2007 8:10 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Strange that you would have bees appearing on your driveway like that. It's not cell phones that are killing them, but a virus.

Also, it's not a hive mind like the borg. There's no macro-level communication going on in there. It's more like a collection of individual animals carrying out a series of individual decisions that all happen to promote the hive as a whole.

Now you know, And knowing is half the battle.

11/14/2007 8:53 AM  
Blogger MaryAn Batchellor said...


11/14/2007 9:25 AM  
Blogger Les Becker said...

I'm with Maryan. Brilliant. And terribly, terribly sad.

11/14/2007 10:42 AM  
Blogger janthonyjackson said...


11/14/2007 3:43 PM  
Blogger Robert Green said...

Josh: And if there is a hive-mind at work it creates, it honors sacrifice and does not destroy. The red you see is the bloodmark we've written on our doors, protecting our children from a wrathful God. The sound you hear is not a buzz but a thrum, like a power line, or a chant. And all the pharoahs hiding behind their walls should hear it loud and clear:

Let my motherfucking people go./End Josh.

tell it to dalton trumbo.

there is no karma. good deeds go uncelebrated, and bad ones unpunished. the cry of the fishmongers don't matter. the working classes are manipulated. the writers do a bunch of stupid shit and negotiate like several monkeys flinging poo at canvas and thinking it's jackson pollack. the studios decide between borg or vader? maybe something in a harry powell or perhaps more of a hannibal lecter they ponder over foie gras and a nice zin.

and the middle (e.g. me and pretty much everyone not WGA i know here, from tere's mexican to the art gallery to the car salesman to the grip and on and on and on) is fucked by incompetence on one side and evil on the other.

awesome. the bees are dying because they can't fucking take it anymore.

11/14/2007 8:31 PM  
Blogger Robert Green said...

i don't know what overcame me with that last post, so back to my usual topic:

studio executives


how much i love them, and you, all.

11/14/2007 10:23 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

FYI, when in a swarm bees actually are not dangerous. They only sting to protect the hive. But I'm a sissy as well when it comes to bees. Last year there was some swarming activity outside my bedroom window and so we called bee removal. While waiting the few days for them to come, I slept on the couch like a wuss, leaving my wife and child to be stung to death in their sleep. They finally came and eradicated the bees, but several days later, they came back and covered the outside wall in a seething mass. The bee removal dudes returned and discovered there were 2 hive right next to each other and some 50 pounds of honey in the walls!...Most likely your bees are suffering from colony collapse disorder and tried returning to the last hive they remembered, the one in your wall.

11/15/2007 9:36 AM  
Blogger adamdoesit said...

Good to have you back, Josh -- even if Passover's a long way off.

11/15/2007 9:39 AM  
Anonymous kisno said...

glad to find your blog
I am with you man.

11/15/2007 11:23 AM  
Anonymous Chris said...

Um... Don't see "The Mist." I mean, it's an amazing adaptation of King's short story, and scary as hell. But in this frame of mind, it might send you into the waffles and beer for weeks.

Still, I think the ending of your essay is hopeful. The world might be ending, but we still have to name the things we love. And that's really the only way we have of saving the world.

That's the way I see it, anyhow.

11/15/2007 3:50 PM  
Anonymous RichardB said...

"!...Most likely your bees are suffering from colony collapse disorder and tried returning to the last hive they remembered, the one in your wall."

That's somehow even more dispriting than the original post.

11/16/2007 1:50 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

This was the most boring post I've read on this site EVER

11/16/2007 12:13 PM  
Anonymous cardiogirl said...

Well Chris beat me to "The Mist." Maybe the bees are of the kamikaze mindset and they are sacrificing themselves.

Or maybe there's arsenic painted on your porch light.

11/16/2007 12:23 PM  
Blogger Danny said...

Josh as Moses.

11/16/2007 12:32 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Mon dieu. People of Hollywood, has The Day of the Locust** buzzed right off your radar screen in a fit of writerly bee storming? Does not the irony strike you as interesting?

**(Dir. by John Schlesinger, no relation to gymnast Tom of yore; featuring the incomparable Karen ["look at this old cold shoulder" a la Five Easy Pieces] Black. Or, hey, read the novel by Nathanael West.)

11/16/2007 9:57 PM  
Blogger Paul Wartenberg said...

I figured with the strike going on there would be activity on writers' blogs this month. Keep the faith!

11/17/2007 5:48 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Maybe bees go home to die, AND have a fairly specific life span......these are just the bees born in your hive returning to expire in their motherland.....each mornings wave or carcasses a representation of the birthrate on a given day YEARS could be seeing this for a LONG TIME. ...... of course I pulled that whole "maybe bees go home to die" thing RIGHT out of my ass so who knows.

Could be the suit's take on TPing your house...

11/17/2007 7:25 AM  
Blogger Simon Glickman and Sera Gamble said...

Finally found your blog! And it is as hilarious, gripping, and insect-ridden as expected. Say hi to your new friend beer for me. We go way back.

(The signature is with my blogging buddy but this note is just from the half you actually know.)

11/17/2007 10:26 PM  
Anonymous chris soth said...

It's when the bees form into a giant pair of scissors and snip at me that freaks me out -- then they morph into a syringe and stick my ass as I run away, all of this brought on by that cursed mouse...

...sorry, that was a cartoon.

Back to you.

11/18/2007 9:06 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Damn Josh . . .

You make me want to be better.

Sure, you aren't out there curing cancer, solving poverty or ending the Middle-East crisis but you are organized. And that's already something.

And without you and your bretheran, just what are we going to dream about? Marie Osmond's dancing?

Si se Puede (where is that friggin accent mark), Fight the good fight, Freeedom . . or whatever they all say.

We Support you.

A WGA Supporter

11/21/2007 8:19 AM  
Blogger bodnotbod said...

I found your blog today via John August. I follow links all the time. A link may lead to a good article costing me two minutes. Or to a feature article costing me ten. John's link to you cost me 6 hours...

I read your blog chronologically, laughing a great deal at first, your posts about your agent, pitching, premieres.

Then I got back from the pub (I'm British) and it was coincidental that the posts I returned to were something else.

Doctors, tumours, cancer.

I was so engaged with all those early posts and I thought "fuck, we're losing this man. This can't happen."

Reading 3 years in your life in one segmented evening isn't the way your life went. But I'm so fucking glad you're still around. And I haven't felt that way reading a columnist, article or site... ever.

By way of thanks, I'd offer you a recommendation of a book (it's nothing to do with me, I hasten to add). It's "Smoking In Bed: Conversations With Bruce Robinson".

He wrote the screenplay for 'The Killing Fields', wrote and directed 'Withnail & I' (my favourite film).

His book is the only thing this year (and it's late in the year) that made me feel someone was talking to me right in my room and wouldn't let me be distracted by my own thoughts. Until I read your blog.

In England we don't say "you rock". The best I can do, without being able to buy you a pint and offering a cigarette, is to doff my cap.

I've been sitting here trying to think of the best compliment. They all seem shit. So, I'll leave with:

"I read the whole damn thing. Every blog post. I came in at the start and I had to read them all. And then I emailed everyone I knew, sent them the link so they could start at the first post too."

11/24/2007 7:15 PM  
Blogger josh said...

Appreciate the thoughts...I love Bruce Robinson...My first official studio job was rewriting a script he'd written. His draft was one of the best scripts I'd ever read but it was too dark and interesting to get made. My draft was less dark, less interesting, and got a director attached. And then I was rewritten. Won't tell you what the movie is...

I'll pick up the book. Thanks.

11/25/2007 7:27 AM  
Blogger darthmoridin said...

Obviously, the Infinite Monkey is like nature: he abhors the vacuum.

Glad you've graced our monitors with more bits. It was too long an absence. Good luck with the whole strike thing. I honk every morning as I pass the Fox lot on Pico.

11/27/2007 5:07 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...






I am very scared of even one bee.

11/28/2007 7:07 AM  
Blogger BTL said...

I don't know what procrastinatory urge led me to click on the bookmark I couldn't bare to delete, but holy shit, you're back.

Only you could bring together science geeks, film geeks, writers, hacks, apparently schizophrenic Hollywood monkey-handlers, random Brits who use the word "doff", where's the post from your dad?

For the record, a lot of us who work in the business not killing souls at Warners or handling monkeys (well, sometimes, but not for money) are behind you 100% -- but hope that once you get what you deserve, you will still come back here every once in a while. Those ten minutes you take out of my day are worth all the residuals in China. Not that anyone sees those anyway.

Thanks, Josh.

11/28/2007 8:01 AM  
Blogger DJ KFC and the Pot Pan Kitchen Posse said...


Words are an intersting thing. I admire those who have a way with them.

I always wanted to be a writer, but have little to no talent. I, like "the brit"- have read it since the first post and truly enjoy your musings.

I think I speak for everyone who enjoys what you do, when I say SHIT HAS CHANGED and you and your brethren deserve to be paid for the work you do - in all it's incarnations.

Great to check the bookmark and see you were back. I kind of thought you went all 'Californication' on us for a bit.

That said, this isn't about just money or bees for that matter... It's about a living wage for those who are working their asses off to entertain, engage, promote different points of view, and who mostly barely making it, not multi-milionaires.

It's about studios and syndicates using someone elses words, making tons of money and throwing scraps to the middle class people who give us our favorite quotes.

Does it matter whether you are a writer, or a fucking machinist?

-Billy Bragg quote - "There is power in a union"

Thanks... And if you ever get bored... You'd need to start at the first post...

Jeremy Moore

11/28/2007 9:46 PM  
Blogger Georgiana said...

That was beautiful.

And of course sad, but somehow still beautiful.

1/21/2008 9:02 PM  
Anonymous bvw said...

Analogies being analogies are oft, when resonant, just as applicable to other situations. It speaks to a basic comfort of the world, of existence -- that things are like some memory, not fully unknown to us.

And bees -- the season comes back year after year, the bees swarm to places appropriate and inappropriate -- the bees make sweetness for us, their very homes are honey-filled. And their diligent habits bring about flowers and fruit on trees.

Yet they can't face us nor we them, individual or in swarm without the outcome chaotic fear, painful stings or even -- for the bees -- total eradication of the errant bee and wrongly located hive.

So I take your story and drop into it today -- late spring 2008 -- and unto it a new analogy: Condi Rice, like a queen bee, goes to Jerusalem and demands hive space for some bees of a strain that has been a problem year-after-year.

When the homeowners having pulled into the driveway find bees and a queen ready to take over ...

6/15/2008 9:33 AM  
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Blogger Brian said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

7/21/2009 7:54 AM  
Blogger Brian said...

That is a very interesting part of the year. I've been in California last year during the Bee Season and I totally enjoy the place and the people I go with. During my vacation, I met a woman and he show me some Inventory Clear Out. Ive been forced to saw her list. If you want to know more about thus story, feel free to email me at:

7/21/2009 7:57 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Uh huh.

Whole time I lived in Los Angeles I felt like that. Don't know how you can stand it bro. I felt like whatever I was standing on I was going to fall off of and whatever was above me was going to rain a shitstorm on my head. Really other places outside California there's fresh water and public parks and secure borders and affordable housing, and the earth holds still under your feet and just spins without any effort on your part to try to keep the sun in the sky.

All you have to do? Is launch your ass off the coast.

Remember that movie Grand Canyon? Annette Benning and that other dude...whatever, the whole thing was about being at the mercy of the angy Gods. LA has *always* felt that way, at least at the first level of primordial memory. I watched that movie from Rockford Illinois waiting to get as creeped out as you guys seem to be all time. Nope, ain't me. It's you.

6/20/2010 3:27 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Great show and all around coolness Josh.

Write on, right on, brother.


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Josh's recent blog entry brought to you by Jerry Seinfeld's Bee Movie!

I'm sure you've seen this, but if not:

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Anonymous John said...

Sensational writing. But I think it's time to accept the fact that the business of content production has evolved / devolved. Let's stop blaming the Hollywood machine and start making our own luck! I'm a huge fan of the people over at ScreenCraft who are adapting with the industry.

1/30/2013 6:36 PM  
Anonymous John said...

OK, way to lay waste to your frustrations, but let's just cut the industry some slack. It's definitely time for you to get what's fair, but damn. Just make your own luck!

1/30/2013 6:37 PM  
Anonymous JR said...

Holy shit! But you know what, it's time to roll with the punches and let the industry adjust. Let's create our own luck!!

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