Well, I finally got word from Sundance, who sent me a very nice form rejection over the email. "There were many more worthy entries than we could program" and so forth. "I hope that you will give the festival the same consideration in the future." Slamdance is also not looking so good as I have some friends who have gotten in and were notified a week ago or so. I havent' heard a peep.
Next rejections will be from:
1. South by Southwest
2. San Francisco International Film Festival
3. Tribeca Film Festival
But hey, it's cool, the sun don't rise and set on the Park City Festivals. Fuck those guys. I don't need an excuse to visit the SLC.
Besides, i'm going to use this time to retool the first 20 minutes of the movie (which needs retooling). I must take into account the viewer of the screener casette. I worked for the New Orleans Film Festival one year and I remember what it was like to plow through entries. It isn't fair, but a movie had to grab me in a couple of minutes or I would veg out and eject it after ten. Sorry.
So the opening may change. I am trying to incorporate a chase scene out of stock footage, but hey, I just dunno. Perhaps a fistfight or some lovemaking like the opening scene of Betty Blue. Or monsters. Scary monsters.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Friday, November 25, 2005
100th Blog Posting Celebration (featuring Kicking Bear, Lil Kim, & Ludacris)
To celebrate the 100th blog posting at the Front Porch (you people thought it would never last), I'm starting a new feature: the guest blogger.
My father, Kicking Bear, has no interest in starting a blog, maintaining a blog, then losing interest and quitting said blog. This is a one-off. He wants the high-profile Front Porch webspace. He wants the built-in, highly esteemed Front Porch readership. He wants blogging without commitments. He wants it all.
So without further ado, here is my father, Kicking Bear, and his contribution to the Front Porch on this very special day.
Kicking Bear's Frustrations
Have you ever purchased a piece of clothing (shirts, coats, or anything else) that you really like, and when it wears out three, four, five or more years later, you would like to replace it with the exact same thing? Have you ever been able to do that? I haven't. Not once in 50+ years. You find something you really like and then that's a signal for it to disappear from the universe. Other favorite products that have disappeared or are extremely difficult to find:
1) Sanka Coffee
2) A&W Diet Creme Soda
3) Crispy M&Ms
4) Louis Rich Turkey Salami
5) Care-Free Gum
6) 0.9mm Pentil Pencils
7) Donkey Kong Cereal
There's been several others that have long been forgotten.
Your friend,
Kicking Bear
My father, Kicking Bear, has no interest in starting a blog, maintaining a blog, then losing interest and quitting said blog. This is a one-off. He wants the high-profile Front Porch webspace. He wants the built-in, highly esteemed Front Porch readership. He wants blogging without commitments. He wants it all.
So without further ado, here is my father, Kicking Bear, and his contribution to the Front Porch on this very special day.
Kicking Bear's Frustrations
Have you ever purchased a piece of clothing (shirts, coats, or anything else) that you really like, and when it wears out three, four, five or more years later, you would like to replace it with the exact same thing? Have you ever been able to do that? I haven't. Not once in 50+ years. You find something you really like and then that's a signal for it to disappear from the universe. Other favorite products that have disappeared or are extremely difficult to find:
1) Sanka Coffee
2) A&W Diet Creme Soda
3) Crispy M&Ms
4) Louis Rich Turkey Salami
5) Care-Free Gum
6) 0.9mm Pentil Pencils
7) Donkey Kong Cereal
There's been several others that have long been forgotten.
Your friend,
Kicking Bear
Big Papa's Thanksgiving
So I made the drive down to Calexico late Wednesday, shelled out $100 to stay at a Holiday Inn Express (urp!) and crossed through the very porous border into Mexicali at 7am Thanksgiving. I love the expression "porous border"; it fits together well, like "hapless congressman" and "unbelievable hubris." When I say porous, I am not kidding: There wasn't anyone there. There was one guy standing around, who may have worked for the border patrol and two of those jailhouse revolving doors thingamabobs made with interlacing metal posts (like in the NYC subway). After that, no immigracion, nothin' baby...I have no tourist card, nothing, nobody knows I'm here....Of course coming back to the US the border presence is larger, but about one-tenth the size of TJ. For anyone who wants to sneak into Mexico (for whatever reason), do it in Mexicali/Calexico.
I turned down Mid-B's offer of Idaho Gluttony and decided to bus down to San Felipe for four days of noveling. San Felipe was probably pretty cool about ten years ago, when it was just a sleepy fishing village w/ a small expat community. Now the shadow of spring break looms large, with high-priced accomodations and clubs with names like "Rockodile" and "Boom Boom."
Mid-B said this trip was Hemingwayesque, but there really is nothing that romantic about it. Ideally, I'd go further into Mexico (mexico is huge, yes!) to the DF or Yucatan or anywhere but here. In a strange inversion, my corner in LA is more authentically Mexican than San Felipe, and San Felipe is more "American" than LA.
No, Big Papa would be disappointed. In a similar vein, one of my favorite quotes is from John Huston, who was lecturing at a film school when queried by a student:
Student: "Wouldn't you say, Mr. Huston, that in the first act you establish your characters, in the second act you develop---"
Huston: "You know what? You need to get yourself down to Mexico and get some whores."
Now all you literal-minded Moms can just chill out b/c E is not getting any whores. Relax. Eric is noveling and watching white trash SoCal folks drink their Coronas at 10 in the morning and say things like, "Lead on, Poncho!"
Here is a quick summary of things:
1. The porous border
2. The Mr.T sticker trimmed perfectly to fit a soap dispenser in some bathroom.
3. Bootleg "charlie & the Chocolate Factory" on the bus, pan and scan dubbed in Spanish, the 3rd major release ruined in Spanish-speaking countries (Spiderman in Lima, X-Men in Guatemala).
4. Dollars preferred over pesos in Baja.
5. Federales.
6. ATVs up the wazoo.
7. Trinkets up the wazoo.
8. Margaritas up the wazoo.
9. Smell of petrol.
10. Dirtyish beach.
11. Cool lighthouse.
12. Dead laptop battery :(
13. ATVs up the wazoo.
14. English everywhere.
15. RV parks.
16. Tents on the beach.
17. Sullen locals.
18. Suave locals.
19. Political say-what-you-want-to-hear locals.
20. ATVs up the wazoo.
21. Find my gourmet coffee place (yippee!)
22. Find my unpopular with tourists taco stand
23. Find my internet cafe.
24. Find my stride.
25. Americans who insist on trying to speak Spanish to waiters and bartenders that are fluent in English: "Dos beef, dos shrimp. Uno milk."
26. Youngish waitress uncomprehendingly wearing a T-shirt with the number 69 on it.
27. ATVs up the wazoo.
In the end I had my Thanksgiving dinner at the taco stand, where I consumed seven carne asada tacos and four Dos Equis. Big Papa would be proud. I had strange dreams. This was definitely a good idea.
I turned down Mid-B's offer of Idaho Gluttony and decided to bus down to San Felipe for four days of noveling. San Felipe was probably pretty cool about ten years ago, when it was just a sleepy fishing village w/ a small expat community. Now the shadow of spring break looms large, with high-priced accomodations and clubs with names like "Rockodile" and "Boom Boom."
Mid-B said this trip was Hemingwayesque, but there really is nothing that romantic about it. Ideally, I'd go further into Mexico (mexico is huge, yes!) to the DF or Yucatan or anywhere but here. In a strange inversion, my corner in LA is more authentically Mexican than San Felipe, and San Felipe is more "American" than LA.
No, Big Papa would be disappointed. In a similar vein, one of my favorite quotes is from John Huston, who was lecturing at a film school when queried by a student:
Student: "Wouldn't you say, Mr. Huston, that in the first act you establish your characters, in the second act you develop---"
Huston: "You know what? You need to get yourself down to Mexico and get some whores."
Now all you literal-minded Moms can just chill out b/c E is not getting any whores. Relax. Eric is noveling and watching white trash SoCal folks drink their Coronas at 10 in the morning and say things like, "Lead on, Poncho!"
Here is a quick summary of things:
1. The porous border
2. The Mr.T sticker trimmed perfectly to fit a soap dispenser in some bathroom.
3. Bootleg "charlie & the Chocolate Factory" on the bus, pan and scan dubbed in Spanish, the 3rd major release ruined in Spanish-speaking countries (Spiderman in Lima, X-Men in Guatemala).
4. Dollars preferred over pesos in Baja.
5. Federales.
6. ATVs up the wazoo.
7. Trinkets up the wazoo.
8. Margaritas up the wazoo.
9. Smell of petrol.
10. Dirtyish beach.
11. Cool lighthouse.
12. Dead laptop battery :(
13. ATVs up the wazoo.
14. English everywhere.
15. RV parks.
16. Tents on the beach.
17. Sullen locals.
18. Suave locals.
19. Political say-what-you-want-to-hear locals.
20. ATVs up the wazoo.
21. Find my gourmet coffee place (yippee!)
22. Find my unpopular with tourists taco stand
23. Find my internet cafe.
24. Find my stride.
25. Americans who insist on trying to speak Spanish to waiters and bartenders that are fluent in English: "Dos beef, dos shrimp. Uno milk."
26. Youngish waitress uncomprehendingly wearing a T-shirt with the number 69 on it.
27. ATVs up the wazoo.
In the end I had my Thanksgiving dinner at the taco stand, where I consumed seven carne asada tacos and four Dos Equis. Big Papa would be proud. I had strange dreams. This was definitely a good idea.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
The Story of the Bo Tree
Once there was a prince who was confused about the world so he sat under a beautiful bo tree and fasted and had visions and many storms and things came after him but the snake god wrapped itself around the prince and protected him and when it was all over he knew that partying all the time was a nowhere road but so was staying in your apartment all the time and just working on projects. The key to enlightenment was being mediocre and balanced and nonextreme. He also said that life is pain and that pain is caused by the frustration of desire and they key to eliminating pain is to eliminate desire. He was a smart man.
This is a picture of the bo tree in Bodhgaya, India under which he found enlightenment (at least they say it's the same tree). Note the monks doing pushups:
This is a picture of a 27-year-old Sleepy E, back when he did stuff. E is the palefaced, very unenlightened lummox on the left:
This is a random picture of E at the Taj Mahal:
Even though there is a Vietnamese monastery directly across the street from my apartment building, it took me an entire year to discover this fact. Mainly it was because of big beautiful bo tree that concealed the templesque trappings and statues. I think a bo tree is technically a ficus, but I'm not sure what the exact make and model of it is. This is a picture of the monastery around the time Mid-B was here in May. You can see the bo tree encroaching in on the top left of frame:
This is the picture of the bo tree as about a week ago:
I came out one day and two guys were up on ladders chainsawing the thing up. I went over and asked what was going on and they claimed that the monestary called them out to do some "pruning." My guess is that the neighbors were complaining about the reach of the beautiful tree and the city was ordering them to contain it. So they brought in these guys to hack the s*** out of it. But this was delicate pruning, I hate to see the alternative.
"This is terrible!" I said. "Look at it, my God!"
"It'll grow back in about a year."
A few days later I was out taking pictures for the blog and a bald middle-aged monkstress came out to see what I was doing.
"They cut down the bo tree!" I said.
"No," said the woman.
I made furious cutting motions with my index and middle fingers. "The bo tree! They cut it."
"No," she said apologetically.
Maybe she thought I was trying sell her on the idea of some more pruning. I smiled and said goodbye and went back to my apartment to work on a novel with make-believe events in it.
This is a picture of the bo tree in Bodhgaya, India under which he found enlightenment (at least they say it's the same tree). Note the monks doing pushups:
This is a picture of a 27-year-old Sleepy E, back when he did stuff. E is the palefaced, very unenlightened lummox on the left:
This is a random picture of E at the Taj Mahal:
Even though there is a Vietnamese monastery directly across the street from my apartment building, it took me an entire year to discover this fact. Mainly it was because of big beautiful bo tree that concealed the templesque trappings and statues. I think a bo tree is technically a ficus, but I'm not sure what the exact make and model of it is. This is a picture of the monastery around the time Mid-B was here in May. You can see the bo tree encroaching in on the top left of frame:
This is the picture of the bo tree as about a week ago:
I came out one day and two guys were up on ladders chainsawing the thing up. I went over and asked what was going on and they claimed that the monestary called them out to do some "pruning." My guess is that the neighbors were complaining about the reach of the beautiful tree and the city was ordering them to contain it. So they brought in these guys to hack the s*** out of it. But this was delicate pruning, I hate to see the alternative.
"This is terrible!" I said. "Look at it, my God!"
"It'll grow back in about a year."
A few days later I was out taking pictures for the blog and a bald middle-aged monkstress came out to see what I was doing.
"They cut down the bo tree!" I said.
"No," said the woman.
I made furious cutting motions with my index and middle fingers. "The bo tree! They cut it."
"No," she said apologetically.
Maybe she thought I was trying sell her on the idea of some more pruning. I smiled and said goodbye and went back to my apartment to work on a novel with make-believe events in it.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Writing (and Notwriting) in Restaurants
The worst is the Insomnia Cafe on Beverly. Once you enter, two dozen wannabe screenwriter poseurs look up from their laptops to check you out, and to check you out checking them out. I hate this place. I hate the idea of writing in cafes. It is bullshit. Any real writer knows that you can't get anything done writing in a cafe--real work is done in your office or at home where you can hammer down without distraction for hours on end. A writer writes in solitude. A poseur notwrites in a cafe, the Insomnia cafe, where he can observe other stylish wannabees notwriting.
Of course this is all to say that I've been writing in cafes a lot lately. It's productive and not; it seems good for a particular kind of brainstorming or freewriting but not very good for the task of noveling. But I keep getting drawn back to the cafe even though it kills me to be one of the writing-for-show hordes. I never get nothing done (like sometimes at home) and I never get a lot done (like sometimes at home)--it's always a little trickle of good stuff. Plus it's just good to get out of the house sometimes.
But I fear I am becoming one of them. When I was in Cambridge I went into a bar at about midnight, plopped my laptop onto the bar, ordered a black and tan, put my headphones on, and went to work. The old Irish barkeep sniffed at my drink order and sniffed at me, who must of looked like the biggest westcoast poser in all of Massachusetts.
Of course this is all to say that I've been writing in cafes a lot lately. It's productive and not; it seems good for a particular kind of brainstorming or freewriting but not very good for the task of noveling. But I keep getting drawn back to the cafe even though it kills me to be one of the writing-for-show hordes. I never get nothing done (like sometimes at home) and I never get a lot done (like sometimes at home)--it's always a little trickle of good stuff. Plus it's just good to get out of the house sometimes.
But I fear I am becoming one of them. When I was in Cambridge I went into a bar at about midnight, plopped my laptop onto the bar, ordered a black and tan, put my headphones on, and went to work. The old Irish barkeep sniffed at my drink order and sniffed at me, who must of looked like the biggest westcoast poser in all of Massachusetts.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
50 Necessary Ingredients For A Rap Video Shoot
1. Blunts
2. Beer
3. Hot pants
4. Hoochie mamas
5. Bling
6. Do-rags
7. Swisher Sweets
8. A humongous posse
9. Security
10. Gang signs
11. Sleazy producers
12. Cutaways of characters counting thousands of dollars of REAL money (not stage money)
13. Gold chains
14. Big flashy rings
15. Sean John apparel
16. Timberlands
17. Pierced navels
18. Pimps n Hoes
19. Self-perpetuating stereotypes
20. Hangers-on who bark at the poor Latino caterers
21. Self-important glam squad
22. Flat irons
23. Grindy stripperish dancing w/ mouths slightly ajar
24. Hustlerish approximations of eroticism
25. The big fat loud guy who thinks he's Cedric the Entertainer
26. Depressed camera crew
27. Absolute disorganization
28. Rappers who think they should be able to direct too
29. Gold teeth
30. Hummers
31. Livin large, livin large, livin large
32. Crotch grabbin
33. Ass spankin
34. Gesturing at a low-and-wide-angled lenses
35. BET camera crew in everyone's face
36. A Catfight: "Listen, bitch..."
37. Profound Lyrics
38. Someone named Trina
39. Fat beats
40. Stolen hooks
41. All the fellas in the house make some noise
42. 2 or 3 Guest appearances (eg Ashanti featuring Method Man & Fat Joe)
43. Straight-fingered arm gesturing
44. Lip licking
45. The baggiest jeans imaginable
46. Remy Martin or Courvesoir back in da traila
47. Lots of overtime
48. Double entendre
49. Picture cars (low riders are out...hummers and sportscars in)
50. Skeezers
2. Beer
3. Hot pants
4. Hoochie mamas
5. Bling
6. Do-rags
7. Swisher Sweets
8. A humongous posse
9. Security
10. Gang signs
11. Sleazy producers
12. Cutaways of characters counting thousands of dollars of REAL money (not stage money)
13. Gold chains
14. Big flashy rings
15. Sean John apparel
16. Timberlands
17. Pierced navels
18. Pimps n Hoes
19. Self-perpetuating stereotypes
20. Hangers-on who bark at the poor Latino caterers
21. Self-important glam squad
22. Flat irons
23. Grindy stripperish dancing w/ mouths slightly ajar
24. Hustlerish approximations of eroticism
25. The big fat loud guy who thinks he's Cedric the Entertainer
26. Depressed camera crew
27. Absolute disorganization
28. Rappers who think they should be able to direct too
29. Gold teeth
30. Hummers
31. Livin large, livin large, livin large
32. Crotch grabbin
33. Ass spankin
34. Gesturing at a low-and-wide-angled lenses
35. BET camera crew in everyone's face
36. A Catfight: "Listen, bitch..."
37. Profound Lyrics
38. Someone named Trina
39. Fat beats
40. Stolen hooks
41. All the fellas in the house make some noise
42. 2 or 3 Guest appearances (eg Ashanti featuring Method Man & Fat Joe)
43. Straight-fingered arm gesturing
44. Lip licking
45. The baggiest jeans imaginable
46. Remy Martin or Courvesoir back in da traila
47. Lots of overtime
48. Double entendre
49. Picture cars (low riders are out...hummers and sportscars in)
50. Skeezers
Sunday, November 13, 2005
The Unrepentant Flake
1. Tends to flourish pretty much everywhere
2. Always feels justified in what he is doing
3. Thinks only of himself
4. Has money problems
5. Has ADD problems
6. Tends to surround himself with others of this ilk
7. Makes poor choices
8. Is difficult to do business with
9. Is difficult to be friends with
10. And his kind dominate the known world
2. Always feels justified in what he is doing
3. Thinks only of himself
4. Has money problems
5. Has ADD problems
6. Tends to surround himself with others of this ilk
7. Makes poor choices
8. Is difficult to do business with
9. Is difficult to be friends with
10. And his kind dominate the known world
Monday, November 07, 2005
Large Format Paperback v. Supermarket Fiction
After paying $18 in fines at the library, I picked up two books I had on reserve: The Bird Artist and The Shipping News. I read The Bird Artist earlier this year over a 3 week period, stopping and starting and stopping and starting.. I didn't really appreciate it so I'm givng it another go, largely due to MidB's raves and those of the Ntl Book Award peeps.
The librarian gets my books from the computer and starts scanning them in and I notice that the Shipping News has the poster from the movie on the cover (w/ Kevin Spacey and some ladies) and its dimensions have been reduced to that fat Supermarkety aspect ratio. I confess: I kind of balked when I saw that. I recoiled. Mentally at least. The Bird Artist is just fine...a little thinner and larger with a sensual velvety cover. The dimensions of the book make me thing there is GOOD READIN inside...LITERATURE...The shape of the Shipping News makes me disrespecct the book completely.
Odd, how a format has this much power not only over my decision to read a novel, but also power over my experience of reading it. It makes me think that people experience the act of reading in different ways. There are twice as many pages in the Shipping News. More pages with fewer words on them. Which means more turning. More page turning. People like to turn pages, it makes them feel like they are getting somewhere with their story and their lives. Large format paperbacks have more words to the page, which makes for better savoring.
I know that in the end it is all a bunch of words, but I do think the format (hardback, large format paperback, paperback, e-book, Beatesque pocket-sized square books, whatever) influences the experience. I am conscious of my prejudices but I think I would like the Shipping News more if it were a larger format paperback with a cool textured cover. Maybe I'll swap it out.
The librarian gets my books from the computer and starts scanning them in and I notice that the Shipping News has the poster from the movie on the cover (w/ Kevin Spacey and some ladies) and its dimensions have been reduced to that fat Supermarkety aspect ratio. I confess: I kind of balked when I saw that. I recoiled. Mentally at least. The Bird Artist is just fine...a little thinner and larger with a sensual velvety cover. The dimensions of the book make me thing there is GOOD READIN inside...LITERATURE...The shape of the Shipping News makes me disrespecct the book completely.
Odd, how a format has this much power not only over my decision to read a novel, but also power over my experience of reading it. It makes me think that people experience the act of reading in different ways. There are twice as many pages in the Shipping News. More pages with fewer words on them. Which means more turning. More page turning. People like to turn pages, it makes them feel like they are getting somewhere with their story and their lives. Large format paperbacks have more words to the page, which makes for better savoring.
I know that in the end it is all a bunch of words, but I do think the format (hardback, large format paperback, paperback, e-book, Beatesque pocket-sized square books, whatever) influences the experience. I am conscious of my prejudices but I think I would like the Shipping News more if it were a larger format paperback with a cool textured cover. Maybe I'll swap it out.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Take a Swing, Tall Guy
So I just got back from Hollywood Video where I almost got in a fistfight with the night clerk. I returned a copy of Last Days and a copy of Spirited Away (which didn't work). When I told him that Spirited Away didn't work in my DVD player he shrugged and kept returning stuff.
"When did you get this?"
"I rented these 5 days ago."
"Ooooh, that's not going to work. We need to find out ASAP if there's a problem."
"Well, I didn't try to watch it until last night."
"Then it's like you trying to get 2 five-day rentals for 1."
(incredulous) "I just want to watch the movie that I paid for, man."
'Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
"What do you think I want you to do? I want you to credit my account for the price of the rental!"
At this point a young Latino couple appears with rentals in tow and the clerk ignores me and starts to ring up their stuff. I start to go back into the store then realize there's no way I'm giving my money to these people unless they do the right thing here. So I get behind the Latino couple in line and when they leave the dude says, "You got ID?"
I'm not renting a movie and we're in the middle of an argument so I say, "What do you need my ID for?"
"You want me to credit your account or what?"
So I give him my ID and he's muttering to himself and I say, "What's up with the attitude?"
"You're the one causing problems."
"Whatever happened to customer service? My God!"
He gives me my ID back. "You're not getting the credit," he says.
I pull out my trusty pad and do what I always do: Ask for his name.
Of course this escalates everything and I write down everything he says. "So now you're taking away the credit that you owe me and were in the process of giving me, just because you feel you can."
"I never said I was going to give you a credit."
"You just did!"
"No I didn't. You got witnesses?" he growls.
I can't believe this is happening. "I can't believe this is happening," I say. "You can be sure your manager will be getting a call tomorrow."
"Well, I'm not giving you a credit."
"Well, f*** you, then." I start to leave.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me!"
He comes toward me but he's still in his little booth and one of his co-workers is coming over. "Come on, take a swing, tall guy!" he shouts.
Take a swing, tall guy. Excellent.
Which I should have done. A better man would have. All of this offensive customer service builds up and it has no place to go. The next time this happens I will take that swing.
Sometimes fighting is the right thing to do. We are taught that it isn't, but I think it is appropriate sometimes, and this was one of those times. Sometimes you have to stand up to the bully or he's going to bother you at recess forever. And sometimes that requires the exchanging of blows, uncivilized as it might be.
So I encourage everyone to boycott Hollywood Video, which we all know is a terrible establishment anyway we just go there because it's convenient.
Thanks for listening.
The Management.
"When did you get this?"
"I rented these 5 days ago."
"Ooooh, that's not going to work. We need to find out ASAP if there's a problem."
"Well, I didn't try to watch it until last night."
"Then it's like you trying to get 2 five-day rentals for 1."
(incredulous) "I just want to watch the movie that I paid for, man."
'Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
"What do you think I want you to do? I want you to credit my account for the price of the rental!"
At this point a young Latino couple appears with rentals in tow and the clerk ignores me and starts to ring up their stuff. I start to go back into the store then realize there's no way I'm giving my money to these people unless they do the right thing here. So I get behind the Latino couple in line and when they leave the dude says, "You got ID?"
I'm not renting a movie and we're in the middle of an argument so I say, "What do you need my ID for?"
"You want me to credit your account or what?"
So I give him my ID and he's muttering to himself and I say, "What's up with the attitude?"
"You're the one causing problems."
"Whatever happened to customer service? My God!"
He gives me my ID back. "You're not getting the credit," he says.
I pull out my trusty pad and do what I always do: Ask for his name.
Of course this escalates everything and I write down everything he says. "So now you're taking away the credit that you owe me and were in the process of giving me, just because you feel you can."
"I never said I was going to give you a credit."
"You just did!"
"No I didn't. You got witnesses?" he growls.
I can't believe this is happening. "I can't believe this is happening," I say. "You can be sure your manager will be getting a call tomorrow."
"Well, I'm not giving you a credit."
"Well, f*** you, then." I start to leave.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me!"
He comes toward me but he's still in his little booth and one of his co-workers is coming over. "Come on, take a swing, tall guy!" he shouts.
Take a swing, tall guy. Excellent.
Which I should have done. A better man would have. All of this offensive customer service builds up and it has no place to go. The next time this happens I will take that swing.
Sometimes fighting is the right thing to do. We are taught that it isn't, but I think it is appropriate sometimes, and this was one of those times. Sometimes you have to stand up to the bully or he's going to bother you at recess forever. And sometimes that requires the exchanging of blows, uncivilized as it might be.
So I encourage everyone to boycott Hollywood Video, which we all know is a terrible establishment anyway we just go there because it's convenient.
Thanks for listening.
The Management.
Fat Lip
Today while playing basketball I got hit in the mouth and now it is getting big and puffy. I also have a bloody gash on my eyelid from an errant finger and a bruise on my knee when I went down. My hand and foot also hurt from punching and kicking inanimate objects after missing a dozen easy ones.
Sometimes it feels good getting beat up but this is ridiculous. I am enjoying the fat lip, though, which is a good sight gag and should be seen in person. I would have taken a picture but my trusty Elph is on the fritz so I will have to describe it to you. My fat lip makes me look like a doofus; it immediately knocks 20 points off my IQ (more if I make faces). It is the right side of the upper lip that is affected--it's swollen to twice its regular size, like a collagen injection that didn't spread out properly across my mouth.
If I make a Sid Vicious snarl it looks like I have some kind of rare disease. My eyes, nose, chin, cheeks and ears recede. I am lip. I am all lip. God save the queen.
Sometimes it feels good getting beat up but this is ridiculous. I am enjoying the fat lip, though, which is a good sight gag and should be seen in person. I would have taken a picture but my trusty Elph is on the fritz so I will have to describe it to you. My fat lip makes me look like a doofus; it immediately knocks 20 points off my IQ (more if I make faces). It is the right side of the upper lip that is affected--it's swollen to twice its regular size, like a collagen injection that didn't spread out properly across my mouth.
If I make a Sid Vicious snarl it looks like I have some kind of rare disease. My eyes, nose, chin, cheeks and ears recede. I am lip. I am all lip. God save the queen.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Beard-Growing Contest
Just wanted to see if anyone wanted to have a beard-growing contest. My brother, my father, and I will be having one over the Xmas holiday, but now seems like a good time too!
I'm already in the process of letting myself go so a good patchy growth of stiff fly hairs on my face will definitely add.
I was going to write a big thing here about men and their fascination with facial hair and the curious phenomenon of how one's manliness is directly tied into their ability to grow a nice thick beard (?!?!??!?!??!?!??!), but I spent all morning noveling and now I'm tired.
Any you stuffy clowns wanna bring it?
I'm already in the process of letting myself go so a good patchy growth of stiff fly hairs on my face will definitely add.
I was going to write a big thing here about men and their fascination with facial hair and the curious phenomenon of how one's manliness is directly tied into their ability to grow a nice thick beard (?!?!??!?!??!?!??!), but I spent all morning noveling and now I'm tired.
Any you stuffy clowns wanna bring it?
Thursday, November 03, 2005
I Just Want To Talk To A Human Being
The Ticker
Batman Franchise way up
The new Crash down
Cronenberg's Crash up
Paul Auster way down
David Shields even
coffee down
tea up
My favorite experience in life is spending ten minutes going through a convoluted sequence of automated phone menus only to have your eventual operator ask what your account number is again and why are you calling. Sometimes I wonder if the automated menus are really doing anything at all--maybe they're just something some grad student in psych thought up to replace Muzak....something that gives the caller something to do (punch in numbers), which engenders a feeling of progress, and therefore, a feeling well being.
All I want is to talk to a person.
Circuit City has an awful awful one. Unemployment is particularly sadistic; It gives you the old one-two-three combination: first, all the BS menus (all the information they re-ask you, of course), second, the extremely long wait times, and then, the masterstroke, the "We can't take any more calls at this time, try back later" life-ruiner. I love how they make you wait fifteen minutes to find out that the line is busy. Brilliant! Recently I had the misfortune of riding the bus around LA and I got to the main bus/train depot in North Hollywood and there's no real signage and no one really works there and the little bus stops have destinations printed on them but no route maps and certainly no schedules. I call the MTA ride line and I hear "the approximate wait time is 20 minutes." Yes. Efficiency defined.
Today I had to call SAG because they won't let me use an actor for voiceover work unless I become a signatory production, blah blah blah..pay the actor scale, etc...pay the fee...takes 2 weeks. So I went through their website, didn't find the information there so I called down to their office on Wilshire with four questions: 1) What are the steps required to sign an ultra low-budget contract, 2) How much does it cost, 3) How long will it take, and 4) Can I conduct the VO session while the paperwork is being processed.
It took me 45 minutes on the phone and FIVE transfers to get this information. It was horrible. It was like this was the first time they had ever been asked these basic questions. They just kept transferring me and every time I'd have to launch into the whole narrative from the beginning. The last woman asked aloud, "Why did they transfer you over to ME? Why do I get you?" to which I said, "Lady, apparently I am fated to talk to each and every one of you until an answer to my questions is cobbled together." To which she actually laughed. She answered my questions (even though it wasn't her department...hmph!) and that was that. Man, it was awful. Really really horrible.
But it was still better than punching account numbers into my cell phone and hearing "The approximate wait time is eighteen minutes."
And forget about putting the phone down and going about your business for eighteen minutes. The last time I did that someone picked up about 2/3 of the way through my wait and when I wasn't there they hung up. So there.
Batman Franchise way up
The new Crash down
Cronenberg's Crash up
Paul Auster way down
David Shields even
coffee down
tea up
My favorite experience in life is spending ten minutes going through a convoluted sequence of automated phone menus only to have your eventual operator ask what your account number is again and why are you calling. Sometimes I wonder if the automated menus are really doing anything at all--maybe they're just something some grad student in psych thought up to replace Muzak....something that gives the caller something to do (punch in numbers), which engenders a feeling of progress, and therefore, a feeling well being.
All I want is to talk to a person.
Circuit City has an awful awful one. Unemployment is particularly sadistic; It gives you the old one-two-three combination: first, all the BS menus (all the information they re-ask you, of course), second, the extremely long wait times, and then, the masterstroke, the "We can't take any more calls at this time, try back later" life-ruiner. I love how they make you wait fifteen minutes to find out that the line is busy. Brilliant! Recently I had the misfortune of riding the bus around LA and I got to the main bus/train depot in North Hollywood and there's no real signage and no one really works there and the little bus stops have destinations printed on them but no route maps and certainly no schedules. I call the MTA ride line and I hear "the approximate wait time is 20 minutes." Yes. Efficiency defined.
Today I had to call SAG because they won't let me use an actor for voiceover work unless I become a signatory production, blah blah blah..pay the actor scale, etc...pay the fee...takes 2 weeks. So I went through their website, didn't find the information there so I called down to their office on Wilshire with four questions: 1) What are the steps required to sign an ultra low-budget contract, 2) How much does it cost, 3) How long will it take, and 4) Can I conduct the VO session while the paperwork is being processed.
It took me 45 minutes on the phone and FIVE transfers to get this information. It was horrible. It was like this was the first time they had ever been asked these basic questions. They just kept transferring me and every time I'd have to launch into the whole narrative from the beginning. The last woman asked aloud, "Why did they transfer you over to ME? Why do I get you?" to which I said, "Lady, apparently I am fated to talk to each and every one of you until an answer to my questions is cobbled together." To which she actually laughed. She answered my questions (even though it wasn't her department...hmph!) and that was that. Man, it was awful. Really really horrible.
But it was still better than punching account numbers into my cell phone and hearing "The approximate wait time is eighteen minutes."
And forget about putting the phone down and going about your business for eighteen minutes. The last time I did that someone picked up about 2/3 of the way through my wait and when I wasn't there they hung up. So there.
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