Another Script Bites The Dust

The running joke among my friends since junior high school was that any time I had a good idea for a story or character, chances were good it was going to be made by someone else within the next few months.

Countless cartoon characters, sketched in study hall, were seen on TV months or years later, albeit slightly different since I had nothing to do with it.

The minute I mentioned a movie idea to a friend, he would start counting the days until it was released in the theater. (It would usually be the next summer and we would go check it out and I would think of how I would've done it better.)

One idea that my friends and I had tossed around back in high school was combining the tale of the hitch-hiker who kills the people who pick him up getting a ride from the serial killer who kills hitch-hikers. It seemed like a fun combination of two overplayed scenarios.

When I was in college I wrote a short script of this scenario and called it, Roadkill.

Well, this evening I was browsing the website for Showtime's cable series "Master's of Horror", and came across Larry Cohen's episode "Pick Me Up", which is the tale of "a serial killer who slays hitchhikers" offering a ride to "a hitchhiker who slays any individual unlucky enough to give him a ride".

Well, I'll put that script in the "Too Late" pile now.

You can check out the trailer at the Masters of Horror website. It looks good, regardless of not having my input.

To Lie or Not To Lie

My brother came home today with news of possible editing work. A friend of his told him about a company that needs loaders and digitizers with Avid experience. The pay is $100 a day negotiable. It is for 4 months work, open for more after that.

And this is where I am always running into trouble.

I always here of these gigs, but my skills are nowhere near the level they would want. Each year I don't use them I fall more and more behind. I have not used an Avid editing system in almost 8 years now. A year and a half ago I ran through somewhat of a refresher with my friend Andrea, who was at the time editing on an Avid. But I never got any work and I never got to improve any skills I had.

At this point it is safe to say I have NO experience with Avid. I have used Final Cut for the last 3 years and that suits me just fine. Unfortunately it is not industry standard yet, and most jobs require some knowledge of Avid. But the technology improves so rapidly that your knowledge is outdated about every three months. After 8 years, I wonder if anything is the same.

So here is the question: Do I just lie and fake it and try to relearn on the side? Cuz that is a possibility. I'm a pretty good bullshitter. I can get by with a cursory knowledge up front and try to learn as I go. And if they find me out and don't take me, I'm back where I started, so nothing is lost.

After all, how else am I going to get the experience? Not by playing it safe, that's for sure.

"Out Of The Garbage Pail And Into Your Heart"

Where does one draw the line between irony and manic psychosis? While I may have put The Garbage Pail Kids Movie on my Netflix queue out of some ironic delight in bad cinema, it was a much darker and disturbing force that kept me glued to the television for the last hour and thirty seven minutes.

What I find even more disturbing was the level of sociological insight I tried to glean from the film.

The Garbage Pail Kids are accidentally freed from their garbage pail inside an antique store run by Cap’n Manzini, a wizard of sorts who, it is hinted at, may be an immortal. It is never fully explained how he has come to possess the garbage pail that contains the Kids, but he does make a speech to young Dodger (played to great effect by hobbit Sam Gamgee’s brother Mackensie Astin) about the mythology of Pandora’s Box, likening the evil it contained to the dangerous inhabitants of this dented old garbage pail. It is, in fact, Pandora’s Pail.

We are first introduced to the 14 year old Dodger as he is being savagely beaten by a tight-knit group of 23 year old ruffians led by the dapper yet dangerous Juice. Juice, we will learn later, aside from being the stylishly-dressed neighborhood bully, has some sort of stronghold on the illegal trade of fashion goods and accessories. (This is hinted at in a telephone conversation at the film’s climax, where Juice is talking on the phone backstage at his girlfriend’s fashion show, telling the person on the other end, “As soon as the stuff gets over the border, get it to the warehouse.”)

Dodger has a bit of a crush on Juice’s girlfriend Tangerine, who, along with being Juice’s number one gal, sidelines as a fashion designer. She sells her homemade goods in the alley behind a happening dance club. To show her true DIY colors, she keeps all her proceeds in a cigar box.

Dodger enlists the aide of his new found Garbage Pail Kid friends to help him design twelve outfits to sell alongside Tangerine on Friday night.

Eventually this use of the GPKs as slave labor escalates, until Tangerine has them work on an entire fall line of clothes for a show that she managed to get at a local department store.

The Kids aren’t always victims of child labor abuse, and escape one night to paint the town red. This involves a trip to see a Three Stooges Festival at the local theater, while Ali Gator and Windy Winston sneak off to visit “The Toughest Bar In The World”. Aptly named, for they find themselves in danger of being pummeled by the biker gang clientele, until Windy gains their respect with his noxious farts.

More hi-jinks and double-crosses pepper the film. On the night of Tangerine’s big fashion show, she locks the Kids in the basement of the Cap'n Manzini's antique store and gives the key to her boyfriend Juice. Juice and his two cohorts kidnap the GPKs and take them to the State Home For The Ugly, which pays him a handsome reward. (??)

The GPKs are placed in a cage labeled “Too Gross”, while other inhabitants of the State Home are locked in cages marked “Too Old”, “Too Skinny” “Too Short”, “Too Hairy” and “Too Silly”. This is the film’s strongest critique of the way society treats difference and is hell bent on homogeneity. The film’s theme song, “You Can Be A Garbage Pail Kid” sings the praises of being different and unusual, and contains the scathing line, “If you think we’re ugly/take a look in the mirror”.

We learn to accept people regardless of their appearance. The Garbage Pail Kids proved themselves to be brilliant fashion designers in spite of their crippling hideousness. They befriended other outcasts, like Dodger, their fellow State Home For The Ugly patients, and the bikers at the “Toughest Bar In The World” (who helped free everyone from the State Home near the climax of the film)

We learned about the horrors of forced child labor and how it will come back and bite you in the ass. In this particular case, the GPKs ransacked the fashion show, farted on the audience, and ripped the clothes off the models, leaving them to run around in their underwear for several minutes.

The 14 year old Mackensie Astin also did some amazing stunt work in the final fight scene with Juice. I think they probably filmed the fight scenes later, because Mackensie is noticeably taller and larger (about 6’, 175 lbs.) in the fight scenes, than he was in the close-ups and rest of the movie (about 5’3”, 100lbs.) It was smart of the filmmakers to let him bulk up like that, because he could’ve hurt himself fighting the 6’2” actor who played Juice, had he not been in prime physical shape.

I am left with one question, however: How drunk was I when I moved The Garbage Pail Kids Movie to the top of my queue, bumping out Good Night and Good Luck, Walk The Line, and Capote?

MySpace: The Movie

This short film captures the beauty and sadness that is MySpace.com.

It's In The Way That You Use It

The other night I went to bed and listened to a subliminal, hypnosis, motivational, self-help track on my iPod. I figured it would be a good time to listen to it, since it was supposed to be subliminal and i was going to bed and wouldn't necessarily have to concentrate on it.

This was a bad idea.

I fell asleep during the "session", only to bolt out of bed at 3:30am.

I was refreshed, motivated, and completely energized.

But again, it was 3:30 in the morning.

I guess the "hypnotherapist" had counted back to one and instructed me subliminally to wake up refreshed, motivated and ready to take on the world, because I snapped into consciousness and looked around. My iPod was back on the main menu, silent. Even though my clock read 3:30am, I wanted to get up and start my day.

I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. I spent a couple hours on the computer, researching jobs, listing things to sell on half.com, looking up bizarre phrases on wikipedia and reading screenplays. At one point I did thirty push ups and two sets of 20 reverse crunches.

By 5:45am, I was starting to tire and crawled back into bed.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

But the stories you gain from it are quite valuable.

So, today I was browsing some craigslist postings looking for some sort of film gig to keep me occupied, and came across a post about a documentary being shot involving breakup stories. They were just looking for people with stories to tell.

I figured I had a pretty good breakup story. The old, follow a girl to a different city, get dumped within hours of your arrival and spend the next decade tormenting yourself over it. It even has a happy ending and closure, for the true Hollywood aspect. So I sent them a short synopsis of my sad luck tale, and the filmmaker contacted me and she said they would be interested in filming me.

Should be fun. There may even be some sort of compensation. (Probably will just get a DVD copy of the film and a meal. And that sounds just fine.)

Trax of My Tears

Innana tagged me again for a survey. I don't mind this one. I was actually going to post something about music anyway, so this fit right in...

1. A track from your early childhood.
Well, according to the autobiography I wrote in my second grade English class, my favorite song at the time was “Elvira” by The Oak Ridge Boys. Definitely fits in with the rest of my white trash childhood memories: The Dukes of Hazard, Kenny Rogers in the movie Six Pack, Smokey and the Bandit, Evel Knievel, et al. By the way, I can’t even remember what this song sounds like.

2. A track that you associate with your first love.
Midnight Oil, “Beds Are Burning”. Not so much a first love, but my first lust. I was about 12 and was at a dance and an older girl danced with me and was grinding against me, teaching me how to “dirty dance”. It was a little more exciting than I remember the movie being.

3. A track that reminds you of a holiday trip.
U2, “Mysterious Ways”. I remember first hearing this on a trip with my family to visit my grandparents in Tampa, FL. For some reason it stands out as a vacation song in my mind.

4. A track that you like but wouldn’t want to be associated with in public.
Chicago’s “You’re The Inspiration”. Next question.

5. A track that accompanied you when you were lovesick.
Um, Chris Issak’s entire back catalogue. If I have to narrow it down to one track, though, I’ll say “Things Go Wrong” off the album Forever Blue. “Trying to remember what I know I should forget” sums up a good chunk of my life.

6. A track that you have probably listened to most often.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say Guns N’ Roses, “Mr. Brownstone”. I still put it on the jukebox in bars.

7. A track that is your favourite instrumental.
Ennio Morricone, “Theme from A Few Dollars More”. I love the music from spaghetti westerns even more than I love spaghetti westerns.

8. A track that represents one of your favourite bands.
Yo La Tengo, “From A Motel 6”. I had dropped acid the first time I heard this. For weeks I heard the song in my head. I had just moved to New Orleans and I put it on every mix tape I made for friends back home. It was my theme song for several months.

9. A track which represents yourself best.
When I was in high school, I wanted Metallica’s “Motorbreath” to be the theme song for the movie about my life. In fact, I even told my friend Matt to make sure that when he directed the movie (we had both planned on directing each other’s biographical films) that he in fact use that song for the end sequence where my life was summed up in a beautiful montage of the fury and splendor of my short but prolific life.

However, 17 years later, I think the song that really represents my path would be Bob Dylan’s “Simple Twist of Fate”.

10.. A track that reminds you of a special occasion (which one?).
The Cars, "(Let the) Good Times Roll". I can't really think of any special occasions in my life, but when I have one, this should be playing. This should always play at a special occasion. Just kick back and let them wash your rock and roll hair and think, "Ya know, this really is a special occasion."

11.. A track that you can relax to.
Talking Heads, “This Must Be The Place (Naïve Melody)”. This falls just behind “Mr. Brownstone” on the “constant rotation” list.

12. A track that stands for a really good time in your life.
Robert Plant, “29 Palms”. Also known as “It’s Cold In Your Car”.

13. A track that is currently your favourite.
The Flaming Lips’, “Bad Days”. I’ve been on a Lips kick for months now. You have to sleep late when you can/And all your bad days will end

14. A track that you’d dedicate to your best friend.
Tobin Sprout, “Moonflower Plastic (You’re Here)”

15. A track that you think nobody but you likes.
The Hooters, “One Way Home”, from the album of the same name. I listened to this cassette so much in junior high I actually started writing a script based on lyrics from various songs off it. It was the story of some high school friends who start a band and their eventual downfall as they become more and more successful. Their friendships are forever changed from their experiences “on the road”. Very pedestrian stuff, with no original thought whatsoever. Of course, I thought it was going to be the greatest thing ever committed to celluloid.

16. A track that you like especially for its lyrics.
Frank Zappa, “Camarillo Brillo”. She stripped away her ranchid poncho/An’ laid out naked by the door/We did it till we were un-concho/An’ it was useless any more, is pure poetry.

17. A track that you like that’s neither English nor German.
I don’t fully understand this question, but I’m going to say, “Love’s a Real Thing” by Super Eagles. They’re a band from Gambia, a country in Africa. I don’t think that is either English or German.

18. A track that lets you release tension best.
“Dead Skin Mask”, by Slayer. Really anything by Slayer. They are the only metal band anyone needs in their arsenal. If you want to have a metal album in your collection, it should be something by Slayer. It might create more tension than it releases, but if I’m in a tense, angry mood, I’ll listen to aggressive head-banging metal, and eventually calm down and realize why I don’t listen to that stuff anymore. It wears you out.

19. A track that you want to be played at your funeral.
PJ Harvey’s cover of Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” It has a cheesy church organ playing a dirge anyway. Fitting really.

20. A track that you’d nominate for the “best of all times” category.
Alice Cooper, “Billion Dollar Baby”. Because I’m so scared your little head will come off in my hands.

Highs And Lows

Dave C's birthday yesterday. I spent the weekend in Philly, hanging out with friends. I took some money out at an ATM when I got down there and discovered I am nearly destitute (if you're using my bank account as a gauge, anyway). However, this didn't seem to bother me. I was in good spirits. Even when my friend Laura drunkenly rubbed my stomach like I was a Buddha, then put her ear against it and said she could "hear it kicking", I was unfazed. (Though in the back of my mind I considered starting a strict regimen of crunches and ab exercises when I got home).

I now have HOT WATER in my apartment! I got home this afternoon and jumped in the shower, fully expecting to jump back out in the alotted 30 seconds. However, much to my delight, the water was extremely hot and required that I turn on the cold water as well. I started taking a full shower. I finished washing myself, and the water was still hot! When my brother got home he asked if I noticed anything different about the place. I mentioned the hot water and he informed me that he took a 15 minute shower this morning. "Now we just have a crappy apartment," he said. "Not an unlivable one."

I read today that G.W. Bush's approval ratings continue to slip. He's at 36% now. Every week it seems lower. Last week it was at 38%. I smell a terrorist attack coming. Or news of a "thwarted terrorist strike".

And here's some more Hasslehoff for you:

Shall We Talk About The Weather?

It is 72 degrees here in the Big Apple today. Yay for global warming! I'm going for a walk in the park...

Proletariat Plane: My First Experience With JetBlue

Last week I flew JetBlue for the first time. Everyone always raves about their rates and I myself couldn't pass up the $69 tickets to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. With taxes, the round-trip flight ended up costing me $150.

I have grown up on planes. My father has worked for the airlines my whole life and so we flew quite often. I had grandparents that lived in Chicago and cousins that lived in Florida, so those trips were made once or twice a year. My earliest memories are actually of flying.

I have one memory that comes to mind: I must've been seven or eight. I remember talking at length with the man seated next to me, who had inquired about the plane I was drawing on a piece of manilla paper. I explained that I was designing an aircraft that I planned to build when I got home from this particular trip. I told him what type of wood I would use, the length of nails, the trashbags I would use for the wings. He never laughed at how ridiculous I was, and I think I tried to con him into booking passage on our virgin flight. He declined.

Since my experience as a passenger stretches back to the mid-seventies, one of the things I remember in particualr was the service. Something which is just a memory now.

We live in different times. We live in a self-serve world. Companies don't want to spend money on employees. Not when we will give them money to be a temporary employee.

On this trip I booked my tickets online, actually selected my seat and was able to print out a boarding pass from my home computer. I then checked in my own bag. I acted as my own ticket agent and baggage handler. JetBlue didn't have to spend a dime there. I paid them for that opportunity.

When I boarded the plane at JFK, it was near chaos. The flight attendants had no control. I couldn't tell whether they were just tired (It was 7am) or couldn't give a rat's ass. It was to be expected. When the inmates have taken over the asylum, there is no such thing as order.

Seating was a free-for-all. People just kept changing seats throughout the flight. It was musical chairs. Joe, the front cabin flight attendant, who looked like he just crawled out of rehab, would just shake his head as people ran past him to fetch themselves some more snacks from the pantry.

The flight attendant in my section looked like a hungover sorority girl. She was actually wearing a loose sweater and what looked like sweatpants. I wasn't surprised when she walked past and I noticed the words "JetBlue" written across the ass.

The thing I liked was the DirectTV in every seat. I never get to watch TV these days and I like to see it when I can. Unfortunately, every so often the screen would pop up with a map of where the plane was along its course. The monitor also provided updates on the plane's speed and alititude. Do I need that?! No! It's bad enough the captain always feels the need to inform the cabin every now and then of this information, do you have to interrupt "American Chopper"? I am not flying the plane! I don't need to know this.

Or do I?

That might just be the next step in the new self-serve airline industry.

Honeysickle Vines 'Round The Trailer Park Heart

Talked, or rather listened, to a kid on the train today. Kids are not happy with the year as a unit of measurement. As we get older we learn to accept that cruel indicator of Time's march forward. But a child wants time broken into smaller units. Kids are always ten...and a half.

"I'm ten and a half. Not really ten anymore. Not quite 11. Just in the middle. Ten and a half. In two months I'll be ten and three quarters."

Some will even break it down further:

"I'm ten years, six months, three hours, seven minutes and thrity-two seconds."

I found myself in St. Patrick's Cathedral this afternoon, lighting a prayer candle for a friend's mother. I am not one who prays very often. I am not a religious man. But those catholic reflexes kicked in. When I was in the hospital 11 years ago, I know that many people prayed for me, and I feel that it helped me recover quicker. There have been studies on the positive effects of prayer on sick patients. And I felt I needed to be in a place of worship to really make my prayers count. It helped me concentrate, even with all the tourists wandering around.

Finally found the American wing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I usually get sucked into the Impressionists section or wander over to the Modern Art section, but today I explored the other side of the museum.

I am, once again, crafting a new resume. I really have trouble with these damn things. I just don't see the point. I have never, in my entire life, gotten a job from my resume. I've sent resumes out, to no avail. I got an interview once from sending my resume out. And that was with Fox News. I didn't get the job. The only jobs I tend to get are the ones that don't require a resume. As a result, I am at a comlete loss as to how to craft a resume. I've done so in the past, but whenever I show it to someone they tell me what's wrong with it, then I fix it and show it to somebody else, and they tell me it's still all wrong, and so I do it again and show it to someone else and they tell me it's the worst resume they've ever seen and I try to fix it again, but at that point I usually get a retail job where I just have to fill out an application. So really, what is the point of a resume?! And is there anyone who will make one for me? I don't want anybody's input. I want someone to sit down and listen to me tell them about all the jobs I've had and create a resume for me. Cuz I'm tired of rewriting this damn thing! And I still don't see the point. It's all who you know. Can't I just befriend people and have them offer me jobs? That's been a successful approach in the past.

I really want to re-read V for Vendetta before the movie comes out. But I don't have it. And I don't have the money to be blowing on comic books right now. Damn.

Drunk and Old

It's Called Information Technology for a Reason

Because of my identity theft problem I've had to change my bank card information. My internet service is automatically taken out of my card, so I've needed to change that information in order to maintain service. I don't receive a paper bill every month. In fact, I haven't received an electronic bill either. It's just automatically deducted.

Being the lazy, unorganized person that I am, I have lost my account information and have had a hell of a time finding it.

My first mistake in trying to retrieve my account information so that I can change my billing info, was to call customer service.

Most companies have the worst customer service department. You usually end up talking to someone who's probably just doing temp work and has no idea how to truly answer your questions. I will venture to say that 5% of the customer service representatives in the ENTIRE KNOWN WORLD, actually know what the fuck they are doing. 95% of them just collect a paycheck and discuss last night's episode of "Lost" with their co-workers.

For the last week, every person I've talked to at Verizon has found no record of me in their system. I've given them my name, my address, my social security number, my email address, the old card that the account was billed to...and nothing came up!

Luckily, today I misdialed and ended up talking to someone in the IT department. He was able to pull up my information in a matter of seconds, simply by asking my name and having me confirm my address. Any question I had, he knew the answer, or at least how to access it.

So, if you ever have a question about anything, in any company around: call the IT department. They are the ONLY ones who know what's going on. They've got all the information!

Back From The Big Easy

I just got home tonight from my week-long trip to New Orleans. The trip was by turns wonderful and depressing.

Caught up with old friends, celebrated my birthday, and was interviewed for this month's episode of Timecode:NOLA. (You can view the podcast of my appearance on iTunes. It's episode 302, and I talk about the making of my film Potter's Field.)

Complaints about FEMA money, SBA loans, getting screwed by Entergy, and the increasing cost of living seemed to dominate most of the conversations I had with people. Most of the rents have doubled or tripled since the disaster and are now comparable to the rent here in New York.

A whole new population of Mexican migrant workers have moved in to work construction and odd jobs since a lot of the residents haven't. RV units and tents are scattered all over the city. Contractors from Texas in trucks and SUVs constantly cruise the wrong way down one way streets.

The days after Mardi Gras used to be when the city was at its cleanest, having undergone all-night clean-ups that scrubbed the town of its pre-lent filth. There was no such clean-up this year and as I was leaving today the streets were as dirty and covered in Mardi Gras beads and trash as they were during the festivities.

But Mardi Gras was a necessary diversion from the constant battle to stay afloat. It was the one time people stopped wondering who was going to fuck them over next and took time off to try and have a good time.

There's a delusional quality about New Orleanians, and in the face of constant adversity they swear things will get better and plow through the day. That's admirable, but it will be many years before the town gets back on its feet. The vultures are still there, picking at the bones of a dying city. The idea of raising rent on hollowed-out homes from $400 to $1300 completely baffles me, but it is that rampant irrationality that drove me out of the town in the first place.

It was overwhelming. Several people I talked to had been charged hundreds of dollars for energy they didn't use while the town was evacuated and they were shuffling from town to town waiting to return. Entergy says they'll be credited the money, but if they don't pay it up front, they risk damaging their credit.

ugh.

Aside from all that it was wonderful to see my friends again.
And to take a long shower with actual hot water every day.