Someone is Most Assuredly Legend

'Ello, you lucky people!

So, yeah yeah, I know it's been a long-ass time since my last post. I hadn't been feeling the blog. It happens. But here I am with a few different topics that I could choose to focus upon in this, my return blog. What am I going to do? Talk about all of them! I was way too excited just then.

New Jersey was great. Yes, believe it or not, it's been that long since I blogged last. I had some preconcieved notions about what it would be like and for the most part the negative notions were squashed. I was very impressed with the transit system in NJ. Trains are such a good idea and they work. The conductors (or, let's be honest, ticket takers) wear the little hats, which kinda made me laugh. I kept expecting one of them to blow a whistle and tell me a story about Thomas the Tank Engine. The only complaint I have about NJ Transit is that it's very expensive, or seemed to be. I did only travel to and from the airport and to and from NYC.

That's right, I went to New York City while I was there. How could I not? I'd never been. It was good to go and I enjoyed myself while I was there. That being said, I didn't really see what all the hype was about. Yeah, it's very cool with the big buildings and stuff, but there's too many damn people. I think the only way I'd want to live there is if I had an assload of money and could afford to live in The Dakota or somewhere near there.

I guess I'd rather live in New Jersey if given the choice. Not New Brunswick, which Lincoln and Kristen live. NB is an industrial suburb and is kinda scary when you're walking around. I blame it on being too close to Newark. I just passed through Newark on the train and I think that's all the Newark I'm ever gonna need. No, the bit of NJ where I want to live is the coast. Specifically Red Bank or Atlantic Highlands. So East-coasty and nice. There were huge estates right close to the water. I actually saw scooners. I thought they were just a bedtime story. Red Bank is like Cherry Creek. The one time on my whole trip I felt like I wouldn't get mugged. So, despite what anyone says, I will always say New Jersey is great.

Back to Colorado. Work has been crazy. Really, the only crazy time in a ballet company's season is Nutcracker. I'm a little more than halfway done with the shows, but there are still 9. I'm gonna get some sweet days off from Christmas day to Jan 3 which I'll use to do FUCK ALL, but that means I have to work up to and including Christmas Eve. That's not so great, but when I started the job I was warned that "we work while others play" which made it seem like I'd be working every weekend and have no time to do anything else. Well I am working every weekend, but it's not like I don't have time to do other crap. So, if you want to see me, you should probably come to the Ballet.

Here's a few random-weird thoughts that I've had recently: One is laundry and one is bathroom. I know you're intrigued. Laundry first. I've been doing laundry for a really long time and there's something that's always bugged me about it. How come every shirt you put in the laundry turns inside out before the process is done? This mostly involves button-up shirts but it always seems to happen. I've tried to figure out what causes it. At first I thought it was just the motion of the cycles that causes it, so I tried turning every shirt inside out before I put them in. You know what happened? Nothing. They stayed inside out. It doesn't make any sense. It's like their natural state of being is inside out and we're persecuting the shirts into remaining "outside out" as Todd calls it. One week, the left sleeve on every one of my shirts turned inside out. It's like the bermuda triangle in the tumble dryer or something.

Now the bathroom. This one is a little gross, so bear with me. You're in the bathroom, public or otherwise, and sitting on the toilet doing yuh bih-ness. When you're done you get up, hitch up your pants and go wash your hands. Or at least you should. But have you ever thought about that? You wash your hands and that's great. It's necessary. But have we all overlooked the fact that BEFORE our hands are washed, we put our hands all over our pants and belts and what not? There's nothing we can do about it though. In the privacy of your own bathroom, sure, you can stand up and hobble over to the sink and wash up before hitching up your shit. But not in public. And let's face it, public restrooms aren't the cleanest places in the world. So you have to hitch up your drawers and then go wash your hands, carrying with you the germs on your crotch the whole rest of the day. It was an epiphany I had recently. A horrifying, disgusting epiphany.

I've seen four movies, miraculously, in the last two months which I will briefly discuss.
30 DAYS OF NIGHT: Based on a graffic novel (as half the films out these days are) where vampires decide to ransack a little Alaskan town where the sun sets for 30 days at a time. Brilliant concept. The first graphic novel is the only one I've read and the film follows it pretty faithfully. It was surprisingly gorey for a theatrical release. Some dude gets his head hacked off with an axe in full view. I did appreciate that the film didn't try to change the ending and make it an "up" as another film I've recently seen did. Good flick for horror fans or anyone who liked the 2004 remake of Dawn of the Dead as both films have similar styles and sensibilities. Almost more action than horror.

AMERICAN GANGSTER: This movie was pretty good. That's all. PRETTY good. Golden Globe nomination worthy? I didn't think so. It tells the "true" story of Frank Lucas who single-handedly took over the heroin racket in New York. Denzel Washington plays the character with a decent mix of sophistication and insanity. The trouble is that the real Frank Lucas was nearly illiterate and was basically just a violent thug who made the right connections. Russell Crowe was better as the NJ cop who eventually brings Lucas down, though it pains me to like Russell Crowe in movies knowing what a tool he is. This makes two in a row (also including 3:10 to Yuma) It was too long for the story it had to tell and the ending was incredibly rushed. Better not win Best Picture.

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN: This movie definitely SHOULD win best picture. Not just because I love the Coen Brothers, but because it's a different type of movie and in some places is as intense as any horror movie. The performances are top notch and much needs to be said of how well the characters develop through very little dialogue. If Javier Bardem doesn't win an Oscar for this, I will boycott something. Not sure what, but something. It's a modern western coupled with a chase/heist film wrapped up in existentialism. Josh Brolin will no doubt be overlooked in this film, but he was just as good as Bardem.

I AM LEGEND: Last night I went at midnight to see the most anticipated movie of the year for me. I Am Legend is by far my favorite book ever. This film version marks the third time the book as officially been adapted. The book is a scientific look at vampires. One man is the only person immune to a virus that literally turned the whole world into vampires. He tries to figure out the cause of his immunity while killing all the vampires he could. Only the first adaptation, 1964's The Last Man On Earth, actually depicts the creatures as vampires and follows the book very faithfully. The second one, 1971's The Omega Man, turns the vampires into weird nuclear-age mutants who are just light sensitive and insane. They're still sentient creatures, but they've decided that technology is bad. This new version takes from both. They're not specifically "vampires" but pretty much they are. Will Smith does a good job as the last man on Earth, acting mostly opposite a dog, mannequins, and CGI monsters. The one thing none of the versions have gotten right is the bleak and wonderful ending of the book. The book ends with Neville, the last uninfected human on Earth, realizing that he is a relic from another time. The boogeyman for a new population. The vampires fear him because he kills them and he finally has to face the fact that his being alive isn't helping anyone in the new society and allows himself to be put to death. Without ruining the ending of the film too much, there's too much hope at the end. Even though, as with the other two films, there isn't a happy ending, there is an upbeat ending. Still a good movie worth seeing and still incredibly well made and effective, but I just kinda wish it was a little more apocalyptic. I guess people don't want hopelessness around the Christmas season.

Enough of this.

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

Death Bed or: The reason film was invented

'Ello, you lucky people!

People see movies for one of two reasons: A) They think it looks good or 2) They think it looks fucked up. Granted, the former is more common, the latter does play heavily into choice of viewing and usually people who see movies based on their fucked-upitude are far less disappointed. You go to see a movie thinking it'll be good, and it isn't, you're going to be upset, surely. But, if you go to see a move thinking it'll be fucked up, it almost always is. Do you think anyone went to see "Snakes on a Plane" because they thought it'd be good cinema? No, of course not. They went because it looked fucked up, and it was. I was not in the least disappointed with that horrible film, and it certainly was atrocious, because it lived up to my expectations of crap.

With that in mind, this blog will focus on one of the most fucked up (and horribly stupid) movies I've ever seen: Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. I had the extreme good fortune to watch this movie last night. I had been calling it Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People but the actual screen title ends at "Eats." I'm not sure if I like the real title as much. At any rate, the title is what drew me to it. I like titles of this nature, ones that let you know exactly what you're going to get. Texas Chain Saw Massacre is another good example. With a title like Death Bed: The Bed That Eats, you're left with a mental image and you can only hope the actual film can live up to it. This bed of death indeed eats; already I'm satisfied.

The DVD for DB:TBTE has but one "Special" feature (using the term very very loosely) and that is a video taped introduction by the film's director, George Barry, talking mostly about how this movie came to be on DVD. It was filmed mostly in 1972, but, he explained, the final print wasn't struck until 1977. He couldn't get a distribution deal for the film at all and was forced to show it on the small festival circuit and "in people's basements." Somehow, a bootleg made its way overseas where it gained the admiration of French filmmaker Jean Rollin who is known primarily for schlocky gorefests, such as 1978's The Grapes of Death (where pesticides are used on a vinyard and causes the resulting wine to turn people into zombies), hardcore pornography like 1976's Douces Penetrations (guess what that title is in English), and sometimes both, like Seduction of Amy from 1975 (where an evil count lures beautiful women to his castle, there to imprison them in his torture chamber for his amusement). Barry wears Rollin's endorsement like a badge of honor, which seemed odd to me until I saw the film. He also spoke about how he was so surprised that no one wanted to distribute the movie which also struck me as funny. Had he not seen his own movie? Eventually, the film was picked up for DVD release in 2003, a full 31 years since principle photography began. The least articulate director I've ever heard speak, Barry did give me a good context for film I was now salivating with anticipation to watch.

The film opens with chomping sounds on a black screen followed by a very 70's couple driving up to an old, deserted manor, somewhere in the world. The word "Breakfast" then appears on the screen. The couple is trying to find a secluded place to eat a picnic and bone. Lucky for them, there's this weird, creepy house. The demonic bed, which apparently also has dominion over the door locks of this house, lures them down into an unfinished basement that has a fireplace, a single painting on the wall, and the title character, a massive black and purple four-poster bed. The couple sets down on the bed and takes out their food: 2 apples, a bottle of wine, and a bucket of chicken. Then they begin making out flatly. It's pretty clear the actress was sort of repulsed by this man and couldn't even pretend otherwise. While they obliviously kiss, a yellow froth begins to bubble from the bed and the food items are sucked into it. This begins the near-endless shots in the film of whatever the bed eats being dissolved in a vat of fizzy, yellow liquid. We hear munching sounds, but the bed has no teeth or even mandibles, so what exactly is that supposed to be? At any rate, the discarded cores, bottle, and bucket are regurgitated back to the surface, seemingly unharmed. The couple decides to eat, but the food's gone. Oh well, time to bone. The skeezy man undoes the her shirt and begins very mechanically kneeding this poor girl's left breast as they kiss further. Of course, this is only temporary as they soon begin to disappear into the Death Bed itself. Screams are heard and blood pours, though from what wound? They're being dissolved. Once the couple is satisfactorily devoured, the bed makes itself (you read that right) and laughs. This is the opening of the film.

And it just gets better from there, though I won't go into detail on the rest. We have a narrator, who is a ghost that lives in/behind the painting and talks about the hated demon-bed as it came to be, which is just a masterpiece. More people come to the house to be sucked into the Mountain Dew-y innards of the bed as the narrator attempts to give more credence to the whole concept than it really deserves. At one point, we see a bottle of Pepto Bismol being emptied within the bed's digestive fluids. Astonishing. The film stars no one who ever acted in films again, with the notable exception of William Russ, who is best known as the dad on Boy Meets World. That's right, Cory's father gets his hands eaten off in Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. Anything interesting that may be introduced in this film is undercut by the wooden acting and absurd premise. George Barry's only film looks like any other film by someone who has a general knowledge of the craft but not skill to make it work. Little real gore, but lots and lots of naked women (every woman in the film is naked at one point or another) which speaks to Jean Rollin's interest in it.

So why, you ask, if this movie is as bad as I say, do I recommend everyone watch it? The answer is simple. It's fucked up. Bad movies come and go, but movies that are THIS bad must be seen by everyone. A demon-possessed bed is about as odd a scenario as has ever been thought up, but it could concievably be done with a modicum of taste or intrigue, but this is just fucked up. It's probably the most fucked up movie I've ever seen and this is why it will always hold a place in my heart. I think they need to make Death Bed into a trilogy. Part two being "Rape Stove" and part three being "Armed Robbery Dishwasher." Incidently, my mother watched this film with me and laughed harder than she's laughed in years. Uncontrollably in some places. So, it definitely gets the Tina Anderson stamp of approval. And, really what more do you need?

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

"The Marathon Concert" & other stories

'Ello, you lucky people!

Seeing a band you like live is a really, for lack of a better term, "magical" experience. Or at least it should be. These are people who's work you really admire or connect to or even just think is catchy, and you can now see them in person a few (hundred in some cases) feet away. Last night, I had the pleasure of seeing a favorite band of mine, Gogol Bordello, with two of my favorite people, Joey and Chelsey. This was an interesting concert all around. It was the Halloween concert at the Boulder Theatre (a place that looks almost identical to the Bluebird in Denver) and so probably 50% of the people were dressed up in some form of odd garb. One person (I believe it was a female but I couldn't tell) was dressed in a large bunny costume. There were some devils and Zulu warriors and a ton of drunk bitches. I hear drunk bitch is the new black. One wore a furry white suit with fiber-optic lights built in. Like a glowing monster. Weirdos.

There was a dj on stage when we got there and after the opening act and he played some very eclectic sounds which I thought was pretty sweet. The "warm-up" band called themselves The Dub Trio. There were in fact three of them. They did instrumental music that was part hardcore, part reggae, part odd electronica. It was pretty clear they were excellent musicians but there's only so much of their type of music people can take when they come to hear Gypsy-punk rock. Dub Trio would have been great for a half-hour. Too bad they played for 50 minutes. Feedback becomes irritating after that long, no matter how you dress it. Plus EVERYTHING they played sounded like what they just played. And there wasn't ever really a break between songs, just 50 minutes continual noise.

So after them, we had about a half-hour more of the dj, which is kinda customary. Concert promoters and bands are pretty smart. They make the audience wait so long to hear who they want to hear and they start getting so antsy and tired, that by time the headliner does take the stage, the audience is twice as excited and happy. Good move. So, I had to open the Ballet office on Tuesday and open again this morning, meaning I was already tired from all day Tues and was gonna be even more tired when I got home, but I figured it was worth it. Gogol Bordello took the stage at 10:30 and it was just non-stop rocking from then on. Such a frenetic and energetic band, it really was a terrific live show. Eugene Hutz, a Ukrainian immigrant and lead singer of GB, ran around the stage like a crazy person and continually knocked over his mic stand, causing this one roadie to come out and pick it back up. Over and over again. I think by the end of the night, Eugene was knocking it over just to make this guy pick it up again. Pretty funny.

So, most headliners play for an hour, maybe 90 minutes if it's a very lengthy show. Gogol Bordello proceeded to play for two hours. At about 11:45, they left the stage before the obligatory encore, which I figured would be a song or two. Oh no, their encore was 45 minutes long and their final song was easily 10 minutes due to three or four false endings. And after everything was all over, Eugene invited all the crowd to an after-party. It wasn't just a generic, "let's all keep the party going," or anything like that. He gave an address. Nuts, these rockstars are.

So it's 12:30 and I was prepared to get home by 1 or so and be okay. But the adventure doesn't end there, my friends. I'm embarrassed to admit that I get lost pretty easily if I'm in a place I've never been or not been very often. I hate it passionately, but it happens. So it took me probably an extra 10 minutes to get back to the road that becomes Hwy 36. My knowledge of Boulder ends there. A road (28th I believe) turns into 36 and I'm out. So after getting slightly lost getting back to 36, I figured I was okay once I was on it. Nay, good people. There was an accident on 36 and the cops forced everyone off of it. "Now," to quote the film Snatch, "we're fucked." I get off and have no idea where to go. How does one get out of Boulder if not on the turnpike? So I'm driving around for a long-ass time looking for SOMETHING familiar. And since I've traditionally avoided Boulder like the plague (no, not JUST because of the hippies) nothing is familiar.

I called Joey to ask how she and Chels got out. They took the Foothills Pkwy which becomes 36. Okay... so where am I in relation to that? Joey did her best to figure out where I was but I had gotten so very lost. I ended up almost in the mountains TWICE. Fuck. So, it's dark, late, there's really no cars around to try to follow, and I'm somewhere I've never been. Finally I find Pearl St. I recognize that name from the one time I went to that God-awful outdoor mall, aka "Din of Bodily Filth and Hemp." I give Joey another call, this is easily a 30 minutes since I called earlier, and she hands it off to Cody who tells me Pearl runs into Foothills and I will then finally be able to get out of Boulder. I was filled with some apprehension because for the first little bit, it was taking me back the way I came, however I soon was able to get on 36. The accident occurred just before Foothills merges onto the turnpike, which is how my compadres avoided it. A truck somehow ended up on its top. I didn't see any people, who presumably were taken to the hospital well before this. I got home at quarter to 2 in the morning. And I had to wake up at 7:30. Gross. This boy is tired. Great concert though.

One final bit before I sign off of this blog that is now nearly as long as last night's excursion. If people in Downtown Denver got a ticket everytime they ran a red light, the people in the entire state of Colorado would never have to pay taxes again. Every single day when I drive down there, I see no fewer than 10 people running a red light. But you're sort of forced to. The lights are timed so even if the flow of traffic doesn't necessarily require the light to change, it will. And people who want to go home after a long day of work don't really want to stop at every red light. Just stupid. Food for though, politicians. Just downtown. Not even all of Denver. Quoting Todd, "tink bou' dat."

Talk at you later and keep circulating the tapes.

"Fuck off, Tom" and other stories

'Ello, you lucky people!

Well, I finally deleted my Myspace account. It just kinda pissed me off but I still checked it 300 times a day. Anyway, it's gone. It's fitting that the very last message I recieved was from a spammer wanting me to go to a sex site. That's MySpace in a nutshell. I don't regret it or at least won't in the long run. It's an addiction I'm kicking. I never did anything with it, but I still was on it too much. Regardless.

I just purchased the Stanley Kubrick collection and am super stoked to watch all of the neat crap on it. Movies are an addiction I'll hopefully never kick.

I've been working my ever-living ass off (presupposing that I, in fact, have an ass to lose) It's nice to get money, but cripes it tuckers me out. This week marked my first as the interim lead ticket agent at the ballet. The people are pretty cool and since the promotion, people in management positions have been a ton nicer. Most even remember my name which is pretty cool. When I took the job, I didn't want to be a supervisor anywhere anymore and here I am in one again. But I didn't want to work in ticketing anymore and I've returned to that. I've said it many times, it may just be my lot in life.

I'm incredibly excited to go on a wee trip in a week and a half. Not gonna say too much, but let's just say it'll be a rejuvination and a reinvigoration for my burgeoning movie career. A visit to my holy land.

All for now, more news as it develops.

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

"Love Kills"

'Ello, you lucky people!

So, I've started shopping around my first screenplay to different agencies and what-not, so I decided to post the first scene, the pre-credit sequence, for you to read. Enjoy my friends and if you'd like to read more, let me know.

"LOVE KILLS"
FADE IN:

INT. Bar -- NIGHT

A slightly nicer than seedy bar in a nicer than seedy part of town. A weeknight, so not too many people. At the bar sits a very distraught-looking 24 year old named DOUG. He cries to the BARTENDER.

DOUG: ...and then she said "I think it would be better if we didn't see each other anymore." Can you believe that shit?

BARTENDER:Yeah, I can.

DOUG : You know, it's just her father. He never liked me. He never thought I was good enough for her. But we're in love and there's nothing he can do about it.

BARTENDER: Well, give it some time. If things are meant to be, they'll turn out.

DOUG: Psh...yeah maybe.

BARTENDER: Sure it will. How long ago did this all happen?

DOUG: 3 months.

BARTENDER: 3 months?

DOUG: Yeah.

BARTENDER: Brother, you need to move on. It's not healthy.

DOUG: Oh easy for you to say. Brandi and I are supposed to be together.
We're gonna get married and have kids and grandkids and great-grandkids...

BARTENDER: Okay, I'm cutting you off, kid. You're talking crazy.

DOUG: No I'm not crazy! I'm in love! Why don't people get that?

A few seats down, another 20-something guy, DAN COOPER, turns from his drink and chimes in.

DAN: He's right. Nobody gets it.

BARTENDER: All right, I'm cutting you both off.

DAN: No, it's totally true. The whole country, hell, the whole world, is biased against people in love.

BARTENDER: Oh, come on. That's bullshit! The whole country puts people in love up on a pedestal. We're all supposed to be in love and if we're not, it's "poor guy this" and "poor guy that."

DAN: THAT, my friend, is bullshit. Love is a dream. People in love are crazy. No one's supposed to be happy all the time. Perpetual happiness is a sure sign of insanity. If two people are in love with each other, the world says "good for you, you're both equally crazy and are now able to go and live your crazy life and have 2.5 crazy kids and a crazy dog named Barnaby." But, God forbid you fall in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way. You have to get over it because you're wrong. You have to move on and forget about it. Why isn't it the other people who have to change? If love is so great and revered as you say, then how come they aren't expected to be in love with the person who clearly loves them? It's because the world needs for people to be miserable. And unfortunate as it is, the loveless are the most abundant people on earth. It's shitty, but it's life.

BARTENDER: Man, you're bitter.

DAN: Nope. I'm just a guy who’s been there.

DOUG sobs a little more.

BARTENDER: Come on, man. It'll be okay.

DAN: Yeah it will. Come on, I'll take you home.

BARTENDER: You sure you wanna do that? It's sure to be a long night.

DAN: Yeah, I got it.

DAN helps DOUG off the stool, slaps a 20 on the bar and leads him out the door.

EXT. BAR -- CONTINUOUS

DAN turns a corner and leads DOUG down a mostly-darkened alleyway.

DOUG: I really appreciated what you said back there.

DAN: Don't mention it.

DOUG: No, it was great. Do you really think Brandi's wrong?

DAN: No, in this case Brandi happens to be right.

DOUG: Huh?

DAN sets DOUG on the ground next to a dumpster.

DAN: Or, more accurately, Brandi's father is right.

DOUG: But you just said...

DAN: I know what I just said, and it's usually true. Under different circumstances, I'd be right there with you. But, Brandi's father happens to be a very powerful man who doesn't really like how you've been treating her.

DOUG: I don't...how do you...?

DAN: He showed me a picture of a shiner you gave her last week. Looked pretty painful.

DOUG: She wouldn't listen to me. I just wanted her to listen...

DAN: Well Brandi's father didn’t seem to think that was an acceptable way to go about it. Not in the least.

DOUG: What does he want me to do?

DAN reaches into the back of his pants and retrieves a silenced pistol.

DAN: That's kinda what I need to talk to you about.

DOUG: Oh, no! No, you can't. All those things you said. You've been there, you said!

DAN: I have been there. I am there. But I would NEVER punch a girl. Certainly not one I loved and CERTAINLY not one who has a mob-connected businessman as a father.

DAN raises the gun and aims.

DOUG: No, please.

DAN: Sorry, Dougie.

DAN puts two quick shots in DOUG and he falls over. DAN looks a minute at him, sighs, then returns the pistol to his jacket, and walks out of the alley and back into the bar.

INT. BAR -- CONTINUOUS

DAN walks back up to the BARTENDER.

DAN: He got mugged.

BARTENDER: I know.

DAN: Wait twenty minutes and call the police.

BARTENDER: Will do.

DAN: Thanks, Bobby.

BARTENDER: Anytime, Dan. Make sure McCarthy remembers me.

DAN: He does.

BARTENDER: Stay and have a drink.

DAN: Can't. I've got class in the morning.

DAN walks out again.

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

Random Thoughts

'Ello, you lucky people!

So, I tend to come up with bizarre notions or ideas. Here are some.

The idea of coming up with a sport is kind of crazy. You know they all started with bored kids. "Hey, let's hit a ball with a stick." That's it. It all started from there. "If you kick this ball between two trees, you get a point." Multi-million dollar deals are now brokered all because kids were bored. Remember when you were a kid and decided the floor was lava and you had to jump from pillow to pillow so as to avoid burning to death? What if people went to college for that and make a million bucks a year? Just add a bunch of rules that only 30% of the world understands completely and you have yourself a sport.

I'm sure they went through some different versions before settling on what we know today. "Gee, Jean-Pierre, I really like this game, but what if we use something else to hit the pucks into the net besides a telescope? I bet a piece of wood would work all right."

And why are some games now professional and some aren't? There should be professional tetherball or four square. Kickball is essentially baseball so why isn't there a professional kickball league? They'd change it a bit, but as long as they still use that big red ball, it'd be A-Okay.

I watch musicals and can't get passed those big musical numbers where someone just starts singing and 50 other people join in. The only time that ever happens is on a birthday. If you start singing the Happy Birthday song, people will join in. Like it's a rule or something.

I understand "Big wheel keep on turnin'," but what the hell's with "Proud Mary keep on burnin'?"

Why don't deaf people have hearing-ear dogs? And aren't dogs supposed to have really bad eyesight?

Eyesight... as opposed to kneesight or nipplesight?

My neighbor's kid is an idiot. We have a big ol' flag pole surrounded by lights in the lawn of the complex. One time during a rainstorm, he was hitting the lights with a big metal pipe. During a RAINSTORM. A 10 year old with a death wish.

Walkie-talkies are the stupidest inventions, not because of their function, but because of their poor marketing. Why couldn't they come up with a better name? "Walkie-talkie" sounds like how you'd explain how they work to a foreigner. "You walkie and talkie!!" Because you have to yell to foreigners or they won't understand. If they named other products like that, you'd have vacuums called "pushie-suckies" or cars called "rollie-goies."

They should create something called a "borange" just so every word rhymes with something. Just to be fair.

To aid in embryonic stem cell research, being that it's not legal currently to experiment on human embryos, they've created a new species that is a hybrid of a human and HAMSTER due to the similarities in DNA strands and so research can be done without it being on humans. This thing is called a "humster" and though a creature has never been allowed to fully develop, I am incredibly creeped out by this. Stem cells can be used by the body to replicate and become any type of cell. So, what if they use these cells from a humster in a human? What if dude with Parkinsons gets cured but then has a rodent kid a year later? It's a recessive trait, but so is green eyes or red hair. Creepy-ass shit. A kid who lives under the stairs and sleeps in wood shavings. And always keeps me awake with its constant running in the wheel.

Before "Make Love, Not War," I think the original slogan was "Just fuck each other indiscriminantly and hopefully you'll forget how pissed off you are." Didn't fit on T-shirts though. Plus there's a swear word in it.

It's irritating how open people are sometimes. I like being forward, but sometimes it's a little too much. At work, one of the new girls was talking about how she almost caught herpes one time, but "Don't ask how." If I could think of a list of every question I'd ask her BEFORE I'd ask about how she almost caught herpes, it would be a list of... every question. Including, "Where's the beef?" "Who shot J.R.?" and "Why do you think I'd want to know that?"

That's enough. But there's so many more.

Talk at ya later, and keep circulating the tapes.

The Thing with an Ironic Title

'Ello, you lucky people!

When you hear the word "master," you get a very distinct mental picture. I'm not going to explain the nature of semiotics because frankly I don't understand it myself, but essentially it's how our mind understands words based on what they symbolize. Think about the word "master" for a moment. What do you picture? A Master Lock? Yoda, who was a Jedi Master? He-Man, who was the Master of the Universe? MasterCard even? At any rate, it's understood that the word "master" should only be applied when something is, in fact, the honest to God best there is at something. I happen to work for a company, The Colorado Ballet, that happens to use TicketMaster. I'm going to tell you all, in case you weren't already aware, that TicketMaster is in fact the LEAST masterful way to buy, sell, distribute, or keep track of tickets. It's an ironic title. It's like calling a big fat guy "Tiny" or a savage Rottweiler "Cuddles." The unfortunate thing, though? TicketMaster ACUTALLY believes it is the master of tickets. In reality, the only thing it IS the master of is bating.

Tonight was my first night working a show at the Colorado Ballet. Every thing seemed to be going well. Was it going well? No. I didn't realize it wasn't going well until the END of my shift when literally none of my reports balanced with any of Ticket-fuckin-Master's reports. And here's why: When you sell tickets at the venue (Secondary as the G.M. calls it) and someone uses a credit card, if the card runs correctly and everything is gravy, it automatically prints two reciepts and you are then able to print the tickets. You keep a reciept and you give one to the patron along with the tickets and you're done. Everything is great. Go have a scone. You want to know what happens if the card is rejected? THE SAME EXACT FUCKING THING. It prints two reciepts and you can print the tickets to your heart's content. The only difference is that the word "rejected" is written on the reciept, in lower-case letters even. Did anyone tell me this was the case? Absolutely not. So I "sold" probably 10 tickets without ever knowing that no money ever actually came in. People were getting in for free. Which is great for them, but shit-tacular for me.

It took my supervisors and me an hour extra to reconcile this and all that really ended up being was a note written to the G.M. saying pretty much "It got all fucked up." This idiotic thing might be enough reason to hate TM, but there's more. It is easily the most archaic and counter-intuitive ticketing system I've ever used, and I've used four. From a selling standpoint, it's incredibly inconvenient. It takes close to 5 minutes to even sell tickets to someone. You first have to find the date of the show using the show code, then say that you want to look up seats, then scroll down to the section of the seats you want, then highlight the zeros on the screen representing the seats, then put in the qualifying codes for those seats, then put in the type of card the customer is going to use, then get their name, address, phone number, e-mail address, and marketing code (for EVERY customer, even during a rush) then actually put in the card number, then exit all the way out of their reservation just to go back into their reservation and finally print the tickets. In case you weren't counting, that's 15 steps. It takes FOREVER if you're waiting to go in to a show.

People seem to hate TM mostly due to the fees. There are fees for everything and there might even be a multiple fee fee. At the Ballet, there is an $8 per ticket fee, and a $3.10 handling fee. The $8 fee is unwaivable, even if someone has a two for one coupon. They pay for one ticket's BASE price, but still have to pay the $8 for their "free" ticket. There's a deal out now from 5280 magazine where people can buy two tickets for the improbable price of $52.80. But really it's two tickets for $52.80 plus $8 plus $8 plus $3.10 making the "deal" $71.10. An extra $19.10. In FEES. The most ridiculous thing is our rush tickets an hour prior to showtime are supposedly half off, making a $49 ticket, you'd assume, $24.50. Not so. It's half off the base ticket price of $41, making it $20.50 but you still have to add the $8 fee so it's actually $28.50 which is only 40% off, roughly. TicketMaster is all about lying to people. And trying to explain that to a patron with a modest income is really not fun for me.

God bless you for reading all that ridiculousness if you did. I just had a shitty day at work due almost entirely to the software and had to vent. I had two days off prior to today which would have been great aside from the fact that I was sick through both of them. I swear the next blog will be more light-hearted. Say, anyone want to get a beer?

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

Mislabled Interval and Impatient Wankers

'Ello, you lucky people!

Rush hour sucks. Driving with other people on the road sucks in general, but when there's a slew of hungry, tired, over-worked fuck tards traversing the interstates with you, it's nigh unmanagable. "Rush hour" really is an ironic misnomer. First of all, people seem to go 15 percent slower, yet slam on their brakes 27 percent more during this time of the day. Second, it lasts WAY longer than an hour. There's just way too many people driving places at the same time. It used to take me about 20 minutes to get back to the apartment from my job downtown but that was when I was leaving work at 8:30 in the eve. Working 9-5 may in fact be the way to make a living as Dolly "G-Cup" Parton suggests, but it sure ain't the way to stay sane on the roads.

There is a specific issue that I feel needs to be addressed when it comes to people on the road. When we were kids in line for something and someone tried to get in front of you, it was called butting (or cutting, but I preferred the former). No one wanted this to happen to them and usually it resulted in you A) quashing the butt yourself, or 2) getting a teacher to do it for you. As adults, if someone did that to us, we'd certainly have words and possibly fists thrown their direction. I, myself, still try to find the nearest teacher and report them, which is much harder to do in line for an Incubus concert than it was waiting for recess. Butting/Cutting is no socially acceptable. Why, then, is it okay for people in cars to do it?

Not a day goes by where some fucker doesn't attempt to get in front of me on the road, despite there being very few people behind me. People are far too impatient. I understand if someone is going really fucking slow, I mean that's just asking for it. But I don't. I drive fast, and still these dick beans find it necessary to get in front of me even though the car ahead of me is less than twenty feet away. That space I leave in front of my car is NOT for someone to get in, it's so I can safely stop if I need to. Tailgating? Yeah, that's a good way to wreck the front end of your car AND pay hefty insurance premiums, stupid.

Even more irritating is when a line of cars is nearly deadlocked and some brown eye gets in another lane, speeds up, and then gets back in the line, a huge way up from where they were. Excuse the fuck out of me, I didn't realize the crown head of Sheba was taking the I-70 interchange today. Surely you should be ahead of the rest of us who wait patiently as there's nowhere really to go. Go ahead, Your bleeding Highness. And yet there's no recourse for people who are victims of automotive butting. You can't make them get back, unless you start a "Death Race 2000" with them, and honking usually just makes everyone around you think they're the target of said honk, making the rest of your voyage that much more tense.

So, I am proposing that we as good drivers (and you know who you're not) band together to stop this new form of highway robbery. If someone tries to butt in front of you, flip them off and speed up so they can't get in. Yeah, it might be dangerous, but eventually these cock biters need to learn to take their fucking turns. Why do you deserve to get to your destination approximately 3 minutes before I get to mine? You're not better than anyone. Just queue up like everyone else.

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

Long, Dark Night

'Ello, you lucky people!

Filmmaking is tiring. Especially when you have a single day to shoot 80% of it AND all of it needs to be at night AND most of it needs to be outside. My fault really. It's an example of Kyle the writer not looking out for Kyle the director. For instance, I wrote the opening scene be lit with only the light from a trunk. The car available to me to use (my own car, the wonderful Nova) does not have a trunk light. And that was really the least of what we had to deal with. At one point I even said "God, who wrote this piece of shit?" But, it got finished and actually looks pretty good.

The entire shoot needed to be at night, which has its good and bad points. "Night" can be shot literally anytime between dusk and dawn and it can look like the same time, however getting the proper lighting on your actors' faces is very difficult because at what point does it look like a light is shining on them. Luckily there was a moon out which added a bit of light but not a lot.

The majority of what needed to be shot was a guy digging a grave and burying a body, meaning we needed a location far away from stuff. Clearly, no one would try to bury a body right by a subdivision or a parking lot. Or at least they shouldn't. We had the luck (if it can be called that) of getting to film in the empty farmland belonging to the parents of a friend of a friend. The guy was really gung-ho about it and even began digging a grave for us with the back-hoe. It took us for fucking ever to even find the land in the pitch-blackness of the country and once we finally did, we discovered that the pre-dug grave was somehow full of water. So what did we do? As one has to do quite often in cinema, we cheated. We made it look like there was a hole by building up a pile of dirt. You shoot it right, it looks like a dude is 4 feet underground.

The other major problem with that location was that it was dark as shit and way too far away from an outlet to bring any decent sized light. So, the entire thing was lit with nothing more than the Nova's headlights, a wind-up flashlight, and an Itty Bitty Book Light. And oddly enough, it looked really good. It's creepy actually, which is all I could ask for. Two big thank yous to Steve Giuliano for doing 6 different jobs being my only crew and Andy Lacerte for coming in uber last minute and agreeing to be covered with fake blood and buried in a pile of cold dirt.

I edited the shit out of it today and it's about half finished. The only thing I have to do is cut the scene between Rob Walker and Stephanie Kautz (that I shot in November '06) and put in the music and sound effects. My original goal was to get it all finished by Halloween, now I'm thinking it'll be done by next week. So that's really great. The finished product will probably be between 10 and 15 minutes in length making it the shortest of the short films I have made, but the script is only 5 pages so that's pretty good. I'm excited to let everyone see it as it should be pretty cool. I love making movies.

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

'Bout Time

'Ello, you lucky people!

So I feel like a tool. I made a point of making a new site for blogging and what not and then I get blogger's block. That, by the way, is a lot like writer's block, but for people with too much time on their hands. Anyway, I figured I'd me remiss if I didn't at least update y'all.

After having realized that being unhappy wasn't a bad thing, I've felt a lot better about life. It's all up to me if I want to make my life better and being in charge of my own destiny is oddly calming. Did I think I wasn't? I have no idea. Grab the bull by the horns, that's what I'm gonna do. Also, shit or get off the pot. I like cliches.

So, I never thought it would happen in my lifetime: The Rockies are actually BETTER than the Broncos. No one is more shocked than me. They each had a game today at the exact same time. I'd flip back and forth from the slaughter the Broncos were recieving and the slaughter the Rockies were delivering. The Rox are one and a half games out of the playoffs and have won 8 games in a row. The Broncos can't win by more than 3 points and lost today handily.

This weekend, God willing, I will be finishing "Buried," a film I started almost a year ago (10 months ago to be exact). It's a movie about a guy who kills his best friend for money and sex and is then haunted by a spectre. You know, a family film. Anyway, I'm really excited to get it filmed and done because it's been finished in my head forever. It'll be weird as this marks my first Lincoln-less shoot and I'm going to recruit a crew of people I've never worked with before. Even for the bit I did shoot already I had Mike as my first A.D. and now he's in California. I'm sure it'll be great, but it's still a little strange. Oh well. Once it's done I'll try to post it somewhere.

I guess that's it. I promise my next blog will be, you know, funny or interesting or worth reading. But, it's too late; You already read it, suckah!

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.

New Blog!

'Ello, you lucky people!

This is your new home for all things Kanderson. Tell your friends. Make a party out of it.

Talk at ya later and keep circulating the tapes.