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September 13, 2004
More than a month goes by without me posting.
It's disturbing.
I have a lot to say, just no time in which to say it.
Tomorrow I turn another year older. One day of the year to feel special and I doubt I will.
I am reformatting this site soon. I can't take the melancholy.
posted at 8:35 PM
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August 04, 2004
Once upon a time, I was a producer. I produced/directed/shot/wrote/edited/and unfortunately sometimes starred in television commercials.
I won awards for my mad editing skillz.
I also worked on a few independent movies, some with large budgets, some with very small budgets.
But it always was the same -- fucking film people and their pretentious bullshit. One movie I worked on, the director wore a white scarf everywhere he went as if he were some famous Hollywood director of the 40s. I hated him. He was also responsible for writing dialogue into a movie that was:
WAR ANGEL looks down, reaches up to OFFICER BRADY's face. WAR ANGEL turns BRADY's face and speaks
WAR ANGEL
Look into the eyes....the eyes of death.
He thought this was the shit. They spent a majority of their budget on getting some "famous" Hollywood costume designer to design these war angel outfits.
It was terrible
I cut my hand pretty bad while trying to operate the wings on their suits. (To get them to flap, we rigged up fishing line to a clothespin and stood in the balcony about 30 feet up from them and flapped our arms hanging onto the clothes line. ugh)
I digress. When we were on break from shooting, everyone would sit around and try to outdo each other with their stories - how much they work in the "industry", who they know, what they know, blah blah blah. It was a big snob fest.
Everywhere I go, whenever I run into a "film person," it's always the same. Me me me me me look at what I can do, look at what I did, I know this about this because I AM SIMPLY THE GREATEST!
Bragging does not make you the best. Humility makes me interested in what you have to say. The more of a cockhead you are the less I am inclined to see your crapbag "film" that you made on your super-8 "to give it that aged look." you pretentious sack of shit.
I have a film degree but you don't see me waltzing around talking about mise-en-scene or having a discussion about the merits of shooting on film vs. digital. SHUT IT.
I have won awards for editing but you don't see me dragging them around in my backpack to showcase their shiny gold goodness to strangers.
Yet funnily enough (funnily? It might be ironically, but I always use the word incorrectly so I just don't use it at all) the reason I bring up this rant is because of my own film pretentions.
I was talking with some coworkers about the movie Citizen Kane. Jen asked when it was made.
1941, I said.
Mr. I know it all and I have everything to say about everything (incidentally, he also reads over my shoulder when I'm trying to eat lunch and it really irritates me.) pipes in and starts with the "no, no, it was made much later than that. i know because I know it all."
No, I'm pretty sure it was 1941, I said.
"No, are you sure? I'm pretty sure it was later than that." mr. ass says.
Ah, so I proved him wrong by showing him the date of its release in the magazine I was reading.
Then, he proceeded to showcase his knowledge for the film trying to one-up everything I said about it.
Finally, I just told him to stop it and dont try to usurp my knowledge because I have a film degree and he doesn't.
Right then and there I wanted to slap myself in the mouth. I am a fucking film person. For shame.
posted at 10:26 AM
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July 14, 2004
Today, I saved a large, many-legged bug from dying a drowning death in my dog's outdoor water bowl.
I coaxed him into crawling onto a small branch so I could transport him to safety.
"Yay!" I said, when he happily crawled off the branch onto the deck.
"AGH!" I screamed, when he happily scampered after me, his creepy large antennae waving at me, hairy legs all moving, crawling, creepy ick.
I ran like hell to get away from him.
However, he can't deny it. His life now belongs to me. He must do my bidding and my chores.
posted at 4:02 PM
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July 08, 2004
It is widely known that I write for a living.
It is also widely known (perhaps even throughout the tri-state area) that I am growing increasingly hateful towards this job. It may have something to do with the fact that we have to work a manditory 45 hours a week, no more paid lunch time AND we have to punch a clock -- all in a company that has like 25 people working for it.
Or that I am going to have to write a lot in template form and the little creativity I am allowed to employ will be lost in some lame template.
Oh and I get paid PEANUTS. Peanuts, I say.
So yesterday, when I was fretting and fussing over my lack of love for the job, I turned on the history channel and watched Modern Marvels to cheer me up. I watched two really interesting shows about coal mining and salt mining. Suddenly, the realization of what I wanted to do with my life hit me in the face with the thickness and furiosity of a large trout.
I want to drive and operate heavy machinery for a living!!
Just take a look at this awesome truck! Look at the tiny, little man standing next to the mighty majestic coal truck. It's incredible.
It has a 20 foot wheel base. Do you know how fun that would be to drive around all day?
Plus, you can just drive the truck and leave it at the end of the day. You don't have to worry about deadlines or clients. You just drop your 360 ton payload and go home! Plus, you're probably union so you would get a really good insurance package. Nevermind the black lung.
OR!
I want to drive this crazy thing in a salt mine. Or this one
Either one is a huge giant thing with spinning blades that cut salt from the earth.
You work underground digging without really breaking a sweat. It's relatively cool and you get to wear a helmet with a light on it.
I could even bring lunch to work in a metal pail like the black one in front .
I would get a name like "drivey" or "digger" or "shovley" cos I drove the digging shoveling machine.
And also, I bet salt workers are union, too, with good insurance packages. Nevermind the extra salt that makes your skin turn to beef jerky.
posted at 3:20 PM
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June 29, 2004
A bad day for the state of our Justice System.
I've been closely following the events surrounding the Haidl rape case.
Here's the story in a very short synopsis.
There's three boys who are rich and popular. There's a girl who has a bit of a "reputation". The kids are all about 16. The boys decide to get together with the girl, (allegedly) drug her drink, wait for her to pass out and rape the shit out of her. They brutally raped her, slapped her, inserted snapple and orange juice bottles into her along with a pool cue.
At one point they even jammed the pool cue so far into her vagina that they put their hand on her stomach to see if they could feel it.
Oh, and they video taped it all.
And then accidently returned the video to the video store.
Someone saw the tape, thought the boys were having sex with a corpse (this is how out of it she was) and immediately called the police.
Arrests were made, boys on trial. Nevermind the fact that the "main" boy, Greg Haidl, is the son of the Assistant Sherrif of Orange County. Haidl's attorney, the slimiest skeeze asshole of the world, Joe Cavallo, says the girl faked it, that she wanted it, that it's her fault, that she raped those boys, that she *deserved* it. All because she had a reputation for having a lot of sex. Their paid witnesses claimed she faked it. They claimed that she wasn't in a stupor and could even "do complex math".
These boys drugged, raped and assaulted this girl. Who, at one point, was so out of it that she urinated on herself while they rammed a pool cue up her ass. Never at one point, according to the video, did she try to resist. I don't care how hard you try to pretend to be "out of it", if someone shoves a pool cue up your ass with such force that you bleed, you're going to react. Unless you're drugged and can't.
I encourage you to read as much as you can about this case. Some of the best coverage is at the Orange County Weekly website.
Because you know what? The jury just declared a mistrial
That's right. A mother fucking mistrial.
This makes me want to bash some peoples heads in for real.
These rich little boys from richtown got off because they paid their witnesses and lied. LIED THROUGH THEIR TEETH. They brutally raped a girl and the only thing they have learned from it is that they might get caught but they won't get punished.
These fuckers don't deserve to enjoy life. This girl sure as hell won't. She won't be enjoying a healthy and happy sex life because she's had to endure this trauma that will be with her for the rest of her life. These boys will forget about it tomorrow. "Thank god that's over," they sigh and go on and drive their porsches and hang out on the beach living it up.
And society wonders why more people don't report their rapes. BECAUSE NOTHING EVER GETS DONE. Especially if you have enough money to pay everyone off.
posted at 8:52 AM
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May 31, 2004
Oh she of two left ears shall be getting nowhere near my camera, now, for it is locked safely away upon yonder closet.
posted at 10:31 PM
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Thanks, dad..
for being brave, for being strong, for being smart,
for saving your buddies lives, for not letting the what you saw (or had to do) hinder you, for coming home(even if people spit on you.)
Thanks, Dad.
Thanks for serving, I love you.
posted at 12:57 PM
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May 26, 2004
There's a new direction I want to head in. I'm tired of writing the mundane, at least on this forum.
Here I want to do something else. I have an idea, but do I have the time?
Things at work have been insane. I love my job, but it's getting to me.
We are now required to work a minimum of 45 hours a week -- no paid breaks or lunches. In addition, we have to not only chart our every moment on an excel spreadsheet, but we also have to punch a time clock.
Keep in mind I work in a creative environment. For a small company (about 15 people).
This is more than rediculous and extremely stressful to boot. Instead of using my time to write and get my 10 pending books done, I have to document everything. So, being the smart ass I am, I'm documenting EVERYTHING (ex. 8:32 yawn. 8:33 stretch. 10:35get a different cd 10:43 stare at the wall while I think of a new approach to writing the same thing)
It's all so tiresome.
I'm also busy thinking of my next tattoo. Yes. I am. Most exciting. I had a dream about some words on the back of my neck, but I don't remember what those words were. I'm sure they were important. I do, however, think I'm goign to have Andy Lee design it this time instead of Clive.
As much as I would like to commission a work from him to match my other one, I just can't afford it. And I seriously doubt he'd get back to me about it, which would break my heart. I prefer to keep him on this make believe status where I hold him, rather than have something shatter my reverence for the man. Anyway.
In other news, I'm also hashing out my book. It's awesome and I'm really happy with it -- as long as I can keep up the motivation to actually start writing it now.
It features the best of the worst - side shows, freaks, geeks, crazies, middle america and more. I am in love with this book.
Did I mention that I got a fortune cookie the other day? Before I opened it I made a big show of it. "OH I DECREE THAT THIS HERE FORTUNE COOKIE SHALL BE 100 PERCENT TRUE AND HONEST. I SHALL ABIDE BY ITS LAW AND ORDER FOREVER AND EVER AMEN."
So I opened it and it reads:
"You are a lover of words and will someday publish a book."
If that's not spooky, I don't know what is.
One day....
posted at 9:55 AM
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