Friday, January 31, 2014

It's Worth Words: Mad Props

          Does a wise man always use his time wisely? I'm sure he invests his time and wisdom in some careless people. It only makes sense that he make mistakes in order to learn, which makes him all the wiser. Wise men are people just like you and I. I'm pretty sure I saw one standing in a long line at the DMV one late afternoon. Most wise men would have been there first thing in the morning. But no, this wise man decided to wait until the DMV was at maximum capacity. Why, you ask? I don't know. Maybe he got blitzed the night before, causing a terrible hangover which led to procrastination. Then again, maybe this guy wasn't a wise man at all. He sure did have a rockin' beard though. I'll give him that.
          A wise man I am not. However, I feel as though I'm getting wise to the way of this peculiar and fickle world. Hindsight is one of the best tools that we have to evolve our conscience. It gives us the foresight to see a bad investment. I've made a bad investment. And time is what I invested. For a starving artist, time is like a cheap family heirloom--it's worth isn't something you can get your hands on, but something that's worth a story that's worth telling.
          One day I received a phone call from an independent filmmaker who needed assistance on a film that he was shooting. Initially I was hesitant, because to my recollection, we had never been acquainted. Shortly thereafter, I was reminded that I offered my help via email close to a year prior to this conversation. So I said to myself, "Oh, what the hell? I need to get some work under my belt anyway" and agreed to meet him one Saturday morning. 
          I arrived on the main street, right in the center of an unfamiliar town. It was by no means a majestic town, but it wasn't necessarily a ghetto. However, some of the folks wandering about reflected a shabby lifestyle. The land consisted of a rolling terrain with intriguing levels that offered a very cool aesthetic--especially for shooting a film. So, things were looking up. Then I met the director: a slender, 60 something year old man, slightly hunched over, wearing all black including sunglasses and jet black hair that was clearly a dye job. I'm not going to lie, he reminded me of Roy Orbison--but if Roy Orbison was a serial killer. Despite the initial creepy turn off, his manner turned out to be quite kind and easy going. 
          He showed me the locations that he wanted to use which included two bridges, one that stretched over a train track and one that arched over a body of water. I was under the assumption that there was going to be a full crew for this shoot. Boy was I wrong. The director informed me that he was not only directing but also acting the lead role. I thought to myself, "Hmm, that's quite ambitious of him. This guy likes to wear many hats. However, he's not actually wearing a hat at this very moment. Well, he isn't literally wearing one. It's a figurative hat. Sort of like an invisible hat, but not, because it's not actually there in invisible form. Maybe it's a blind ambitious hat or he just has blind, invisible ambition. I don't know. Anyway, it's an ambitious task. Ambitious indeed. But hey, it's his film." Then he told me that we would get started once his cameraman showed up--which meant that this was a three-man crew. He clarified that we were shooting establishing shots, scenes with no dialogue. I thought to myself, "Alright. Well, I can assume you're wearing a captain's hat, because you're going to have to run a tight ship here my friend. Consider me your first mate...I'm not a homophobic person, but this is sounding pretty gay..first mate..tight ship. It's a good thing I'm not saying this out loud." 
          The director instructed me to go wait on the corner and flag down the cameraman. "He drives a red car," exclaimed the director. I stood on the corner like a working girl would stand on a corner meant for working girls--except I was a guy, still am in fact, and I wasn't showing nearly as much leg. Actually, now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure I was wearing pants. At any rate, I anticipated the cameraman's arrival like a person waiting to give someone a lift at an airport. If only I had a flag or a sign with the cameraman's name on it. Oh well, at least I sported a shit eating grin whilst trying to wave down every red car--which there were many. Finally, the cameraman pulled up, off in the distance, behind me mind you. Therefore, I didn't see him right away and he ended up getting to the director before I could actually flag him down. It was my first task of the day and I failed. Instead of moseying back to the director, I sprinted like madman who was desperately trying not to look crazy.
          Once we all got acquainted, we focused on setting up the first shot. The director began to warm up, getting into full creative mode--which is always inspiring to see. So I says to myself, "Alright buddy. Pay attention. This guy has been around the block before. Which block? How many blocks? I don't know. I'll ask him later. But, for now, take some notes." Full of passion, the director says, "Alright, we have a cameraman. I'll be directing and acting. So, Ryan, I'm not sure what I want you to do yet. We'll figure it out." Splendid. So, we wander over to the director's old Chrysler Le Baron to gear up. I think to myself, "Oh okay. This is where you stuff me into your car and your buddy films the whole thing. So really, I'm the surprise cameo. Only I won't be acting, I'll genuinely be screaming like a girl." However, he opens the trunk and pulls out a camcorder, much like the one I use to shoot my video blogs that no one watches. You know, the kind you can get off the street. Then he reaches in and pulls out a briefcase-like box, case, container thing. Anything could be in there, anything. Perhaps a gun, a sandwich, drugs, plutonium or maybe one of those awesome hover boards from Back to the Future. Nope, none of the above. It was actually an old VHS camcorder. I think it was a Panasonic Supercam AG-DP800HP, but I can't be certain. I must say, it was a pretty cool looking camera. I mean, it was a clunky son of a bitch. But, it was so vintage, so choice. Then the director handed me the old camcorder and said, "I want you to use this." And I thought, "Oh I'm going to use this. I'm going to use the crap out of it." Then he said, "But, it doesn't work." And I shouted internally, "Well then what the fuck?" He continued with, "I need you to come up to the bridge with me. The cameraman will be shooting from down here. What I need you to do is to stand up there and pretend to film me, so people will know we're shooting a film. That will alleviate any distractions from passersby." So I thought to myself, "What? So, let me get this straight numb nuts. You want me to stand up there with this camera, this prop and pretend to film you so people won't try to interrupt?" But, I actually responded with, "Sure. Okay. I can definitely do that." And so I did it. And do you know what the irony is about this whole situation? I essentially acted up on that bridge--acted my ass off mind you. However, I wasn't actually in the film, nor was I actually part of the crew. I was just some buffoon street performer pretending to be a cameraman, circa 1985. If I knew I was going to be playing an off screen, pretend cameraman with a 1980s camera, I would have dressed the part. But no, there was no wardrobe, no real instructions, nothing! And to make matters worse, my presence on the bridge was even more insignificant due to the fact that multiple drivers honked and yelled anyway--which was fine because the real cameraman was off in the distance and any ambient noise could easily be edited in post production. I often thought of this incident in a negative manner. But, what I realized was that the passersby wouldn't have honked and yelled if they didn't think we were really filming something. Therefore, my acting must have been really, really convincing. And that's something I take pride in.
          In the end, I feel as though if you can search for something that was to be learned and actually find it, you will then have earned a lesson. And that's worth words--perhaps a story.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

This Is So Us: Listen

INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

AVA and BRIAN are sitting on the couch watching television. BRIAN is eating frozen yogurt. The program that they're watching goes to a commercial break. AVA hits mute.

 
BRIAN
Why do you always have to mute the commercials?

 
AVA
Because most of them are annoying.

 
BRIAN
I beg to differ. I actually think that there are a lot of funny commercials these days. For example, look at those Sonic commercials. They're really goofy, but they're also really funny. The chemistry between those two guys is ridiculous. One might say redonkulous...redonky-donk...or just straight donk.

 
AVA
Well, when one of those commercials comes on, I'll release it from it's mute state. Until then, just sit tight. Okay buddy?

 
BRIAN
I can't believe you're Simon & Garfunkin' me right now. You know I can't stand the sound of silence. I love the song, but I can't take the real thing. I can't, I just can't.

Brian continues to eat his frozen yogurt. There's a lot of noise coming from him.

 
AVA
You do know that you're eating frozen yogurt right? Which means, there's no chewing involved. In fact it's quite redonky-dick of you to make all of that noise.

 
BRIAN
My mouth is completely closed whilst eating.

 
AVA
You could have fooled me. Because all I can hear is a whole lot of chomping. What the hell is going on in there anyway, inside that oral vortex of yours?

 
BRIAN
I can't help it if I have an overabundance of saliva which adds to the liquid that's already in my mouth.

AVA makes a gagging noise.

 
BRIAN
One of these days this extra saliva is going to come in handy.

 
AVA
I can't see how it could possibly benefit us some day. And don't say something perverted like--

 
BRIAN
Lubrication?

 
AVA
Eww.

 
BRIAN
Seriously though, what if we're on a ship comparable to let's say...the Titanic and you want me to teach you how to spit like a man?

 
AVA
That would never ever happen. But, let me humor you anyway. I'd probably just throw you overboard, because no woman wants a spitting tutorial. It's not charming, it's not sexy, it's not a turn on. It's actually pretty friggin gross. No, you know what I would do? I would wait until the ship went down, find a huge door big enough for five people to fit on, but use the whole thing for myself and float to safety.

 
BRIAN
Hey! What about me?

 
AVA
Well, you see, I'd wait for you...to freeze. Then I'd use you as an oar.

 
BRIAN
Wow, harshskeys. Actually, no, I would be proud to be your oar.
 

AVA
I would love for you to be my whore.
 

BRIAN
No, no, no. I said oar.
 

AVA
What, you don't want to be my whore?
 

BRIAN
Well, I do. Later. But, not right now. Right now I want to be your oar, for the sake of the story.
 

AVA
Aww, you hopeless idiot romantic.
 

BRIAN
Forget it. I changed my mind. My love will not go on! I hope you don't get remarried and don't have a bunch of kids. Instead I wish you a lifetime of struggle, buried in this couch, eating gallons upon gallons of rocky road ice cream, watching Judge Judy!
 

AVA
...Great. I love Judge Judy.
 

BRIAN
What!? You are not the woman I married!
 

Brian storms out of the room with his frozen yogurt.
 

AVA
I can still hear you chewing. Nevermind, proceed, Judge Judy is on.
 
 
FADE OUT:
 
 
 


Saturday, January 11, 2014

Slanted & Wobbly

        I'm not a huge believer in fate, signs, and all of that mysterious, totally can't be proven applesauce. However, it's hard to ignore the repetitive nature of unfortunate circumstances and mishaps. For instance, why do I always pick the reject shopping cart and the wobbly table? Why?

       First of all, let me define a reject shopping cart. A reject shopping cart is a faulty shopping cart--usually with one jacked up wheel that prevents you from steering straight. As you know, this can be quite nettlesome. What exactly happens to these shopping carts? Because it's very unlikely that they're intentionally made to steer me into a tower of tampon boxes. What are human beings doing to these shopping carts to make them virtually useless? Is there a secret extreme stock cart racing event that I don't know about in the back of the store, beyond those swinging doors. Chances are, most of the damage is caused by bastard kids that don't know how to act in a civilized manner. Trust me, I was one of them. True, we were unrelenting hooligans. But, we were also discerning consumers. We actually did our fellow patrons a service by stealing a faulty shopping cart. And we probably got injured in the process. Did we conduct ourselves in a dangerous fashion? Yes. Were we stupid for doing so? Certainly. Were we selfless gentlemen, concerned with the well-being of others? Well, yes, you bet your ass we were. But, I digress. Let's take a seat at the wobbly table.

        The wobbly table is an uneven table that wobbles every time you lean on it. You can find these tables at your local diner, cafe, your grandmother's house and probably in an interrogation room. Some courteous yet, innovative engineers will locate the source of the problem and repair it with sugar packets--bringing the table back to a leveled, functional state. Yes, I'm sure that it is possible that some of the floors found in these establishments could be uneven--which would put the blame on the real engineers. However, I've found that more often than not, it's the table that's faulty. Should we blame China? Should we blame Ikea? I don't know. Probably. Blame the government. Blame a random baby. Blame social gatherings that require tables and chairs. I don't care. Hmm. There was a point I was trying to make here...


        Someone once told me that you can study perspective with both feet on the ground. But, you'll never learn anything until you're flat on your back or face down in the dirt. Actually, no one ever told me that. I just made it up. Perhaps these everyday inconvenient alterations are the result of karma. But, I honestly cannot think of any reason why karma, faulty carts, and wobbly tables would be linked. Who the hell believes in karma anyway? I don't. Well, maybe I do. Sometimes I do...sometimes, which is totally acceptable by the way. I can appreciate the notion of karma if it involves some sort of humorous, cleverly constructed metaphor that prompts me to say, "Man, you can't write this stuff." Then again some of these potentially karmic incidents result in some hilarious practical joke, which by the way could be written--probably for a whole slew of sitcoms. Hell, it could all be written and probably has been written because it's all be done and it's all been said--it just depends on how differently you construct your words. At any rate, what if it is exactly what everyone and their baby's momma says it is which is of course, "It is what it is"? This is such a passive thing to say. But, it's on the tip of all of our tongues. Karma and fate have been the life of the party for quite some time. However, quite recently it seems as though they're not even being invited. These days people are so cynical (myself included) to the point where everything becomes so cut and dry to the point where everything is what it is--rejecting any underlying meaning or solution.

        So if I were a true nonbeliever, I guess I could say I'm destined to be a spasmodic cart pusher. And I guess I'll subconsciously always be in search of faulty furniture. Honestly though, I feel like I'm somewhere between belief and unbelief--midlief (made up word). I feel as though with every imperfection and peccadillo comes something to think about and perhaps something to learn--if anything at all. Maybe that's all we're supposed to elicit from our misfortunes. Nothing coincidental, nothing fateful--just informational.