Break a Leg

This post was going to be about the $300 plumbing bill and the 3-day shoot I just did for the Discovery Channel and the porn stache that necessitates, but I pretty much just covered those, so I'd like to talk about something much more important to me.

This is my 42nd blog here at Break a Leg, and any geek/nerd worth his/her 12 sided dice knows the significance of the number: 42.

Let Uncle Jennifer tell you a story...

And I bet you never, EVER expected to see those words in print outside a gay porn fantasy mag...not that I have ever read any of those...

Anyway...my siblings and I were attending a private school back in the day.  One of our fellow student's older sister was a model for some add agency and the agency needed some little school girls for an ice cream commercial, so they called up our school and all the girls approximately the same age got to be in this commercial.  All the boys were extremely jealous...especially when the checks started rolling in.

So, this was about the time the first NES's were coming out.  If you don't know what NES means: shsh, honey, the grown-ups are talking. At the local mall they had this booth where you could come play test versions of games and buy said games and the system itself and all the accoutremont...I'm not sure that's how you spell that word, but I'm too tired to check dictionary.com and it looks pretty French enough as it is to me.  Anyway, my sister, out of the kindness out of her hear was buying a NES and a couple of games.  This would be the first electronic gaming system in our house.  I suppose that kind of statement would be more impressive and/or sad these days, but back then it was still reason for much excitement.

So, while my sister was listening to my brother as to what games "we should get" with her money, I wandered over to the Walden's Books that was mere feet from the Nintendo booth.

This is the part where fate happened, or destiny, or herpes, or whatever you call it.

Back in those days, audiobooks took up a mere revolving rack as opposed to the massive city-block shelving units now dedicated to their...oh right, itunes and online shopping...that USED to be dedicated to their combined weight that would warp gravity around them for parsecs.  And on this particular, pathetic, revolving cage was one audio book whose cover art spoke to me from the very depths of my geekdom.  It was a little green planet sticking its thumb out at me.  And in that moment I knew that I had to have that cassette tape (shsh, honey, the grown-ups are talking).  Thankfully, my mom was a big fan of audio books, because hey they were books that everybody could Be Quiet and listen to.  So along with our brand new NES, a copy of Ghosts and Goblins, and Metroid, we picked up, yes, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams.

I spent most of my childhood falling asleep to those tapes.  When my brother and I learned that there were MORE books and they were on tape as well, we went out and rented them, Yes: RENTED THEM, from the library.  We of course made copies, which was about as close as you could get audio-piracy in those days - just one step higher than recording songs played on the radio.

Then, years later, one Christmas, my uncle got my the Unabridged Audio Tapes Read By the Author.  I nearly crapped myself.  Until that point I didn't even know what "unabridged" meant.  I spent the next several years of my line trying to track down the other unabridged-read by the author versions.  I finally tracked them down in a Barnes & Noble in Georgia in 1996...I just thought that sentence would sound all gum-shoey, but it was really kinda sad.

My brother and I (and to a lesser but still present extent, my sister) grew up on the works of Douglas Adams.  We can still quote passages.  It's where we learned to talk with an English accent.  And in our circle of friends and acquaintances we were considered wierd for this private dialogue that we would share with each other.  It wasn't until years later that we discovered other people knew what we were talking about.  It was sort of a lonely way to grow up, but it all turned out for the best.  It's like having a secret that isn't really and you want to share, but nobody around you wants to share it, and then you fall into the great wide world, and you find that there are people out there that know the secret, too.  And they all want to share it with each other!

And that's what Douglas Adams did: he created something that could not be kept secret in greed, but shared in joy and wonder and laughter.

So, Mr. Adams, on whatever plane of existence you are now sipping Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters, there's really only one thing I can think to say that does your memory any justice...

Hey, you sass that hoopy, Doug Adams?  There's a frood who really knows where his towel is.

Douglas Adams

1952 - 2001

Happy Jenday

Let me start this off with a question, a very very simply question: what would you typically do while waiting for a pizza? Say you've walked into a pizza shop and ordered a whole pie, maybe even three (you're headed to a friend's house to watch the game, perhaps)? What would you do to pass the time? Not "what's the strangest thing you've done while waiting for a pizza?" No, what would you typically do?

Personally, I think what I would typically do (and this is also probably the strangest thing I've done) while waiting for a pizza is sit and wait. It's radical, I know, but that's the way I roll.

Keep that question and answer in the back of your mind for now, while I begin the tale of Late Again Films and the Commercial Shoot.

Through various channels, contacts and, undoubtedly, blowjobs, Yuri and the gang managed to secure a bona-fide Real Gig. I'm talking money, clients, the works. Yuri was kind enough to bring myself, Flynn, and Skip along for the ride; along with the usual crew of Dustin, Justin, Dashiell, Hillary, and Hugo (who actually didn't do anything on the shoot, the whole trip for him was a booty call).

The shoot was in Los Angeles this past weekend, which seemed a little odd considering that 99% of the talent, crew, and clients were travelling in from other cities and parts of the country, but whatever. As Yuri is so fond of telling me, "I don't pay you to think." My typical retort is usually "You don't pay me," but that wouldn't work this time so I had to keep my trap shut.

I arrived ostensibly two hours late, but having been around the block a few times I knew that was entirely irrelevant. They hadn't even started yet. We were shooting in a rather disgusting "office", and by that I mean "meth lab", in downtown LA. Picture it as a hard-boiled detective's office from a classic noir film, except he cooks meth and apparently tetanus there too. Oh, and it's really, really dirty. Yeah, now you got it.

The 1% of the cast that did not fly in from anywhere was a fellow named Matt Booth, Celebrity Jeweler. I think that last part is contractually required whenever I refer to him. Nice guy, good sport. Anyway, we had to knock his scenes out first because he was flying to a party that evening in, get this, Santa Rosa. Don't know where Santa Rosa is? Let's just say you get there by flying into San Francisco International Airport.

That's right kids, we all went to LA, then Matt wrapped and went to San Francisco. It gets weirder. The clients, the people who are paying us and who arranged this whole gig, they're going with him.

Right, so he's all wrapped and it's getting to be about dinner time. Gino (executive producer, good guy, fits right in with our brand of insanity as you'll soon see) heads out for pizza.

You see where I'm going with this, how I'm wrapping it all up? Lost ain't got shit on me. At least nobody in my story fucking time travels. What a mind-fuck it was last night.

So Gino is gone for a while, and when he finally gets back Yuri (as he relates to me later) notices something different about him. Let's re-enact it:

Yuri: Gino, did you... get a haircut?

Gino: Yeah.

And there you have it. While Gino waited for the pizzas he, yes, got a haircut.

Now I guess there's really nothing wrong with that per se, I'm just fascinated by the inner workings of a mind that decides to get a haircut while waiting for food. He didn't even need it either. His hair was short, and when he got back it was just... shorter.

That covers up until dinner time on our epic weekend shoot. The footage should start being revealed soon, but I'll leave that up to Yuri to cover on his own. I'll be back next week with more exciting Tales of the Commercial Shoot.

Pre-Script:  This is the third time I've written this post today.  Not because of any technical problems with the site, but because i was trying to do it at work and work kept interrupting.  Stupid work.  Anywho...

I did it.  I finally broke down or bucked up or whatever it is you do when you want something but don't have the courage to go out and get it.  That's right: I bought an iphone.

It just struck me as odd that I would consider this to be an iconic act.  I am not, on the whole, a consumer as far as the acquisition of things goes.  I pretty much just spend my money on rent, gas, bills, food, and drink.  Perhaps the occasional movie, but that's not really acquire anything but experience.  And can you really put a price tag on experience?

Yes.  Yes, you can.  Let me put a price tag on this one.

It was mid-to-late afternoon on January 10th.  For some bizarre reason I had stayed up all night conversing with some of the regulars in my favorite chat room.  I was also conversing with people that I had only ever heard of through the chat or had only ever heard of me through the chat.  It was a very "Lady Hawk" moment.  So, as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes at around 2pm, I decided that it was time to make a purchase.

I have friends with iphones.  I have seen the things they can do.  My current phone was starting to die.  I had the thing for over three years.  I figured it was time for an upgrade.  So, I got up, got clean, got dressed, got lunch, and got down to the local Mac store.  Mac stores have a decent set up.  The wide open space and clean lighting is very inviting, and there's lots of stuff for you to play with while waiting for somebody to help you.  Eventually, a sales person came over to me and we started the process of my acquisition of my next step into a larger world.

It's easy: they have you type in all your information, specialize your plan, and pick your phone.  Then they activate the phone right there, help you pick some accessories, charge it all right there, and send you on your way.  They have these portable credit card readers that they can use anywhere in the store.  Makes shopping easy.

The only hitch in all this was that I had to switch from Sprint to AT&T.  Since I didn't have my account information with me the sales clerk pulled up Spint's website where, in theory, I should have been able to access my account.  However, the site did not recognize my phone number, my address, or my email.  Which was sorta dumb.  So I said "screw it" and activated the AT&T account with a new phone number, which I would then have to relay to every single person I would ever want to contact me again.

Aside from that, very pleasant shopping experience.  The final receipt was in the area of $450.

Now, the iphone, aside from being a phone and an mp3 player, is just a fun toy.  There's all these ridiculously useless but oh-so-entertaining apps to download.  For instance: you can download an app that let's you swing your iphone around and make lightsaber noises.  I can't imagine there is a male between the ages of 25 - 50 that has an iphone and doesn't have this app.  So naturally, I spent a lot of time downloading anything that was A.) free and B.) remotely interesting.  I took my iphone everywhere with me while exploring it's seemingly endless utility.

Including the bathroom.

The lesson here is: do not try to play a game one-handed while drunk.  You will drop your expensive toy, possibly into something you'd really rather not have to retrieve it from.

But retrieve it I did because, bloody hell, I just spent $450 on that thing.  I tried to shake it out (and then washed my hands VERY thoroughly).  I propped it up so some of the remaining...liquid might eventually drip out.  I let it dry over light.  I tried to plug it back into itunes to do a system restore.  But alas, my new toy was dead.  I had owned it for 4 days.  I looked over the warrantee to see if dropping your phone in the toilet was covered.  It wasn't.  I called tech support and asked them what my options were.  They said my options were to buy a new iphone.  Needing a second opinion, I went back to the Mac store and asked them what my options were.  They said they could take a look at it, but it would probably be a couple weeks before they told me just to buy a new iphone.  I decided to skip the wait. 

Now, when you buy a new iphone with the plan, the actual iphone itself is only $200, but if you want to buy one without the plan it's $400.  However, I told the guys my story.  Also, I work in customer service, so I make a very strenuous effort to A.) not make any demands, B.) be an asshole, C.) make any salesperson's job harder than it has to be.  Since I was cool, they were cool, and only charged me the $200 for a new phone instead of the $400.

So, total price tag on this experience: approximately $650 + tax.

I like to think of it as "stimulating the economy via recycled beer".

Happy Jenday

First off, I suck. I haven't written at all for a couple of weeks, and for that I apologize. A little. I'm really busy, you know?

I (and naturally, everyone else) are working on a couple of projects that I probably can't talk about at the moment. In defense of that position I should state that at least one of said projects may not be that exciting.

I'm also thrilled to report that the second episode of Damages was way better than the (second season) premiere. 

So I've mentioned this in passing before, but I'm (about to) start going full-steam ahead on doing my own podcast. That's a silly thing to say, who else's podcast would I do?

I heard recently that "a goal without a plan is just a wish", and with that firmly in mind I have a goal to make a plan on how to plan a podcast. I currently have to plan on making that goal however, so I'm stuck in corporate-motivational-seminar-cliche hell.

I really did hear that, at a corporate training thing. Isn't that the best thing you ever heard? I should come up with a few more:

• A iPhone without a data plan is just a really dorky looking phone.
• An orange without a knife is just a sour taste in your mouth when you bite through the rind to get things started.
• A child without a cape is just a child running around the house with a towel safety-pinned to his shirt.

This was me, I ran around the house with a bath towel for a cape. My son has the benefit of having a real cape, hand-sewn by his mother last halloween, so that now his claims that he is Batman are only slightly less believable than if he were wearing a bath towel. I don't remember what hero I was pretending to be, probably (shudder) Superman.

My question is: would anybody listen to me rambling on like this in a podcast? I know my dulcet tones will lull 75% of you into a sleep-like stupor, rendering you unable to operate your iPod and play some real music (or even a real podcast), but what about the rest of you?

I thought the first episode would focus on my recent realization that I'm an atheist. Thanks for the book, honey!

So I don't do New Year's Resolutions. This year I'm doing monthly resolutions, and January's are to stop biting my nails and to stop not planning a podcast. I'll let you know when the more interesting of the two happens.

So any thoughts? Anything anybody wants me to talk about in particular, besides my own half-baked ridiculous opinions on things?

And don't forget: Friday night, Sci-Fi, Battlestar: Galactica.

So Christmas has come and gone, and it's hard for me to even imagine the time when it was "just around the corner".

At home I'm afloat on a sea of ribbon, wrapping paper, and Tinker Toys in a livingroom that looks like Santa's workshop exploded. I feel like I was drugged on December 23rd and just came out of a coma, to find that someone with apparently twelve children has moved into my apartment.

Months ago, before we had even really started shopping or making lists, I asked my wife what she thought about the whole Santa Claus thing.

Our son was only two last Christmas and really didn't know what the hell was going on. We brought a tree into the house for some damned reason and put wrapped boxes underneath. This year he's three and definitely knows the score: loot is coming. If you see something, you ask for it for Christmas, doesn't matter what it is. I think somewhere amongst all the toys and games and goodies he asked for a rake for Christmas.

I could be wrong, it might have been a hoe.

So we had to decide: to Santa or not to Santa? As it turns out only I had to decide, Sina had made up her mind. Santa, end of story.

I pretty much knew I would go along with it, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it. Once I had to actually start contributing to the myth I really couldn't let it go.

One day as I told him something about Santa and chimneys and what-the-fuck-ever, it hit me: this is such a crock of bullshit! I mean really, flying reindeer?! How could I lie to him like this?

I actually felt terrible inside, utterly miserable. He believed every ludicrous word that was coming out of my mouth, and the more ridiculous the story got the more he bought into it. It's like what cops sometimes say about suspects, not being able to make up a story so insane? Ronin swallowed the stupid story whole.

I was talking to somebody about this very thing, telling them how awful it is, lying to your children, blah blah blah. They told me about the magic of Christmas and believing magic and all that crap (same line Sina gave me), but then they said something that really hit me.

It was after I had told this person about when I stopped believing in Santa, how nobody told me about him being a sham, I just figured it out on my own. I don't know if it was a gradual build-up of clues or just my grandmother's neighbor handing me a gift one day, saying "Santa brought this to my house by mistake" (I think my exact internal response to that was "How the hell could that happen? Sounds like crap to me.")

Either way, I realized the truth on my own, no direct adult input required. This person I was speaking to said something about how maybe that's what's important about the Santa Claus Coverup: it helps children develop their own sense of incredulity.

This sold me: I want Ronin to be able to tell bullshit from lies, and the best way to do that is to tell one big fat fucking whopper of a bullshit, and let him slowly figure it out.

Wait, did I just say "tell bullshit from lies"? Oh well, you know what I meant.

Happy New Year, everybody!