"These are my lucky pants," Nigel said to me.
I looked this strangely-garbed man up and down. He was attired in a pseudo-pirate fashion; much of the outfit was of traditional pirate standards, but it was thrown off by the occasional modern touch. There was the rag on his head, the long and calculatedly dirty hair, the eyeliner, and the poofy shirt. But then there were the shoes. And the cargo shorts. This was what Nigel looked like every time that i saw him. You know when your parents bought you all those fancy Lego kits, but you almost never built them by the instructions and you always always always traded the little people parts between sets? Nigel's kind of like if you took the head off of the captain of the Skull's Eye Schooner and stuck it on one of the townsfolk.
Nigel is one of the many people that i meet up with annually in Indianapolis, at the Nerd Jamboree that is GenCon. I always make it a point to say hello, if even for only a few minutes out of the year, for exactly the reason of conversations like this. It's not always easy. Nigel's a popular guy in a big exhibition hall.
"Lucky pants?" i inquired. The shorts had a ragged tear that ran straight from the leg hole up to slightly left of center of his crotch. The gash was held together by a leather cord, strung alternately from side to side through further holes punched through the fabric. They looked more like his unfortunate pants than his lucky pants.
"Yeah!" he went on enthusiastically. "See, i've always liked these pants. But one day i noticed that they were starting to develop a hole right about here." He pointed to the top of the rip, just off center from his crotch. "I was so disappointed! But it wasn't going to keep me from wearing my pants.
"As time went on, the hole got bigger. One day, this girl saw the hole in my pants, so she just stuck both of her index fingers in there and ripped it open and gave me a blowjob!"
Me and my small band of geeks laughed merrily at his tale, but Nigel was eying me in a peculiar manner. When the laughter stopped, he pulled a knife.
"Come here," he commanded.
Suddenly i was a little nervous. "What? No."
"Come here," he said, more forcefully.
"No! I don't want to!" See, i knew what he was up to. I was rather fond of the shorts i was wearing myself.
His eyes got really big and a little angry-looking. He started making exaggerated gestures with his hands. "COME OVER HERE, RIGHT NOW! I'm doing you a favor!"
I was pushed toward this knife-wielding pirate by one of my so-called friends. With my pants within his grasp, he stuck a finger in my belt loop and pulled me toward him. He then proceeded to cut a hole in my pants, just to the right of my crotch.
"There! Now you've got lucky pants too!"
The next time that i saw Nigel, it was the fourth day of GenCon the following year and i had not been able to locate him throughout the entire convention. I had been worried that maybe he hadn't shown up, but suddenly, i ran across him in a hallway, in conversation with somebody else. I happened to be wearing the same pants.
"Nigel!" i called, striding briskly up to him. He turned to see who this interloper was. He didn't recognize me at first; not that i so much expect him to, like i said he's a popular guy and i'm sure he has bizarre, otherworldly conversations with lots of strange gamers for four straight days every single year. I extended my hand. "I need to thank you for the best sex of my whole life!"
"Uh...um, you're welcome..." he stammered. I took a quick, exaggerated glance down toward my own crotch. When i looked back up, i saw Nigel doing exactly what i wanted: making an involuntary, reflexive check to see exactly what i was looking at. Once he saw my pants, he burst out into an uncontrollable fit of riotous laughter, because my pants, too, were torn all the way down the leg and sewn back together crudely with a length of leather cord.
2010/10/29
2010/10/22
Phone Books
Gosh, that last story sure was a downer. I'll make it up to you.
On September 23, 2008, my co-worker and good buddy MF turned 40. Being the tight-knit crew of fun loving chemists and associated professionals that we are, we of course hit the town with him for a night of carousing and general debauchery.
We started out at the Memorial Union, largely due to its proximity to our laboratory on the University of Wisconsin campus. This was not the first time that we had gone out drinking at the Union together, either. The first time, my boss Tom, already a little tipsy, stole a bottle of Smirnoff for me because the workers were all standing around by the popcorn machine bullshitting rather than serving the patrons who were waiting so patiently at their bar. He just reached behind the counter, grabbed one, and walked away, as the employees watched disinterestedly. That was a good time.
The thing about the Union, though, is that the only kinds of alcohol they serve are various beers and Smirnoff Ice. Since i don't like beer, whenever we go out there, it leaves me stuck drinking Smirnoff and being accused of having a vagina.
However, this made me an ideal candidate to drive somebody to our next stop, Jolly Bob's, across town on Willy Street. I got saddled with the Jolly Green Giant riding shotgun in my Jeep, who was at that time sort of panicked because he'd failed to mention to his girlfriend that he was going to be out with the guys all night and wouldn't be coming home from work. Not that he needed permission, he kept reiterating, but just because she should probably know. But the weird thing in all of this: he couldn't remember his own home phone number. We were all like, what, obviously, but he kept insisting that it was perfectly normal since he just had it programmed into his cell phone and never needed to know the actual number. Keep in mind that she moved in with him, not vice versa, so this was definitely his own personal home phone number. I'm not sure why he didn't have his cell on him. He'd borrowed someone else's phone and tried a couple numbers whilest we drank at the Union, but to no avail.
So anyway, on the way to Jolly Bob's, he gets this great idea that we should swing by a friend of his girlfriend's house, since it's practically on the way, and see if she knows the number. We got a little lost in the Willy Street area, because he couldn't quite remember which house it was (i'm not sure how much beer he'd consumed at this point, but it was certainly...an amount...an amount of Optimator, a strong, dark, German beer). Well, i assume that we found the right house, because he went in and was there for a few minutes, but it turned out the friend of his girlfriend was not present, so we proceeded on to Jolly Bob's. We were strongly criticized for arriving last, since we had left the Union first. The rest of our group had already consumed a whole drink.
Jolly Green inquired of the bartender if they had a phone book he could use quick, so he could look up his number and phone his woman.
"Sure!" the bartender replied. "We just got two of them today, in fact!" He produced a pair of phone books from beneath the bar, which were still plastic wrapped together. He separated them and handed one off to Jolly Green. "You can keep that if you want. I only need one."
"Thanks but i don't really need it," he said.
"Wait," i put in. "I don't have a phone book. Do you mind if i take it?"
Neither of them did, of course, so i took it. At this point, the whole thing was perfectly reasonable, if a little odd, sitting at a bar with a phone book. But that's all it was, at that time: a guy with a phone book.
Jolly Bob's has got some amazing drinks. They don't serve anything that you might consider standard in the United States. I ordered a Captain and Coke only to be told that they stocked neither Captain Morgan nor Coca-Cola. Jolly Bob's is strictly Caribbean. I instead got something made with multiple fruit juices and Jamaican rum. I'd have a good many of these as the night wore on.
We spent the majority of the night at Jolly Bob's, including dinner, more mixed drinks, and a few rounds of shots.
Eventually we moved along with our barhopping, i can't actually remember what our next stop was, or for sure that there was another bar between Jolly Bob's and Mickey's, but i think there was. In any case, as the night was drawing to a close, we had walked several blocks down the street to Mickey's. But as we were congregating outside the entrance to the bar, the general consensus became that it was time to call it a night. I phoned Amanda to come pick me up, and the cloud of chemists started to disperse. Suddenly, somebody realized that Tom was not among the crowd. Tom had gone inside to get another drink. Tom was already hammered beyond the capacity for rational thought. He did not require another drink.
Jolly Green went in after him. Around this point, i, in my stumbling drunken stupor, decided that i really, really needed to pee. My phone book, which i had dutifully clung to throughout the last several alcohol-filled hours, could not come inside with me, although i'm not exactly sure why. So i set it on the concrete stairs in front of Mickey's, propped against the building.
"Don't let anyone steal my phone book!" i commanded, truly believing that somebody would. The remaining chemists agreed to keep an eye on my precious phone book, and i went in. I stumbled through the crowd (Mickey's is always crowded, even on weeknights. I have never seen that place with reasonable walking room earlier than 1:30am any day of the week), at one point brushing past Tom and Jolly Green, the former recognizing me and excitedly proclaiming something about the night not being over, now that i'd arrived. I made my way to the restroom and conducted my business. By the time i came out, Tom had a fresh Captain and Coke in his hand, which he thrust upon me. Jolly Green was gone.
"I bought you another drink!" he proudly exclaimed, partaking heartily of his own brew.
"Hey alright!" i chimed, because at that moment, if there was one thing that i did not need, if there was one thing that i truly wanted, it was another Captain and Coke.
Jolly Green returned moments later, disapproving through his own haze that we were still drinking. He was trying to haul us out of the bar; i protested that Tom had just gotten me this drink and dammit, i was not going to let it go to waste. He responded by taking possession of the glass and downing it himself. Dejected, i headed for the door.
Upon arrival outside, i discovered that my phone book was missing.
"Where's my phonebook!?" i loudly inquired of the dwindling group. They responded that they did not know.
Somebody had stolen my phone book. I couldn't believe it. My incompetent co-workers had just stood by and let some drunken hobo walk off with my precious. He was probably using it as a pillow and sleeping in a nearby alley as we spoke. But seeking him out wouldn't do me any good, i'd probably get shanked.
Suddenly it occurred to me that i had probably taken the phone book inside. I must have left it in the bathroom! I couldn't just leave it there! I had to rescue it!
So i once again entered Mickey's, only to come face to face with Jolly Green and Tom, finally on their way out. "Why are you coming back inside?" Jolly Green demanded.
"My phone book! I lost my phone book."
Looking around, Jolly Green spotted two phone books, wrapped in plastic, sitting on a bar stool next to the door. He grabbed them, tore the plastic off, and handed me one of them.
It just wasn't the same. It was not my phone book, just some other skeezy phone book that happened to be in a convenient locale. But, i didn't want to anger Jolly Green further, so i exited the building.
Amanda was waiting outside for us. Jolly Green appealed to her for a ride home, and the two of us climbed into the back seat, where Alyssa's dogs were already residing. Toby, her gigantic German shepherd, snapped at Jolly Green, which amused me at the time, but i guess really wasn't that funny.
The next day at work, the majority of the staff was dealing with hangovers and serious sleep deprivation, but everybody who was out partying made it in. Only Pukeflower called in sick that day, and she wasn't even part of the festivities, or even invited, because nobody likes her. I've got an unfinished blog about Pukeflower; there's so much to be said about her which i'm sure an outside observer will find hilarious. It'll show up sooner or later.
As i was sitting in my seat, quietly doing my work, Kelly came up behind me and plopped a phone book down on my desk.
"I heard you lost your phone book, so i brought you mine. I don't need it," she said.
"Thanks," i said. "But the Jolly Green Giant already stole another one for me."
She left it with me anyway. I now had two phone books.
The following day, David came in holding a phone book. "I protected your phone book for you!" he proclaimed proudly.
"What?!" i said, confused.
"You left it sitting on the step at the bar, and i was leaving, so i thought i'd keep it safe for you and i took it home."
Well, that explained that. I now had three phone books.
I got off the bus that day, clutching my original phone book, and walked up the cul-de-sac that i lived on at the time. As i came up to our door, i found a brand new phone book in a plastic bag on our doorstep. They were on many of the other doorsteps in the neighborhood. I suppose, if i'd given any thought to the whole phone book situation in the very beginning, at Jolly Bob's, i'd have seen this coming. I now had four phone books.
The story may as well end there, but a few months later, we moved across town to a new apartment complex, and they had bricks of eight phone books wrapped in plastic that were sitting outside the main entrances to each building. They'd been there since we'd done the walkthrough; it was clear nobody was taking them. We used them to prop the doors open as we moved in.
Somehow, one of these bricks of phone books remained in our apartment during our entire tenure there, and for some reason moved to our next residence with us. I now had twelve phone books.
All of those phone books are gone now, but at the time i got some strange pleasure out of telling people that i had twelve phone books, and then telling them why.
On September 23, 2008, my co-worker and good buddy MF turned 40. Being the tight-knit crew of fun loving chemists and associated professionals that we are, we of course hit the town with him for a night of carousing and general debauchery.
We started out at the Memorial Union, largely due to its proximity to our laboratory on the University of Wisconsin campus. This was not the first time that we had gone out drinking at the Union together, either. The first time, my boss Tom, already a little tipsy, stole a bottle of Smirnoff for me because the workers were all standing around by the popcorn machine bullshitting rather than serving the patrons who were waiting so patiently at their bar. He just reached behind the counter, grabbed one, and walked away, as the employees watched disinterestedly. That was a good time.
The thing about the Union, though, is that the only kinds of alcohol they serve are various beers and Smirnoff Ice. Since i don't like beer, whenever we go out there, it leaves me stuck drinking Smirnoff and being accused of having a vagina.
However, this made me an ideal candidate to drive somebody to our next stop, Jolly Bob's, across town on Willy Street. I got saddled with the Jolly Green Giant riding shotgun in my Jeep, who was at that time sort of panicked because he'd failed to mention to his girlfriend that he was going to be out with the guys all night and wouldn't be coming home from work. Not that he needed permission, he kept reiterating, but just because she should probably know. But the weird thing in all of this: he couldn't remember his own home phone number. We were all like, what, obviously, but he kept insisting that it was perfectly normal since he just had it programmed into his cell phone and never needed to know the actual number. Keep in mind that she moved in with him, not vice versa, so this was definitely his own personal home phone number. I'm not sure why he didn't have his cell on him. He'd borrowed someone else's phone and tried a couple numbers whilest we drank at the Union, but to no avail.
So anyway, on the way to Jolly Bob's, he gets this great idea that we should swing by a friend of his girlfriend's house, since it's practically on the way, and see if she knows the number. We got a little lost in the Willy Street area, because he couldn't quite remember which house it was (i'm not sure how much beer he'd consumed at this point, but it was certainly...an amount...an amount of Optimator, a strong, dark, German beer). Well, i assume that we found the right house, because he went in and was there for a few minutes, but it turned out the friend of his girlfriend was not present, so we proceeded on to Jolly Bob's. We were strongly criticized for arriving last, since we had left the Union first. The rest of our group had already consumed a whole drink.
Jolly Green inquired of the bartender if they had a phone book he could use quick, so he could look up his number and phone his woman.
"Sure!" the bartender replied. "We just got two of them today, in fact!" He produced a pair of phone books from beneath the bar, which were still plastic wrapped together. He separated them and handed one off to Jolly Green. "You can keep that if you want. I only need one."
"Thanks but i don't really need it," he said.
"Wait," i put in. "I don't have a phone book. Do you mind if i take it?"
Neither of them did, of course, so i took it. At this point, the whole thing was perfectly reasonable, if a little odd, sitting at a bar with a phone book. But that's all it was, at that time: a guy with a phone book.
Jolly Bob's has got some amazing drinks. They don't serve anything that you might consider standard in the United States. I ordered a Captain and Coke only to be told that they stocked neither Captain Morgan nor Coca-Cola. Jolly Bob's is strictly Caribbean. I instead got something made with multiple fruit juices and Jamaican rum. I'd have a good many of these as the night wore on.
We spent the majority of the night at Jolly Bob's, including dinner, more mixed drinks, and a few rounds of shots.
Eventually we moved along with our barhopping, i can't actually remember what our next stop was, or for sure that there was another bar between Jolly Bob's and Mickey's, but i think there was. In any case, as the night was drawing to a close, we had walked several blocks down the street to Mickey's. But as we were congregating outside the entrance to the bar, the general consensus became that it was time to call it a night. I phoned Amanda to come pick me up, and the cloud of chemists started to disperse. Suddenly, somebody realized that Tom was not among the crowd. Tom had gone inside to get another drink. Tom was already hammered beyond the capacity for rational thought. He did not require another drink.
Jolly Green went in after him. Around this point, i, in my stumbling drunken stupor, decided that i really, really needed to pee. My phone book, which i had dutifully clung to throughout the last several alcohol-filled hours, could not come inside with me, although i'm not exactly sure why. So i set it on the concrete stairs in front of Mickey's, propped against the building.
"Don't let anyone steal my phone book!" i commanded, truly believing that somebody would. The remaining chemists agreed to keep an eye on my precious phone book, and i went in. I stumbled through the crowd (Mickey's is always crowded, even on weeknights. I have never seen that place with reasonable walking room earlier than 1:30am any day of the week), at one point brushing past Tom and Jolly Green, the former recognizing me and excitedly proclaiming something about the night not being over, now that i'd arrived. I made my way to the restroom and conducted my business. By the time i came out, Tom had a fresh Captain and Coke in his hand, which he thrust upon me. Jolly Green was gone.
"I bought you another drink!" he proudly exclaimed, partaking heartily of his own brew.
"Hey alright!" i chimed, because at that moment, if there was one thing that i did not need, if there was one thing that i truly wanted, it was another Captain and Coke.
Jolly Green returned moments later, disapproving through his own haze that we were still drinking. He was trying to haul us out of the bar; i protested that Tom had just gotten me this drink and dammit, i was not going to let it go to waste. He responded by taking possession of the glass and downing it himself. Dejected, i headed for the door.
Upon arrival outside, i discovered that my phone book was missing.
"Where's my phonebook!?" i loudly inquired of the dwindling group. They responded that they did not know.
Somebody had stolen my phone book. I couldn't believe it. My incompetent co-workers had just stood by and let some drunken hobo walk off with my precious. He was probably using it as a pillow and sleeping in a nearby alley as we spoke. But seeking him out wouldn't do me any good, i'd probably get shanked.
Suddenly it occurred to me that i had probably taken the phone book inside. I must have left it in the bathroom! I couldn't just leave it there! I had to rescue it!
So i once again entered Mickey's, only to come face to face with Jolly Green and Tom, finally on their way out. "Why are you coming back inside?" Jolly Green demanded.
"My phone book! I lost my phone book."
Looking around, Jolly Green spotted two phone books, wrapped in plastic, sitting on a bar stool next to the door. He grabbed them, tore the plastic off, and handed me one of them.
It just wasn't the same. It was not my phone book, just some other skeezy phone book that happened to be in a convenient locale. But, i didn't want to anger Jolly Green further, so i exited the building.
Amanda was waiting outside for us. Jolly Green appealed to her for a ride home, and the two of us climbed into the back seat, where Alyssa's dogs were already residing. Toby, her gigantic German shepherd, snapped at Jolly Green, which amused me at the time, but i guess really wasn't that funny.
The next day at work, the majority of the staff was dealing with hangovers and serious sleep deprivation, but everybody who was out partying made it in. Only Pukeflower called in sick that day, and she wasn't even part of the festivities, or even invited, because nobody likes her. I've got an unfinished blog about Pukeflower; there's so much to be said about her which i'm sure an outside observer will find hilarious. It'll show up sooner or later.
As i was sitting in my seat, quietly doing my work, Kelly came up behind me and plopped a phone book down on my desk.
"I heard you lost your phone book, so i brought you mine. I don't need it," she said.
"Thanks," i said. "But the Jolly Green Giant already stole another one for me."
She left it with me anyway. I now had two phone books.
The following day, David came in holding a phone book. "I protected your phone book for you!" he proclaimed proudly.
"What?!" i said, confused.
"You left it sitting on the step at the bar, and i was leaving, so i thought i'd keep it safe for you and i took it home."
Well, that explained that. I now had three phone books.
I got off the bus that day, clutching my original phone book, and walked up the cul-de-sac that i lived on at the time. As i came up to our door, i found a brand new phone book in a plastic bag on our doorstep. They were on many of the other doorsteps in the neighborhood. I suppose, if i'd given any thought to the whole phone book situation in the very beginning, at Jolly Bob's, i'd have seen this coming. I now had four phone books.
The story may as well end there, but a few months later, we moved across town to a new apartment complex, and they had bricks of eight phone books wrapped in plastic that were sitting outside the main entrances to each building. They'd been there since we'd done the walkthrough; it was clear nobody was taking them. We used them to prop the doors open as we moved in.
Somehow, one of these bricks of phone books remained in our apartment during our entire tenure there, and for some reason moved to our next residence with us. I now had twelve phone books.
All of those phone books are gone now, but at the time i got some strange pleasure out of telling people that i had twelve phone books, and then telling them why.
2010/10/21
Died Inside
I barely knew Dan when he asked me, in December of 2009, to drive out to Milwaukee with him and shoot a music video for a band that he knew. Dan was one of the quiet guys in the class; Dan and Mark, both pretty much background characters in the first two semesters, were often confused for one another by teachers and other students alike. However, i had made the determination early on that during my time at MMI, i was going to dip my fingers into every video project that i possibly could. I agreed without hesitation. Plus, there was the offer of free food, and "free" and "food" are two of those keywords that everyone knows they can use to manipulate me. That's not a complaint.
We became acquainted on the drive out. During those ninety minutes, i heard Dan talk more than i had in the previous ninety days. I'd later learn that this is a hallmark of Dan while he's smoking. I was really glad to get to know the guy, though; our class was small (nine people left by this point), and i wanted to know them all. Dan and i became good friends after this, and would go on to work together whenever possible. See: Ed Wood Part II.
Problems struck almost immediately when we arrived at the shooting location, a VFW in one of Milwaukee's suburbs, i forget which...might've even been Waukesha. We had nonworking lights in both of the lighting kits that we'd brought along (as our tenure at Madison Media Institute went on, we'd learn that this is normal), and we'd forgotten the spare camera batteries. We had no choice but to continue as best as we could.
The lighting situation turned out ok; our shots are much darker than they perhaps would have been, but with the way the final product turned out, it's probably better this way. The camera batteries that we had miraculously held out. Given our further experiences with those cameras and batteries, to this day i can't figure out how we pulled that one off.
Setup took longer than expected (experience would later teach us that this, too, was normal), but there were further issues. The band's guitarist wouldn't be showing up for hours yet, limiting the shots that we could do. The food didn't show up until much later than expected either, and by that time we really just wanted to be done and go home rather than take an extended break to eat.
Man, this blog is turning out much more negative than i expected, and not nearly as funny. I suppose most of my blogs don't turn out as funny as i always hope they will. Paradigm Pudding is one big downer, isn't it?
Throughout the shoot, the band remained cold and impassive toward us. Dan and i ended up sitting together across the room from the band for dinner. I was bored and uncomfortable.
After we'd listened to their song, Died Inside, played over and over about 30 times while we shot different members of the band from different angles, we suddenly realized that not one but both of our cameras had the volume on the microphones turned off. What does this mean? It means that there's about 60 clips of the band playing with no audio. Granted, the audio recorded on location isn't going to be the audio used in the final product, that would be awful, but without the audio on the source footage, these clips are going to be next to impossible to synchronize for editing.
Dan told me on the drive home that there was actually already significant outside interest in this video, before it had even been shot. Oprah, of all people, wanted it for her show. Why? Because the song, and consequently the video, are about child abuse and raising awareness thereof. Also, one of the networks in Europe, possibly even MTV Europe, i don't remember, had it slotted for airtime. This was kind of a big deal. I'd had no idea going in, but i was glad. It would be good exposure for me, early in my career.
So what happened?
Dan spent probably 100 or more hours over the next few weeks synchronizing that footage based on lips and hand positions on instruments. I didn't help with this process, but i know from experience how much of a pain in the ass synchronizing this way is, although i've never done it with more than five clips or so, and my clips were much better lit.
Dan continued to put in long hours on the project well after the footage was synchronized. There was the actual editing, color correction, special effects, and so on, and then the live video was together. But wait! There was still storyline footage to be shot and edited into the live stuff!
The first shoot was really my major involvement in the video, but as Dan progressed on the storyline footage and further editing, i acted as a creative consultant, providing valuable advice on what he should and shouldn't do (some of which he actually took) and helping out with some of the post production. Somehow he roped Dick into helping with some of it too, before the Ed Wood fiasco.
I was terribly, terribly sick of hearing that song over and over a couple months in. I'd come in to school late at night to use a video suite to work on my own projects (principally Kiwiland, Ho!: Second Edition), and i'd hear that song resonating from one of the other rooms where Dan was diligently fixing the tiniest details, usually things nobody but a director would even notice. I had to admire his dedication. This is one of the chief reasons that i pointed straight at him when we were nominating a director for Weinelstein.
But then, when he thought it was finished, and i thought it looked beautiful, and everyone else he showed it to agreed that it was far beyond the scope of what any student of his stature should have been capable of, the band started to demand changes.
They started out as minor changes, and continued as minor changes for a while, but the problem was that they were coming in constantly. Every time he thought he'd sated the band, they'd demand something else trivial and stupid.
Meanwhile, after every revision, Dan kept dutifully taking time out of his own busy work and school schedule to export and reformat the video four or six different ways, optimized for different forms of presentation such as web or DVD. And, since the video was supposed to go overseas, that meant doing each version in both NTSC (America's format) and PAL (the entire rest of the world's format). I could see Dan getting more and more irritated with each passing day as more and more was demanded of him; more and more work that he wasn't getting paid for. I told him after the second or third revision that he should just tell Bellevue Suite to blast it out their fucking asses, and he agreed with me, but somehow he couldn't let it go. No, this video had to be perfect and it had to be used for its intended purpose, or else everything was for naught. I can respect that decision, but it still sucks.
Then the biggest problem came about: Barry, the drummer, had either quit the band or been fired, i don't recall which but either way, the band wanted all of Barry's shots removed from the video and replaced with their new drummer.
This is where i absolutely would have drawn the line and told them to just take what they're given and be happy with it, and Dan almost did exactly that, except that the band then said fine, give us the original project files and we'll make the changes ourselves.
Dan had the misfortune of seeing the footage that the band themselves had shot of their new drummer and saw exactly what they were about to do to his masterpiece. He caved. He took their footage and integrated it into the video himself, lest they destroy his art. He explained how shitty the new footage was and all the work he had to go through to bring it even close to the standard set by our original HD video; it wasn't pretty.
I've actually never seen their final version. But the version with Barry looks great, it could easily play on MTV alongside million-dollar industry videos.
But it never did.
Not because of anything Dan did, either. And not because the band was lying about the outside interest, either; that turned out to all be legitimate. No, the entire project was fucked over by the band itself, no surprise. That astonishing mass of DVDs that Dan had burned over and over and over again? Not one of them got shipped out.
I don't know why the discs were never shipped, but when the producer from Europe started calling looking for them, the band's representative told him to "just download it off of YouTube."
What?! What the fuck!? No, you don't just download shit off of YouTube and throw it into rotation on MTV, unless it's a fucking joke, like Tosh.0 or something. How the hell did this guy think he was going to be taken seriously?
I don't know what exactly happened with Oprah, but i'd assume something similar, or else it just took too long to get the finished product into her hands. We'd started in December of last year, i don't think the video was finished to Bellevue's satisfaction until May or June.
Dan's still proud of his work. I'm still proud of my contributions. I think we both came away from it with a very impressive portfolio piece, and we can still truthfully say that that video was "produced for MTV Europe," even though it never aired.
Dan was lamenting to me, though, shortly after the whole thing was over. "If i could go back and do it again, there's a few things i'd definitely do differently..."
I replied: "Like not making a $100,000 music video for free?"
Died Inside
We became acquainted on the drive out. During those ninety minutes, i heard Dan talk more than i had in the previous ninety days. I'd later learn that this is a hallmark of Dan while he's smoking. I was really glad to get to know the guy, though; our class was small (nine people left by this point), and i wanted to know them all. Dan and i became good friends after this, and would go on to work together whenever possible. See: Ed Wood Part II.
Problems struck almost immediately when we arrived at the shooting location, a VFW in one of Milwaukee's suburbs, i forget which...might've even been Waukesha. We had nonworking lights in both of the lighting kits that we'd brought along (as our tenure at Madison Media Institute went on, we'd learn that this is normal), and we'd forgotten the spare camera batteries. We had no choice but to continue as best as we could.
The lighting situation turned out ok; our shots are much darker than they perhaps would have been, but with the way the final product turned out, it's probably better this way. The camera batteries that we had miraculously held out. Given our further experiences with those cameras and batteries, to this day i can't figure out how we pulled that one off.
Setup took longer than expected (experience would later teach us that this, too, was normal), but there were further issues. The band's guitarist wouldn't be showing up for hours yet, limiting the shots that we could do. The food didn't show up until much later than expected either, and by that time we really just wanted to be done and go home rather than take an extended break to eat.
Man, this blog is turning out much more negative than i expected, and not nearly as funny. I suppose most of my blogs don't turn out as funny as i always hope they will. Paradigm Pudding is one big downer, isn't it?
Throughout the shoot, the band remained cold and impassive toward us. Dan and i ended up sitting together across the room from the band for dinner. I was bored and uncomfortable.
After we'd listened to their song, Died Inside, played over and over about 30 times while we shot different members of the band from different angles, we suddenly realized that not one but both of our cameras had the volume on the microphones turned off. What does this mean? It means that there's about 60 clips of the band playing with no audio. Granted, the audio recorded on location isn't going to be the audio used in the final product, that would be awful, but without the audio on the source footage, these clips are going to be next to impossible to synchronize for editing.
Dan told me on the drive home that there was actually already significant outside interest in this video, before it had even been shot. Oprah, of all people, wanted it for her show. Why? Because the song, and consequently the video, are about child abuse and raising awareness thereof. Also, one of the networks in Europe, possibly even MTV Europe, i don't remember, had it slotted for airtime. This was kind of a big deal. I'd had no idea going in, but i was glad. It would be good exposure for me, early in my career.
So what happened?
Dan spent probably 100 or more hours over the next few weeks synchronizing that footage based on lips and hand positions on instruments. I didn't help with this process, but i know from experience how much of a pain in the ass synchronizing this way is, although i've never done it with more than five clips or so, and my clips were much better lit.
Dan continued to put in long hours on the project well after the footage was synchronized. There was the actual editing, color correction, special effects, and so on, and then the live video was together. But wait! There was still storyline footage to be shot and edited into the live stuff!
The first shoot was really my major involvement in the video, but as Dan progressed on the storyline footage and further editing, i acted as a creative consultant, providing valuable advice on what he should and shouldn't do (some of which he actually took) and helping out with some of the post production. Somehow he roped Dick into helping with some of it too, before the Ed Wood fiasco.
I was terribly, terribly sick of hearing that song over and over a couple months in. I'd come in to school late at night to use a video suite to work on my own projects (principally Kiwiland, Ho!: Second Edition), and i'd hear that song resonating from one of the other rooms where Dan was diligently fixing the tiniest details, usually things nobody but a director would even notice. I had to admire his dedication. This is one of the chief reasons that i pointed straight at him when we were nominating a director for Weinelstein.
But then, when he thought it was finished, and i thought it looked beautiful, and everyone else he showed it to agreed that it was far beyond the scope of what any student of his stature should have been capable of, the band started to demand changes.
They started out as minor changes, and continued as minor changes for a while, but the problem was that they were coming in constantly. Every time he thought he'd sated the band, they'd demand something else trivial and stupid.
Meanwhile, after every revision, Dan kept dutifully taking time out of his own busy work and school schedule to export and reformat the video four or six different ways, optimized for different forms of presentation such as web or DVD. And, since the video was supposed to go overseas, that meant doing each version in both NTSC (America's format) and PAL (the entire rest of the world's format). I could see Dan getting more and more irritated with each passing day as more and more was demanded of him; more and more work that he wasn't getting paid for. I told him after the second or third revision that he should just tell Bellevue Suite to blast it out their fucking asses, and he agreed with me, but somehow he couldn't let it go. No, this video had to be perfect and it had to be used for its intended purpose, or else everything was for naught. I can respect that decision, but it still sucks.
Then the biggest problem came about: Barry, the drummer, had either quit the band or been fired, i don't recall which but either way, the band wanted all of Barry's shots removed from the video and replaced with their new drummer.
This is where i absolutely would have drawn the line and told them to just take what they're given and be happy with it, and Dan almost did exactly that, except that the band then said fine, give us the original project files and we'll make the changes ourselves.
Dan had the misfortune of seeing the footage that the band themselves had shot of their new drummer and saw exactly what they were about to do to his masterpiece. He caved. He took their footage and integrated it into the video himself, lest they destroy his art. He explained how shitty the new footage was and all the work he had to go through to bring it even close to the standard set by our original HD video; it wasn't pretty.
I've actually never seen their final version. But the version with Barry looks great, it could easily play on MTV alongside million-dollar industry videos.
But it never did.
Not because of anything Dan did, either. And not because the band was lying about the outside interest, either; that turned out to all be legitimate. No, the entire project was fucked over by the band itself, no surprise. That astonishing mass of DVDs that Dan had burned over and over and over again? Not one of them got shipped out.
I don't know why the discs were never shipped, but when the producer from Europe started calling looking for them, the band's representative told him to "just download it off of YouTube."
What?! What the fuck!? No, you don't just download shit off of YouTube and throw it into rotation on MTV, unless it's a fucking joke, like Tosh.0 or something. How the hell did this guy think he was going to be taken seriously?
I don't know what exactly happened with Oprah, but i'd assume something similar, or else it just took too long to get the finished product into her hands. We'd started in December of last year, i don't think the video was finished to Bellevue's satisfaction until May or June.
Dan's still proud of his work. I'm still proud of my contributions. I think we both came away from it with a very impressive portfolio piece, and we can still truthfully say that that video was "produced for MTV Europe," even though it never aired.
Dan was lamenting to me, though, shortly after the whole thing was over. "If i could go back and do it again, there's a few things i'd definitely do differently..."
I replied: "Like not making a $100,000 music video for free?"
Died Inside
2010/10/13
Friendiversary
Today's the ten year anniversary of what was probably the single most important event in my whole life.
In 2000, i was a sophomore in high school. I hung out mostly with a bunch of freshmen. Like most single, nerdy kids in high school, there was this one girl that i had a huge crush on, also a lowly freshman, but i was too nervous to ever approach her.
Every day at lunch, my friends and i sat at a table in the center of the far back of the commons. She sat alone, often at a table to the far left from my vantage, about centered between front and back. Though i was of course enjoying my lunch and having a good time with my friends at the table, i'd always be looking at her, and somehow i'd always have a clear view of her diagonally through the parted tables.
This was Amanda.
I found out through my friend, whom i shall now refer to simply as The Worm because it's so damn appropriate, that his and Amanda's mutual friend Alyssa was having a party for Friday the 13th, which was also a full moon, and they thought it would be a good idea to have a seance. Amanda would be attending this party. I did some finagling with The Worm about getting myself invited to this seance party, not because i was interested in the seance, but because, obviously, i was interested in Amanda. I didn't tell The Worm this. I led him to believe that i was genuinely interested in his occult bullshit. Disclaimer: i'm not calling the occult bullshit, this is me retrospectively declaring The Worm's interpretation of the occult bullshit.
The Worm dragged his feet on this for a good long while, saying he needed to check with Alyssa if this would be ok. He kept forgetting, or as i now retroactively believe, "forgetting," until a couple days before the seance, i saw him walking through the school library with both Amanda and Alyssa, and i brought it up directly in front of them. He gave an annoyed sigh, turned to Alyssa, and asked if i could come to the party. This is my first recollection of having ever met or seen Alyssa. She looked at me apprehensively at first, and said, without enthusiasm or really any emotion of any kind, "Sure." It was a very happy moment for me.
When i arrived at Alyssa's house on Friday afternoon, i met several new additions to the cast of characters that was my life, and this is of course the point of the blog. This was where i met Juli, Cyndi, and Ally.
My first ever interaction with Juli was her telling a joke to somebody else at the party, and me standing by listening.
"What do you call two nuts on a wall?" she said.
Her conversation partner, who i think may have been Alyssa, said, "I don't know, what?"
"Walnuts!" she answered. "What do you call two nuts on your chest?"
Alyssa again responded that she didn't know.
"Chestnuts!" Juli exclaimed proudly, then continued: "What do you call two nuts on your chin?"
Alyssa thought carefully for a moment before again denying that she knew.
"A dick in your mouth!"
I really liked this girl, right then and there. While we were at this party i found out that Amanda was actually dating one of my friends that i ate lunch with every day. I can't specifically remember which one, she dated a couple of them during high school, but the fact that i didn't know about it leads me to believe that it was The Worm at the time. None of us really knew this about him at the time, but looking back, it makes so much sense; he never wanted us to know he was dating her because he liked to appear single, so that he could attract other ladies.
In any case, Amanda was now totally unreachable to me. I cut my losses and moved on. In spite of the strange and, in retrospect, mostly stupid, events of that night (which i will not relate today, or probably ever), i started hitting on Ally. This was largely because we were both taking French classes (although her somewhat more successfully than me), and we were trying out some phrases on each other.
The record will show that nothing came of this. I found out later that Juli was interested in me, so i pursued this wholeheartedly. We ended up dating for two and a half years, almost consecutively.
The three of us, Juli, Cyndi and i, remain the closest of friends to this day. Every year on October 13th we get together for dinner for what Juli has dubbed our "Friendiversary."
And, as you all should know by now, Amanda and i did end up together. We've been together for just over seven years now.
So this story has a happy ending. And it all stems back to that one strange, stupid day ten years ago.
In 2000, i was a sophomore in high school. I hung out mostly with a bunch of freshmen. Like most single, nerdy kids in high school, there was this one girl that i had a huge crush on, also a lowly freshman, but i was too nervous to ever approach her.
Every day at lunch, my friends and i sat at a table in the center of the far back of the commons. She sat alone, often at a table to the far left from my vantage, about centered between front and back. Though i was of course enjoying my lunch and having a good time with my friends at the table, i'd always be looking at her, and somehow i'd always have a clear view of her diagonally through the parted tables.
This was Amanda.
I found out through my friend, whom i shall now refer to simply as The Worm because it's so damn appropriate, that his and Amanda's mutual friend Alyssa was having a party for Friday the 13th, which was also a full moon, and they thought it would be a good idea to have a seance. Amanda would be attending this party. I did some finagling with The Worm about getting myself invited to this seance party, not because i was interested in the seance, but because, obviously, i was interested in Amanda. I didn't tell The Worm this. I led him to believe that i was genuinely interested in his occult bullshit. Disclaimer: i'm not calling the occult bullshit, this is me retrospectively declaring The Worm's interpretation of the occult bullshit.
The Worm dragged his feet on this for a good long while, saying he needed to check with Alyssa if this would be ok. He kept forgetting, or as i now retroactively believe, "forgetting," until a couple days before the seance, i saw him walking through the school library with both Amanda and Alyssa, and i brought it up directly in front of them. He gave an annoyed sigh, turned to Alyssa, and asked if i could come to the party. This is my first recollection of having ever met or seen Alyssa. She looked at me apprehensively at first, and said, without enthusiasm or really any emotion of any kind, "Sure." It was a very happy moment for me.
When i arrived at Alyssa's house on Friday afternoon, i met several new additions to the cast of characters that was my life, and this is of course the point of the blog. This was where i met Juli, Cyndi, and Ally.
My first ever interaction with Juli was her telling a joke to somebody else at the party, and me standing by listening.
"What do you call two nuts on a wall?" she said.
Her conversation partner, who i think may have been Alyssa, said, "I don't know, what?"
"Walnuts!" she answered. "What do you call two nuts on your chest?"
Alyssa again responded that she didn't know.
"Chestnuts!" Juli exclaimed proudly, then continued: "What do you call two nuts on your chin?"
Alyssa thought carefully for a moment before again denying that she knew.
"A dick in your mouth!"
I really liked this girl, right then and there. While we were at this party i found out that Amanda was actually dating one of my friends that i ate lunch with every day. I can't specifically remember which one, she dated a couple of them during high school, but the fact that i didn't know about it leads me to believe that it was The Worm at the time. None of us really knew this about him at the time, but looking back, it makes so much sense; he never wanted us to know he was dating her because he liked to appear single, so that he could attract other ladies.
In any case, Amanda was now totally unreachable to me. I cut my losses and moved on. In spite of the strange and, in retrospect, mostly stupid, events of that night (which i will not relate today, or probably ever), i started hitting on Ally. This was largely because we were both taking French classes (although her somewhat more successfully than me), and we were trying out some phrases on each other.
The record will show that nothing came of this. I found out later that Juli was interested in me, so i pursued this wholeheartedly. We ended up dating for two and a half years, almost consecutively.
The three of us, Juli, Cyndi and i, remain the closest of friends to this day. Every year on October 13th we get together for dinner for what Juli has dubbed our "Friendiversary."
And, as you all should know by now, Amanda and i did end up together. We've been together for just over seven years now.
So this story has a happy ending. And it all stems back to that one strange, stupid day ten years ago.
2010/10/10
Rave This
The Rave in Milwaukee is not a place that i go. I've never quite figured out why so many big-name bands make The Rave their one tour stop in Wisconsin. The place is a dump. I'm surprised that the whole structure hasn't collapsed from those heavy metal vibrations it endures almost every single night.
When i saw Korn there in 2002 (yes, Korn...i'm not proud), i was thoroughly unimpressed with their sound system. I thought it was overly tinny and there was too much high end. The bass sounded like Fieldy may as well have been beating on high-tension wires on a radio tower, and whenever the higher three strings on the guitar were used (which, with Korn, is rare), i though it was going to sever my eardrums. And i was 16!
But the main reason that i don't go to The Rave has to do with their shitty policies and their shitty employees. The Rave is well known for these "free tickets" that they send out to everyone everywhere and throw around on the streets. You can probably find a good pile of them in the gutters at any outdoor event, oftentimes even in Madison. These colorful strips of paper with the word "FREE" so boldly emblazoned across them seem so enticing, with their photographs of big-name national bands coming through and all the coolest tours that the teenagers want to see. In smaller letters underneath "FREE" it says Two Drink Minimum. Having so recently been there for the Korn show, and knowing that a bottle of water was $3 or $4 (can't remember for sure anymore; but either way, absolutely ridiculous), i figured hey, it's worth $6 or $8 to see Sevendust, Cinder, and whoever the other band on the bill was. So i grabbed that free ticket and a fistful more of them.
The day of the show, we ended up leaving for Milwaukee far, far later than we wanted to. It was Cyndi, Windsor (her boyfriend at the time...i can't even remember his real name anymore. We called him Windsor because that was the name of the city he was from.), and myself, speeding pretty badly down the ice-slick interstate, trying to make it to Germantown in time to pick up Juli and then make it into Milwaukee before the show started.
Luckily, we weren't stopped by any cops and we didn't go flying off the road or anything. We made it to The Rave just as Cinder was taking the stage. I didn't want to take any chances parking my vehicle on the streets in Milwaukee. I lived in a small town at that time. Milwaukee was fucking scary. So, I ended up paying an exorbitant amount of cash (i think $20) to park in a lot just a block away from the venue.
I could hear the band playing as we walked in. We presented our "free" tickets to the guy at the door, who then directed us down a flight of stairs to a bar in the basement. Annoyed, we complied.
We took our tickets up to the disgruntled bartender. He instructed us to write our mailing addresses on the back of them, which we dutifully did. We didn't really think about these kinds of things back then, we just did them. Parents: teach your kids about the evils of marketing!
Once we had finished, we handed the tickets back. "Alright guys," he said. "$17 each."
"Seventeen dollars?!" i shouted. "For two drinks?!"
"Yes, that's right."
"We'll just have water. That's like $3."
It's hard to tell who was more irritated with the other at that time. "No, you have to buy these drinks. Seventeen bucks."
Between the four of us, we had a total of $45. "We don't have enough money between the four of us. What do you suggest the rest of us do?"
"Well, i guess some of you will have to wait outside." In Milwaukee, in the middle of December? Really?
"Fuck you, man! Fuck you and fuck this place!" I let loose a torrent of obscenity that i only wished would knock the whole building down. I probably said "fuck" more times than you hear on your average Limp Bizkit album. Security ended up brusquely following us out of the building to make sure we were gone. They left us at the door.
As we were walking down the street, we happened across the same Rave employee who'd taken my money for the parking not ten minutes earlier. I was able to drop my rage and adopt a diplomatic poker face momentarily, and politely asked him for a refund. He confirmed that he recognized us as having just come in, but refused to give me my money back.
"Well then fuck you too! I hope the whole fucking place burns down and" blah blah blah. I thought it was vicious at the time, but it was really just a bunch of swear words. I probably could have at least called his lineage into question.
I haven't been back to The Rave since, and i've no plans of ever being back to The Rave. I think the way they do business is shitty and i think that every Rave employee i've ever come into contact with was an asshole.
I don't mean to say that their "free" ticket thing is altogether evil, though it is misleading. If it said right on the damn thing "reduced ticket" or something to that effect rather than "free," i'd be a lot happer. Something to prepare you for the actual cost you are going to pay so that you can be sure to have enough money before you drive all the way to Milwaukee from Madison, just to get thrown out on the streets. I mean, $17 is still a good price to see a band like that in their prime. It just would have been nice to know ahead of time.
Somebody asked me earlier this evening about my reasons for avoiding The Rave, so i told him the entire preceding story. He's a big fan of the "free" tickets, but he explained that it's because he expects The Rave to gouge drink prices and somebody like him is going to have at least two drinks at a show anyway, which i suppose is reasonable. But the problem still lies in the fact that we were all 15-16 years old at the time, we couldn't get any drinks that were worth that price. But another shitty thing that they do that he just told me about is that if you arrive bearing these "free" tickets for a show which is sold out, you will be turned away. The "free" tickets are valid only if there happens to be space available.
I think that any business which is going to promote itself with free anything should be held accountable for providing that free service or those free goods. They should not be handing out these "free" tickets like so much cheap Mexican candy if they aren't going to back them up. It would be better just to be well known for having kind of a "flying stand-by" type service, where you can be let in to any show, without wasting all this paper on printing up "free" tickets, for a reduced rate if there is space available. At least then, people would know what they were getting themselves into and could elect to go or not to go based on that risk, and then people who have somehow not obtained a "free" ticket could take advantage of the program too.
The sad epilogue to this tale is that for years i continued to receive fat envelopes stuffed with "free" tickets for every single show The Rave put on for the next several years, until i moved away. Shit, those tickets are probably still going to that house on a nigh-weekly basis.
When i saw Korn there in 2002 (yes, Korn...i'm not proud), i was thoroughly unimpressed with their sound system. I thought it was overly tinny and there was too much high end. The bass sounded like Fieldy may as well have been beating on high-tension wires on a radio tower, and whenever the higher three strings on the guitar were used (which, with Korn, is rare), i though it was going to sever my eardrums. And i was 16!
But the main reason that i don't go to The Rave has to do with their shitty policies and their shitty employees. The Rave is well known for these "free tickets" that they send out to everyone everywhere and throw around on the streets. You can probably find a good pile of them in the gutters at any outdoor event, oftentimes even in Madison. These colorful strips of paper with the word "FREE" so boldly emblazoned across them seem so enticing, with their photographs of big-name national bands coming through and all the coolest tours that the teenagers want to see. In smaller letters underneath "FREE" it says Two Drink Minimum. Having so recently been there for the Korn show, and knowing that a bottle of water was $3 or $4 (can't remember for sure anymore; but either way, absolutely ridiculous), i figured hey, it's worth $6 or $8 to see Sevendust, Cinder, and whoever the other band on the bill was. So i grabbed that free ticket and a fistful more of them.
The day of the show, we ended up leaving for Milwaukee far, far later than we wanted to. It was Cyndi, Windsor (her boyfriend at the time...i can't even remember his real name anymore. We called him Windsor because that was the name of the city he was from.), and myself, speeding pretty badly down the ice-slick interstate, trying to make it to Germantown in time to pick up Juli and then make it into Milwaukee before the show started.
Luckily, we weren't stopped by any cops and we didn't go flying off the road or anything. We made it to The Rave just as Cinder was taking the stage. I didn't want to take any chances parking my vehicle on the streets in Milwaukee. I lived in a small town at that time. Milwaukee was fucking scary. So, I ended up paying an exorbitant amount of cash (i think $20) to park in a lot just a block away from the venue.
I could hear the band playing as we walked in. We presented our "free" tickets to the guy at the door, who then directed us down a flight of stairs to a bar in the basement. Annoyed, we complied.
We took our tickets up to the disgruntled bartender. He instructed us to write our mailing addresses on the back of them, which we dutifully did. We didn't really think about these kinds of things back then, we just did them. Parents: teach your kids about the evils of marketing!
Once we had finished, we handed the tickets back. "Alright guys," he said. "$17 each."
"Seventeen dollars?!" i shouted. "For two drinks?!"
"Yes, that's right."
"We'll just have water. That's like $3."
It's hard to tell who was more irritated with the other at that time. "No, you have to buy these drinks. Seventeen bucks."
Between the four of us, we had a total of $45. "We don't have enough money between the four of us. What do you suggest the rest of us do?"
"Well, i guess some of you will have to wait outside." In Milwaukee, in the middle of December? Really?
"Fuck you, man! Fuck you and fuck this place!" I let loose a torrent of obscenity that i only wished would knock the whole building down. I probably said "fuck" more times than you hear on your average Limp Bizkit album. Security ended up brusquely following us out of the building to make sure we were gone. They left us at the door.
As we were walking down the street, we happened across the same Rave employee who'd taken my money for the parking not ten minutes earlier. I was able to drop my rage and adopt a diplomatic poker face momentarily, and politely asked him for a refund. He confirmed that he recognized us as having just come in, but refused to give me my money back.
"Well then fuck you too! I hope the whole fucking place burns down and" blah blah blah. I thought it was vicious at the time, but it was really just a bunch of swear words. I probably could have at least called his lineage into question.
I haven't been back to The Rave since, and i've no plans of ever being back to The Rave. I think the way they do business is shitty and i think that every Rave employee i've ever come into contact with was an asshole.
I don't mean to say that their "free" ticket thing is altogether evil, though it is misleading. If it said right on the damn thing "reduced ticket" or something to that effect rather than "free," i'd be a lot happer. Something to prepare you for the actual cost you are going to pay so that you can be sure to have enough money before you drive all the way to Milwaukee from Madison, just to get thrown out on the streets. I mean, $17 is still a good price to see a band like that in their prime. It just would have been nice to know ahead of time.
Somebody asked me earlier this evening about my reasons for avoiding The Rave, so i told him the entire preceding story. He's a big fan of the "free" tickets, but he explained that it's because he expects The Rave to gouge drink prices and somebody like him is going to have at least two drinks at a show anyway, which i suppose is reasonable. But the problem still lies in the fact that we were all 15-16 years old at the time, we couldn't get any drinks that were worth that price. But another shitty thing that they do that he just told me about is that if you arrive bearing these "free" tickets for a show which is sold out, you will be turned away. The "free" tickets are valid only if there happens to be space available.
I think that any business which is going to promote itself with free anything should be held accountable for providing that free service or those free goods. They should not be handing out these "free" tickets like so much cheap Mexican candy if they aren't going to back them up. It would be better just to be well known for having kind of a "flying stand-by" type service, where you can be let in to any show, without wasting all this paper on printing up "free" tickets, for a reduced rate if there is space available. At least then, people would know what they were getting themselves into and could elect to go or not to go based on that risk, and then people who have somehow not obtained a "free" ticket could take advantage of the program too.
The sad epilogue to this tale is that for years i continued to receive fat envelopes stuffed with "free" tickets for every single show The Rave put on for the next several years, until i moved away. Shit, those tickets are probably still going to that house on a nigh-weekly basis.
2010/10/08
Welcome Home
Yesterday i purchased a MacBook Pro.
After all of my training and experiences at the Madison Media Institute, Mac was definitely the way that i needed to go. Sure, it was a veritable assload of money, but hopefully, a couple good freelance jobs will pay it off. I've also invested in the Final Cut Studio and Adobe Creative Suite 5. So, if anyone needs any video or graphic design work done, let me know. Because i can do it.
I've spent pretty much the whole day sitting in front of my MacBook. I felt really terrible when i woke up, i couldn't move without my stomach lurching all over the place, so i didn't go to work. Maybe it's just me freaking out from having dropped so much money into an uncertain future.
But my conversion from the PC world over to the Mac world is not completely without precedent. I grew up in the 90s, when computers were beginning to show a prevalence over everyday life. You were starting to see them in more and more places, both public and private, and not just in rich niches. Since my main contact with these wondrous machines was, of course, school, the majority of my early learning on computers was on Macs.
In grade school i was fascinated by computers to a greater degree than most of my peers. I spent as much time as humanly possible on any computer i could get in front of, even if i had nothing to do, just to poke around with its software and see what i could get out of it. Through this constant tinkering, me and two of my friends expanded our computer skills far beyond any of our classmates. Even up through high school, we were the ones that the other kids came to when they needed help for even the most rudimentary processes.
Eventually, my dad purchased a computer for use with his home VCR repair business. It was a 386 with Windows 3.1 on it, and he paid out the butt for it, but it suited his needs. He wouldn't let me near it very often, but i did start to get a taste for the other side of this computer business. I didn't find out until later that he had a program on it for strip poker. If i'd have known that earlier, it might have had an impact on my development. Heh.
Meanwhile, my friend Matt's dad worked as a computer technician for a large company in the next city over from our small town. As a result, he was able to take home all kinds of obsolete parts that would otherwise be thrown away. For the first time, i was able to get a look at the insides of a computer and start tinkering with hardware. I started to learn a great deal about PCs, and the Mac world started slipping away from me. From there, i began to obtain my own obsolete computer parts from garage sales, Goodwill, and other such channels for little to no money.
When it finally came time that i felt i needed a computer that was up to date, in 2002, i struggled for a long time trying to decide between a Mac or a PC. In my heart, i wanted a Mac, but working things out logically, i knew that i'd be better off with a PC. I wanted something that would be compatible with more of the programs i thought i needed and the ones that i already had. I wanted something that would be compatible with the rest of my family's gear. And so, i turned to the Dark Side.
Once i owned a reliable PC, the Mac world was completely closed off to me. I had no contact with it whatsoever for the next several years. In fact, i became one of those condescending PC supremacists. Mac was the enemy, it was worthless, and it was just plain wrong.
The first time that i went to college, at MATC (Madison's Alternative To College), the entire school used PCs, but there were two Macs hidden in a poorly lit corner of the library. One day, all the computers i could find were taken, but as i ventured through the library, i came across these two unoccupied machines. I figured, what the hell, i used to be pretty darn good with a Mac, i can probably get whatever i need done on one of these. I'd heard, from my brother no less, that the then-new OSX was rather good. My brother is of course a vindictive Mac-hating PC guy. He's as deep into the Dark Side as Darth Vader. He'll never turn.
I turned out to be wrong. The Mac OS had changed completely and there was barely a glimmer of what i knew left. At least it didn't have At Ease, i guess...remember that bullshit? We had it at our high school.
But what was this row of icons at the bottom of the screen? I am referring of course to the dock. I had no concept of it at that time. What were all these strange icons? WHAT DID THEY MEAN?!?
I was completely unable to make the machine function in a way that remotely resembled satisfactory. I ended up meandering the library aimlessly for a while until somebody vacated a PC.
The New Zealand trip changed everything. Not because anything Mac-related happened there, but because it was the catalyst to my enrollment in Madison Media Institute.
MMI is dominated by Macs. The PCs have one lowly room where they rule, but the rest of the complex is entirely Snow Leopard territory. During my tenure there, i was trained in all kinds of great Mac-only software. I learned a great deal about the Mac equivalents of PC programs that i was wizardly in. It took a couple of semesters to break me down, but once i knew the power of an Apple, i knew what i was going to have to do.
Now that i've graduated, i finally went out and purchased my first brand-new Macintosh, a 15.4" MacBook pro with the Intel i7 quadcore processor. It's pretty much the top of the line right now. It only makes me sad because i know it'll be obsolete by the time i've paid for it.
But these first two days have been amazing. I'm doing things at blazing speed and with such great ease as i never thought possible. Sure, i've had iTunes on my PC for a while, because it beats the hell out of Windows Media Player, but i had no idea what was in store for me once i'd made a full conversion.
I have Final Cut Pro.
I have Adobe CS5, which, though available on the PC, just works better on a Mac.
I've been tinkering with things again, and i love a lot of the built-in programs, like Garage Band and iPhoto and Photo Booth. Don't ask me why i like Photo Booth, it's kind of a pointless program, but i had some fun with it this morning.
I had initially planned on retaining Microsoft Office, though, until i found out that Office 2003 won't run on it, only Office 2007. And if you don't know already, Office 2007 is bullshit. We recently "upgraded" at work from 2003 to 2007, and it pisses me off on such a regular basis i just can't stand it. Instead, i bought iWork, the current Macintosh equivalent of Office. I haven't used it yet. Here's hoping it's not the damper on this whole Mac orgasm i'm having.
So that's it. Today, Bill Gates controls one less Sith. As of yesterday, i am Jedi.
After all of my training and experiences at the Madison Media Institute, Mac was definitely the way that i needed to go. Sure, it was a veritable assload of money, but hopefully, a couple good freelance jobs will pay it off. I've also invested in the Final Cut Studio and Adobe Creative Suite 5. So, if anyone needs any video or graphic design work done, let me know. Because i can do it.
I've spent pretty much the whole day sitting in front of my MacBook. I felt really terrible when i woke up, i couldn't move without my stomach lurching all over the place, so i didn't go to work. Maybe it's just me freaking out from having dropped so much money into an uncertain future.
But my conversion from the PC world over to the Mac world is not completely without precedent. I grew up in the 90s, when computers were beginning to show a prevalence over everyday life. You were starting to see them in more and more places, both public and private, and not just in rich niches. Since my main contact with these wondrous machines was, of course, school, the majority of my early learning on computers was on Macs.
In grade school i was fascinated by computers to a greater degree than most of my peers. I spent as much time as humanly possible on any computer i could get in front of, even if i had nothing to do, just to poke around with its software and see what i could get out of it. Through this constant tinkering, me and two of my friends expanded our computer skills far beyond any of our classmates. Even up through high school, we were the ones that the other kids came to when they needed help for even the most rudimentary processes.
Eventually, my dad purchased a computer for use with his home VCR repair business. It was a 386 with Windows 3.1 on it, and he paid out the butt for it, but it suited his needs. He wouldn't let me near it very often, but i did start to get a taste for the other side of this computer business. I didn't find out until later that he had a program on it for strip poker. If i'd have known that earlier, it might have had an impact on my development. Heh.
Meanwhile, my friend Matt's dad worked as a computer technician for a large company in the next city over from our small town. As a result, he was able to take home all kinds of obsolete parts that would otherwise be thrown away. For the first time, i was able to get a look at the insides of a computer and start tinkering with hardware. I started to learn a great deal about PCs, and the Mac world started slipping away from me. From there, i began to obtain my own obsolete computer parts from garage sales, Goodwill, and other such channels for little to no money.
When it finally came time that i felt i needed a computer that was up to date, in 2002, i struggled for a long time trying to decide between a Mac or a PC. In my heart, i wanted a Mac, but working things out logically, i knew that i'd be better off with a PC. I wanted something that would be compatible with more of the programs i thought i needed and the ones that i already had. I wanted something that would be compatible with the rest of my family's gear. And so, i turned to the Dark Side.
Once i owned a reliable PC, the Mac world was completely closed off to me. I had no contact with it whatsoever for the next several years. In fact, i became one of those condescending PC supremacists. Mac was the enemy, it was worthless, and it was just plain wrong.
The first time that i went to college, at MATC (Madison's Alternative To College), the entire school used PCs, but there were two Macs hidden in a poorly lit corner of the library. One day, all the computers i could find were taken, but as i ventured through the library, i came across these two unoccupied machines. I figured, what the hell, i used to be pretty darn good with a Mac, i can probably get whatever i need done on one of these. I'd heard, from my brother no less, that the then-new OSX was rather good. My brother is of course a vindictive Mac-hating PC guy. He's as deep into the Dark Side as Darth Vader. He'll never turn.
I turned out to be wrong. The Mac OS had changed completely and there was barely a glimmer of what i knew left. At least it didn't have At Ease, i guess...remember that bullshit? We had it at our high school.
But what was this row of icons at the bottom of the screen? I am referring of course to the dock. I had no concept of it at that time. What were all these strange icons? WHAT DID THEY MEAN?!?
I was completely unable to make the machine function in a way that remotely resembled satisfactory. I ended up meandering the library aimlessly for a while until somebody vacated a PC.
The New Zealand trip changed everything. Not because anything Mac-related happened there, but because it was the catalyst to my enrollment in Madison Media Institute.
MMI is dominated by Macs. The PCs have one lowly room where they rule, but the rest of the complex is entirely Snow Leopard territory. During my tenure there, i was trained in all kinds of great Mac-only software. I learned a great deal about the Mac equivalents of PC programs that i was wizardly in. It took a couple of semesters to break me down, but once i knew the power of an Apple, i knew what i was going to have to do.
Now that i've graduated, i finally went out and purchased my first brand-new Macintosh, a 15.4" MacBook pro with the Intel i7 quadcore processor. It's pretty much the top of the line right now. It only makes me sad because i know it'll be obsolete by the time i've paid for it.
But these first two days have been amazing. I'm doing things at blazing speed and with such great ease as i never thought possible. Sure, i've had iTunes on my PC for a while, because it beats the hell out of Windows Media Player, but i had no idea what was in store for me once i'd made a full conversion.
I have Final Cut Pro.
I have Adobe CS5, which, though available on the PC, just works better on a Mac.
I've been tinkering with things again, and i love a lot of the built-in programs, like Garage Band and iPhoto and Photo Booth. Don't ask me why i like Photo Booth, it's kind of a pointless program, but i had some fun with it this morning.
I had initially planned on retaining Microsoft Office, though, until i found out that Office 2003 won't run on it, only Office 2007. And if you don't know already, Office 2007 is bullshit. We recently "upgraded" at work from 2003 to 2007, and it pisses me off on such a regular basis i just can't stand it. Instead, i bought iWork, the current Macintosh equivalent of Office. I haven't used it yet. Here's hoping it's not the damper on this whole Mac orgasm i'm having.
So that's it. Today, Bill Gates controls one less Sith. As of yesterday, i am Jedi.
2010/10/06
Gay Eskimo's Punishment
Ben had a thing for punching guys in the junk.
Through the simple assertion that i preferred my junk to remain un-punched, i was able to avoid this. But for the majority of the men i went to high school with, who were maybe too proud to plead for their packages, or maybe just too stupid, testicular trauma was imminent.
I don't know why Ben punched junk, but it was kind of his thing. He was well known for it. I guess he was cool enough of a person otherwise to make up for the damage that junk punching would otherwise do to the relationships he had with people. I mean, he was a pretty cool guy.
Ben's three years older than me. But hell, before i had even gotten to high school Ben's junk-punching was already legendary among my peers. In 8th grade i had a friend who was taking advanced math classes at the high school, pre-Calc or Trig or some such thing, where his classmates were all sophomores and juniors, including Ben. He'd come back down to the middle school after class and tell us about his times there, such as ever time a hot high school girl had to bend over to pick up a pen (from his description, you'd think that high school girls' bodies repelled pens for some reason...they were ALWAYS bending over to pick them up...), and how he'd come into class and greet everyone. "Hi Ben!" he'd say in his reenactments, and then double over in mock pain, clutching his genitals.
So Ben would have been a Senior when i was a Freshman. Gay Eskimo was in 7th grade at this time, but all three of us spent the bulk of our free time at Gay Eskimo's house in those days. Myself because Gay Eskimo and i were whatever the male equivalent of BFFs was, and because of our gaming group (see previous blog), and Ben because he was really close friends with Gay Eskimo's sister. I think at the time he was still dating her best friend. They were together for a really long time. Also, we were all really tight with Gay Eskimo's mom. She was the coolest mom around.
Well, i guess that somehow Gay Eskimo had gotten the impression that once Ben punched a junk, he never punched that junk again. Kind of a one-time deal of sorts. I'm not sure why he had this impression, but holding it as he did, one day he decided to end the suspense and get it over with.
One night, we were gaming in the living room, and Gay Eskimo, randomly, as i recall, stood up and approached Ben, who was sitting and conversing with, among other people, Gay Eskimo's mom peacefully in the kitchen. Eight commas in one sentence? Is that even ok?
I remember quite clearly the somberness of his voice as he looked Ben in the eye, spreading his arms to each side at hip-level. "I'm ready to receive my punishment."
Ben looked at him, confused. "I, um, i already got you," he said cautiously. After all, he was standing right next to this kid's mom.
"No, you didn't," Gay Eskimo argued.
"Yeah, i'm pretty sure i did," he pleaded. This went on for a minute or so, Ben looking at Gay Eskimo's mom for guidance. She provided none. I was still in the living room, so i can't vouch for the accuracy of this, but knowing Gay Eskimo's mom, and knowing that she knew Ben and what was going on, she probably just figured, if he's going to ask for it like this, then he fucking deserves it. She was not usually one to protect her fledgling boy from his own stupid self. After all, experience is the best teacher.
"No, i'm quite sure that you haven't," Gay Eskimo prattled on.
"Look, i know that i..." and, in mid-sentence, Ben's fist suddenly just balled up, perhaps of its own accord, and thrust itself faster than the eye could follow straight into Gay Eskimo's crotch. He dropped like a sack filled with churches. The old brick and mortar kind, too, like from the 18th century. I'm surprised floorboards didn't crack when he hit them.
To his credit, he didn't cry, at least not in front of us. He went fetal, and just lay there, still as death, while the rest of the room stared at him in silence. After a couple minutes, conversation resumed, briefly about the damaged boy on the floor, then quickly segueing back into wherever it had dropped off before Gay Eskimo's odd request. The gaming group was unsure how to proceed with out him, but eventually we just handed the DM his character sheet and pressed on. Maybe fifteen minutes later we noticed him slithering, snake-like, toward the bathroom, still in a loose fetal position.
Not being able to reach the lock, the door was left partly ajar, and he somehow wriggled his way into the bathtub, where he remained for an hour or more before somebody needed to legitimately use the bathroom.
Through the simple assertion that i preferred my junk to remain un-punched, i was able to avoid this. But for the majority of the men i went to high school with, who were maybe too proud to plead for their packages, or maybe just too stupid, testicular trauma was imminent.
I don't know why Ben punched junk, but it was kind of his thing. He was well known for it. I guess he was cool enough of a person otherwise to make up for the damage that junk punching would otherwise do to the relationships he had with people. I mean, he was a pretty cool guy.
Ben's three years older than me. But hell, before i had even gotten to high school Ben's junk-punching was already legendary among my peers. In 8th grade i had a friend who was taking advanced math classes at the high school, pre-Calc or Trig or some such thing, where his classmates were all sophomores and juniors, including Ben. He'd come back down to the middle school after class and tell us about his times there, such as ever time a hot high school girl had to bend over to pick up a pen (from his description, you'd think that high school girls' bodies repelled pens for some reason...they were ALWAYS bending over to pick them up...), and how he'd come into class and greet everyone. "Hi Ben!" he'd say in his reenactments, and then double over in mock pain, clutching his genitals.
So Ben would have been a Senior when i was a Freshman. Gay Eskimo was in 7th grade at this time, but all three of us spent the bulk of our free time at Gay Eskimo's house in those days. Myself because Gay Eskimo and i were whatever the male equivalent of BFFs was, and because of our gaming group (see previous blog), and Ben because he was really close friends with Gay Eskimo's sister. I think at the time he was still dating her best friend. They were together for a really long time. Also, we were all really tight with Gay Eskimo's mom. She was the coolest mom around.
Well, i guess that somehow Gay Eskimo had gotten the impression that once Ben punched a junk, he never punched that junk again. Kind of a one-time deal of sorts. I'm not sure why he had this impression, but holding it as he did, one day he decided to end the suspense and get it over with.
One night, we were gaming in the living room, and Gay Eskimo, randomly, as i recall, stood up and approached Ben, who was sitting and conversing with, among other people, Gay Eskimo's mom peacefully in the kitchen. Eight commas in one sentence? Is that even ok?
I remember quite clearly the somberness of his voice as he looked Ben in the eye, spreading his arms to each side at hip-level. "I'm ready to receive my punishment."
Ben looked at him, confused. "I, um, i already got you," he said cautiously. After all, he was standing right next to this kid's mom.
"No, you didn't," Gay Eskimo argued.
"Yeah, i'm pretty sure i did," he pleaded. This went on for a minute or so, Ben looking at Gay Eskimo's mom for guidance. She provided none. I was still in the living room, so i can't vouch for the accuracy of this, but knowing Gay Eskimo's mom, and knowing that she knew Ben and what was going on, she probably just figured, if he's going to ask for it like this, then he fucking deserves it. She was not usually one to protect her fledgling boy from his own stupid self. After all, experience is the best teacher.
"No, i'm quite sure that you haven't," Gay Eskimo prattled on.
"Look, i know that i..." and, in mid-sentence, Ben's fist suddenly just balled up, perhaps of its own accord, and thrust itself faster than the eye could follow straight into Gay Eskimo's crotch. He dropped like a sack filled with churches. The old brick and mortar kind, too, like from the 18th century. I'm surprised floorboards didn't crack when he hit them.
To his credit, he didn't cry, at least not in front of us. He went fetal, and just lay there, still as death, while the rest of the room stared at him in silence. After a couple minutes, conversation resumed, briefly about the damaged boy on the floor, then quickly segueing back into wherever it had dropped off before Gay Eskimo's odd request. The gaming group was unsure how to proceed with out him, but eventually we just handed the DM his character sheet and pressed on. Maybe fifteen minutes later we noticed him slithering, snake-like, toward the bathroom, still in a loose fetal position.
Not being able to reach the lock, the door was left partly ajar, and he somehow wriggled his way into the bathtub, where he remained for an hour or more before somebody needed to legitimately use the bathroom.
2010/10/05
Carpe Scrotum
It's strange to think back on the days when i used to hang out with the likes of Gay Eskimo, Skippy, and Other Kid. If you haven't gathered yet, these are of course handles and not their real names; further, odds are good these handles haven't been used since those days. [Side note: I've been trying to use handles or nicknames for people in this blog because i don't feel like people would want me using their real names; sometimes i use just a first name but this becomes problematic when you consider how many people are named things like "Chris."] But it's weird to think about because i haven't even seen any of these people in at least five years, and we all used to be inseparable. We were a gaming group, for god's sake! That's closer than kin. But then after high school we all started to occasionally game with other groups, and eventually we kind of informally disbanded. We all wear different clan tags now.
The separation may have actually started before the end of high school, come to think of it. Probably about the time that we started to spend time with actual girls, rather than just comic books and game art and pictures of the Spice Girls.
That kind of thing started a little earlier for me than it did the others in the group, which kind of makes sense since i was a little older. But naturally, i wanted my newfound female friends to be friends with my other little group, so i thought i'd bring them into the fold. Many gamers would probably be apprehensive about this, and in most cases they'd be right to be, since your average girl is going to be scared off pretty easily by your average gamer, but things worked out pretty well.
I remember the first time that i brought Juli and Cyndi out to hang out with my group. Gay Eskimo, Skippy, and i...i'm actually not sure if Other Kid was there or not...had spent the night at Gay Eskimo's house, up late playing GoldenEye on the Nintendo 64, as we usually did on the weekends. In the morning, which is defined as "whenever we woke up," we were going to meet up with Juli and Cyndi and bring them back to Gay Eskimo's house to hang out for the day.
I slept on the top bunk, Gay Eskimo on the bottom, and Skippy (and Other Kid if he was in fact present) on the floor. These were our standard arrangements.
When i opened my eyes, Skippy was standing directly in front of the bed, his head at the exact level of the top bunk so as to look me in the eye. If there is a creepier thing to wake up to than a man who's best known for sticking his dick into his own ass staring you in the face, i've not experienced it.
"Umm...good morning..."
His gaze was unwavering and more serious than i'd ever seen him before. He spoke with a cool, even meter and i swear his voice was deeper than normal. "Today's the day," he said with conviction. "I'm gonna get laid."
I think my laughter was probably what woke Gay Eskimo up.
Predictably, Skippy did not get laid that day. It would in fact be a couple more years before he did lose his virginity, or at least his virginity with people, and even that was kind of an accident.
A year or so later, Juli, Cyndi, and i were heading over to Gay Eskimo's house to hang out. When we got there, he was playing his Sega Dreamcast. People still remember that the Dreamcast happened, right? I mean, it was kind of a big deal at the time, and as far as console gaming platforms go, it was really ahead of its time. But unfortunately, the system didn't do so well, and i think it's dropped into obscurity by now. I guess you young whippersnappers can think of it as the predecessor to the Xbox.
So we were trying to get him to be sociable with us, but he just kept brushing us off in favor of his game. It was rather rude on his part, and i suppose nowadays we probably would have just left the sad sack of shit to wallow in his own filth. But not back then! Back then, we were convinced that getting him out of the house and making him friendly was the right thing to do. Plus, we didn't really have anything else to do. Diplomacy having failed, we turned to physically trying to remove his fat ass from the couch. We attacked.
Unfortunately for us, we had not taken into account that the Dreamcast gives Gay Eskimo superpowers. I'm not kidding. Suddenly he developed super strength and agility as long as he held on to a Dreamcast controller.
Now, it had been proven time and again that i could take Gay Eskimo in a fight. I did mention that we were a gaming group, fights are liable to happen in those. But suddenly he had become a fortress! It was like he had extra arms or something, we'd come at him and he'd bat us away like flies. He remained immobile on the couch for the longest time before we somehow pried him loose, and then he just stood in the middle of the room, clutching his Dreamcast controller, trying desperately to play his damn game while continuing to fend us off.
Finally the battle reached a climax when i rushed at him and, in the most surprising feat of physical prowess of Gay Eskimo's entire life, he reached out with one hand, grabbed me by the nuts, and threw me over his shoulder. I saw a carpet coming straight at my face for just a second, and came away from it with rugburn on my forehead.
This action, though, finally pulled the controller from its port on the Dreamcast (yes, the days before wireless controllers had their advantages), and broke Gay Eskimo's videogame trance. He felt genuinely bad about what he'd done, and agreed to go outside with us.
I suppose it's only appropriate to finish this post with this:
(RLC)Ducks out
The separation may have actually started before the end of high school, come to think of it. Probably about the time that we started to spend time with actual girls, rather than just comic books and game art and pictures of the Spice Girls.
That kind of thing started a little earlier for me than it did the others in the group, which kind of makes sense since i was a little older. But naturally, i wanted my newfound female friends to be friends with my other little group, so i thought i'd bring them into the fold. Many gamers would probably be apprehensive about this, and in most cases they'd be right to be, since your average girl is going to be scared off pretty easily by your average gamer, but things worked out pretty well.
I remember the first time that i brought Juli and Cyndi out to hang out with my group. Gay Eskimo, Skippy, and i...i'm actually not sure if Other Kid was there or not...had spent the night at Gay Eskimo's house, up late playing GoldenEye on the Nintendo 64, as we usually did on the weekends. In the morning, which is defined as "whenever we woke up," we were going to meet up with Juli and Cyndi and bring them back to Gay Eskimo's house to hang out for the day.
I slept on the top bunk, Gay Eskimo on the bottom, and Skippy (and Other Kid if he was in fact present) on the floor. These were our standard arrangements.
When i opened my eyes, Skippy was standing directly in front of the bed, his head at the exact level of the top bunk so as to look me in the eye. If there is a creepier thing to wake up to than a man who's best known for sticking his dick into his own ass staring you in the face, i've not experienced it.
"Umm...good morning..."
His gaze was unwavering and more serious than i'd ever seen him before. He spoke with a cool, even meter and i swear his voice was deeper than normal. "Today's the day," he said with conviction. "I'm gonna get laid."
I think my laughter was probably what woke Gay Eskimo up.
Predictably, Skippy did not get laid that day. It would in fact be a couple more years before he did lose his virginity, or at least his virginity with people, and even that was kind of an accident.
A year or so later, Juli, Cyndi, and i were heading over to Gay Eskimo's house to hang out. When we got there, he was playing his Sega Dreamcast. People still remember that the Dreamcast happened, right? I mean, it was kind of a big deal at the time, and as far as console gaming platforms go, it was really ahead of its time. But unfortunately, the system didn't do so well, and i think it's dropped into obscurity by now. I guess you young whippersnappers can think of it as the predecessor to the Xbox.
So we were trying to get him to be sociable with us, but he just kept brushing us off in favor of his game. It was rather rude on his part, and i suppose nowadays we probably would have just left the sad sack of shit to wallow in his own filth. But not back then! Back then, we were convinced that getting him out of the house and making him friendly was the right thing to do. Plus, we didn't really have anything else to do. Diplomacy having failed, we turned to physically trying to remove his fat ass from the couch. We attacked.
Unfortunately for us, we had not taken into account that the Dreamcast gives Gay Eskimo superpowers. I'm not kidding. Suddenly he developed super strength and agility as long as he held on to a Dreamcast controller.
Now, it had been proven time and again that i could take Gay Eskimo in a fight. I did mention that we were a gaming group, fights are liable to happen in those. But suddenly he had become a fortress! It was like he had extra arms or something, we'd come at him and he'd bat us away like flies. He remained immobile on the couch for the longest time before we somehow pried him loose, and then he just stood in the middle of the room, clutching his Dreamcast controller, trying desperately to play his damn game while continuing to fend us off.
Finally the battle reached a climax when i rushed at him and, in the most surprising feat of physical prowess of Gay Eskimo's entire life, he reached out with one hand, grabbed me by the nuts, and threw me over his shoulder. I saw a carpet coming straight at my face for just a second, and came away from it with rugburn on my forehead.
This action, though, finally pulled the controller from its port on the Dreamcast (yes, the days before wireless controllers had their advantages), and broke Gay Eskimo's videogame trance. He felt genuinely bad about what he'd done, and agreed to go outside with us.
I suppose it's only appropriate to finish this post with this:
(RLC)Ducks out
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
