01.31.07
Posted in Uncategorized, Life at 9:06 am by Fletcher
Good old Stevie Wonder - sub quote:
Barry: Rob, top five musical crimes perpetuated by Stevie Wonder in the ’80s and ’90s. Go. Sub-question: is it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins, is it better to burn out or fade away?
I debated going with good ol’ Mr. Nietzsche for this morning’s quote but felt he was too angst ridden to be appropriate.
My apologies to the fan club who wrote that I had a new post last night, but when they went to read it, it was gone. I really struggled with it, because it was twisted, brilliant and full of righteous rage.
Which is a problem. The whole anger issue.
Quite often I’ve found that when I go off in a blind rage, I usually do the most damage, and end up regretting it the most. Guess that’s the whole thing about gaining wisdom as one gains years and experience.
Now I’ve found that instead of just going off like a grenade, random bits of shrapnel flying about, if I stop, focus and wait, I can concentrate it like a sniper in the bush, zen-like patience, picking off targets at will…
The post was about the vocational underwear stain, and a certain person with OCD who pissed me off to the bejeezus belt. And the post detailed a twisted hysterical revenge plot involving spiders, tazers and Pavlovian training. I wrote it, posted it, and was doing my review / revision process when it hit me - my readership also includes a few comrades in arms at the dungeon, and while I trust them implicitly with my life, there are those nosy deranged mutant potato shaped weasel fucks who roam around spying on others, and the last thing I need is harassment - complicit threat charges leveled on me at this point. All because some humorless yuppie wannabe doesn’t have a sense of humor.
So, with much deliberation, I took it down, saved it and promise that when this marathon of soul sucking whoredom is over, and I’ve got the last check cashed, I’ll spill the whole story… And I’ve made a promise to myself: No more working in a corporate environment, ever. I told the roomies that if I even think about it, they have my permission to punch me in the nuts, repeatedly…
Permalink
01.29.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:23 am by Fletcher
Weekend Update: LA Style edition…
Em’s farewell party was awesome - the gang met at the Pub, seeing as the Director was working, and we couldn’t have a decent sendoff without him. Amazing that my idea of ‘late’ is still early by New York Standard Time…
Craig threw a new twist at me, as soon as I walked in he loudly proclaimed, ‘Senator! Welcome back!’ and proceeded to call me that for the rest of the night. I kinda dug that, every time he called me senator, every head within earshot turned and looked at me. Jayson was working the bar, and I had go give him my profound appreciation for his work on the ‘Die Hard’ tribute video. We got to chatting and he announced his departure in a few months, to coastal Spain. He was telling me about quiet villas and Mediterranean life - when he stop and gives me a quizzical look. “You’re going to be unemployed then, aren’t you? - You should go, my family has a huge villa right on the beach…”
Ye gods, I keep getting tempted to become an expatriate. And this time, Hemmingway style. Wine and bullfights (his villa isn’t too far from Pamplona) - the only thing that would pull me back to the States is the ‘Sovereignty’ re-shoot in June…
I get pulled out of my reverie by Ninjascott and Lydia with Emily in tow. Craig sets us up with a table and we settle in with drinks, Ninjascott freaking people out by having a Red Beer (ale with tomato juice, for the uninitiated). Heather and Blood Brother Clifford stroll in just as we get our first round, and Capt. Ron appears a fwe minutes later - haven’t seen him since we did the SFX test shoot, and we catch up, he’s triumphant over a cricket match that he played (and won) earlier…
Lydia and Scott give Em a farewell gift, a bag full of many pairs of sunglasses, each style screaming ‘Hollywood’ in the best way - the oversized pair, the Bono bug eyed pair, the Hepburn pair, each one more tackily hip than the next. Emily loves them, passing them out for everyone to wear, deciding that this is the wardrobe accessory perfect for karaoke…
Damn, I’m annoyed that I forgot my camera - as theatrical acting types are a sight to behold as they belt out cheesy pop songs. And they don’t just pick the bubblegum variety either. Scott and Heather start off with a duet, ‘You don’t bring me flowers - you don’t sing me love songs’ much to the crowds delight. I’m awash in their energy, tiny cups of sake and the occasional rift of feedback. And they don’t have any of my Elvis songs, damn. Still, the floor show is amazing, replete with a mini-mirrored disco ball, and good vibes. I get an enigmatic text message from a mysterious woman who wants me to go steal hubcaps… Time to depart… Time for another adventure…
Permalink
01.28.07
Posted in Art at 7:02 pm by Fletcher
Had been meaning to update with the second Muse painting and its progress, yes I have been lazy…
This was the work I had done last week - and below is what I managed to get done over the weekend…
I’m almost done with the credits, much to the Director’s delight - soon to start working on the animation, more updates as they happen…
Permalink
Posted in Uncategorized, Life at 1:11 am by Fletcher
I love listening to movie soundtracks as I roam the city streets. The pulse, the ennui, they formulate visions, the cabdriver, eating his foam tray dinner, hovering over the open door of his cab, listening to the the staccato rhythms of the scanner… the homeless person, shuffling bits of found cardboard to make a temporary shelter…
The city echoes the passions of lost souls - the sounds of the street waft past my headphones to add a tempo, a sublime mix to the music reaching my ears, blending in new lyrical ways, to affect my attitude, the sky opens up, a mist covers the street, the tires sizzle over the pavement, adding a hiss to the soundtrack. Bridge and tunnel types yell incoherently, their voices echoes off the canyon walls, the empty buildings, mute in recognition…
The tempo shifts, a pair of highheeled boots clacking on the sidewalk adds a new beat, dew condensing on discarded cardboard boxes, bags of garbage festering on the corner, yesterday’s news, yesterdays dreams, thrown away, in the promise of the new, the next. People wander about aimlessly, deliberately trying to inject themselves in my path, dodging, I feel like a basketball player, Grover Washington Jr. gives me the timing I need to skip and traipse past the tourists, belligerent that someone could deftly avoid their twisted energy…
The counterman at the deli greets me with a grunt, Latin tunes mix with my tempo - old crusty locals argue with the guys behind the counter, haggling over the quality of the fries piled into cheap plastic foldovers, crusted with oil and flakes of fryer scum. A few cheap ales to take the edge off of the night - memories echo, the pub - karaoke, cheesy 80’s tunes sung, con gusto… Missives from the director, more work, more changes. The work keeps me fueled. Keep plugging away, keep the output levels up - keep modifying, keep trying to twist those energies into a new waveform, something that’ll sell, make the money, get the recognition, connect with the everyman in a way that will yank the collective consciousness into a new frame.
Energy fluctuates, pulls of others, different soundtracks twist the night, lure of distraction, of wanton needs, yet to be fulfilled - lure of the night, to taunt me into go back out into the fray, to find that which is missing…
Permalink
01.26.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 7:06 pm by Fletcher
Thank you Mr. Edward Lucas.
Sleep deprivation and bitter cold does not a happy Fletcher make.
The Smooth One blew into town to pick up an old friend from Maceio, a teacher name Mathieus. He was promised a sordid night in dingy pubs, and lots of cheap ale. Add to that mix - The Muse, who wanted to see the last episode of ‘Lost’ and the new painting, and Puma, who was enjoying a last moment of freedom before the mail order bride returned…
I hate sleep deprivation, it feels like I’ve been kicked repeatedly in the head - and puts me in a mood where everyone is instantly my enemy. It almost feels like people go out of their way to piss me off and the world is full of sallow, greasy, potato shaped space vampires.
(side note: a space vampire is one of those clueless jackasses that seem to take up all excess room. Human shaped vortexes. They’re the idiots who stop dead at the narrowest choke point on the sidewalk, hallway, etc. and decide that that is where they’ll have a conversation, answer the phone, pick their nose, pick their ass, or just fucking turn off their brains and stop - thus causing everyone to squeeze around them. They also stop dead at the bottom of escalators, looking around like idiots, while people are piling up behind them, or my absolute favorite, someone who hurries up to walk in front of you, and then stops dead. I want to club people like this and tazer them in the nuts.)
Somehow, I manage to get to the occupational shit stain on time. And no one else seems to be capable of this… ‘Yeah, I’m gonna be late, my shoelace broke, and even though there’s a fully stocked shoe store right next door, its gonna take 3 hours to find a suitable replacement.’ Great.
And of course its busy.
In addition to the sheer uselessness of the place, I seem to be the only one who can: pick up the phone, reply to e-mails, correctly answer stupid questions and pick up the slack. I do not understand how I can be feeling like such burgeoning amounts of ass, and still outperform everyone else. Next time, I’m gonna just puke on my boss and go the fuck home.
And of course, I get ever dumb jackass customer thrown my way. I literally had to explain in polite, pc terms, why this clients stupid picture of the official NASCAR wine didn’t get any attention in the media.
I want you to think about that. Official NASCAR WINE.
Yeah, I fucking thought so. How do you explain to a bozo who had that brilliant of an idea why his shit didn’t get any attention?? Is it just me, or is that the most completely WRONG demographic?? Don’t those racing car types brink BEER?? Don’t people who drink wine, NOT WATCH FUCKING AUTO RACING??? And how am I supposed to tell this nimrod just how stupid his idea is??
Luckily, I was saved by the clock - I noticed I had 5 minutes before quitting time - put mister dumb ass on hold - flagged a co-worker and told her to deal with it, as I had had enough for one day and was going home for the day, and punch myself in the head until I achieved unconsciousness…
Permalink
01.25.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 10:05 am by Fletcher
Tired. Hungover. And reading shit like this makes me want to move to fucking Mars…
More lunacy later
Permalink
01.24.07
Posted in Uncategorized, Art, Life at 9:47 am by Fletcher
Ninjascott emailed me with a request to do some logo work with him, and I can’t refuse the fucker a thing in the world, so we agreed to meet at the habitat, my usual fee: ale. We ran into a snag when Heather decided she wanted to hang - and at her place. So after 50 phone calls back and forth we agreed, I’d bring a copy of Photoshop, we’d get beer and dinner, and the 3 of us would have a creative jam session…
I drop off some dry cleaning at my local laundromat - flirt with the cute Balinese girl with the amazing rack and a very limited grasp of English, grab a 6-pack from the deli and chat with Heather whilst waiting for Ninjascott. She’s gotten back into writing and is eager for me to read her latest. I don’t understand why writers love having me read their stuff aloud, I certainly don’t have a theatrical voice and whenever I hear myself recorded, I always sound flat, dull and monotonous. But, what the hell, she likes it, and if it helps the output levels in anyway, its my pleasure.
Ninjascott call us from his place, begging for a few extra minutes to get changed, Heather teasing him with ‘put on your big-boy pants and head on over.’ Which he does, lugging 2 sixes of beer with him. His game plan is to design a logo for his new play, ‘Duplex’ and has a rough idea what he wants, it just needs to be fleshed out. We chat and surf typography sites, looking for THE perfect font. As we’re doing that, he mentions that Emily, the lead actress in Springsteen Song is leaving NYC and there is a huge pub crawl / karaoke fest brewing for Saturday night. Looks like I’ll have to practice my Elvis, as he is the only singer I can emulate with any competence…
Its funny, when we get right down to it, I’m in my element - give me a decent computer, a copy of Photoshop - I can make miracles happen… and its weird too, because, in cubicle land - if someone is hovering over me while I work, I tense up and can’t function - I hate micromanaging as much as I hate festering boils on my ass, but when I’m working out of the corporate environment, it all changes. I’m at peace with the universe, and one with the machine, and somehow, instinctively know what my client is after… He stops me and proudly declares, ‘That’s exactly what I had envisioned in my head.’ Wow. Where did the time go? I was so into my creative fog that an hour had passed without me realizing it…
We wrap everything up with a ton of Chinese food and talk about movie business, and how it can be feast or famine. And now seems to be famine time. So, if any of you faithful readers know of any gigs for a screenwriter, script doctor, author, producer, or Indian chief, let me know, because - hey if you can’t pimp out your friends…
Permalink
01.23.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:26 am by Fletcher
Courtesy of Anita at The Owl Farm Blog.
Tonight is the SOTU address, and I kinda view it like watching an unfunny comedian doing his schtick. Vaguely embarrassed, and squirming in my chair until its over, hoping that the waitress comes back to my table, quick, so I can get another beer and be distracted by some cleavage…
It seems that I am way ahead of the times. I’ve been saying this shit for years.
Yesterday (according to the BBC) was the saddest day of the year - we’re now deep in the middle of winter, Xmas debts piles up, resolutions already broken - all make up the worst day of the year for most people, thankfully, I had the day off, the roomies all at work, and I had some serious alone time, which is instrumental in helping me to recharge, get some shit sorted out. Time to implement the Game Plan of Life. Get rid of the debt. Plan my triumphant entry into the movie biz. Exercise. Quit smoking. Buy the deserted island. Create my army of clones.
Looks like the Smooth One will be in town tomorrow, which means no sleep, late night, and the possibility of being arrested for trying to steal taxicabs whilst intoxicated. Wonder if they have internet access in the lockup…
UPDATE- DailyKos has a great (albeit funny) breakdown of past SOTU’s, worth a look to see how far we’ve fallen…
Permalink
01.22.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 11:25 am by Fletcher
Weekend update - Balance good, karate good edition.
Friday was an interesting night, I got off of work, and headed to the pub - just to take the edge off of the long arduous week… Sat at Craig’s ‘reserved’ table, watching the Rocky series of movies, the Director so kindly put on- Clubber Lang doling out punishment to Balboa, the universe seemed quite mellow in its offerings… The Director and I talk about some head shots he wants retouched and he comes up with the idea that we should start a side business, he knows tons of actors, I know photoshop - we should start doing headshots as a part of Laurel Films… A light goes off inside my head - this’ll be a perfect money making gig for when I’m unemployed…
Then the phone rang, its the Lexi Muse, wondering where I’m at - she stops by, with a couple of friends in tow… Craig and the Director hook us up with a table, drinks and laughs all around… Stories about evil roommates and the Director grabs me, says he needs me for a moment. I think to myself, whoops, maybe I’ve breached the Pub’s generosity limit…
He leads me to the bar and lo and behold, Heather, Ninjascott and Lydia are sitting with an actor who is currently working on ‘The Full Monty’ - And now I’m busy playing social leapfrog, bouncing back and forth between table and bar. Tough to juggle so many people at once. Soon thereafter, Lexi and her friends depart, they’ve been drinking for a while and are ready for home, I bid them farewell and head back to the bar, talking with the gang, Ninjascott has even more photoshop work for me… Heather’s acting buddy tells us about work on ‘Monty’ and how the get totally naked on stage, but just as the clothes come off, the lights go supernova, so the audience really doesn’t see anything…
After a few more rounds, people start heading home - Heather & I go back to her place, nightcaps and heavy discussion on her writing, the serial killer screenplay and our lack of progress on both. Damn, we need to push each other more - we’re both getting in a rut, and the longer it goes on the tougher it’ll be to get out…The Director finally gets home, and in a grand gesture announces that its snowing out. Shit, I’m not really geared up for this kind of inclement weather, so I depart, hoping to find a cab…
No such luck.
Luckily though, the wind had died down, the streets are empty, except for a drunk couple - the girl dancing and spinning around, yelling “I love this” as her embarrassed boyfriend tries to drag her somewhere warm. I get back to the habitat and scoop some snow off of a parked car, the season’s 1st snowball and whomever is awake at the pad is gonna get it…
Damn bastards are all asleep! Oh well, I chuck it in the freezer and call it a night…
Saturday was quiet - a lot of work on the texture mapping project and I found this little tidbit in the inbox, courtesy of the Director - looks like its the season for bands paying tribute to movies… That night, the Muse stops by to continue our marathon ‘Lost’ session, popcorn and beer, dealing with the spastic internet connection which doesn’t seem to like streaming video, until she gets distraught over the untimely death of Mr. Eko - so we console ourselves down at the Pub with more drinks and fondue. The Director seems to love playing host whenever I drop by with people, if any of my family ever visits, I’m hoping he’ll be on duty…
We stay until closing, talking about the paintings, I’m amazed that she’s so into the whole process, I’m starting to feel like Warhol and his series on Monroe…
Shortly thereafter she heads home, and the rest of my weekend is spent in a good creative haze. So many projects to be worked on, so many ideas, I sometimes get so into it that I forget to eat… Just humming along from photos to painting to working on movie credits and then I get this in my inbox:
Its from my good buddy Chris in SJ, who was responding to my post from last week, and the epic bourbon hangover, and his preferred method of dealing with such trivial matters. Does the man know me, or what??
Permalink
01.18.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 8:42 pm by Fletcher
Nod to the Late, Great, W.C. Fields for that one.
Had spent most of yesterday debating going to the pub. A vicious back and forth over spending money, versus the itch to dive right into the next painting. As I was whipping up dinner (baked chicken with roasted tomatoes) and DJ $ellout came home, announcing that he was heading out for the weekend, up to VT and some skiing…
Considering that I’d have plenty of quiet time with him gone, it wasn’t too much of a leap to extend him the same courtesy, allow him some alone time in the pad, and since I’d be working the late shift on Thursday, it wasn’t a stretch to convince myself that a beer or two was in my future.
A sparse crowd at the Pub, Perfect Tommy taunting the waitresses by throwing orange slices at them. The girls seemed rowdy, energetic and looking for trouble. Jenn gives me a particularly evil grin, knowing she has an ally in grossing out the bartender. She tells me about her recent foray into Match.com, and I reply by relating my own horror story about online dating, as I find myself surrounded by 4 waitresses hanging on my every word. Jenn dismisses me as being foolish, for not using a pay site, to weed out the undesirables. I almost retort back that she doesn’t seem to be finding any hot stud-muffins on her quest, but it seems kinda moot.
Tiff comes down the stairs with a smile, wearing a unique top with a lot of buckles, looks like a character from Star Trek, or like she’s wearing one of Gaultier’s costumes from ‘The 5th Element’. But then again, there’s always something otherworldly about the woman. Or at least something science fiction about her. We chat for a bit, but as always, she’s up to her eyeballs in twenty different projects and can’t stay long…
Jenn points out that crazy plus-sized model is back, I tell her about my brush with that last week, but Jenn feels that I haven’t been properly indoctrinated and threatens to grab her and introduce us. I feel my palms start to sweat as she cocks her head and laughs. Perfect Tommy has been listening and joins us, talking about crazy women, really cool women, and then he gives me a funny look, ‘You’re from Kentucky, aren’t you?’ he asks. Which, of course, I am. ‘I’ll tell ya,’ he chuckles, ‘I’ve been all over this country, and to my mind, Kentucky girls are the finest women I have ever seen, not only are are they the best looking, but they have that spirit, that fire, no other women seem to possess.’ I start to raise my beer in solemn agreement, but think better - this calls for a shot. Hell, this calls for a shot of Bourbon. His eyes light up at the suggestion, grabbing an obscure bottle, not meant for public consumption, and certainly not on the menu - its Bulleit, a little rougher than Knob Creek, but still damn good. We raise our glasses, ‘To Kentucky Women, best women in the world!’ we say in unison, the waitresses are annoyed that they aren’t included as the ‘best’ and say so, quite forcefully. Ah, life…
And soon, Craig the bouncer joins us, and the three of us salute those wonderful Kentucky Women. And shortly thereafter, my memories grow hazy. Ah, demon bourbon - anesthetic, brain cell killer, and somehow makes the earth’s gravitational field that much stronger. I vaguely remember a bob and weave walk home, and seeing DJ $ellout on the couch with his girlfriend, guzzling some water and waking up to the worst headache I’ve ever had…
Bah, who am I kidding? I’ve been worse.
Ah, those Kentucky Women…
Permalink
« Previous entries ·
