02.28.07
Posted in Million Dollar Ideas at 11:38 am by Fletcher
The NY Observer just brightened my day with the news that AP will no longer do stories about Paris Hilton. Ye fucking gods. I’ve been saying this shit for years. The dumb bitch has done nothing to garner any fame other than fall out of Kathy Hilton’s stank infested fallopian tubes. If AP needs any other people who shouldn’t garner another nanoseconds worth of attention, believe me; I got a huge fucking list:
Ann Coulter - this foul mouthed bigoted hate spewing tranny needs to be sold to some Thai brothel.
Rush Limbaugh - after what he said about Marty McFly, ditto.
The entire staff of Page Six - ’nuff said
Pat Robertson - unless we see footage of him doing those supposed ‘2000 lb’ leg presses, not another word this man says.
Ted Haggard - unless he gets busted for meth and gay hookers again.
Rosie O’Donnell - ditto
Lindsay Lohan - also ditto
Anyone who says global warming is a myth - until you can prove it ain’t; shut yer pie hole.
Bill O’Reilly - unless he gets caught in a threeway with Haggard and Robertson
Spammers - I just fucking hate you.
Andy Rooney - ditto
Rudy Giuliani - I can’t understand why this guy got so much kudos for what everyone else did: run away from a collapsing building - and he got to do it in a limo.
Hillary Clinton - either apologize for your pro-war vote, or shut up.
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Posted in Uncategorized at 8:57 am by Fletcher
Got an impromptu email from The Muse, entreating me to join her for drinks. She mentioned Blue Smoke, and what can I say - a place that’s decorated like the beach bars I’d frequent down in A.C., BBQ and live jazz are way too tempting for me to resist…
As soon as I pulled up to the bar, it felt like home - I’m certainly going to frequent this place in the future. The Muse arrived shortly thereafter and instantly we’re back into the engaging conversation - its been far too long since we talked last and it feels good to catch up. I ask about her new kitten, and she relates many funny and over the top cute stories about her new charges misadventures, how it loves attacking everything in sight and lives to pester Lita, her older cat.
And then she amazes me by telling me that she named the kitten after me.
I had been along for the trip when she got the little guy, (as documented here) but assisting with some minor navigation and morale support, but this honor was totally unexpected. I feel like I’ve just been made a god-parent…
Our conversation drifts, and soon we’re talking about the occupation hemorrhoid and I confess that I’ve been getting a little nervous about such a shift - throwing the comfort of a 9-5 away for the uncertainty of the ’starving artist’ lifestyle. And somehow, she manages to cut through my self-doubt and remind me of my talents, my drive and her confidence in my abilities quiets the nagging, self deprecating voice in the back of my head…
And of course, the topic drift to the 2nd painting of her. The one that I’ve been putting off. The one she instantly zeroes in on the fact that I’m intimidated by using color on this one - and that trying to match her coppery locks will be a monumental challenge. Damn the girl - pointing out my best attributes and worst foibles, all in the span of 5 minutes. But then again, she’s dealing me a brand of honesty most people gloss over without a second thought.
Pretty soon we’ve got to wrap it up - its a school night, kids. We walk to the lot where her car is, and bid her goodnight - the walk home is drowned out by thoughts of oil paint and my god-child, Ipod blasting Amon Tobin, jazzy echoes and a warm breeze, hinting at the promise of a coming spring…
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02.27.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:21 am by Fletcher
From Otto Von Bismark.
Countdown - 5 weeks left.
I must start making those dreaded lists of stuff to get done - my major problem always has been one of being overwhelmed by too many things to do - and then either trying to juggle 20 different tasks at once, or getting frustrated and not doing any of them. Or forgetting the other 19 tasks when I complete one.
For example: I keep forgetting to renew my passport. Its due to expire this year - and should I have need for it, or a burning desire to ex-pat myself to some sunny locale with good local rum and women clad in only grass skirts, I want nothing, including bureaucratic nonsense, to stand in my way…
I also must lay in a good supply of Xanax or some other mood chilling chemical. The occupational butt worm is reaching new levels of annoyance, and with people taking last vacation days, calling out sick or just not giving a flying fuck, my tension level is through the roof. Plus, dammit, it started snowing, AGAIN, and I for one, am ready to go against my enviro-conscience and embrace global warming if I can get some damn sunshine…
But, on a completely different note: the little snowman I found yesterday morning was courtesy of Puma and Dani, who ventured out into the wee hours because Dani (being from tropical climes) had never encountered snow. I wish I had been part of that - just to see someone experience a part of nature for the first time - I can only imagine the childlike glee and wonder, much like I could imagine someone seeing the ocean for the first time…
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02.26.07
Posted in Uncategorized, Life at 9:03 am by Fletcher
Succulent Sunday: The Oscar’s Edition.
I had left my bag at the Pub on Friday night - not that there was anything of major importance in it, but I did want the Christopher Moore book I was reading for the Monday Morning commute, and my scarf because the weather report was calling for snow…
My intention was to just pop in, grab my stuff and head home, but I haven’t seen the Director in a while, and what the hell, Bartender Jason has already poured me a pint. The Pub is practically empty and quiet, the only movement from the flickering video screens, showing Red Carpet arrivals. The Director seems quiet and contemplative. I ask him why.
‘I’ve been working non-stop since the year began, I’ve only had 3 days off, and I was sick for 2 of them.’ - Ah. Another victim of not just burning the candle at both ends, but surely saying ‘fuck it’ and throwing the candle into the bonfire. He’s been doing way too much, between massive shifts at the pub, auditioning, getting legal stuff together for his legal action regarding the missing film, and revving up for the reshoot (now officially slated for the end of June).
We talk for a while, I had sent him sketches for the animation, and he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that my first attempt was the best - which will speed up the whole production process tenfold. Most of the Elsbeth character animation has been done, and all it will take is some tweaks and polish - and it will be the trailer for his website… We’re busy discussing this and we are interrupted by Angie, the blond Montanan who squeals over some dress paraded on screen.
Its amazing how people can be so absorbed by this shit - I can only imagine that the masses in the Middle Ages were captivated like this, as the Royalty paraded themselves in gilt coaches, the guards lining the thoroughfare - the throngs of plebes throwing flowers - perhaps its something in our makeup that captures the attention so readily. I remind myself that a few scant years ago, I’d be stuck at the Major Metro newspaper, beating my head against my monitor, waiting for the AP photographers to send in celebrity photos - chained to my desk until the last speech was made, aching to leave, frustrated by the nature of the job - which meant “Stay until the last story is done”.
Funny, I guess that being inured to the media to such a degree has rendered me immune to the lure that has everyone else so entranced. I wander outside for a smoke - the tang in the air smells like snow, and as soon as I sense it - the first flake lands on my nose. A minute later, its coming down pretty good. Fighting the exhaustion of the weekend, and my natural instinct to hibernate, I bade the gang goodnight, sleep pulling my feet homeward, Robbie Robertson on the Ipod:
Take a picture of this
The fields are empty, abandoned ‘59 Chevy
Laying in the back seat listening to Little Willie John
Yea, that’s when time stood still
You know, I think I’m gonna go down to Madam X
And let her read my mind
She said “That Voodoo stuff don’t do nothing for me.”
I’m a man with a clear destination
I’m a man with a broad imagination
You fog the mind, you stir the soul
I can’t find, … no control
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02.25.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 2:32 pm by Fletcher
Thank you Mr. Bogart…
I done caught up with my drinks this weekend…
Friday night was a farewell party for fellow co-workers heading out to the midwest, chasing their dream of working in a cubicle, listening to clients moan and bitch, florescent lights and bad coffee. Funny, but it seriously drove the point home that this gig is ending - and that my future lies on a different path, and its right around the corner…
I normally don’t hang very long at these types of events, I always get buttonholed into talking with the people I have the least in common with - and inevitably have to talk about the fucking job, which is the last thing I want to do while I’m downing pints and bourbon shots.
So, when I got a text message from a cute girl I met a few days ago, it was the perfect excuse to bow out, make my ignoble departure and go have fun - which I did in spades, till 6 in the morning, chatting over drinks at the pub…
Saturday started late - ye gods I haven’t slept in that late in a very long time. Over a leisurely breakfast, The Smooth One called, reminding me that he and the M.O.B. were coming into the city, and he had a girl he wanted me to meet… Puma and his M.O.B. were in CT, his grandmother was celebrating 88 years on this planet, they would return later in the evening to join the festivities.
The Smooth one arrived with tales of his grandmother - so we came up with the idea of having Puma’s gran come down so the old dears could hang out - and that idea quickly devolved into a new contact sport: naked granny wrestling in a huge vat of jello… replete with the idea that they should do backbreakers over the knee. There is a reason why he and I don’t hang too often: our twisted sensibilities fuel each other, and when the Wild Turkey starts flowing, we usually end up hitting the streets in search of a taxi cab we could steal…
Shortly, his Brazilian friends arrive, but it seems like the girl he wanted me to meet was already with some guy - I’m not sure if they were a couple, but the dude hovered around her like he was on a tether. Oh well, I’ll have to remind Smooth that it helps to invite women who aren’t attached at the hip with some guy who’ll cockblock at every turn… But, all was instantly forgiven when they broke out a flask of Cachaça - and after a shot mixed with lime and honey, we were all instant friends. We drank and talked, when everyone got hungry I made a huge pot of pasta and homemade sauce, which everyone devoured instantly, Puma and Dani came home and soon the habitat was aflood with Portuguese, Alcimar Montiero on the CD player, and Cachaça shots…
I faded pretty early, still wiped out from the previous night - but grateful to see The Smooth One - now that he’s taken the mantle of accountancy, he’s been busy preparing taxes - informing that mine are next in the pile, which bodes well towards eliminating my debt before I’m a bum sponging off of the state…
And now, as I’m taking care of chores, in a blissful little fog, tired, but still smiling I think about how much will change, very shortly and contemplate the meaning of it all…
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02.23.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 8:51 pm by Fletcher
First beaver spotted in NYC in 200 years.
Has it really been THAT long??? Seriously, the copy editor HAD to know what he was doing here!
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Posted in Thirsty Thursday at 12:19 pm by Fletcher
Thirsty Thursday: Stuck in a permanent hacker slouch edition.
Quick pit stop at Deweys; DJ $ellout forgot a few odds and ends during his move out. We talk over a beer, and despite some of the recent setbacks, he seems to be doing pretty well for himself. I want to stay and talk longer, but the call of the Thirsty Thursday Adventure is too compelling. We make a promissory pact to go on a rampage in the near future…
The bar is hopping tonight, 150 ‘Greys anatomy’ fans piled in for some kind of love fest- Neve Campbell look-alike on the trainee shift - Perfect Tommy spilling beers in my favor - flirting with Jacquetta, a stunning Indo-Javanese girl stuck with some yuppie suit, obviously bored out of her skull, The director, recovering from a stomach virus, not ready for the masses ready to flood his gates. The poor guy has had a grand total of 3 days off this year so far, and it seems like he’s been outrageously ill each and every one…
The bar is crammed with estrogen laden females - and me. My stool get usurped by a couple of Indian girls, looking for a place to throw their coats- I sigh and act like its a travesty, teasing them. I better get used to it, for when the party gets into full swing, my usual spot at the bar is going to get stolen every 2 seconds. - I don’t know whether to stay and deal with a hundred hormone fueled chicks looking for Dr. Dicknose, or to bail and run, because no one should be so obsessed with a fucking tv show…
Tiff wanders in and she’ s on the sick list as well -as much as I try to explain that no one ever said on their deathbed, I WISH I SPENT MORE TIME AT THE OFFICE, they seem to persist in pushing themselves to the tenth power, and end up with ebola or some shit like that.
Between trying to maintain my seat, being thrust multiple ales by the bartenders and trying to talk to my friends, I’m a bit overwhelmed- I try to spread my love wherever possible - and I keep getting text messages from someone in the 617 area code asking about dinner… Did I go on a rampage in Boston and invite someone to out for a bite to eat - and then completely forget about it???
The crowd seems to be getting ugly, dozens of pouty women annoyed that they can’t get a table and a pot of fondue, the staff is being oppressed mercilessly by mojito infused office workers, pent up by dead end jobs and working themselves into a good frothy rage over some other drunken women who had the temerity to score a table before they could.
The trip home is random bumping into the populace, walking dogs, smiling at the passerby, just digging the warm weather, bopping to the rhythms of the night, the mood in the city seems a bit more lighthearted, as if emotions have thawed along with the temperatures…
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02.21.07
Posted in Uncategorized, Life at 7:30 pm by Fletcher
Been a busy week, training nuggets for when the job ends - its fun, cause I sit back, let them do the work and tell them what to do. The downside is that I’m talking nonstop, and my voice sounds so gruff and hoarse, I should call my karaoke buddies and go sing some Tom Waits…
Its also exhausting - I’ve been taking naps in the afternoon, mentally drained from the constant questions, the dull cold weather, and lack of stimuli - the only relaxation I’ve had has been working on new sketches for the ‘Sovereignty’ animation, but the work has been slow.
BUT - there’s always the promise of something better on the horizon. The Smooth One called me today, he’s got another Brazilian in town, young, cute and female. And he gave her my number as her NYC tour guide. And according to him, their culture is structure that if there’s any interest, I just have to wink at her and I’m halfway walking down the aisle… I’m not sure I’m ready for my own ‘Brazilian Mail Order Bride’ just yet…
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02.20.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:04 am by Fletcher
2 years ago, when I was working for the Major Metropolitan Newspaper (hey, where else would a Fletch work, eh?) I had just gotten into the cityroom when the news came over the wire: Hunter Thompson was dead.
The news was a shock, but what didn’t come as a surprise was that he had shot himself. The man was a warrior, and old age didn’t suit him too well, I believe he was the type to die on his feet, with his boots on - not to allow old age and senility drag him down. Plus he worshipped Hemmingway, and as they say about imitation…
Anyway, his widow honors him here.
And the one good thing the titular ex did was to stand on line at his last book signing for 4 hours, and persuaded HST not only to personalize it (his agent said he wasn’t doing dedications) but the Good Doctor got up out of his chair and kissed her on the forehead. She may have been a monster, but that one act on her part allows me to forgive her all manner of sins.
And now, one of my favorite possessions is a signed, personalized copy of ‘Kingdom of Fear’ signed by the man, in longhand (normally he just does his initials). My only regret is not having met the man in person…
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02.19.07
Posted in Uncategorized, Life at 9:05 am by Fletcher
We are now officially into crunch time.
6 weeks remain at the vocational hemorrhoid. And I have way too many things to accomplish before then. Visit the Sadistic North Korean dentist. Go to the doctors for a checkup, which I’ve put off for far too long. Pay off the credit card before the 6 weeks is up. (I want to be a debt free bum) Figure out how to file for unemployment. Clean out all the unneeded crap that I’ve accrued over the years. Organize. Exercise. Rebuild the Fletcher 2000 computer system so its the leanest fastest machine in its weight class. All this, plus a mountain of creative work…
The Director mass emailed the band, looking for people’s availability during the spring for the reshoot. I’m so ready for it, I’m ready to shit kittens. Work on the opening animation has resumed - its been like passing a kidney stone, but once begun, it always gains momentum, popping out in a tremor of pain and relief. Once that is out of the way, I simply need to get the fixin’s for 10 gallons of fake blood and keep myself amused, like a kid building up anticipation for Christmas…
Ethical Dilemma: Since the huge fight (long ago) with the roomies over some personal things I revealed in this here journal; I’ve been constantly struggling with what, and how much I tell here about my life - and it balls out sucks sometimes, because I know that some stories are far too personal to some people, far too revealing for others. I wish I could relate how last week I came far too close to death or dismemberment. I long to relate the tale of a sweet romantic interlude. The playground politics of the Habitat. And I so fucking want to rant my foul mouth off over the sphincter hole of a job that I cannot wait to end. I think I’m going to start carrying waiver forms, by hanging with me, you allow our interactions to be published.
But, some things are meant to kept in silence. Some secrets meant to keep.
Until I get a book deal…
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