AUGUST 2005 BLOG ARCHIVE
August 24, 2005--
I haven't given up on this, just kind of collapsed after the shoot was over, then went right back into trying to make up
all the work I missed. Be back soon.
I haven't given up on this, just kind of collapsed after the shoot was over, then went right back into trying to make up
all the work I missed. Be back soon.
August 18th, 2005--
Another day, another plethora of gore. I actually started the day today with a meeting about a possible TV hosting
job, which would be cool. Of course, I am one of many up for a show that may never get produced, so its not exactly
exciting, but it is nice to at least get invited to meetings about projects. Then I zipped over to the shoot, where we
killed Super P.A. Ben today. Good stuff. It was really one of the grosser moments, and I think there were a few dry
heaves among the crew. He went above and beyond, as usual, spitting out what looked like phlegm as well as
"blood". I don't know how he did it, but man was it disgusting. I got some pictures, but they reveal a bit about the
robots, so I can't post them.
Wait...I found a couple. One is taken from a distance and the other doesn't show anything but his disgusting spit
technique...and this was just the beginning! I'll thumbnail it really small so those of you who don't want to see it don't
have to. I also forget sometimes that everyone else isn't colorblind so for most people it is obviously not blood and
therefore not gross at all. Speaking of gross, we are supposed to be on the Fangoria Website tomorrow.
Another day, another plethora of gore. I actually started the day today with a meeting about a possible TV hosting
job, which would be cool. Of course, I am one of many up for a show that may never get produced, so its not exactly
exciting, but it is nice to at least get invited to meetings about projects. Then I zipped over to the shoot, where we
killed Super P.A. Ben today. Good stuff. It was really one of the grosser moments, and I think there were a few dry
heaves among the crew. He went above and beyond, as usual, spitting out what looked like phlegm as well as
"blood". I don't know how he did it, but man was it disgusting. I got some pictures, but they reveal a bit about the
robots, so I can't post them.
Wait...I found a couple. One is taken from a distance and the other doesn't show anything but his disgusting spit
technique...and this was just the beginning! I'll thumbnail it really small so those of you who don't want to see it don't
have to. I also forget sometimes that everyone else isn't colorblind so for most people it is obviously not blood and
therefore not gross at all. Speaking of gross, we are supposed to be on the Fangoria Website tomorrow.
A funny side note about Henry. Someone asked me if he was
freaked out seeing me with my face half gone. He wasn't, being
far more interested in what might fall off the craft services table.
We did learn one thing about shooting with dogs on the set,
though. Henry had to be tied up during the shooting of scenes
where people were in distress.
freaked out seeing me with my face half gone. He wasn't, being
far more interested in what might fall off the craft services table.
We did learn one thing about shooting with dogs on the set,
though. Henry had to be tied up during the shooting of scenes
where people were in distress.
We shot a scene that begins with Christine screaming and the first take, Jim yelled "action", Christine screamed,
and a scruffy dog came blazing into the middle of the shot to help her out. Hilarious, but no exactly in the script.
and a scruffy dog came blazing into the middle of the shot to help her out. Hilarious, but no exactly in the script.
August 17th--(the final minutes)--
Well surprise , surprise, we fell victim to a flaky actress who cancelled at the last minute after we had already
re-scheduled around her once. This meant everyone else had to scramble and most disappointing, my friend Matt
Huffman lost a short-notice, paying acting gig because our schedule was up in the air all day as we tried to recast,
etcetera. Matt, not being a self-involved Diva Without Justification, kept his other gig waiting until we knew if our new,
cobbled-together schedule would allow us to spring him in time to make it, and by the time we knew we could try, they
had to recast. So Matt stuck by his non-paying friends and lost a days pay and another line on his resume. By the
way, with us he also has to move lights, rearrange the set and run errands.
End result: Matt was a stand up guy, which I just take for granted at this point,so he gets no extra credit, and I had to go
"down the cellar" and dust off the Shit List, because someone else just made it...
And to avoid confusion, which I have caused in the past by not naming names, this woman was not Christine or
Brenda, two troopers who David tried to kill with poor night driving last night, according to Brenda. Of course, she's
Irish, and you know how they are...
Clearing up some other confusion: We have had a few P.A.'s and all but one were stellar and he's not here. I'm not
wasting my time doing web layout for pictures of People Who Suck. Speaking of the P.A.s, the only upside of this
Ridiculous Actress Fiasco is that one of them, Ben, who is making us all look bad with his "Look At Me! I'm Always
Hustling and Cleaning and Working!" B.S., has been cast in the suddenly available role. Turns out he's an NYU
Drama student who just signed up for this nightmare to "see what film is like."
Ahh, the stupidity of the young...
Another Fallout of all this was that I got my face shot off tonight instead of tomorrow. The experience is too long and
dull to really go into-except to recount a moment when Maz applied some modeling clay and the scent just
immediately drowned me in wonderful, unspecific memories of childhood enjoyment-but it does make for some great
photos...
I also wanted to show you some of David, Larry and I in our Natural Environment this morning...construction. We've
been doing early mornings as often as we can stand before heading in to do the shoots. Its wicked tiring, as they say
in Boston, but it does build character, and keeps a tiny trickle of beer-ah, who do I think I'm foolin'...bill-money coming
in.
Well surprise , surprise, we fell victim to a flaky actress who cancelled at the last minute after we had already
re-scheduled around her once. This meant everyone else had to scramble and most disappointing, my friend Matt
Huffman lost a short-notice, paying acting gig because our schedule was up in the air all day as we tried to recast,
etcetera. Matt, not being a self-involved Diva Without Justification, kept his other gig waiting until we knew if our new,
cobbled-together schedule would allow us to spring him in time to make it, and by the time we knew we could try, they
had to recast. So Matt stuck by his non-paying friends and lost a days pay and another line on his resume. By the
way, with us he also has to move lights, rearrange the set and run errands.
End result: Matt was a stand up guy, which I just take for granted at this point,so he gets no extra credit, and I had to go
"down the cellar" and dust off the Shit List, because someone else just made it...
And to avoid confusion, which I have caused in the past by not naming names, this woman was not Christine or
Brenda, two troopers who David tried to kill with poor night driving last night, according to Brenda. Of course, she's
Irish, and you know how they are...
Clearing up some other confusion: We have had a few P.A.'s and all but one were stellar and he's not here. I'm not
wasting my time doing web layout for pictures of People Who Suck. Speaking of the P.A.s, the only upside of this
Ridiculous Actress Fiasco is that one of them, Ben, who is making us all look bad with his "Look At Me! I'm Always
Hustling and Cleaning and Working!" B.S., has been cast in the suddenly available role. Turns out he's an NYU
Drama student who just signed up for this nightmare to "see what film is like."
Ahh, the stupidity of the young...
Another Fallout of all this was that I got my face shot off tonight instead of tomorrow. The experience is too long and
dull to really go into-except to recount a moment when Maz applied some modeling clay and the scent just
immediately drowned me in wonderful, unspecific memories of childhood enjoyment-but it does make for some great
photos...
I also wanted to show you some of David, Larry and I in our Natural Environment this morning...construction. We've
been doing early mornings as often as we can stand before heading in to do the shoots. Its wicked tiring, as they say
in Boston, but it does build character, and keeps a tiny trickle of beer-ah, who do I think I'm foolin'...bill-money coming
in.
Running Power for a set of Editing Suites at a Fancy Commercial Production House.
The Many Moods of the Enemy Captain
These pics of me by Larry Love
"I said we did Build This City on Rock and Roll, damnit!"
David and Mike experience The Glamour and Excitement of The Movies.
Application.
Mr. Reliable, Matt Huffman
and his arms.
"There wolf."....M.F.
The aftermath.
August 16th, 2005- (late)
Just back from another long day of shooting. I went in early today, as we left the place a disaster last night.
Chocolate sauce everywhere (movie magic blood), not to mention tools, lights, cords. It was a disgrace, but we
went so late people just flopped out onto the street and went home. I did quite a lot of mopping, which is usually
when I know I'm doing something creative and fulfilling. I don't know why thats true, but it is. That, and the fact I took
a cold shower this morning. We had seVERE thunderstorms here last night that snapped a tree with a 10"
diameter trunk on our corner. I haven't seen too many smaller trees like that blown over, it was impressive. We
also had the wind blow out the pilot light on our water heater in the basement, the door to which is locked by the
landlord.
We figured this out when the stove still worked, but my first thought was the gas company had finally turned the gas
off. Thats the other way I usually know I've been spending the majority of my time pursuing some sort of creative
endeavor. Companies start shutting things off.
During my creative heyday in Boston, I lived in many apartments without electricity and warehouses without heat in
the winter. It just makes you better...or your priorities are skewed toward being better versus being responsible...I
don't know. I am over-romanticizing it wildly, but that's the fun part and where's the harm?
I lived for months with kerosene lamps and candles. I lived like that for a few months with James Felix McKenney,
AUTEUR. It made coming home to the giant stack of dishes in what must have been, under there somewhere, the
sink, more bearable.
I never thought of this before, but if you've seen "Withnail and I", you have basically seen a much tidier kitchen than
ours, with a much smaller stack of dishes. Their apartment is much nicer as well, and huge, as all movie
apartments are, but we did have a barber chair.
If you haven't seen Withnail and I, you must stop reading immediately and arrange a viewing.
And now...photos:
Just back from another long day of shooting. I went in early today, as we left the place a disaster last night.
Chocolate sauce everywhere (movie magic blood), not to mention tools, lights, cords. It was a disgrace, but we
went so late people just flopped out onto the street and went home. I did quite a lot of mopping, which is usually
when I know I'm doing something creative and fulfilling. I don't know why thats true, but it is. That, and the fact I took
a cold shower this morning. We had seVERE thunderstorms here last night that snapped a tree with a 10"
diameter trunk on our corner. I haven't seen too many smaller trees like that blown over, it was impressive. We
also had the wind blow out the pilot light on our water heater in the basement, the door to which is locked by the
landlord.
We figured this out when the stove still worked, but my first thought was the gas company had finally turned the gas
off. Thats the other way I usually know I've been spending the majority of my time pursuing some sort of creative
endeavor. Companies start shutting things off.
During my creative heyday in Boston, I lived in many apartments without electricity and warehouses without heat in
the winter. It just makes you better...or your priorities are skewed toward being better versus being responsible...I
don't know. I am over-romanticizing it wildly, but that's the fun part and where's the harm?
I lived for months with kerosene lamps and candles. I lived like that for a few months with James Felix McKenney,
AUTEUR. It made coming home to the giant stack of dishes in what must have been, under there somewhere, the
sink, more bearable.
I never thought of this before, but if you've seen "Withnail and I", you have basically seen a much tidier kitchen than
ours, with a much smaller stack of dishes. Their apartment is much nicer as well, and huge, as all movie
apartments are, but we did have a barber chair.
If you haven't seen Withnail and I, you must stop reading immediately and arrange a viewing.
And now...photos:
The peanut gallery, featuring
Matt Huffman, Jim, and Larry.
Matt Huffman, Jim, and Larry.
Maz and my head.
PA Ben on a fly hunt.
Above you see the process of the producer, Larry Fessenden, getting a spike put through his
head. He's the guy with his arms folded in the center photo.
head. He's the guy with his arms folded in the center photo.
A VERY SPECIAL TRIBUTE TO A VERY SPECIAL MOVIE
August 15th, 2005--
People start dying today on the set of "Death to the Automatons" starting with the head honcho,
Larry Fessenden.
I'm scheduled to get mine on Thursday. I went last Wednesday to Maz's huge loft in Newark to get a life cast
of my face done. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going be, though the plaster slipped down over
the nostril air holes once and that certainly focuses one's attention. We've done some special effects in the
past, but it will be cool to see someone who knows what they are doing take it to the next level. The clean-
up, not so fun...
Speaking of cleaning up, I thought I'd clean up the I Live With Whores story this week. For those of you who
don't know, I've been using pieces I wrote for a Maxim-style men's website while I lived in Houston to pad
out this blog while I've been busy with the movie. Here is the last part. For the first part, go to the archives
for July 13th.
I LIVE WITH WHORES, PART 4
One of the great injustices of life revolves around an event we all face each and every day: waking up. True,
it beats the alternative, but it seems unfair there are so many terrible ways to wake up and so few good
ways. A large portion of waking is done in a neutral state. You simply get up, swing your legs to the floor
and start your routine.
Experiences of waking that are not neutral involve surprise and subsequent revelation.
Good ways to wake up include the following surprise/revelations:
There are some decent mornings in the above list, and one that’ll change your life, but the list is still awfully
short when compared to the list of bad ways to wake up, just a few of which are listed below:
The list goes on and on. Quite unfair, really. Drawing upon personal experience, I can add one more
negative waking experience to that list: “…to the sound of blood curdling screams.”
These screams were those I discussed in the last installment of this series, the screams I naturally
assumed originated from Foh, the woman who invited many of the Man Whores who populate the outside of
my building to spend time inside the building. Suddenly, horribly, wide-awake, I calmed my bedmate (fairly
easy, as he is a dog), and edged the blinds open just enough to peer out. In the small amount of time it
took to do this, the blood curdling nature of the screams had died down to “hair raising” and by the time I
looked out I knew the screamer was not being attacked and was not Foh.
The scene through the blinds was actually fairly familiar, though unusually intense. Another tenant had
returned home after last call to find their car being used as a sofa by a group of hustlers. This is always
unpleasant, but in this particular instance, the tenant was a young woman who had been, as we say in the
business, over served. In what had almost certainly been an evening of incessant
carding (“But I’m twenty-threeee!”), boyfriend problems, and not-quite-subservient-enough cocktail
waitresses, this latest affront was the final straw. She unloaded with all the high-decibel, shrieking venom a
young Texan woman can muster, and having been married to one, let me assure you it is considerable,
even awe inspiring.
Of course, this wasn’t some dust up over linen folding at the Junior League: her audience was Man Whores,
hardened and high, and they were not about to back down without a few words of their own. Clever lines
like “Fuck you, bitch!” and “We’re just standing here” (which is kind of like looters of an electronics store
saying “I just wanted to see how much those HDTV’s weigh…”). Suddenly she turned on her heel and
ran/staggered into her first floor apartment, slamming the door behind her. I took my finger from between
the blinds and dropped back into bed, glad it had ended so quickly.
Then I heard her door open again.
And a couple footsteps.
And the opening of the gate.
And finally, the unmistakable chuh-CHICK of a shotgun shell being chambered.
Like most men, I am all about fetching young women armed with shotguns. Let better men than we
endeavor to untie the psychological Gordian Knot that binds babes so pleasantly in the male mind with
power tools, cars, motorcycles and guns. It is for us simply to acknowledge it exists, enjoy it, and buy the
calendars. It is no coincidence, though, that the young women in those calendars are not drunk, nor angry
and certainly not both. I have seen it, gentle reader and it ain’t something you want to look at for a month.
Not even February.
So. I am the young woman’s neighbor. I am no friend of the Man Whores. I should help her out here, I
know, but suddenly it strikes me just what all those hours in the Police Academy are for. When approaching
a wildly inebriated, explosively upset person with a loaded shotgun, even with their best interests at heart,
just what should your first word be? Remember, the stakes are high. A loud rap on the window to get her
attention, close as I am to the subjects of her wrath, would probably not be wise. Opening my own front
door, behind her, could also spook her and would definitely put me outside and in the line of return fire, a
factor one must always take into consideration once a gun is pulled in Texas.
Enter, in all his drunken glory, the Boyfriend Problem. Swaggering down the street intent on screaming
“Stupid, jealous, bitch!” at her window, he sees the situation and runs at the Man Whores, who streak
around the corner, his approach breaking the spell of panicked inaction a loaded shotgun can cast on a
crowd.
“Jesus, honey, they’re gonna put you away if they see you out here with that! Let’s get inside. You’re Dad
gave you that? Good thing I showed up. Oh, nothing.”
Then the closing of the door and silence. A peace to be extra thankful for, as it was sure to last until
morning.
People start dying today on the set of "Death to the Automatons" starting with the head honcho,
Larry Fessenden.
I'm scheduled to get mine on Thursday. I went last Wednesday to Maz's huge loft in Newark to get a life cast
of my face done. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going be, though the plaster slipped down over
the nostril air holes once and that certainly focuses one's attention. We've done some special effects in the
past, but it will be cool to see someone who knows what they are doing take it to the next level. The clean-
up, not so fun...
Speaking of cleaning up, I thought I'd clean up the I Live With Whores story this week. For those of you who
don't know, I've been using pieces I wrote for a Maxim-style men's website while I lived in Houston to pad
out this blog while I've been busy with the movie. Here is the last part. For the first part, go to the archives
for July 13th.
I LIVE WITH WHORES, PART 4
One of the great injustices of life revolves around an event we all face each and every day: waking up. True,
it beats the alternative, but it seems unfair there are so many terrible ways to wake up and so few good
ways. A large portion of waking is done in a neutral state. You simply get up, swing your legs to the floor
and start your routine.
Experiences of waking that are not neutral involve surprise and subsequent revelation.
Good ways to wake up include the following surprise/revelations:
- It is a weekend/holiday and you can return to Slumberville.
- You’re in a hotel room on vacation.
- That woman you met at closing time is not in your bed.
- Your girlfriend or wife or whatever is.
- Two feet of snow cover your window and there is no way to get to work.
- You are in the middle of a sex act.
There are some decent mornings in the above list, and one that’ll change your life, but the list is still awfully
short when compared to the list of bad ways to wake up, just a few of which are listed below:
- Late.
- Starving.
- Hung over.
- Drenched in sweat.
- With the woman from last call, last night.
- Without your girlfriend or wife or whatever.
- To a note. (see previous item)
- In a pool of your own…you name it.
- All of the above, also known as “In New Orleans”.
- In a part of Louisiana that is not New Orleans.
- With an armed felon crashing through your window during his escape attempt. (long story)
- In jail.
- On Monday.
- In the hospital.
- Broke.
The list goes on and on. Quite unfair, really. Drawing upon personal experience, I can add one more
negative waking experience to that list: “…to the sound of blood curdling screams.”
These screams were those I discussed in the last installment of this series, the screams I naturally
assumed originated from Foh, the woman who invited many of the Man Whores who populate the outside of
my building to spend time inside the building. Suddenly, horribly, wide-awake, I calmed my bedmate (fairly
easy, as he is a dog), and edged the blinds open just enough to peer out. In the small amount of time it
took to do this, the blood curdling nature of the screams had died down to “hair raising” and by the time I
looked out I knew the screamer was not being attacked and was not Foh.
The scene through the blinds was actually fairly familiar, though unusually intense. Another tenant had
returned home after last call to find their car being used as a sofa by a group of hustlers. This is always
unpleasant, but in this particular instance, the tenant was a young woman who had been, as we say in the
business, over served. In what had almost certainly been an evening of incessant
carding (“But I’m twenty-threeee!”), boyfriend problems, and not-quite-subservient-enough cocktail
waitresses, this latest affront was the final straw. She unloaded with all the high-decibel, shrieking venom a
young Texan woman can muster, and having been married to one, let me assure you it is considerable,
even awe inspiring.
Of course, this wasn’t some dust up over linen folding at the Junior League: her audience was Man Whores,
hardened and high, and they were not about to back down without a few words of their own. Clever lines
like “Fuck you, bitch!” and “We’re just standing here” (which is kind of like looters of an electronics store
saying “I just wanted to see how much those HDTV’s weigh…”). Suddenly she turned on her heel and
ran/staggered into her first floor apartment, slamming the door behind her. I took my finger from between
the blinds and dropped back into bed, glad it had ended so quickly.
Then I heard her door open again.
And a couple footsteps.
And the opening of the gate.
And finally, the unmistakable chuh-CHICK of a shotgun shell being chambered.
Like most men, I am all about fetching young women armed with shotguns. Let better men than we
endeavor to untie the psychological Gordian Knot that binds babes so pleasantly in the male mind with
power tools, cars, motorcycles and guns. It is for us simply to acknowledge it exists, enjoy it, and buy the
calendars. It is no coincidence, though, that the young women in those calendars are not drunk, nor angry
and certainly not both. I have seen it, gentle reader and it ain’t something you want to look at for a month.
Not even February.
So. I am the young woman’s neighbor. I am no friend of the Man Whores. I should help her out here, I
know, but suddenly it strikes me just what all those hours in the Police Academy are for. When approaching
a wildly inebriated, explosively upset person with a loaded shotgun, even with their best interests at heart,
just what should your first word be? Remember, the stakes are high. A loud rap on the window to get her
attention, close as I am to the subjects of her wrath, would probably not be wise. Opening my own front
door, behind her, could also spook her and would definitely put me outside and in the line of return fire, a
factor one must always take into consideration once a gun is pulled in Texas.
Enter, in all his drunken glory, the Boyfriend Problem. Swaggering down the street intent on screaming
“Stupid, jealous, bitch!” at her window, he sees the situation and runs at the Man Whores, who streak
around the corner, his approach breaking the spell of panicked inaction a loaded shotgun can cast on a
crowd.
“Jesus, honey, they’re gonna put you away if they see you out here with that! Let’s get inside. You’re Dad
gave you that? Good thing I showed up. Oh, nothing.”
Then the closing of the door and silence. A peace to be extra thankful for, as it was sure to last until
morning.
Somehow I missed this picture of our other
Super PA, Big Ben, when I posted yesterday.
Super PA, Big Ben, when I posted yesterday.
And here is a video (12mb) of me back on the first
day of shooting, trying to fix a prop I completed and
promptly broke late the night before.
day of shooting, trying to fix a prop I completed and
promptly broke late the night before.
August 13th, 2005--
Just time for a quick post. Shooting is going well, we are two scenes ahead and the footage
we have seen from the lab looks super-cool. The one hilariously lazy P.A. (not pictured below,
btw) has been fired and only the elite few remain!
Just time for a quick post. Shooting is going well, we are two scenes ahead and the footage
we have seen from the lab looks super-cool. The one hilariously lazy P.A. (not pictured below,
btw) has been fired and only the elite few remain!
Mike the Glass Eye Pix Intern (r) and his friend
Zach, who came to visit his buddy in the city and
ended up sweating his face off in a robot suit.
Zach, who came to visit his buddy in the city and
ended up sweating his face off in a robot suit.
Patrick as Super P.A. #1
Jeremiah, Christine and Jim
Jim directs from his throne on the set.
August 9, 2005--
Well, shooting went really well yesterday. Jeremiah did a great job and a few lash marks across the back
are well worth finishing the day with one extra scene in the can...as we Show People say. There's no
people like us, like No People You Know...
Janene came by and tweaked the robot suits. Going in early to meet her for more tweaking today. Late last
night was the first time there were actually two guys in robot suits clanking around the set (Noah and I).
There was a lot of giggling from McKenney and laughter all around. I think I heard him say "This is the
dumbest idea I've ever had."
It may be true, but he was also as giddy as I've ever seen him-or kind of seen him, as I was peering
through a tiny frosted section of my sweltering robot head-and it has usually been my experience that once
you get to that Giddy Happy level, it translates.
Well, shooting went really well yesterday. Jeremiah did a great job and a few lash marks across the back
are well worth finishing the day with one extra scene in the can...as we Show People say. There's no
people like us, like No People You Know...
Janene came by and tweaked the robot suits. Going in early to meet her for more tweaking today. Late last
night was the first time there were actually two guys in robot suits clanking around the set (Noah and I).
There was a lot of giggling from McKenney and laughter all around. I think I heard him say "This is the
dumbest idea I've ever had."
It may be true, but he was also as giddy as I've ever seen him-or kind of seen him, as I was peering
through a tiny frosted section of my sweltering robot head-and it has usually been my experience that once
you get to that Giddy Happy level, it translates.
August 8th, 2005-
Shooting begins today! Are we ready? Of course not...not really...not yet...but there are still 5 hours before
people start showing up and Jim will arrive to take Henry and me to Le Studio Futuriste in minutes. The set is
really together now and we saw some test footage, which looked pretty damn cool. I spent hours yesterday
building a mobile video console, then broke the little monitor around 11 pm. So, I either figure out how to repair
televisions in the next 24 hours or rebuild the damn thing. Ah well.
The special effects guy, Maz, came by the space last night. He has a ton of great ideas to gross you out. I'm
going to his studio in Jersey on Wednesday morning to do a life cast of my face or head...so he can blow it up.
How cool is that?
Yes, I know...I'm a third grader.
My brother called me yesterday, wasted. He's usually very reserved, but I guess they were getting prepared for
the Motley Crue concert in Denver last night. It took me a couple of solid minutes to convince him I was not the
person he thought he dialed, then after a brief update on his condition and intentions (which included a
designated driver-slash-future puke shoveller, I'm glad to say), he thanked me for calling him and hung up.
Hilarious.
Shooting begins today! Are we ready? Of course not...not really...not yet...but there are still 5 hours before
people start showing up and Jim will arrive to take Henry and me to Le Studio Futuriste in minutes. The set is
really together now and we saw some test footage, which looked pretty damn cool. I spent hours yesterday
building a mobile video console, then broke the little monitor around 11 pm. So, I either figure out how to repair
televisions in the next 24 hours or rebuild the damn thing. Ah well.
The special effects guy, Maz, came by the space last night. He has a ton of great ideas to gross you out. I'm
going to his studio in Jersey on Wednesday morning to do a life cast of my face or head...so he can blow it up.
How cool is that?
Yes, I know...I'm a third grader.
My brother called me yesterday, wasted. He's usually very reserved, but I guess they were getting prepared for
the Motley Crue concert in Denver last night. It took me a couple of solid minutes to convince him I was not the
person he thought he dialed, then after a brief update on his condition and intentions (which included a
designated driver-slash-future puke shoveller, I'm glad to say), he thanked me for calling him and hung up.
Hilarious.
August 6th 2005--
Got plenty more Automatons work to get to at the Le Studio Futuristique today, but I wanted to post a pic or two
from the latest gatherings. Photos that show much of the set I'm running by Jim from now on, as we don't want
to spoil the surprise/give people time to find it lame. Speaking of Jim:
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS AUTEUR?
Got plenty more Automatons work to get to at the Le Studio Futuristique today, but I wanted to post a pic or two
from the latest gatherings. Photos that show much of the set I'm running by Jim from now on, as we don't want
to spoil the surprise/give people time to find it lame. Speaking of Jim:
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS AUTEUR?
The genius is at work here taking test footage so we can see what set elements, etc. look like on the film
stock. We had just done some test shooting of some pyrotechnics, which accounts for the atmosphere,
though Jim does attract a sort of dark cloud during a shoot.
stock. We had just done some test shooting of some pyrotechnics, which accounts for the atmosphere,
though Jim does attract a sort of dark cloud during a shoot.
A shot from the meeting on Wednesday, messed up
enough so you cant see whats going on, which renders it
pointless. I should work for the White House Press Office.
enough so you cant see whats going on, which renders it
pointless. I should work for the White House Press Office.
August 4, 2005--
For the one or two of you who read this and care, i apologize for the infrequent updates. Unfortunately, it will
probably get worse before it gets better, as we begin shooting "Death to the Automatons" on Monday and there
is still work to do. We will be shooting from the 8th to the 22nd, 1pm-10pm so that the half of us in the
construction trades can work in the mornings and keep making money. Ahhh, the glamour...
So yes, this was a set-up for more filler material...part three of the "I live With Whores" series.
I LIVE WITH WHORES PART THREE
(see the July Archives for parts one and two)
Another thing about living with whores; it’s not for everyone. The list of those who would actually enjoy it is
minuscule, but in a lucky twist of fate, a member of that list lives directly across the tiny courtyard from me.
We each have windows facing the same street, though I, in the corner apartment, get a whore “bonus window”
while the window perpendicular to her main whore window offers only the view of an adjoining apartment’s
front stoop and it’s owner, a young, slightly overfed professional woman who’s struggle to learn the guitar
seems slowed by the constant presence of a Bud Light twelve pack and an “only outside” chain-smoking
habit. But I digress.
My whore-supportive apartment mate we may as well call Foh, for she has a lovely skin tone that could justify
an exotic name and besides, is a wonderful Friend Of the Hustler. Much like her guitar mangling neighbor, and
to be frank, yours truly, Foh is no stranger to the sauce. Foh is a friendly drunk, shy on company. In what the
religious in the neighborhood must surely take as proof of God’s beneficent machinations, Foh needs never
be lonely while the guest of the building on the corner of Prostitute and John. Returning home from the clubs,
her friends retired to the tiny IKEA showrooms from whence they came, Foh is only a clumsily flung-open
window away from companionship. And this arrangement has certain psychological benefits:
Foh likes talking to the whores. Their stories of life in jail, in prison and on the wrong side of the tracks make
her feel connected to something darker and more concrete than the rave culture she inhabits, a culture that
sometimes feels as brittle and false as a bad translation from the modern Japan that inspired much of it:
“Plasti-Funky USA Happy Fresh Go Go Cycle!”
When she talks to the whores, she feels more real than her friends. They wouldn’t talk to the whores. They
wouldn’t sympathize with the stories of addiction, absent father figures and new domestic dispute laws that get
you hauled off to jail automatically when you never even fucking touched the bitch, not even fucking once.
And they certainly wouldn’t invite them into their apartments to spend a night on the couch.
Yes, Foh on the sauce is perhaps friendly to a fault.
When, one night last week at around midnight, I shot out of bed to the sound of a woman’s screams, I figured it
must be Foh.
For the one or two of you who read this and care, i apologize for the infrequent updates. Unfortunately, it will
probably get worse before it gets better, as we begin shooting "Death to the Automatons" on Monday and there
is still work to do. We will be shooting from the 8th to the 22nd, 1pm-10pm so that the half of us in the
construction trades can work in the mornings and keep making money. Ahhh, the glamour...
So yes, this was a set-up for more filler material...part three of the "I live With Whores" series.
I LIVE WITH WHORES PART THREE
(see the July Archives for parts one and two)
Another thing about living with whores; it’s not for everyone. The list of those who would actually enjoy it is
minuscule, but in a lucky twist of fate, a member of that list lives directly across the tiny courtyard from me.
We each have windows facing the same street, though I, in the corner apartment, get a whore “bonus window”
while the window perpendicular to her main whore window offers only the view of an adjoining apartment’s
front stoop and it’s owner, a young, slightly overfed professional woman who’s struggle to learn the guitar
seems slowed by the constant presence of a Bud Light twelve pack and an “only outside” chain-smoking
habit. But I digress.
My whore-supportive apartment mate we may as well call Foh, for she has a lovely skin tone that could justify
an exotic name and besides, is a wonderful Friend Of the Hustler. Much like her guitar mangling neighbor, and
to be frank, yours truly, Foh is no stranger to the sauce. Foh is a friendly drunk, shy on company. In what the
religious in the neighborhood must surely take as proof of God’s beneficent machinations, Foh needs never
be lonely while the guest of the building on the corner of Prostitute and John. Returning home from the clubs,
her friends retired to the tiny IKEA showrooms from whence they came, Foh is only a clumsily flung-open
window away from companionship. And this arrangement has certain psychological benefits:
- Whores are not angry you have contacted them at 3am.
- Whores don’t care if you’re drunk. Whores do not judge you.
- Whores are in no position to complain about your breath.
Foh likes talking to the whores. Their stories of life in jail, in prison and on the wrong side of the tracks make
her feel connected to something darker and more concrete than the rave culture she inhabits, a culture that
sometimes feels as brittle and false as a bad translation from the modern Japan that inspired much of it:
“Plasti-Funky USA Happy Fresh Go Go Cycle!”
When she talks to the whores, she feels more real than her friends. They wouldn’t talk to the whores. They
wouldn’t sympathize with the stories of addiction, absent father figures and new domestic dispute laws that get
you hauled off to jail automatically when you never even fucking touched the bitch, not even fucking once.
And they certainly wouldn’t invite them into their apartments to spend a night on the couch.
Yes, Foh on the sauce is perhaps friendly to a fault.
When, one night last week at around midnight, I shot out of bed to the sound of a woman’s screams, I figured it
must be Foh.
August 1, 2005--(noon)
At space until 11:30 last night building set, back this morning. Home for a quick bite and to deliver Henry some
dog food I was too beat to get last night. Biz-zy, biz-zy, biz-zy, just like the bad guy in Frosty the Snowman. Gotta
fly. Work safe.
At space until 11:30 last night building set, back this morning. Home for a quick bite and to deliver Henry some
dog food I was too beat to get last night. Biz-zy, biz-zy, biz-zy, just like the bad guy in Frosty the Snowman. Gotta
fly. Work safe.
Don Wood Online
For the love of Pete, who's in charge here?
For the love of Pete, who's in charge here?
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August 14th, 2005--
I've got the day off from shooting, which means a day on for all the stuff I didn't get done this week. I just heard a
great interview with iggy Pop on Fresh Air. I saw him make littel foolish babies out of all the other bands besides
the New York Dolls at an all day Garage Rock Festival on Roosevelt Island last summer. He rocked just about
100 times harder than any of the bands full of kids 1/3 his age. His was the only set with a "security issue."
I've got the day off from shooting, which means a day on for all the stuff I didn't get done this week. I just heard a
great interview with iggy Pop on Fresh Air. I saw him make littel foolish babies out of all the other bands besides
the New York Dolls at an all day Garage Rock Festival on Roosevelt Island last summer. He rocked just about
100 times harder than any of the bands full of kids 1/3 his age. His was the only set with a "security issue."
David and Noah (on ladder)