I had a meeting yesterday with a guy named Tom to see about doing some improv on the weekends. We were to meet at a Starbucks and (I think) we were in the village. It was bound to happen sometime, and yesterday was the day. I got a little lost. Not much. Just a little. I accidentally got on the express subway instead of the local train and we shot right past my stop. Only one stop past, but to get back on the train going the other way, you had to leave, cross the street, and pay to get back on, and I ain't's got the money to fool with that. So I tried to find my way on my own. I know this makes me sound like a dork (or a cowboy!) but I can usually tell which direction I am facing from the position of the sun (for real!). But at the time it was high noon, so I was sort of out of luck. I was able to ask a friendly mailman for directions, shooting the whole men don't ask for directions theory down. Turns out I was only 3 blocks from where I wanted to be, so not too bad.
I got to the Starbucks about 5 minutes before Tom so all was well. And I must be honest, Tom threw me off a bit. Tom looks just like Ben, the guy who fired me from the record label because he claimed radio did nothing to promote albums. So psychologically it took me a bit to actually put that past me and like the guy. Tom was really cool, though, and he told me what the improv gig was about.
The name of the show is Accomplice NY and it's sort of a cross between a murder mystery party, a scavenger hunt, and a walking tour of Manhattan. A group of eight or so people sign up for this thing and they don't know what they are supposed to do. All they know is where to meet. They are then approached by actors who are all playing shady characters and are asked to deliver some stuff for a crime boss. They're given clues as to what to do next, where to go, and who to look for. They end up going to like 10 different places all around Manhattan, never knowing if the people they meet on the way are actors or if they're just real people walking around. I thought it sounded like a lot of fun and Tom asked me if I could play a paranoid, crazy guy who was a genius. I said sure and he said "Let's see it." So there we sat in Starbucks, him talking to me as I carried on in a sort of Doc Brown-crossed-with-a-guy-named-Sherm-I-knew-in-college character I made upon the spot. After about five minutes he started laughing and just said "You're hired." So I go in Saturday to watch them do it a few times and then on Sunday it's all me. Right now they only do shows on weekends, but I am really stoked!
After that I had a shoot for the Discovery Channel. I don't want to divulge too much because of the confidnetiality thing I signed, but I'll tell you a bit. I doubt their lawyers are reading this, so I'll just tell you what they posted on the audition notices that I already knew going into it. They are holding callbacks for a show that takes place in a cab. They are only looking for actual cab drivers, and they had it narrowed down a bit. They were also looking for actors to come in (me) and play the person in the back of the cab so the auditioners had someone to play off of. They were filming these auditions for the head honchos at Discovery to watch. So it was kind of fun doing an audition that had zero pressure because I knew they weren't really watching me, it was all about the cab driver. It was a lot of fun (and I got to do it in front of blue screen! This week I'm getting a lot of training with the whole blue/green screen thing...where are the Sin City 2 auditions?)
Afterward the executive producer brought me aside and asked me if I could come in on Monday and do it again as they tape the final auditions. They were bringing in some big hotshot agent for these final callbacks and he wanted me to play the passenger. I told him "Sure!" and he said that it would be a really good opportunity for me to be seen by her. So who knows. I've never heard of her but apparently she is a real mover and shaker. At any rate, it'll be fun. I'll be sure to bring an extra head shot and resume.
A full day yesterday. Whew! I love it!
I've run out of head shots so until I can afford to buy more photo paper, the hunt for a part-time job continues but as always I will keep you posted.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Thursday, August 18, 2005
The Mean and the Nice
Today I encountered my first mean and/or rude New Yorker. I'm not surprised that I met someone grumpy because hey, this is New York. That's just a given. I'm actually more surprised that it took this long. I'm not changing any names to protect the guilty. I'm a New Yorker now and as a New Yorker, I say screw them.
I was out looking for temp work and went to a place called Winmar Temporary Services. I got up the elevator, rang the bell, and the door opened a crack and some lady in her 60s opened the door. She wouldn't open the door any further because apparently my identical twin was there last week and kicked open the door and attacked her with sticks.
She asked what I wanted and I told her I was looking for temp work. She got really upset and said I needed to call to make an appointment. I said OK and then, even though I already had their number, I asked for their number anyway. She looked at the door where it said "804" and again got mad and asked what I meant.
I said, "So I can call to make an appointment." Now bear in mind, I wasn't being rude or copping an attitude. I still had on my polite face and was using my polite voice. Instead, she looked at me in disgust and said, "You know, you have to have a resume."
Well duh, lady. I have 20 of them in my backpack and if you'd like I can take them out and give you a papercut with each one right across your face. I'm not sure what it was about me but she definitely didn't think I'd have any idea what a resume was, not to mention there wasn't a chance I would actually have one.
But instead of getting upset or becoming annoyed I just decided to laugh at her. And I did. Not a full-on belly laugh but a snicker/laugh that said, "Well of course I need a resume, you IDIOT." I said, "Yeah I have one." I went back into the elevator and when the doors closed I flipped her off. I called them on the phone and the guy who answered asked me to email my resume to them. I don't think I will.
I also went to a temporary staffing service place called CTI and when I asked for work the girl gave me an application and questionnaire. Inside were all sorts of questions about being a waiter.
1. From which side do you serve someone in French service?
2. When all of the waiters serve a table at once it is called _______ the room.
3. What is French service?
Huh? What? How the freak should I know? I just want to sit at a computer and type stuff. So I filled out the questionnaire to the best of my ability and when I didn't know the answer I made it obvious. By the way, my answers to the above questions were as follows (for real...this is what I put):
1. The right
2. Feeding
3. Treating you with a fake sincerity whilst secretly loathing me for being an "American swine."
I turned in my test and told them I knew nothing about being a waiter. It was a different girl behind the desk and she asked why I filled out that particular application. I told her that's what was given to me, I just want to type on a computer and she said, "Oh. Then I just need a resume. You don't want to be a waiter?" I told her to look over my test and see if she thinks that's my strong point. She laughed and I wished I was still in bed, sleeping away.
As I left I got stopped at a street corner and was waiting for the WALK signal. There were three people with British accents pointing and ooh-ing and ahh-ing. I looked up and just down the street was the Empire State Building. I think. It might have been the Chrysler Building. That's not the point. The point is, it was beautiful. The morning sunlight hit it just rioght and was reflecting off of the windows in a brilliant prism.
So thank you, English People, for pointing that out to me. I needed to see that and it was a nice way to cap off the morning.
I could go on about my afternoon where I got a gig doing improv and filmed blue screen stuff for the Discovery Channel, but for now I am all pooped out. I'll tell you more stories later, kids. But it was a great afternoon.
I was out looking for temp work and went to a place called Winmar Temporary Services. I got up the elevator, rang the bell, and the door opened a crack and some lady in her 60s opened the door. She wouldn't open the door any further because apparently my identical twin was there last week and kicked open the door and attacked her with sticks.
She asked what I wanted and I told her I was looking for temp work. She got really upset and said I needed to call to make an appointment. I said OK and then, even though I already had their number, I asked for their number anyway. She looked at the door where it said "804" and again got mad and asked what I meant.
I said, "So I can call to make an appointment." Now bear in mind, I wasn't being rude or copping an attitude. I still had on my polite face and was using my polite voice. Instead, she looked at me in disgust and said, "You know, you have to have a resume."
Well duh, lady. I have 20 of them in my backpack and if you'd like I can take them out and give you a papercut with each one right across your face. I'm not sure what it was about me but she definitely didn't think I'd have any idea what a resume was, not to mention there wasn't a chance I would actually have one.
But instead of getting upset or becoming annoyed I just decided to laugh at her. And I did. Not a full-on belly laugh but a snicker/laugh that said, "Well of course I need a resume, you IDIOT." I said, "Yeah I have one." I went back into the elevator and when the doors closed I flipped her off. I called them on the phone and the guy who answered asked me to email my resume to them. I don't think I will.
I also went to a temporary staffing service place called CTI and when I asked for work the girl gave me an application and questionnaire. Inside were all sorts of questions about being a waiter.
1. From which side do you serve someone in French service?
2. When all of the waiters serve a table at once it is called _______ the room.
3. What is French service?
Huh? What? How the freak should I know? I just want to sit at a computer and type stuff. So I filled out the questionnaire to the best of my ability and when I didn't know the answer I made it obvious. By the way, my answers to the above questions were as follows (for real...this is what I put):
1. The right
2. Feeding
3. Treating you with a fake sincerity whilst secretly loathing me for being an "American swine."
I turned in my test and told them I knew nothing about being a waiter. It was a different girl behind the desk and she asked why I filled out that particular application. I told her that's what was given to me, I just want to type on a computer and she said, "Oh. Then I just need a resume. You don't want to be a waiter?" I told her to look over my test and see if she thinks that's my strong point. She laughed and I wished I was still in bed, sleeping away.
As I left I got stopped at a street corner and was waiting for the WALK signal. There were three people with British accents pointing and ooh-ing and ahh-ing. I looked up and just down the street was the Empire State Building. I think. It might have been the Chrysler Building. That's not the point. The point is, it was beautiful. The morning sunlight hit it just rioght and was reflecting off of the windows in a brilliant prism.
So thank you, English People, for pointing that out to me. I needed to see that and it was a nice way to cap off the morning.
I could go on about my afternoon where I got a gig doing improv and filmed blue screen stuff for the Discovery Channel, but for now I am all pooped out. I'll tell you more stories later, kids. But it was a great afternoon.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Mamet & Court TV
Well, last night I booked a shoot for Court TV and went in to do that this morning. It's actually for Court TV's website. Some kind of new interactive such and such or something...part of their new promotion or look or what-have-you. I played a diner at a fancy French restaurant. And hey, did I mention it was my first time doing green screen? Pretty weird, I must say. I basically sat across from a lady and we had to mime a table between us. We looked pretty goofy there with our elbows suspended in the air on nothing, but I am eager to see what the final project looks like. When it's online, I will be sure to post the website here so you can see it as well. I'm sure it will be good for a nice laugh.
After that I decided to go to an audition for the David Mamet play, Speed the Plow. All I know about the play is Madonna did it on Broadway back in the 80s and got horrible reviews. So who knows. I could hear some of the people doing monologues in front of me, and they all sounded like mean, angry rants with lots of swearing (typical Mamet). But I started to second-guess myself, because the monologue I had prepared (the only one I have right now, really) is a comedic monologue from Steve Martin's book Pure Drivel. And the closer it got, the more nervouse I made myself. What if I do my monologue and then they ask if I have something more dramatic?? Then, as the guy took us to go in, he said they are looking for a monologue 2 minutes or less, and preferable comedic. YES!!!!
The audition went great. The people I auditioned for were the producers of the show. There were four of them, three men and a woman. I did the same monologue I did for the Martin Short audition yesterday and they laughed the whole time. It was a blast!! I felt really good about it and after I was done the lady pointed at me and said "Is that from Steve Martin?" and I pointed right back at her and said, "Yes it is!" There's nothing quite as fulfilling as going to an audition and knowing it went well. Whether or not anything comes from it, I'm really happy with how it went.
On the way home I stopped and filled out some applications at some of the area theaters. I ran into our friend Illeana at one of them (wow, only 4 days in New York and I already saw someone I know!).
Good times. :)
After that I decided to go to an audition for the David Mamet play, Speed the Plow. All I know about the play is Madonna did it on Broadway back in the 80s and got horrible reviews. So who knows. I could hear some of the people doing monologues in front of me, and they all sounded like mean, angry rants with lots of swearing (typical Mamet). But I started to second-guess myself, because the monologue I had prepared (the only one I have right now, really) is a comedic monologue from Steve Martin's book Pure Drivel. And the closer it got, the more nervouse I made myself. What if I do my monologue and then they ask if I have something more dramatic?? Then, as the guy took us to go in, he said they are looking for a monologue 2 minutes or less, and preferable comedic. YES!!!!
The audition went great. The people I auditioned for were the producers of the show. There were four of them, three men and a woman. I did the same monologue I did for the Martin Short audition yesterday and they laughed the whole time. It was a blast!! I felt really good about it and after I was done the lady pointed at me and said "Is that from Steve Martin?" and I pointed right back at her and said, "Yes it is!" There's nothing quite as fulfilling as going to an audition and knowing it went well. Whether or not anything comes from it, I'm really happy with how it went.
On the way home I stopped and filled out some applications at some of the area theaters. I ran into our friend Illeana at one of them (wow, only 4 days in New York and I already saw someone I know!).
Good times. :)
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
What I Almost Stepped In
One of the fun things about being in New York City is the vast cornucopia of items you can step on (or almost step on) while traversing the streets. Today my favorite thing I almost stepped on was a jumbo pretzel. I'll keep you updated on those fun facts.
This morning there was an audition for the new Martin Short show. I think it went well, thanks to yesterday. Yesterday (did I already mention this?) I had an audition for Spamalot, the Broadway musical verion of Monty Python's Monty Python & the Holy Grail. It was my first "big" audition in NY and it was basically a cattle call (meaning, there were a zillion people there). I went in, sang my song, they smiled, and I was done.
I'm not an amazing singer by any sense of the imagination and singing auditions get me kind of nervous (just let me do my funny monologue and I am good to go), so it was a good chance to go in, do it, and get in the mode.A nice warm-up.
Today's audition for the Martin Short show was a lot better. Actually, there was hardly anyone there and most of them were girls so that was cool (not because I was there to pick up girls, but because that means less guys competing against me). The auditioners wanted a funny song (actually, just 16 bars of it) and a comic monologue. Cool. Let's do this.
The people that went in before me were flustered when they got back. They said the people were nice, but they gave no reactions; had no expressions. One extremely effeminate guy came back into the main holding room, waved his hand over his face, and just said "Ssssstonefaced."
Another girl said "They're nice enough, but they're so young!! They just sat there and watched and didn't react at all. No expressions. I can't believe how young they were." And then the people began to murmur about the casting people being so young and how horrible it was.
I didn't get it.
I went in and there they were. The pianop player, and two girls behind the desk (one of whom I learned was an intern). I guess they were young, but I still can't figure out what the big deal was. It's not like I've never seen someone in their 20s before.
They were very friendly and carried on niceties and then when I began, their expressions went blank. Just staring and watching and I was determined to get them to laugh. I did my song (it was OK) and then my monologue. I've never done my monogogue and not gotten a laugh and these people had made up their minds to not to laugh at anything. And they didn't laugh. So in my head I decided they had been instructed not to laugh to see how that affects our performance and I was determined it wouldn't affect mine.
And I did my monologue and when I was done, and they knew I was done, they both started laughing. Cool. They thanked me and I was on my way. When the piano player gave me my music back he told me I did a "really great job." So even though it doesn't really matter what the piano player thinks, that was good to hear. And at least I got them to laugh.
So that was fun and cool. It's good to be doing the grind again.
Then, on the way home, is when I almost stepped on the pretzel.
This morning there was an audition for the new Martin Short show. I think it went well, thanks to yesterday. Yesterday (did I already mention this?) I had an audition for Spamalot, the Broadway musical verion of Monty Python's Monty Python & the Holy Grail. It was my first "big" audition in NY and it was basically a cattle call (meaning, there were a zillion people there). I went in, sang my song, they smiled, and I was done.
I'm not an amazing singer by any sense of the imagination and singing auditions get me kind of nervous (just let me do my funny monologue and I am good to go), so it was a good chance to go in, do it, and get in the mode.A nice warm-up.
Today's audition for the Martin Short show was a lot better. Actually, there was hardly anyone there and most of them were girls so that was cool (not because I was there to pick up girls, but because that means less guys competing against me). The auditioners wanted a funny song (actually, just 16 bars of it) and a comic monologue. Cool. Let's do this.
The people that went in before me were flustered when they got back. They said the people were nice, but they gave no reactions; had no expressions. One extremely effeminate guy came back into the main holding room, waved his hand over his face, and just said "Ssssstonefaced."
Another girl said "They're nice enough, but they're so young!! They just sat there and watched and didn't react at all. No expressions. I can't believe how young they were." And then the people began to murmur about the casting people being so young and how horrible it was.
I didn't get it.
I went in and there they were. The pianop player, and two girls behind the desk (one of whom I learned was an intern). I guess they were young, but I still can't figure out what the big deal was. It's not like I've never seen someone in their 20s before.
They were very friendly and carried on niceties and then when I began, their expressions went blank. Just staring and watching and I was determined to get them to laugh. I did my song (it was OK) and then my monologue. I've never done my monogogue and not gotten a laugh and these people had made up their minds to not to laugh at anything. And they didn't laugh. So in my head I decided they had been instructed not to laugh to see how that affects our performance and I was determined it wouldn't affect mine.
And I did my monologue and when I was done, and they knew I was done, they both started laughing. Cool. They thanked me and I was on my way. When the piano player gave me my music back he told me I did a "really great job." So even though it doesn't really matter what the piano player thinks, that was good to hear. And at least I got them to laugh.
So that was fun and cool. It's good to be doing the grind again.
Then, on the way home, is when I almost stepped on the pretzel.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Start Spreadin' the News
New York....finally. I'm still exhausted from a week of seemingly endless driving and furniture moving, but I'm here now with Dee. I have some fun auditions lined up this week and this morning went to an audition for Spamalot. The usual waiting, but the audition itself was quick and painless. I'm currently on the hunt for a PT job to supplement before a gig comes along, but I have no complaints. Give me a few weeks. I'll find something.
But really. I'm just up the block from Avenue Q and Glengarry Glen Ross. So I'm in good company.
But really. I'm just up the block from Avenue Q and Glengarry Glen Ross. So I'm in good company.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Ramblin
Just got back to Indiana from moving all of our junk into storage down in Nashville. Drove down Thursday, moved all day Friday, and just got back. I need sleep. Leaving tomorrow for PA.
'Night.
'Night.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Back in Nashville...really?
Only took me 6-1/2 hours to get here from home! A new record! Never before did I have such smooth sailing. No traffic at all. Yee!
What kept me company on the way here? Hmmmm...... Dane Cook, Stephen Lynch, Spamalot, Fatboy Slim, and various mix tapes.
Onward ho!!!!
What kept me company on the way here? Hmmmm...... Dane Cook, Stephen Lynch, Spamalot, Fatboy Slim, and various mix tapes.
Onward ho!!!!
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Dane Cook 2. Yea, it's that good.
Finally got out to grab the new album by comedian Dane Cook, "Retaliation." No such thing as a sophomore slump with this guy. I almost hit 2 people in my car driving home listening to it (No fair making me laugh so much I can't see the road!).
You may have read my blog earlier about this CD and believe, me, it's worth it. 2 CDs and a DVD for 15 bucks? Come on. You can't NOT afford that. Get off your butt and support some good comedy.
You may have read my blog earlier about this CD and believe, me, it's worth it. 2 CDs and a DVD for 15 bucks? Come on. You can't NOT afford that. Get off your butt and support some good comedy.
My brother must have been adopted
While visiting with my brother the other day he informed me that he hates -- hates -- Will Ferrell. Huh? How can that be? There are some people who could say that and I wouldn't be surprised, but as goofy and crazy as Ray is, I don't get how he could find Will Ferrell un-funny.
Considering the adventures Ray has had so far in his new job as a mailman, if someone were to make a movie about Ray's life, I would cast Will Ferrell to play the part. Not only do I think it would be hilarious, but also because I know it would drive Ray nuts.
Considering the adventures Ray has had so far in his new job as a mailman, if someone were to make a movie about Ray's life, I would cast Will Ferrell to play the part. Not only do I think it would be hilarious, but also because I know it would drive Ray nuts.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Free Books!! (and hi, Shayne)
Did I mentions that the Waanders Bookstore in Auburn IN has free books? Have I written about that in any of my blogs yet? I'm too lazy to go back and look, so if I have, well, you can never hear too much about free books.
Walk inside the door and turn right. In front of you, on the very bottom shelf, are free books! The sign encourages patrons to "help themselves!" I took four the first time I went in and went in and snagged three more yesterday. They are advance copies of books coming out soon; I didn't see anything by anyone I'd heard of before, but found one really good one: Torture the Artist by Allen Goebel. It's basically a really nice social commentary on the state of entertainment. So, you know, if you happen to be in town for the big car show thing they have every year, you might want to swing by (and then be sure to visit my uncle's Mexican restaurant right next door. Their PHATT STUFFED CHIMI is amazing...a chimichanga with cajun spices!!). And while you're there getting free books, pick up some books you have to pay for at the same time. Support your independent bookstores!!
I also got to talk with one of my best friends from high school, Shayne, yesterday. She told me that she comes online and reads my blog all the time but she hasn't signed up for MySpace because she is only online at work (a bank) and she's already lost her email account for, you know, non-banking emails (sorry, Shayne).
So Shayne can read my blogs but never respond. And that gives me a freedom like you wouldn't believe. But I won't abuse that. I will say, however, that yesterday on the phone Shayne said she refers to one of my relatives (I'm not saying who) as "the prancing pony." I told my dad, and he laughed like a crazy man.
Walk inside the door and turn right. In front of you, on the very bottom shelf, are free books! The sign encourages patrons to "help themselves!" I took four the first time I went in and went in and snagged three more yesterday. They are advance copies of books coming out soon; I didn't see anything by anyone I'd heard of before, but found one really good one: Torture the Artist by Allen Goebel. It's basically a really nice social commentary on the state of entertainment. So, you know, if you happen to be in town for the big car show thing they have every year, you might want to swing by (and then be sure to visit my uncle's Mexican restaurant right next door. Their PHATT STUFFED CHIMI is amazing...a chimichanga with cajun spices!!). And while you're there getting free books, pick up some books you have to pay for at the same time. Support your independent bookstores!!
I also got to talk with one of my best friends from high school, Shayne, yesterday. She told me that she comes online and reads my blog all the time but she hasn't signed up for MySpace because she is only online at work (a bank) and she's already lost her email account for, you know, non-banking emails (sorry, Shayne).
So Shayne can read my blogs but never respond. And that gives me a freedom like you wouldn't believe. But I won't abuse that. I will say, however, that yesterday on the phone Shayne said she refers to one of my relatives (I'm not saying who) as "the prancing pony." I told my dad, and he laughed like a crazy man.
Monday, August 08, 2005
PAPARAZZO SHOT
From E! Online News:
Photographer Brad Diaz was shot in the leg with a BB gun while standing in the street about 200 yards from a Malibu home where Britney Spears was a guest, authorities said. No official word on who fired the shot.
I did it. It was me. I confess. Interview me, please.
OK, maybe I wasn't actually there in person and pulled the trigger but it is my sincere belief that I have wished someone would shoot a paparazzi so many times and with so much conviction that I willed this incident into existence.
No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.
Really.
Photographer Brad Diaz was shot in the leg with a BB gun while standing in the street about 200 yards from a Malibu home where Britney Spears was a guest, authorities said. No official word on who fired the shot.
I did it. It was me. I confess. Interview me, please.
OK, maybe I wasn't actually there in person and pulled the trigger but it is my sincere belief that I have wished someone would shoot a paparazzi so many times and with so much conviction that I willed this incident into existence.
No need to thank me. It was my pleasure.
Really.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Up the Creek...with a paddle
Yesterday my dad and I went canoeing...canoing? How the heck is that word spelled? Anyhow, we went down a river in a canoe.
How far did we go? Fourteen miles, my friend, fourteen miles. And I had a blast. It took us about 4-1/2 hours and it was great. I knew for sure I would be sore by the end of it (or at least by the next day) but you know what? Not at all. Not sure why. I was tired, but no aches and/or pains. Even today I feel just as good as I did yesterday morning at this time.
Go figure.
I guess that's what happens when you are a model of physical fitness.
How far did we go? Fourteen miles, my friend, fourteen miles. And I had a blast. It took us about 4-1/2 hours and it was great. I knew for sure I would be sore by the end of it (or at least by the next day) but you know what? Not at all. Not sure why. I was tired, but no aches and/or pains. Even today I feel just as good as I did yesterday morning at this time.
Go figure.
I guess that's what happens when you are a model of physical fitness.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Atta Boy, Dane
Anyone who knows me knows that I am a huge Steve Martin fan (go ahead...name something he's done that I haven't seen....can't think of one, can ya?). I've been listening to his stand-up albums for as long as I've been able to listen without my parents finding out. But alas, Steve doesn't do a lot of stand-up anymore. So, about two years ago (I think) when I discovered Dane Cook's comedy, I declared him my new favorite stand-up (or at least one of them).
Dane's new CD/DVD Retaliation has just hit stores and it's only the 2nd comedy album ever to go higher than #5 on Billboard's album sales chart. It debuted at #4. The other album to break the top 5? Steve Martin's Wild and Crazy Guy. Can I pick 'em or can I pick 'em?
I haven't had the chance to get the new Dane Cook CD/DVD, I have only heard snippets, but if you're a fan of outrageous laugh-til-you-puke comedy, then I highly recommend Retaliation. You can thank me later. And all of you to whom I introduced Dane's first album, Harmful If Swallowed can testify that I know what I'm talking about (the Kool-Aid Man bit, for example).
It's the weekend. Go nuts, and buy a comedy CD. When was the last time you bought a CD that actually put you in a good mood and made you laugh? And while you're at it, go ahead and grab Wild and Crazy Guy, too. You know it's been too long since you gave it a listen.
Dane's new CD/DVD Retaliation has just hit stores and it's only the 2nd comedy album ever to go higher than #5 on Billboard's album sales chart. It debuted at #4. The other album to break the top 5? Steve Martin's Wild and Crazy Guy. Can I pick 'em or can I pick 'em?
I haven't had the chance to get the new Dane Cook CD/DVD, I have only heard snippets, but if you're a fan of outrageous laugh-til-you-puke comedy, then I highly recommend Retaliation. You can thank me later. And all of you to whom I introduced Dane's first album, Harmful If Swallowed can testify that I know what I'm talking about (the Kool-Aid Man bit, for example).
It's the weekend. Go nuts, and buy a comedy CD. When was the last time you bought a CD that actually put you in a good mood and made you laugh? And while you're at it, go ahead and grab Wild and Crazy Guy, too. You know it's been too long since you gave it a listen.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
See....
I told you I'd be out of commission for a few days.
I've been working hard and if you've paid any attention to the weather forecast then you know that it's been hot (almost 100 on more than one day) and humid. But I'm staying hydrated and coming home each night and crashing. That kind of work is good for the soul, I guess, but I will be ready to move on to Phase 2 soon.
Not that it hasn't been nice being here. Running into old friends and family has been great and spending so much time with my grandmother has been priceless. I interview her on an almost daily basis asking about the family, where she grew up, what she did when she was young, and even what kind of car they had (her brother had a Model T, how crazy is that?). She's seen a lot in her day.
In the meantime, finding the opportunity to hop online has been less-than-frequent (I bring up the fact that I am typing this after-hours in a real estate office as proof. It's eerily quiet and I am stuffing myself with free Gummi Bears). But rest assured I will keep you posted when I can and as things happen.
But hey, enough about me, how have you been? And after you tell me how you've been, step outside and get some fresh air. Sure it's hot and humid but in a few months as winter sets in, we'll be wishing it were warm once again. Enjoy it while it's here.
I've been working hard and if you've paid any attention to the weather forecast then you know that it's been hot (almost 100 on more than one day) and humid. But I'm staying hydrated and coming home each night and crashing. That kind of work is good for the soul, I guess, but I will be ready to move on to Phase 2 soon.
Not that it hasn't been nice being here. Running into old friends and family has been great and spending so much time with my grandmother has been priceless. I interview her on an almost daily basis asking about the family, where she grew up, what she did when she was young, and even what kind of car they had (her brother had a Model T, how crazy is that?). She's seen a lot in her day.
In the meantime, finding the opportunity to hop online has been less-than-frequent (I bring up the fact that I am typing this after-hours in a real estate office as proof. It's eerily quiet and I am stuffing myself with free Gummi Bears). But rest assured I will keep you posted when I can and as things happen.
But hey, enough about me, how have you been? And after you tell me how you've been, step outside and get some fresh air. Sure it's hot and humid but in a few months as winter sets in, we'll be wishing it were warm once again. Enjoy it while it's here.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Pizza on You
You know what I think is cool? You can order pizza online with a credit card. But you know what would be cooler? If you, dear reader, got me pizza as a present by ordering online with your card and had it delivered to my address. I'm not picky. I like all kinds, so surprise me.
You have my address. And if you don't, just drop me a line.
I'll be waiting......Will anyone actually take me up on this? Who knows. But I'm willing to take that chance.
You have my address. And if you don't, just drop me a line.
I'll be waiting......Will anyone actually take me up on this? Who knows. But I'm willing to take that chance.
Monday, July 11, 2005
The 48 Hour Film Project
I had a chance to hook up with a cool group of people involved in this year's 48 Hour Film Project this weekend and had a blast, a blast I say! This is an annual nationwide (or actually worldwide) project and Chicago's weekend was this weekend (to see when it's coming to a city near you, check out the link above).
For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, here are the basics: You get a team of people together and all meet together on Friday night. At 6:55 pm you are assigned a genre of film you must make. Also, everyone is give a prop, character, and line of dialogue that must be somewhere in the film (these elements are all the same for every film, only the genre is different). Then at 7 the countdown begins and you have until Sunday at 7:30pm to write, film, edit, and turn in your 4-7 minute fully-produced film.
I saw an ad online for a group of people looking for others who'd like to help with their film and got in touch with Keith and the rest of the group from Hexxed Productions. I was there Friday to witness the drawing of the genre and the announcement of the elements and it was exciting. We figured there were about 20 different teams who signed up (one of them from Ft Wayne IN!).
The elements this year were as follows:
Character: J. Giordano, Detective
Prop: Measuring Tape
Line: "Take it back"
Also, since this year was the first year of the Project being in Chicago we also had to include somewhere in the film evidence that we shot in Chicago (anything from a landmark in the background to a Chicago phone book lying on a table). The genre category we drew was "Action/Adventure."
We were off to Keith's place where our small band gathered to work through the night (there were eight of us that comprised the entire cast and crew if I remember correctly). They had gotten together the night before to brainstorm possible ideas in every possible genre, so we had a good place to start from with our genre. We batted around ideas for a while and went with a story about a famous actress being chased by the paparazzi. After coming up with a basic plotline, we then had to write the script and storyboard the shots. Because our film included a character watching herself on TV, the first thing we had to do was film that show-within-a-show. We shot that and then finished writing the rest of the film.
By 6am Saturday morning we were ready to go. We shot all through the day and that evening we were off to edit, record ADR, and plan out any pick-up shots we still might need. I was even given the opportunity to direct a quick pick-up scene and was really pleased with what we got! I was there until about 1:30am until all that remained was the editing and we left Keith (and John) to do their magic.
It's such a weird feeling to be there during the whole shooting process and yet not know what the final puzzle will look like when all the pieces are together. You have an idea, but not much more without seeing it all cut together with music, etc.
I talked to Keith yesterday after he turned in our film and he sounded very excited about it. He seems to be pleased with the final product and I am stoked to see it. Some of them gathered ysterday to watch it, but I want to wait and see it for the first time on the big screen, which is also a little nerve-wracking (please, God, don't let me suck!).
For those of you in the Chicago area, there will be two screenings of the film this week on the silver screen. They split all of the entries into two groups; we are in Group A. The screenings are taking place at Landmark Centruy Centre Cinema, 282 N Clark St. Group A films are being shown at 7:00 on Tuesday night and 9:15 on Wednesday night (Group B is the opposite, at 9:15 and then at 7). Tickets are 8 bucks apiece (more info here), so come on out if you can!
By the end of the weekend, yes, I was worn out and tired but I was also inspired to do more. I came home and watched a bunch of things I had produced in the past and wished I had something new to edit.
Ya know, if you do something non-stop and it wears you out and by the end of the weekend you want to do more, then that's a pretty good sign you're doing what you love to do.
For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, here are the basics: You get a team of people together and all meet together on Friday night. At 6:55 pm you are assigned a genre of film you must make. Also, everyone is give a prop, character, and line of dialogue that must be somewhere in the film (these elements are all the same for every film, only the genre is different). Then at 7 the countdown begins and you have until Sunday at 7:30pm to write, film, edit, and turn in your 4-7 minute fully-produced film.
I saw an ad online for a group of people looking for others who'd like to help with their film and got in touch with Keith and the rest of the group from Hexxed Productions. I was there Friday to witness the drawing of the genre and the announcement of the elements and it was exciting. We figured there were about 20 different teams who signed up (one of them from Ft Wayne IN!).
The elements this year were as follows:
Character: J. Giordano, Detective
Prop: Measuring Tape
Line: "Take it back"
Also, since this year was the first year of the Project being in Chicago we also had to include somewhere in the film evidence that we shot in Chicago (anything from a landmark in the background to a Chicago phone book lying on a table). The genre category we drew was "Action/Adventure."
We were off to Keith's place where our small band gathered to work through the night (there were eight of us that comprised the entire cast and crew if I remember correctly). They had gotten together the night before to brainstorm possible ideas in every possible genre, so we had a good place to start from with our genre. We batted around ideas for a while and went with a story about a famous actress being chased by the paparazzi. After coming up with a basic plotline, we then had to write the script and storyboard the shots. Because our film included a character watching herself on TV, the first thing we had to do was film that show-within-a-show. We shot that and then finished writing the rest of the film.
By 6am Saturday morning we were ready to go. We shot all through the day and that evening we were off to edit, record ADR, and plan out any pick-up shots we still might need. I was even given the opportunity to direct a quick pick-up scene and was really pleased with what we got! I was there until about 1:30am until all that remained was the editing and we left Keith (and John) to do their magic.
It's such a weird feeling to be there during the whole shooting process and yet not know what the final puzzle will look like when all the pieces are together. You have an idea, but not much more without seeing it all cut together with music, etc.
I talked to Keith yesterday after he turned in our film and he sounded very excited about it. He seems to be pleased with the final product and I am stoked to see it. Some of them gathered ysterday to watch it, but I want to wait and see it for the first time on the big screen, which is also a little nerve-wracking (please, God, don't let me suck!).
For those of you in the Chicago area, there will be two screenings of the film this week on the silver screen. They split all of the entries into two groups; we are in Group A. The screenings are taking place at Landmark Centruy Centre Cinema, 282 N Clark St. Group A films are being shown at 7:00 on Tuesday night and 9:15 on Wednesday night (Group B is the opposite, at 9:15 and then at 7). Tickets are 8 bucks apiece (more info here), so come on out if you can!
By the end of the weekend, yes, I was worn out and tired but I was also inspired to do more. I came home and watched a bunch of things I had produced in the past and wished I had something new to edit.
Ya know, if you do something non-stop and it wears you out and by the end of the weekend you want to do more, then that's a pretty good sign you're doing what you love to do.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
A Hard Laugh is Good to Find
I was able to go out tonight and see a sneak preview of the new Vince Vaughn/Owen Wilson movie "Wedding Crashers" (yay for free passes!).
It was a great time. The film had the audience in non-stop laughter the entire time. It's been too long since I laughed this hard (and this often) at a movie. If you're a fan of movies like "Old School," "Anchorman," or "Meet the Parents" then you'll dig this one. If you go to the movies just for the plot and the cinematography, leave your deep-thinking scrutiny at the door. This movie is just trying to have fun, and I think it works.
I assume the purpose of sneak preview showings is to get some good buzz going about the film and in this case they have succeeded. Two thumbs up!
It was a great time. The film had the audience in non-stop laughter the entire time. It's been too long since I laughed this hard (and this often) at a movie. If you're a fan of movies like "Old School," "Anchorman," or "Meet the Parents" then you'll dig this one. If you go to the movies just for the plot and the cinematography, leave your deep-thinking scrutiny at the door. This movie is just trying to have fun, and I think it works.
I assume the purpose of sneak preview showings is to get some good buzz going about the film and in this case they have succeeded. Two thumbs up!
My Friend the Visionary
A couple of years ago my good buddy Aaron Marrs had an idea for a new type of business. He was so confident that the idea would work, he waited until he really knew me to divulge his secret...he didn't want anyone to take his idea and run with it.
It was indeed a great and novel idea, and if only we'd had the financial backing maybe we could have made something of it. But, alas, we didn't and, alas again, it was such a good idea someone else was bound to think of it.
This could have been us.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda, huh?
Oh well. If it makes any difference, I think Aaron's name for the business was better. But you know, that's between us.
It was indeed a great and novel idea, and if only we'd had the financial backing maybe we could have made something of it. But, alas, we didn't and, alas again, it was such a good idea someone else was bound to think of it.
This could have been us.
Woulda, coulda, shoulda, huh?
Oh well. If it makes any difference, I think Aaron's name for the business was better. But you know, that's between us.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Yesterday was the big Wrigley Field shoot on the set of "The Break Up." It was long, hot, and draining but still a lot of fun. I checked in at 6am and signed out at 10pm. I got home around 11pm and crashed. It was the first time my roommate's loud clump clump footsteps and loud slamming of doors in the morning didn't wake me up. It was nice.
Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston were there once again, along with Jon Favreau. It was a good time. In between shots, Vince did a really good job of keeping the crowd entertained and our spirits high. As hot as it was yesterday (there was a heat advisory!), and since we were sitting in the sun all day, that was no easy task but he is the man. At one point, Vince was introducing the different people working on the film and he pointed out a guy named Peter Billingsly (he didn't clarify if he was a cast or crew member). I knew I knew that name but couldn't figure out from where and then Vince told us that if you ever saw A Christmas Story (and who hasn't?), he was the lead kid who played Ralphie! Ha! I never would have recognized him in a million years. Our Ralphie's all grown up!
I don't think I got any screen time yesterday but I can't complain. I spent all day in Wrigley Field in the sun and got paid for it. We even got a few hours of overtime, which is always good.
This weekend in my attempt to spend absolutely zero money, I stayed at home and watched some new TV shows (or at least new to me). They are all HBO series and I gotta say, I love HBO! Entourage is amazing...the half hour flies by and it's a lot of fun to watch. The Comeback is also really well done and sort of like Curb Your Enthusiasm with Lisa Kudrow, who does a great job of shedding her "Phoebe" persona. The last one I got was Unscripted. I haven't watched it yet, but am looking forward to it.
So....how are you?
Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston were there once again, along with Jon Favreau. It was a good time. In between shots, Vince did a really good job of keeping the crowd entertained and our spirits high. As hot as it was yesterday (there was a heat advisory!), and since we were sitting in the sun all day, that was no easy task but he is the man. At one point, Vince was introducing the different people working on the film and he pointed out a guy named Peter Billingsly (he didn't clarify if he was a cast or crew member). I knew I knew that name but couldn't figure out from where and then Vince told us that if you ever saw A Christmas Story (and who hasn't?), he was the lead kid who played Ralphie! Ha! I never would have recognized him in a million years. Our Ralphie's all grown up!
I don't think I got any screen time yesterday but I can't complain. I spent all day in Wrigley Field in the sun and got paid for it. We even got a few hours of overtime, which is always good.
This weekend in my attempt to spend absolutely zero money, I stayed at home and watched some new TV shows (or at least new to me). They are all HBO series and I gotta say, I love HBO! Entourage is amazing...the half hour flies by and it's a lot of fun to watch. The Comeback is also really well done and sort of like Curb Your Enthusiasm with Lisa Kudrow, who does a great job of shedding her "Phoebe" persona. The last one I got was Unscripted. I haven't watched it yet, but am looking forward to it.
So....how are you?
Friday, June 24, 2005
TWO degrees of Kevin Bacon!
My good friend Val just brought to my attention how close I am to Kevin Bacon. We all know the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game (and if you don't, go home. I don't have the time to explain it). Val e-mailed me to let me know that now that I have been in a movie with Jennifer Aniston, I am very close to Kevin Bacon.
Ed was in "The Break Up" with Jennifer Aniston.
Jennifer Aniston was in "Picture Perfect" with Kevin Bacon.
Two steps, baby. Two steps. Thank you Val, for making my Friday the best one I've had in a long time. :)
Ed was in "The Break Up" with Jennifer Aniston.
Jennifer Aniston was in "Picture Perfect" with Kevin Bacon.
Two steps, baby. Two steps. Thank you Val, for making my Friday the best one I've had in a long time. :)
No pity for Oprah
Maybe you've heard about this on TV or online. Oprah was in France and wanted to go to some fancy boutique and got turned away. So she threw a big stink about it (how dare they not let her in!) and even hinted at racial discrimination. Before I comment, read the article below about the incident that I snagged from E! Online....Hermes Apologizes for Oprah Snub
Oprah Winfrey may be the world's most powerful celebrity, as well as the reigning Queen of Daytime, but apparently those titles hold little sway with Hermes. The luxury goods retailer has issued a red-faced apology after refusing the talk-show host entry to one of its Paris boutiques last week. According to a statement from Hermes, Winfrey and "an entourage" tried to enter the Hermes boutique on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore at about 6:45 p.m. on June 14. Though the store's normal closing time is 6:30 p.m., many high-end retailers routinely make exceptions for celebrities and other VIPs.
However, according to Hermes, the boutique was in the midst of setting up "a private public relations event" at the time Winfrey stopped by. "Hermes regrets not having been able to welcome Madame Oprah Winfrey and the people accompanying her to give them all the attention and service that Hermes is committed to giving each of its clients in the world," said the statement. "Hermes expresses its sincere regrets for any misunderstanding that these circumstances could have caused."
However, Gayle King, a pal of Winfrey's, who was with her at the time of the incident, disputes Hermes' version of events. "People were in the store and they were shopping. Oprah was at the door and she was not allowed into the store," King told Entertainment Tonight. "Oprah describes it herself as 'one of the most humiliating moments of her life.' " Not that Winfrey is letting the incident keep her down. "She's really okay," King said. "Her position is, 'I will shop where people appreciate my business, and I don't believe that any longer includes Hermes.' "
Winfrey's Chicago-based Harpo Productions confirmed that the daytime diva canceled a recent order for one of Hermes' Birkin bags following the incident. The exclusive purses can cost as much as $6,500 and Winfrey reportedly already owns a dozen of them. Winfrey also informed Robert Chavez, the American president of Hermes, that she would no longer be patronizing his stores. Meanwhile, though The Oprah Winfrey Show is currently on hiatus, a spokesperson for the show confirmed that Winfrey plans to devote a show to her "Crash moment" in September. Crash, which stars Don Cheadle and is currently in theaters, paints a bleak picture of racial intolerance.
Last week, Winfrey was named number one on Forbes magazine's Celebrity 100, up from her 2004 standing of number three. Her 12-month earnings were estimated at a hefty $225 million. And that would buy a lot of bags. Too bad, Hermes"
Now I'm sorry, but I have absolutely NO sympathy for Oprah. Did anyone else but me notice that the store was CLOSED when she went there? Granted, it had only been closed for 15 minutes (which is why some last minute shoppers were probably still lingering). I've worked in a store before, and sometimes after you lock the doors, there are still people milling around who haven't finished their purchases. It's not like they were letting other people in but not Oprah. THEY WERE FREAKING CLOSED. Plus, they were trying to get ready for a huge function of some kind (probably celebrating Oprah's purchase of an independent island nation).
Welcome to the real world, Oprah my dear. Welcome to the world the rest of us live in. Where, if we show up to a store after they're closed, they DON'T open the doors for us. Where we don't ride in diamond-encrusted limos and just because we choose to read a book it means everyone else in the world has to read it. For Oprah to cry racial discrimination is bogus. Bogus. I wanted to go get some ice cream the other night, but they were already closed. So I couldn't get ice cream. No big deal. It didn't become a national incident, but when little Miss Everyoone Must Bow To Oprah does the same thing, it's on the front page. Guess what, Oprah? You're a billionaire. Your show is on hiatus right now. YOU CAN AFFORD TO FLY BACK NEXT WEEK.
The only thing worse than a whiny celebrity is a celebrty who whines because they get treated like the rest of us would have been treated.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
I think I blew it
I went in today to meet with an agent who specializes in voice overs. I had sent in a resume and demo a few weeks ago so it's about time they got back to me.
Anyhow, I went in to meet them and did a kind of trial audition to see if they wanted to associate themselves with me. I got there and they gave me about 6 sample scripts to look over, then we went into the studio where I recorded them. The lady (Linda) who was engineering would edit them all together and them play them for the rest of the people at the agency later so they could sit together and listen and vote me in or out.
The scripts were your basic radio promo scripts (one for Mcdonald's, one for Gatorade, one for Healthy Choice, an airline, and a couple more). I felt pretty confident as I read them but then the engineer didn't seem too happy with them. She said it was a little too radio-announcerish and not conversational enough. So we did them a few more times. I was listening to her direction and (I thought) giving her more of what she was looking for but she didn't give me the impression that I was getting close.
She was nice enough and very cool and her direction was good but I don't know. When I left we talked for a bit and I got the feeling that it was probably the last time I was going to see her. I hope that's not the case, but that's the vibe I picked up.
In the past when I've left an audition and knew I didn't get the part it just kind of rolled off my back and on I went; never really bothered me. But today was different and it was weird. Rejection is part of the biz and it never ever got to me, but today when I left and got off of the elevator I was really bummed and I couldn't figure out why it depressed me. I think mostly because I felt like I did a really good job but it still wasn't what she as looking for. Who knows. Or maybe it's because I really want some work.
Maybe the rest of the gang at the agency will like it and my being bummed is just a waste of time, but I'm not placing any bets.
Hm.
Oh well.
Next!
Anyhow, I went in to meet them and did a kind of trial audition to see if they wanted to associate themselves with me. I got there and they gave me about 6 sample scripts to look over, then we went into the studio where I recorded them. The lady (Linda) who was engineering would edit them all together and them play them for the rest of the people at the agency later so they could sit together and listen and vote me in or out.
The scripts were your basic radio promo scripts (one for Mcdonald's, one for Gatorade, one for Healthy Choice, an airline, and a couple more). I felt pretty confident as I read them but then the engineer didn't seem too happy with them. She said it was a little too radio-announcerish and not conversational enough. So we did them a few more times. I was listening to her direction and (I thought) giving her more of what she was looking for but she didn't give me the impression that I was getting close.
She was nice enough and very cool and her direction was good but I don't know. When I left we talked for a bit and I got the feeling that it was probably the last time I was going to see her. I hope that's not the case, but that's the vibe I picked up.
In the past when I've left an audition and knew I didn't get the part it just kind of rolled off my back and on I went; never really bothered me. But today was different and it was weird. Rejection is part of the biz and it never ever got to me, but today when I left and got off of the elevator I was really bummed and I couldn't figure out why it depressed me. I think mostly because I felt like I did a really good job but it still wasn't what she as looking for. Who knows. Or maybe it's because I really want some work.
Maybe the rest of the gang at the agency will like it and my being bummed is just a waste of time, but I'm not placing any bets.
Hm.
Oh well.
Next!
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Coming to a theater near you: Jennifer, Vince, and Me
Well, today I was on the set to display my awesome roller blading skills in the Jennifer Aniston/Vince Vaughn movie, "The Break Up." And I'm stoked because I think I got some good screen time! We'll see. The actors and "important people" were watching the dailies and they wouldn't scoot over to let me see if I was in the shot, so I smacked Jennifer Aniston on the head. It was fun.
She's a tiny little thing and just as cute in person as she is on TV. And Vince Vaughn is cool and laid back and like TWICE as tall in person as he seems on the big screen.
It was a full day at the beach today and a hot one. I felt bad because we were there all day and some of the extras never got used. But at least they still got paid to be at the beach all day.
The first scene we shot was along the lakefront in a park-type setting. The scene is focused on Jennifer Aniston and Some Other Girl walking through the park talking (one of those shots where they are walking toward the camera, and the camera guy is in front of them walking backwards). And behind them comes Ed on roller blades! Yeeeee! Another guy and I were the designated roller bladers for the shot, so we skate up behind them and then pull over and rest on a bench. We did it like 10 times because they kept laughing about somethng, so maybe we'll make the blooper reel too. I was tempted to just kept going and slam into Jennifer Aniston, screaming like a burning midget all the way, but I didn't.
After that we broke for lunch (yay for dinner with Jennifer and Vince!) and then went to the beach for a beach scene. At first it was a little like gym class all over again because we all lined up and the wardrobe and set people chose 10 guys and 10 girls to be in the shot, seated in various positions on the beach sunning themselves. And I didn't get chosen because I wasn't studly enough. I didn't feel too bad, though, because I was happy about where they put me in the first shot. But then they came back and grabbed me and a different guy for ACTION. So where all of the hot people got to sit on the beach in the background, I actually got to WALK BY. So, when you are watching the film, there's a shot of the Not-Jennifer-Aniston girl at the beach talking on a cell phone with a couple of kids in tow. Behind her, walking from right to left and carrying a duffel bag, walks Ed! Depending on how they framed the shot, it might just be Ed's Legs, but ladies, don't pretend like you don't know them when you see them.
All in all a fun day. Most of it spent waiting around, but that's to be expected on the set. I am going back next week for a scene at Wrigley Field and there are always possibilities of more scenes, so as always, I shall keep ye posted. And one of the agents I submitted my headshot/voice demo to called today to set up a meeting, so hopefully something will come of that. And quickly. All this movie stuff is fun, but I gots bills to pay.
She's a tiny little thing and just as cute in person as she is on TV. And Vince Vaughn is cool and laid back and like TWICE as tall in person as he seems on the big screen.
It was a full day at the beach today and a hot one. I felt bad because we were there all day and some of the extras never got used. But at least they still got paid to be at the beach all day.
The first scene we shot was along the lakefront in a park-type setting. The scene is focused on Jennifer Aniston and Some Other Girl walking through the park talking (one of those shots where they are walking toward the camera, and the camera guy is in front of them walking backwards). And behind them comes Ed on roller blades! Yeeeee! Another guy and I were the designated roller bladers for the shot, so we skate up behind them and then pull over and rest on a bench. We did it like 10 times because they kept laughing about somethng, so maybe we'll make the blooper reel too. I was tempted to just kept going and slam into Jennifer Aniston, screaming like a burning midget all the way, but I didn't.
After that we broke for lunch (yay for dinner with Jennifer and Vince!) and then went to the beach for a beach scene. At first it was a little like gym class all over again because we all lined up and the wardrobe and set people chose 10 guys and 10 girls to be in the shot, seated in various positions on the beach sunning themselves. And I didn't get chosen because I wasn't studly enough. I didn't feel too bad, though, because I was happy about where they put me in the first shot. But then they came back and grabbed me and a different guy for ACTION. So where all of the hot people got to sit on the beach in the background, I actually got to WALK BY. So, when you are watching the film, there's a shot of the Not-Jennifer-Aniston girl at the beach talking on a cell phone with a couple of kids in tow. Behind her, walking from right to left and carrying a duffel bag, walks Ed! Depending on how they framed the shot, it might just be Ed's Legs, but ladies, don't pretend like you don't know them when you see them.
All in all a fun day. Most of it spent waiting around, but that's to be expected on the set. I am going back next week for a scene at Wrigley Field and there are always possibilities of more scenes, so as always, I shall keep ye posted. And one of the agents I submitted my headshot/voice demo to called today to set up a meeting, so hopefully something will come of that. And quickly. All this movie stuff is fun, but I gots bills to pay.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Wanted For My Skates
This post refers back to my blog from yesterday where I mentioned being booked as an extra in the new Jennifer Aniston/Vince Vaughn movie. Although I am booked to appear in the baseball stadium crowd scene, we are still allowed to be an extra in other scenes. They have a hotline to call to find out what kind of extras they are seeking for the next day's shoot and if you fit the description you call them back at another number and tell them you're available (i.e., for one scene tomorrow they are looking for parents 40-50 years old, any race).
I called the number today and they said they are looking for extras to roller blade along the beach (but you must have your own blades). Well, wouldn't you know it, right before I moved out of Nashville I was digging through a box and found my little-used roller blades. I bought a pair about 5 years ago when I was in Pennsylvania.
After rediscovering my skates in Nashville I decided I would bring them with me to Chicago because, doggonnit, I was gonna use them. My buddy Amy and I went blading this past weekend down at Lakeshore Drive but Amy's blades were purchased from a used sporting goods store and a wheel fell off and she had a nasty spill (don't worry, she's OK. And now when I replay it in my mind, it was kind of funny).
So I figured thus endeth the blading of Ed.
UNTIL NOW.
I have my own blades, I know how to use them (you won't find me on a halfpipe any time soon, but I can at least skate without falling down), and now my refusal to get rid of them and determination that they would come in handy some day is actually paying off. In a weird weird way that I never imagined.
Cool, huh?
The moral of the story is: Dont' get rid of your skates. They don't take up a lot of room anyhow, and when you need them you got 'em.
I called the number today and they said they are looking for extras to roller blade along the beach (but you must have your own blades). Well, wouldn't you know it, right before I moved out of Nashville I was digging through a box and found my little-used roller blades. I bought a pair about 5 years ago when I was in Pennsylvania.
After rediscovering my skates in Nashville I decided I would bring them with me to Chicago because, doggonnit, I was gonna use them. My buddy Amy and I went blading this past weekend down at Lakeshore Drive but Amy's blades were purchased from a used sporting goods store and a wheel fell off and she had a nasty spill (don't worry, she's OK. And now when I replay it in my mind, it was kind of funny).
So I figured thus endeth the blading of Ed.
UNTIL NOW.
I have my own blades, I know how to use them (you won't find me on a halfpipe any time soon, but I can at least skate without falling down), and now my refusal to get rid of them and determination that they would come in handy some day is actually paying off. In a weird weird way that I never imagined.
Cool, huh?
The moral of the story is: Dont' get rid of your skates. They don't take up a lot of room anyhow, and when you need them you got 'em.
The Break-Up
So yesterday I got booked as an extra in the new Vince Vaughn/Jennifer Aniston film, "The Break-Up." It's set to release in February 2006 and the scene I'll be in takes place at Wrigley Field (Go Cubs!). There's a chance I might be able to do some extra work in other scenes as well, so I'll keep you posted.
I was at Wrigley Field about 15 years ago to do extra work in the film "The Babe" about Babe Ruth (that's where Ron Sarrazine and I met John Goodman and Kelly McGillis!). The cool thing about this time around is
a) it takes place in present time, so we don't have to wear suits and junk
b) we get paid
c) Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. No offense toward John Goodman and Kelly McGillis, but come on...let's be honest.
I was at Wrigley Field about 15 years ago to do extra work in the film "The Babe" about Babe Ruth (that's where Ron Sarrazine and I met John Goodman and Kelly McGillis!). The cool thing about this time around is
a) it takes place in present time, so we don't have to wear suits and junk
b) we get paid
c) Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn. No offense toward John Goodman and Kelly McGillis, but come on...let's be honest.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Cheech
Yesterday I went to a little bookstore here in Chicago where Cheech Marin (yes, THAT Cheech) was speaking. Cheech is a collector of Chicano art (his collection is currently touring the nation and is in Chicago for a short time at the Mexican Fine Arts Center Museum. It's free, so if you live in the area there's no excuse not to go). He also has a book out ("Chicano Visions") featuring some of the art in his collection and he spoke about the art, the artists, and being a Chicano artist. He spoke for a little over an hour and it was really cool. For those of you who wondered if Cheech is the man, yes, he is. Yes. He is.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
"Ghost Hunter" - A SHORT STORY
For regular readers of my blog, you already know about the writing group I am a part of. And for those of you who are new, I'll sum up. My friends and I gather every few weeks to give one another a 5-10 page writing assignment. All of the stories must contain certain elements, and this time around our stories had to include: a johnny carson impersonator, a coconut, a monkey cage, and the line "I never thought I'd see something like that when I woke up this morning." this time around we also drew genres out of a hat, and the one I drew was horror. This is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it. I'll be back with my next short story in about 3 weeks!
Inside the house Jack swept his flashlight back and forth across the room. The dust swirled around in a misty haze and the boards creaked beneath his feet with every step.
He checked the monitor at his side. Two green lights, just the way it should be. Three green lights was also acceptable. Four was iffy, five was watch your back, and when the red light turned on it meant to make sure everything is on RECORD and get ready to run at the drop of a hat.
The house had been abandoned for 18 years but it looked like it had been longer than that since any visitors had dropped by. Most of the rooms were empty with a random wooden chair here, a small table there, or an old crate with a sheet thrown over it lurking in the corner. Everything was covered with a layer of fine dust and the prints left behind by Jack’s Timberlands were like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs that would lead back out of the forest.
Jack closed the front door and it slammed shut harder than he had intended. He paused, waiting for the sound of bats flapping their wings in response and the feel of their sharp teeth and claws in his hair. Nothing. Jack cursed at himself for letting his imagination get the best of him. He waited a second or two and took a cautious step. Just before his heel hit the floorboard he heard a definite THUMP from somewhere above him.
He froze and listened.
Jack knew he was violating the first rule of ghost hunting: never go alone. Not that ghost hunters feared evil spirits attacking and killing an innocent investigator like one might see in a Wes Craven movie but because it was just safe common sense. A lot of ghost hunting is done in old abandoned locations. If you take a wrong step and a floor or staircase gives way, you’ve got someone there to lend you a hand.
Somewhere above him Jack heard the squeak of an old board. He froze and waited, but heard nothing else. The house settling; a cat creeping around…there were a million possibilities and there was no need to get nervous. A creak in an old house is as common as a Bible in a church sanctuary.
Jack checked his EMF Recorder. EMFs (electro magnetic fields) are released by a number of common items: a television or power lines to name a couple. Many ghost hunters believe that spirits and entities also give off EMFs. It’s a highly debated theory in the world of the unexplained, but Jack always had good luck. Whenever all four green lights were on, he had gotten some amazing pictures of orbs and swirling mists. He’d only seen the red light come on once in his career and before he could get his camera positioned and readied he’d felt something reach out from the darkness, grab the Nikon, and smash it to the ground. Jack had tried to run but felt two strong arms push him into a wall. After a few minutes Jack’s screams brought his assistant Mitch running from the other end of the warehouse they were investigating. By the time the young apprentice had arrived it was over.
Jack was about to ask Mitch why he hadn’t come sooner, but he found his answer before he could say anything. On Mitch’s head were a pair of earmuffs so big they looked like someone had cut a coconut in half and glued them to the sides of Mitch’s head.
“What are you doing wearing those? No wonder you couldn’t hear me screaming,” Jack chastised him.
“I’m trying to hear EVPs,” Mitch answered.
“Then why aren’t you wearing the electronic voice phenomena headset?” Jack could tell by the look on Mitch’s face that he didn’t have a clue. “You grabbed earmuffs out of the van by mistake you stupid son of a bitch.”
Still replaying the moment in his head, Jack aimed his flashlight at the rickety staircase before him and began his upward ascent. He made his way up two steps and paused. The sound of his feet on the old wooden stairs didn’t seem right. He listened. He could have sworn he heard footfalls coming from somewhere above him but attributed the phenomenon to his ears not yet being accustomed to this strange place. Sometimes in these old houses the echo of your own feet made it sound like the staircase wound into an endless eternity above you and sometimes, like tonight, it sounded like you had a visitor walking around up there. If Mitch were here, Jack might be able to get a second opinion.
But of course Mitch was late as usual. Jack grumbled under his breath and promised himself to put an ad in the paper tomorrow in search of a new intern.
Although Mitch had been excited to come to the hunt tonight, he had also been very nervous. Mitch had been on twelve hunts with Jack before, but this afternoon he had seemed just as antsy and jumpy as we was on hunt #1. Jack had to admit he was surprised Mitch had lasted with the company this long. But if he had, where was he now?
“Mitch….Mitch…”
Jack heard the soft whispering echo through the house. Or perhaps it was only an echo in his mind. Surely he didn’t hear it correctly. After all, what kind of ghost would chant Mitch’s name? There were definitely scarier things one could choose to moan in the dark. Regardless, Jack had to focus. Who knew if and when Mitch might show up, but Jack didn’t like waiting.
“Yoo hoooo,” Jack called out, smiling at his own foolishness. He was just glad Mitch wasn’t around to hear him make such an un-manly call. After a few seconds his “yoo-hoo” came back to him in a perfect echo. Just the way it should.
Jack heard a sound like someone walking on the landing above and heard the faint blip of the EMF recorder at his side as the display went from two green lights to three. Nothing to worry about yet but Jack anticipated feeling a cold rush of wind sweep past at any moment.
Jack reached the top of the stairs. He was greeted by a long hallway. There were two doors on the left-hand side and the corridor dead-ended into a third and final doorway. On his right was a wooden handrail that looked out over the floor below.
Jack started with the first door on the left (“Always go left”) and it was just as he had expected: the bathroom. The fixtures had been removed and all that remained as evidence of where the sink, bathtub and toilet had resided were pipes sticking out of the floor. Jack crept over to what had been the toilet drainpipe. Something was sticking out of the end and Jack hoped to God it wasn’t what he thought it was. As he got closer his nose told him this was not his lucky day.
There, sticking out of the pipe, was a turd. A human turd. Someone had actually taken the time to relieve themselves and then carefully place the turd into the pipe. Jack looked around the floor and saw no trace of toilet paper, tissue, newspaper, or even rubber gloves. Someone had done this either with their bare hands or by simply squatting above the pipe and slipping the turd right in. Jack never ceased to be amazed by what kids will dare each other to do during a full moon. That had to be the only explanation. Not even a spirit from the other side of the netherworld would be this foul.
“Well,” Jack muttered, “I never thought I’d see something like that when I woke up this morning.”
From out in the hall Jack heard what sounded like a broom being dropped to the floor. The thin THWACK sound made Jack jump and reminded him of what he was here to do.
If the stories about this house were to be believed, then there was something in the house that was bad. It wasn’t the ghost of a Civil War general or a woman who died in childbirth or a young boy who was kept in the cellar locked in a monkey cage. Whatever was supposedly alive in this house was nothing more than pure evil.
Jack left the bathroom and cautiously made his way down the hall. He kept a close eye on the floor but couldn’t find the source of the noise that had just sent his heart racing.
He came to the second door and it let out a loud creak as it opened, the hinges screaming for just a drop of oil.
Inside was what had once been the master bedroom. There were large windows overlooking the property on three sides but the dust that was caked on them made it appear the house was engulfed in a sinister fog.
In the middle of the room stood a tall wooden post that stretched from ceiling to floor. It was perhaps two inches in diameter, not nearly large enough to be a load-bearing structure. Jack approached to investigate, oblivious to the fourth green light on the EMF Recorder that had blinked to life. Besides this mysterious find the room was empty.
He grabbed the wooden pole that had been bolted down years ago. He jiggled it and found it was loose. As he shook it small fragments of plaster drifted down. Jack coughed. His hand came across a cold metal outcropping on the post that was sharp to the touch. He brought his flashlight closer to investigate.
A coat rack? It couldn’t be, but there seemed to be no other explanation. The jagged pieces of metal appeared to be the individual coat hooks that had obviously snapped off years ago. How odd that someone would install such a fixture but Jack assumed the bed was probably placed nearby at one point, and there’s never accounting for personal taste. In his mind’s eye he could see a bright pink bathrobe with matching fuzzy trim around the neck and sleeves hanging from one of the hooks. It was joined by a long velvety Merlot-colored robe dangling from another.
The EMF Recorder made a small BEEP as the red light sprang to life. “Holy shit,” Jack said, snapping out of his daydream. He hadn’t realized how cold he was. He could feel every individual hair on his arm raised so high they seemed like they would shoot out of his skin. He exhaled and could see his breath wafting in front of him. He looked around at the picture windows and realized it wasn’t dust that was obstructing his view outside but ice had formed on the inside of the glass panes.
Before he could begin to make sense of any of it all Jack heard a creak behind him. Right behind him. Jack didn’t have time to turn around when he felt a cold heavy hand slap down on his right shoulder.
“Ouch,” Jack said without realizing. It wasn’t an exclamation in response to the hand’s powerful grip but because of the extreme cold it spread through him.
Jack was spun around and came face to face with a terrible darkness. The Shape let out a horrible scream that shook Jack’s being and he shrieked in response. Jack took a step backward and stumbled against the coat rack. His full weight was no match for the pole and it ripped loose from its constraints. Bits of plaster and dust showered down upon him as Jack fell backward. He felt the pole beneath his back as his head hit the floor hard.
Jack’s only thought was The Shape that had grabbed him and where it was at the moment. All he saw was the flare of a bright flash of light.
Then, as quickly as it came, the light was gone. He continued to lay there and everything around him grew silent.
After a short time Jack slowly got to his feet, opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The dust hadn’t finished settling and it coated his eyeballs with a grainy haze. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and began to rub even though his better sense told him not to. After a few seconds of rapid blinking most of the remnants were gone.
Jack brushed himself off and his confusion was rapidly replaced by fear. What had he heard? What had he felt? And was it still here?
He frantically searched for his flashlight amid the rubble. He found it partially hidden under a large shard of plaster and clicked it on. Nothing. Jack slapped the side of the flashlight, creating a small cloud of dust. The faint tinkling sound from within the housing of the bulb told him that it was no use.
He turned and surveyed his surroundings. His eyes had become adjusted to the darkness and he was able to see the hazy outline of the room. Outside of the house in the distance, far below him, he heard the sound of a car door slam.
On his way over to the window Jack’s foot kicked something small and solid. He reached down and picked up his EMF recorder. None of the display lights were blinking. He jostled the recorder a bit and nothing happened. He flipped it off, turned it over, found the battery case panel, and removed it. He shook the batteries out and he felt a crusty film on his fingers. The batteries were starting to corrode. Jack was infuriated. He had specifically asked Mitch to check the batteries in all of the equipment, especially the EMF Recorder since it had been on the shelf for some time.
He managed to replace the batteries and the panel cover and switched the machine back on. This time all four green lights lit up as well as the red light. This usually indicated extreme electromagnetic activity, but Jack knew that this time it meant that the machine had been extremely dropped. He jostled the unit again but the lights did not waver. He flipped it off and stood still. No cold spots. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck was completely relaxed. Somewhere he thought he heard the sound of a door closing.
Jack turned the EMF Recorder on once again and, once again, all of the lights lit up. Jack was enraged. At Mitch, at the machine, at himself. He threw the recorder back onto the floor and muttered, “Fuck it.” It clunked on the boards and came to rest, its lights still insisting that something was afoot.
Jack made his way to the window, a board groaning its distaste in being trod upon along the way. The ice that seemed to cover the window just moments earlier was again just a small film of dust. With his coat sleeved he rubbed clean a small circle on the window and peered to the ground below. He saw his car alone, abandoned, and basking in the moonlight. The car door he had heard sounded like his own but he saw no movement below.
There was only one other room on this floor and even though he no longer had his flashlight and EMF recorder, he decided it would be a waste of time to not investigate. If he found something, he wouldn’t be able to record it but at least he’d have an idea where he should start the next time he was around.
He made his way out of the room, started down the hall and paused. Footsteps. And this time he was sure it wasn’t an echo. In an old house with wood floors and no furniture or carpeting to absorb the sound, you could never quite ascertain where a noise originated from but it sounded like it came from below.
Mitch must be here. It had to be Mitch. Perhaps he had decided not to brave the rickety bridge at the edge of the property and parked his car at the bottom of the hill, walking up the rest of the way. He had opened Jack’s car door, saw he wasn’t in there, and then made his way into the house. That would explain his own car door slamming, the sound of the front door closing, and the footsteps below. That was Mitch. He may be late, but he always showed.
“Mitch?” Jack called out and heard his own voice reverberate its way down the stairs. “Mitch?”
Jack stood still and listened. From below he heard a faint “Yoo hoooo.” And it sounded just like him.
That bastard Mitch was downstairs and now he was trying to be funny. Jack wondered how long Mitch had actually been here, watching him. Even though a Ghost Hunt wasn’t the place to fool around Jack loved a good joke as much as the next guy so again he called out “Yoo hoooo” followed by a much quieter “Bastard.”
Jack had to admit Mitch’s “Yoo-hoo” sounded a lot like him. Mitch was always doing voices and it usually got old, like a bad Johnny Carson impersonator that doesn’t know when to stop.
He’d never heard Mitch’s “Jack” impersonation but he was sure the other guys had – and probably laughed their asses off. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had put Mitch up to this but he was about to show Mitch who was the student and who was the teacher. His EMF recorder was no longer working so it wasn’t really like he had anything to lose.
Jack heard Mitch below making his way up the steps and quickly darted into the room at the end of the hall in waiting. When Mitch went into the master bedroom to investigate he would find that revenge is indeed a dish best served cold.
Jack made his way into the far room. There was no door, just three lone hinges on the jamb with nothing to latch onto. Jack flattened himself against the wall inside and slowly poked his head around the door frame to sneak a peek into the hall. He looked just in time to see Mitch’s dark silhouette approach the restroom. Mitch was going into the rooms as Jack had gone into them. Always go left. Otherwise you might inadvertently skip a room. “Always go left” was the rule of thumb. Start with the first door on your left, check it out, leave the room, go left, and check out the next room you come to. No stone unturned. And Mitch had gone left. Just like Jack did. Just like Jack taught him.
“Atta boy, Mitch,” Jack said, “You’re starting to redeem yourself.” Jack knew Mitch would head to the master bedroom next because that was the next door on the left and that’s when Jack would sneak up behind him and show him how to really scare someone. Jack watched the lights on Mitch’s EMF machine disappear into the bathroom doorway.
Jack waited for Mitch to inspect the wash room. “Please don’t let him touch that mystery turd with his bare hands,” he thought to himself. A quick look around and Jack ascertained there was nothing much in this room, most likely the spare bedroom. The only thing here was a large picture frame hanging on the wall against which Jack was standing.
The frame was made of thin wood, probably pine. There was no canvas stretched over it. The fact that it was just an empty frame made it just as interesting (if not, more) to ponder than if there were an actual picture inside.
Jack touched the frame gently and as soon as he did the piece of wood on the bottom portion fell to the floor. Jack froze. He didn’t want to give his position away to Mitch and ruin the joke. Hopefully Mitch would think the noise came from the hall or even perhaps downstairs.
Jack remained in hiding as he heard Mitch leave the bathroom. He listened as Mitch slowly made his way into the master bedroom. He heard the slow creak of the door opening and Jack realized he didn’t recall ever shutting it. Again Jack peeked into the hall. He could see the shadows being thrown around from the beam of Mitch’s flashlight inside the bedroom and Jack silently slinked down the hall. He crept to the open doorway and stole a look. What the hell was Mitch doing?
Mitch had his back to the door and was obviously trying to reposition the coat rack that Jack had broken loose. As Jack continued to approach Mitch from behind he saw Mitch had actually fixed the coat rack. But that was impossible. His eyes were playing tricks on him. But the wooden post was once again bolted to the floor and ceiling and the plaster above was unmolested.
Obviously when Jack had taken his tumble he hadn’t brought the pole crashing down with him as he had thought. It had all happened so quickly some of the details were bound to get a little twisted around like a victim of a car crash trying to recount the incident.
Jack was now close enough to touch Mitch, and Mitch was none the wiser. “Someone’s going to have to work on their observational skills,” Jack thought to himself. He reached out his hand to give Mitch the scare of a lifetime. With his final footstep the floorboard let out a long squeak. Before Mitch could react Jack grabbed him on the shoulder. Why was Mitch so warm?
“Ouch,” Mitch mumbled, and something about it puzzled Jack.
Jack spun Mitch around and realized it wasn’t Mitch at all. He had been sneaking up on himself. Jack looked deep into the eyes of someone (himself!) about to die and screamed at the top of his lungs.
Inside the house Jack swept his flashlight back and forth across the room. The dust swirled around in a misty haze and the boards creaked beneath his feet with every step.
He checked the monitor at his side. Two green lights, just the way it should be. Three green lights was also acceptable. Four was iffy, five was watch your back, and when the red light turned on it meant to make sure everything is on RECORD and get ready to run at the drop of a hat.
The house had been abandoned for 18 years but it looked like it had been longer than that since any visitors had dropped by. Most of the rooms were empty with a random wooden chair here, a small table there, or an old crate with a sheet thrown over it lurking in the corner. Everything was covered with a layer of fine dust and the prints left behind by Jack’s Timberlands were like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs that would lead back out of the forest.
Jack closed the front door and it slammed shut harder than he had intended. He paused, waiting for the sound of bats flapping their wings in response and the feel of their sharp teeth and claws in his hair. Nothing. Jack cursed at himself for letting his imagination get the best of him. He waited a second or two and took a cautious step. Just before his heel hit the floorboard he heard a definite THUMP from somewhere above him.
He froze and listened.
Jack knew he was violating the first rule of ghost hunting: never go alone. Not that ghost hunters feared evil spirits attacking and killing an innocent investigator like one might see in a Wes Craven movie but because it was just safe common sense. A lot of ghost hunting is done in old abandoned locations. If you take a wrong step and a floor or staircase gives way, you’ve got someone there to lend you a hand.
Somewhere above him Jack heard the squeak of an old board. He froze and waited, but heard nothing else. The house settling; a cat creeping around…there were a million possibilities and there was no need to get nervous. A creak in an old house is as common as a Bible in a church sanctuary.
Jack checked his EMF Recorder. EMFs (electro magnetic fields) are released by a number of common items: a television or power lines to name a couple. Many ghost hunters believe that spirits and entities also give off EMFs. It’s a highly debated theory in the world of the unexplained, but Jack always had good luck. Whenever all four green lights were on, he had gotten some amazing pictures of orbs and swirling mists. He’d only seen the red light come on once in his career and before he could get his camera positioned and readied he’d felt something reach out from the darkness, grab the Nikon, and smash it to the ground. Jack had tried to run but felt two strong arms push him into a wall. After a few minutes Jack’s screams brought his assistant Mitch running from the other end of the warehouse they were investigating. By the time the young apprentice had arrived it was over.
Jack was about to ask Mitch why he hadn’t come sooner, but he found his answer before he could say anything. On Mitch’s head were a pair of earmuffs so big they looked like someone had cut a coconut in half and glued them to the sides of Mitch’s head.
“What are you doing wearing those? No wonder you couldn’t hear me screaming,” Jack chastised him.
“I’m trying to hear EVPs,” Mitch answered.
“Then why aren’t you wearing the electronic voice phenomena headset?” Jack could tell by the look on Mitch’s face that he didn’t have a clue. “You grabbed earmuffs out of the van by mistake you stupid son of a bitch.”
Still replaying the moment in his head, Jack aimed his flashlight at the rickety staircase before him and began his upward ascent. He made his way up two steps and paused. The sound of his feet on the old wooden stairs didn’t seem right. He listened. He could have sworn he heard footfalls coming from somewhere above him but attributed the phenomenon to his ears not yet being accustomed to this strange place. Sometimes in these old houses the echo of your own feet made it sound like the staircase wound into an endless eternity above you and sometimes, like tonight, it sounded like you had a visitor walking around up there. If Mitch were here, Jack might be able to get a second opinion.
But of course Mitch was late as usual. Jack grumbled under his breath and promised himself to put an ad in the paper tomorrow in search of a new intern.
Although Mitch had been excited to come to the hunt tonight, he had also been very nervous. Mitch had been on twelve hunts with Jack before, but this afternoon he had seemed just as antsy and jumpy as we was on hunt #1. Jack had to admit he was surprised Mitch had lasted with the company this long. But if he had, where was he now?
“Mitch….Mitch…”
Jack heard the soft whispering echo through the house. Or perhaps it was only an echo in his mind. Surely he didn’t hear it correctly. After all, what kind of ghost would chant Mitch’s name? There were definitely scarier things one could choose to moan in the dark. Regardless, Jack had to focus. Who knew if and when Mitch might show up, but Jack didn’t like waiting.
“Yoo hoooo,” Jack called out, smiling at his own foolishness. He was just glad Mitch wasn’t around to hear him make such an un-manly call. After a few seconds his “yoo-hoo” came back to him in a perfect echo. Just the way it should.
Jack heard a sound like someone walking on the landing above and heard the faint blip of the EMF recorder at his side as the display went from two green lights to three. Nothing to worry about yet but Jack anticipated feeling a cold rush of wind sweep past at any moment.
Jack reached the top of the stairs. He was greeted by a long hallway. There were two doors on the left-hand side and the corridor dead-ended into a third and final doorway. On his right was a wooden handrail that looked out over the floor below.
Jack started with the first door on the left (“Always go left”) and it was just as he had expected: the bathroom. The fixtures had been removed and all that remained as evidence of where the sink, bathtub and toilet had resided were pipes sticking out of the floor. Jack crept over to what had been the toilet drainpipe. Something was sticking out of the end and Jack hoped to God it wasn’t what he thought it was. As he got closer his nose told him this was not his lucky day.
There, sticking out of the pipe, was a turd. A human turd. Someone had actually taken the time to relieve themselves and then carefully place the turd into the pipe. Jack looked around the floor and saw no trace of toilet paper, tissue, newspaper, or even rubber gloves. Someone had done this either with their bare hands or by simply squatting above the pipe and slipping the turd right in. Jack never ceased to be amazed by what kids will dare each other to do during a full moon. That had to be the only explanation. Not even a spirit from the other side of the netherworld would be this foul.
“Well,” Jack muttered, “I never thought I’d see something like that when I woke up this morning.”
From out in the hall Jack heard what sounded like a broom being dropped to the floor. The thin THWACK sound made Jack jump and reminded him of what he was here to do.
If the stories about this house were to be believed, then there was something in the house that was bad. It wasn’t the ghost of a Civil War general or a woman who died in childbirth or a young boy who was kept in the cellar locked in a monkey cage. Whatever was supposedly alive in this house was nothing more than pure evil.
Jack left the bathroom and cautiously made his way down the hall. He kept a close eye on the floor but couldn’t find the source of the noise that had just sent his heart racing.
He came to the second door and it let out a loud creak as it opened, the hinges screaming for just a drop of oil.
Inside was what had once been the master bedroom. There were large windows overlooking the property on three sides but the dust that was caked on them made it appear the house was engulfed in a sinister fog.
In the middle of the room stood a tall wooden post that stretched from ceiling to floor. It was perhaps two inches in diameter, not nearly large enough to be a load-bearing structure. Jack approached to investigate, oblivious to the fourth green light on the EMF Recorder that had blinked to life. Besides this mysterious find the room was empty.
He grabbed the wooden pole that had been bolted down years ago. He jiggled it and found it was loose. As he shook it small fragments of plaster drifted down. Jack coughed. His hand came across a cold metal outcropping on the post that was sharp to the touch. He brought his flashlight closer to investigate.
A coat rack? It couldn’t be, but there seemed to be no other explanation. The jagged pieces of metal appeared to be the individual coat hooks that had obviously snapped off years ago. How odd that someone would install such a fixture but Jack assumed the bed was probably placed nearby at one point, and there’s never accounting for personal taste. In his mind’s eye he could see a bright pink bathrobe with matching fuzzy trim around the neck and sleeves hanging from one of the hooks. It was joined by a long velvety Merlot-colored robe dangling from another.
The EMF Recorder made a small BEEP as the red light sprang to life. “Holy shit,” Jack said, snapping out of his daydream. He hadn’t realized how cold he was. He could feel every individual hair on his arm raised so high they seemed like they would shoot out of his skin. He exhaled and could see his breath wafting in front of him. He looked around at the picture windows and realized it wasn’t dust that was obstructing his view outside but ice had formed on the inside of the glass panes.
Before he could begin to make sense of any of it all Jack heard a creak behind him. Right behind him. Jack didn’t have time to turn around when he felt a cold heavy hand slap down on his right shoulder.
“Ouch,” Jack said without realizing. It wasn’t an exclamation in response to the hand’s powerful grip but because of the extreme cold it spread through him.
Jack was spun around and came face to face with a terrible darkness. The Shape let out a horrible scream that shook Jack’s being and he shrieked in response. Jack took a step backward and stumbled against the coat rack. His full weight was no match for the pole and it ripped loose from its constraints. Bits of plaster and dust showered down upon him as Jack fell backward. He felt the pole beneath his back as his head hit the floor hard.
Jack’s only thought was The Shape that had grabbed him and where it was at the moment. All he saw was the flare of a bright flash of light.
Then, as quickly as it came, the light was gone. He continued to lay there and everything around him grew silent.
After a short time Jack slowly got to his feet, opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The dust hadn’t finished settling and it coated his eyeballs with a grainy haze. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and began to rub even though his better sense told him not to. After a few seconds of rapid blinking most of the remnants were gone.
Jack brushed himself off and his confusion was rapidly replaced by fear. What had he heard? What had he felt? And was it still here?
He frantically searched for his flashlight amid the rubble. He found it partially hidden under a large shard of plaster and clicked it on. Nothing. Jack slapped the side of the flashlight, creating a small cloud of dust. The faint tinkling sound from within the housing of the bulb told him that it was no use.
He turned and surveyed his surroundings. His eyes had become adjusted to the darkness and he was able to see the hazy outline of the room. Outside of the house in the distance, far below him, he heard the sound of a car door slam.
On his way over to the window Jack’s foot kicked something small and solid. He reached down and picked up his EMF recorder. None of the display lights were blinking. He jostled the recorder a bit and nothing happened. He flipped it off, turned it over, found the battery case panel, and removed it. He shook the batteries out and he felt a crusty film on his fingers. The batteries were starting to corrode. Jack was infuriated. He had specifically asked Mitch to check the batteries in all of the equipment, especially the EMF Recorder since it had been on the shelf for some time.
He managed to replace the batteries and the panel cover and switched the machine back on. This time all four green lights lit up as well as the red light. This usually indicated extreme electromagnetic activity, but Jack knew that this time it meant that the machine had been extremely dropped. He jostled the unit again but the lights did not waver. He flipped it off and stood still. No cold spots. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck was completely relaxed. Somewhere he thought he heard the sound of a door closing.
Jack turned the EMF Recorder on once again and, once again, all of the lights lit up. Jack was enraged. At Mitch, at the machine, at himself. He threw the recorder back onto the floor and muttered, “Fuck it.” It clunked on the boards and came to rest, its lights still insisting that something was afoot.
Jack made his way to the window, a board groaning its distaste in being trod upon along the way. The ice that seemed to cover the window just moments earlier was again just a small film of dust. With his coat sleeved he rubbed clean a small circle on the window and peered to the ground below. He saw his car alone, abandoned, and basking in the moonlight. The car door he had heard sounded like his own but he saw no movement below.
There was only one other room on this floor and even though he no longer had his flashlight and EMF recorder, he decided it would be a waste of time to not investigate. If he found something, he wouldn’t be able to record it but at least he’d have an idea where he should start the next time he was around.
He made his way out of the room, started down the hall and paused. Footsteps. And this time he was sure it wasn’t an echo. In an old house with wood floors and no furniture or carpeting to absorb the sound, you could never quite ascertain where a noise originated from but it sounded like it came from below.
Mitch must be here. It had to be Mitch. Perhaps he had decided not to brave the rickety bridge at the edge of the property and parked his car at the bottom of the hill, walking up the rest of the way. He had opened Jack’s car door, saw he wasn’t in there, and then made his way into the house. That would explain his own car door slamming, the sound of the front door closing, and the footsteps below. That was Mitch. He may be late, but he always showed.
“Mitch?” Jack called out and heard his own voice reverberate its way down the stairs. “Mitch?”
Jack stood still and listened. From below he heard a faint “Yoo hoooo.” And it sounded just like him.
That bastard Mitch was downstairs and now he was trying to be funny. Jack wondered how long Mitch had actually been here, watching him. Even though a Ghost Hunt wasn’t the place to fool around Jack loved a good joke as much as the next guy so again he called out “Yoo hoooo” followed by a much quieter “Bastard.”
Jack had to admit Mitch’s “Yoo-hoo” sounded a lot like him. Mitch was always doing voices and it usually got old, like a bad Johnny Carson impersonator that doesn’t know when to stop.
He’d never heard Mitch’s “Jack” impersonation but he was sure the other guys had – and probably laughed their asses off. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had put Mitch up to this but he was about to show Mitch who was the student and who was the teacher. His EMF recorder was no longer working so it wasn’t really like he had anything to lose.
Jack heard Mitch below making his way up the steps and quickly darted into the room at the end of the hall in waiting. When Mitch went into the master bedroom to investigate he would find that revenge is indeed a dish best served cold.
Jack made his way into the far room. There was no door, just three lone hinges on the jamb with nothing to latch onto. Jack flattened himself against the wall inside and slowly poked his head around the door frame to sneak a peek into the hall. He looked just in time to see Mitch’s dark silhouette approach the restroom. Mitch was going into the rooms as Jack had gone into them. Always go left. Otherwise you might inadvertently skip a room. “Always go left” was the rule of thumb. Start with the first door on your left, check it out, leave the room, go left, and check out the next room you come to. No stone unturned. And Mitch had gone left. Just like Jack did. Just like Jack taught him.
“Atta boy, Mitch,” Jack said, “You’re starting to redeem yourself.” Jack knew Mitch would head to the master bedroom next because that was the next door on the left and that’s when Jack would sneak up behind him and show him how to really scare someone. Jack watched the lights on Mitch’s EMF machine disappear into the bathroom doorway.
Jack waited for Mitch to inspect the wash room. “Please don’t let him touch that mystery turd with his bare hands,” he thought to himself. A quick look around and Jack ascertained there was nothing much in this room, most likely the spare bedroom. The only thing here was a large picture frame hanging on the wall against which Jack was standing.
The frame was made of thin wood, probably pine. There was no canvas stretched over it. The fact that it was just an empty frame made it just as interesting (if not, more) to ponder than if there were an actual picture inside.
Jack touched the frame gently and as soon as he did the piece of wood on the bottom portion fell to the floor. Jack froze. He didn’t want to give his position away to Mitch and ruin the joke. Hopefully Mitch would think the noise came from the hall or even perhaps downstairs.
Jack remained in hiding as he heard Mitch leave the bathroom. He listened as Mitch slowly made his way into the master bedroom. He heard the slow creak of the door opening and Jack realized he didn’t recall ever shutting it. Again Jack peeked into the hall. He could see the shadows being thrown around from the beam of Mitch’s flashlight inside the bedroom and Jack silently slinked down the hall. He crept to the open doorway and stole a look. What the hell was Mitch doing?
Mitch had his back to the door and was obviously trying to reposition the coat rack that Jack had broken loose. As Jack continued to approach Mitch from behind he saw Mitch had actually fixed the coat rack. But that was impossible. His eyes were playing tricks on him. But the wooden post was once again bolted to the floor and ceiling and the plaster above was unmolested.
Obviously when Jack had taken his tumble he hadn’t brought the pole crashing down with him as he had thought. It had all happened so quickly some of the details were bound to get a little twisted around like a victim of a car crash trying to recount the incident.
Jack was now close enough to touch Mitch, and Mitch was none the wiser. “Someone’s going to have to work on their observational skills,” Jack thought to himself. He reached out his hand to give Mitch the scare of a lifetime. With his final footstep the floorboard let out a long squeak. Before Mitch could react Jack grabbed him on the shoulder. Why was Mitch so warm?
“Ouch,” Mitch mumbled, and something about it puzzled Jack.
Jack spun Mitch around and realized it wasn’t Mitch at all. He had been sneaking up on himself. Jack looked deep into the eyes of someone (himself!) about to die and screamed at the top of his lungs.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
My Turn Part II
Just a quick follow-up to yesterday's blog. I got a callback from the theater today that I auditioned for last night! So cool! I was really stoked and excited to hear about that! I go in tomorrow night at 7:30 for the callback and I am looking forward to it. I am also going in tomorrow afternoon to interview to let a research lab do tests on me. Needless to say I am also really stoked about that as well. How cool is that? Robert Rodriguez, here I come!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
My Turn
Things here in Chicago have been going well for my little band of friends. Amy has been auditioning like crazy and now the offers are starting to come in. We're all really happy for her. I believe she has three (count 'em, three!) offers floating around right now, which is awesome!
Tonight Erik just found out he got the role of Charles Ingalls (Pa!) in a production of "Little House on the Prairie" and again, we were all really stoked for him!
And now its my turn. I have about 5 auditions within a week's time. Tonight I went to one for a show called "Beyond Therapy" by Christopher Durang. It went really well. They laughed a lot at my monologue which was cool (and they laughed in all the right places) and they had me do a cold reading from the script with another lady. I thought that went well, too. I had a blast. They told me that they would call me tomorrow if they want to see me at the callback on Thursday night. Whether or not anything comes from it is beside the point. I really enjoy the audition process and it was fun to be back out there again.
One of my favorite things about auditions is watching the other people who are there to audition because no matter what time you get there, whether you're in the front of the pack or one of the last to be seen, there's always one person there who loves to draw attention to themselves and be, well, an actor about it. It's a lot of fun and tonight was no exception. Nothing like a bunch of actors to keep me entertained.
Good times.
Tonight Erik just found out he got the role of Charles Ingalls (Pa!) in a production of "Little House on the Prairie" and again, we were all really stoked for him!
And now its my turn. I have about 5 auditions within a week's time. Tonight I went to one for a show called "Beyond Therapy" by Christopher Durang. It went really well. They laughed a lot at my monologue which was cool (and they laughed in all the right places) and they had me do a cold reading from the script with another lady. I thought that went well, too. I had a blast. They told me that they would call me tomorrow if they want to see me at the callback on Thursday night. Whether or not anything comes from it is beside the point. I really enjoy the audition process and it was fun to be back out there again.
One of my favorite things about auditions is watching the other people who are there to audition because no matter what time you get there, whether you're in the front of the pack or one of the last to be seen, there's always one person there who loves to draw attention to themselves and be, well, an actor about it. It's a lot of fun and tonight was no exception. Nothing like a bunch of actors to keep me entertained.
Good times.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Book Maniac
I just finished reading "Haunted" by Chuck somebody (the guy who wrote "Fight Club"). My buddy Erik read it and was telling me about it so after he finished it he passed it along to me. We get into pretty good discussions and I am sure this book will inspire some interesting conversation. It's basically about 23 people trapped together and each of their individual stories. I really enjoyed maybe 3 or 4 of the stories. All of the others I found myself just reading to find out what would happen in the next (and hopefully more intriguing) story. I'll give it 4 out of 10 stars.
Amy just finished "Life of Pi" and raved about it. I thought I'd give it a shot. I started reading it today, figuring I'd see how the first chapter goes and I am hooked. I had to get up because I've been reading non-stop and am already about a third of the way through. Whoever wrote it (I'm too lazy to get up and check the author, but I'll post it below) is really good at drawing in the reader so who knows. I'll probably finish it this weekend.
Because I am awesome.
Amy just finished "Life of Pi" and raved about it. I thought I'd give it a shot. I started reading it today, figuring I'd see how the first chapter goes and I am hooked. I had to get up because I've been reading non-stop and am already about a third of the way through. Whoever wrote it (I'm too lazy to get up and check the author, but I'll post it below) is really good at drawing in the reader so who knows. I'll probably finish it this weekend.
Because I am awesome.
I Own This Town
Last night was weird. Cool, but weird.
It was laundry day here and Amy said that whenever we wanted to do laundry we could go to her aunt & uncle's so we wouldn't have to pay to do it at a laundry mat. So last night we took her up on her offer and it was cool.
Her relatives have this awesome apartment on the 10th floor of a building downtown that overlooks the lake and you can also see the ferris wheel at Navy Pier. Oh, did I mention that while the laundry is being washed we also have access to the pool, workout room, sauna, and hot tub? And because most of the people who live in the apartment building are a bit older, all of these amenities were 100% deserted. It was awesome.
At one point I was the only one in the pool. It's indoors, but there are windows all around that almost give you the feeling of being outside. It was dark (about 9 or 10pm) and all of the pool lights were turned off except for one lone light in the water at the "deep end" of the pool. I just stood in the pool and all around me were awesome skyscrapers and buildings and lights and the lake and it was just a really really cool site. It was peaceful and nice and I couldn't wait for my clothes to get dirty so we'd have to come back and do laundry again.
It was laundry day here and Amy said that whenever we wanted to do laundry we could go to her aunt & uncle's so we wouldn't have to pay to do it at a laundry mat. So last night we took her up on her offer and it was cool.
Her relatives have this awesome apartment on the 10th floor of a building downtown that overlooks the lake and you can also see the ferris wheel at Navy Pier. Oh, did I mention that while the laundry is being washed we also have access to the pool, workout room, sauna, and hot tub? And because most of the people who live in the apartment building are a bit older, all of these amenities were 100% deserted. It was awesome.
At one point I was the only one in the pool. It's indoors, but there are windows all around that almost give you the feeling of being outside. It was dark (about 9 or 10pm) and all of the pool lights were turned off except for one lone light in the water at the "deep end" of the pool. I just stood in the pool and all around me were awesome skyscrapers and buildings and lights and the lake and it was just a really really cool site. It was peaceful and nice and I couldn't wait for my clothes to get dirty so we'd have to come back and do laundry again.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
There and Back Again
I'm off to Nashville to pick up another carload of things to bring back to Chicago. Mapquest says it is an 8-hour trip, but everyone knows they always seems to add an extra hour to their estimation. I'll be picking up a TV, microwave, books, CDs, kitchen stuff, and shoes (you know...the essentials).
I have my Elmore Leonard book on tape and the new Will Smith CD to keep me company. I'll see you when I get back.
I have my Elmore Leonard book on tape and the new Will Smith CD to keep me company. I'll see you when I get back.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Going to Get 'Em
Today on my journey back to Nashville I had to stop and pay tolls. I was wearing my sunglasses that I got in California a couple of years ago. The lady at one of the booths was about 60 years old or so and really peppy and energetic. This was our conversation (no lie!):
LADY: How are you?
ME: Fine thanks, you?
LADY: I'm doing great!! I really like your glasses.
ME: Thanks!
LADY: Go get 'em Tiger!
ME: (laughing) I WILL go get 'em!
Weird, huh?
LADY: How are you?
ME: Fine thanks, you?
LADY: I'm doing great!! I really like your glasses.
ME: Thanks!
LADY: Go get 'em Tiger!
ME: (laughing) I WILL go get 'em!
Weird, huh?
Saturday, May 28, 2005
"The Race" A Short Story
Earlier this week I mentioned a short story exercise my friends and I were starting. We each had to writ e short story (between 5-10 pages) and they could be about anything. The only stipulation was that each story had to contain, somewhere, the following things:
An Easter egg, A Vampire, Chicago, and the line "I took a picture upon reaching the top as evidence we had arrived."
Last night we had our reading and it was really cool to see what everyone came up with. No two styles or stories were alike. There was a children's adventure story, a comedic journal entry as written by Napoleon Dynamite's brother Kip, a mysterious journey between a photographer and a local, and my entry here. Some of the language is very un-Ed-like, so fair warning. But this is what I came up with and I hope you enjoy it.
I MAY HAVE MISJUDGED my athletic abilities on this one.
At the time I made the bet with Todd it didn’t seem like the Herculean task it actually turned out to be. But fast-forward 37 floors and hindsight is definitely 20/20.
Todd and I hadn’t seen each other for 17 years before 10:30 this morning. We grew up in the same neighborhood cul-de-sac in a small Indiana town and after graduating from high school and moving on to college a letter every few weeks turned into a postcard every few months which turned into a Christmas card once a year. No one ever intends to lose touch with their closest friends but sometimes it just happens. He ended up in Chicago; I was in St. Louis.
When a friend of mine recently hooked me up with a gig playing at a jazz club in Chicago I jumped at the opportunity. I’d only been to the Windy City twice before and knew the music scene was hopping. I was also excited about the chance to see my old friend once again. I had to call his parents in Indiana to get his contact information (”He’ll be so excited to hear from you!”) and 45 minutes later Todd and I had planned to meet at the Sears Tower to reunite and catch up.
We met this morning and it was like no time had passed. We were our old selves again: laughing, joking, and punching one another in the arm. He showed me photos of his children and I brought him one of my cheapo CDs (”Even if you don’t like it, they make a great coaster!”).
Soon, the conversation turned tourist-y. “The Sears Tower, huh?” I said. “Tallest building in the world, right?”
“Well, it used to be. Up until like ‘96.” Todd replied.
“What’s the tallest building now?”
“Who gives a shit?” Todd said. I laughed out loud because I couldn’t agree more.
I craned my neck upward. “How tall is it?”
“110 stories.”
“That’s a lot of stairs,” I mused.
“Well you know, Ray, there’s also an elevator.”
“Smart ass.” I shot Todd the bird. “I mean if there’s a fire or something that’s a lot of stairs from all the way at the top.”
“If there was a fire, you couldn’t get out of my way fast enough,” Todd said. “I’d be the first one out of there.” I looked at him, specifically at his gut that made him look six months pregnant.
Todd caught my drift. “Screw you, Ray, I might have put on a few pounds, but I can still outrun you.” I didn’t mean to be so obvious about it but my reaction was the very definition of spontaneous laughter.
And thus the bet was born.
Twenty minutes later I replayed all of this in my head as I slowly climbed past the 46th floor. How did I let him talk me into a race up the stairs of the motherfucking Sears Tower? Sure, why not, I have nothing to do, why don’t I climb all the way to the top of the tallest building in the world (sorry, second tallest)? What the hell was my problem? I get winded carrying a bag of groceries to my third-floor apartment, what made me think I could not only climb a quarter of a mile up, but also beat the former high school football stud in the process?
Todd was far from the athlete he used to be, which is probably what convinced me I could finally beat him in an athletic game. We’re both just shy of 6 feet tall, although I thought I had a distinct advantage. Todd weighs in at around 240 and I only carry 170 pounds on my frame. There’s no way Todd can take me in this. Is there?
Through his connections with the building management, we were able to get permission to use two different stairwells at two opposite sides of the building. The rules were simple. We each climb a different set of stairs so we have no idea where the other person is. We can stop and rest as long as we want, but we cannot use any of the elevators. Of course, there’s really nothing stopping us from doing so except for our promise not to break that rule and among close friends, your word is all you need. (Although the building is 110 stories, the actual stairwell is only 103 floors so you know, we should be done a lot sooner.) With “On your mark, get set, and go” announced via cell phone, we were off. The first person to the top is the winner. Nice and easy. At least on paper.
Not so nice and easy to actually execute. Ask my legs as I reached the 39th floor. (Is that it? 39? I’m not even halfway there?) With each step I take my legs cry out at me. I’m an idiot.
I tell myself that when I get to the 50th floor I’ll stop and take five. Take a hit from my water bottle, catch my breath, and pray my second wind decides to show up to the dance. And then I realize that I tossed out what was left of my water right before entering the building. I can’t wait for that to come back and haunt me.
I hear voices above me. I can’t make out what they are saying but they obviously belong to a man and a woman speaking in soft tones. Surely they hear my heavy feet clunking up the stairs. What will they think when they turn and see me; out of breath and sweat pouring down my forehead like something out of a bad Saturday Night Live sketch? I can’t wait to see the look on their faces. Maybe I’ll ask them if there’s an elevator in the building just to get a laugh out of them.
But then I think twice about it. They have no idea I’ve been climbing the whole way up. For all they know I’m just running up from the floor below so I wouldn’t have to wait for an elevator. But surely they’ve been hearing my footsteps for some time now...they’d have to know that I’ve come at least three or four floors, wouldn’t they?
And suddenly they are in front of me. With all of my inane inner ranting about what they might think when they saw me, I gave no heed as to what I might see when I saw them.
I don’t think they even knew I was there. Their lips were pressed so close together that it almost looked like one person. These two were really going at it. I think I may have seen a nipple at one point but I quickly diverted my eyes and continued my climb. If they were aware of my presence they gave no indication. They had more important things to take care of and it was obvious I did not rank high on their list of priorities.
As soon as I passed them I realized that they were only distracting me from what was becoming an excruciating pain in my left leg; my knee to be exact. When I was standing on the street corner 44 floors below I hadn’t even thought of the incident at the laundry mat three years earlier.
I was doing a couple of extremely-overdue loads of wash on a rainy Friday night. I didn’t have a gig and since most people were out on Friday nights doing things that had nothing to do with laundry, topped by the fact that no one wants to lug their dirty clothes around in the rain, I was guaranteed an almost-deserted laundry atmosphere. Just the way I liked it. The only other people in the place were a middle-aged woman and her toddler terror who insisted on screaming every observation that popped into his head at the top of his lungs whilst repeatedly opening the washers mid-cycle and announcing, “THEY AIN’T DONE YET!” as water sloshed onto the floor.
Ten minutes after loading my clothes into a dryer the front doors opened and a wet whistling wind began to whip through the room. A woman struggling with two large laundry baskets did her best to make a speedy entrance but it wasn’t quite working out for her. She carried one basket in her arms while dragging the other behind her and was having trouble navigating the final turn inside. In the background the shouts of the Young Observer continued, refusing to be drowned out by the sounds of the wind and rain.
I made my way over to give the woman a hand. I reached for the basket in her arms and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
She looked up at me and her brown eyes smiled. “Thank you,” she said, almost immediately diverting her eyes back down to the floor. By her accent I could tell those words were probably a majority of the English she spoke.
I smiled back at her, relieved her of her bulky load, and tried to guess her name in my head. Maria? Carmen? Rosa? And then I fell. The Young Observer's plot to foil my attempts of being smooth and cool were successful and my foot slipped on one of the puddles of water his curious excursions had created. I fell faster than an ostrich on ice skates and I heard my knee make a noise like I sat on a box of Cracker Jacks.
I played it off for most of the night (”I’m fine, really”) and Miranda (Miranda! I wasn’t even close!) had no idea how much pain I was actually experiencing. I’m pretty sure she thought my moans and groans later that night were just part of the throes of passion but as we laid there afterward, me spooning her from behind, brushing her hair back from her eyes and kissing the back of her neck, her contented and comfortable sigh told me she was completely unaware that my knee was begging me to “just cut me off for God’s sake and put me out of my misery you stupid son of a bitch!”
One thousand days and 56 floors later my knee reminded me that yes, not much had really changed, and I was still a stupid son of a bitch.
On the 59th floor I told myself there was no way in hell Todd had made it up this far. Not that you’ll find me gracing the cover of Men’s Health anytime soon, but I’m in pretty good shape and good God Todd got fat! I don’t care how fit you used to be, you can’t let yourself balloon up like that and then expect to win a race to the top of the Sears fucking Tower.
I pictured Todd in the opposite stairwell clinging to the rail, huffing and puffing. He’s probably already vomited the croissants we shared this morning and very likely is lying crumpled up and dying somewhere between floors 37 and 38. What if I make it all the way to the top only to learn that he’d had a heart attack and has been lying there for God knows how long, gasping for air, clutching his left arm, and trying to call for help all the while managing only to emit a faint wheeze?
Why the hell am I thinking like this? Why is it my thoughts automatically tend to jump to the worst-case scenario? Such is life here in the non-stop party that is my psyche.
My pace gradually slowed and as I arrived at the 66th floor I could just imagine an old woman with a walker behind me irked, annoyed, and wondering why I was moving so fucking slow. I laughed to myself at the idea and when I heard a soft cough above me I almost screamed out loud. The only noise I’d heard for the last hour had been the echo of my own footsteps and all thoughts of other people being in the stairwell left a long time ago.
There on the landing of the 68th floor was a small man leaning against a door that lead to a hall presumably lined with an endless row of offices. My first thought was he had gone out to sneak an illegal smoke but the absence of the unmistakable odor of tobacco in my nostrils told me that wasn’t the case.
Upon closer inspection I saw that he had been crying. His eyes were watery and red. Is this what happens to the office geek when no one else is looking? Have all of the jokes, jabs, and jibes finally taken their toll and forced this man to silently vent in private? How much seemingly harmless teasing has this man endured in his lifetime and more importantly, when will it stop? He probably taught himself to laugh along with the others and no one will ever know the chasm of ache that has been forged underneath that fake smile.
He looked at me as I began to pass and I nodded in acknowledgement. He said hello. The breath that wafted from his mouth nearly knocked me on my back. It smelled of old grease and farts. When he smiled the color of his teeth took me back to my childhood.
As youngsters my little brother and I always looked forward to Spring and the Easter holiday, primarily because of the invention of Paas. Was there anything else in the world that could even come close to the magic of coloring Easter Eggs? I loved to let mine soak in the colors for up to 20 minutes at a time because the longer they stayed submerged in the wonderful mixture of vinegar and Paas Pellets, the more brilliant the emerging colors would be. Red, blue, green and yellow did not exist with me. It was Red! Blue! Green! And Yellow!
One year my brother made an interesting discovery. He found that if you soak an egg in each of the colors for about five minutes at a time the result was a dull brown egg tinted gray. Not the most beautiful color in the world but nonetheless the answer to the question “What If?” This color came to be known to us simply as “THE EGG.”
This geeky little guy standing in the stairwell with breath that could strip varnish had teeth the color of THE EGG. He looked at me as if he were waiting for me to start a conversation; a conversation in which he didn’t know whether or not he wanted to be an active participant. And, like the stupid son of a bitch my knee continued to insist I was, I asked THE EGG how he was doing.
“Allergies,” he said, “They’re killing me.”
Allergies? That sure shot my story about the sad alienated crying geek all to shit. At least now I don’t feel so bad about wanting to stuff one of my sweaty socks down his throat to at least dilute the bad breath gurgling from up inside of him. If he were a cartoon character there would be little green clouds leaking from the corners of his mouth. And when he opened his mouth to speak again the words made me feel like I actually might be in a cartoon.
“There’s a vampire upstairs.” He said it with such a straight face and matter-of-factness that he might as well have said apples are his favorite fruit or cars run on gasoline.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how hard I was breathing. My chest felt like it was about to explode and I still had 35 floors to go. My heart was beating in my ears and I could have sworn this guy just told me there’s a vampire upstairs somewhere.
“Beg your pardon?” I said. Perhaps if I heard it again it’d be a little more believable the second time around.
“There’s a vampire upstairs. How far are you going up?”
“All the way,” I said. I felt like an ass standing there looking a big sweaty mess.
“Then you’ll want to watch out for the vampire. He won’t hurt you if you’re careful,” he advised me. He used his index finger to push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.
For a second or two I seriously contemplated hanging around for a bit and asking him about the vampire upstairs but I was in a race and couldn’t really waste a lot of time with the Dungeon Master swapping ghost stories.
“Thanks for the head’s up” is all I could come up with in response. What else was there?
When I reached the 73rd floor I was still thinking about the vampire upstairs. Partly because it was a little more than intriguing, but mostly because it kept my mind off of my knee which had just started making a scraping sound with each step upward. “That’s a new noise,” I told myself. “I’ve done everything from football to skiing to volleyball since that night with Miranda but this is the first time I’ve heard (and felt) it make such a sound. Of course, this is the first time I’ve climbed 74 flights of stairs since the injury, so I’m sure that has a bit to do with it.” I wanted to stop and look at the knee to see how badly it’d swollen but was too afraid of seeing something worse.
Around the 79th floor I started to get a little dizzy. I thought back to the half-full bottle of water I didn’t bother to finish or bring with me from breakfast and conceded for the third time during this little journey that I was indeed a stupid son of a bitch. I was sure it wouldn’t be breaking the rules to stop on one of the floors and snag some water from the Sparkletts dispenser in the first office I came across but I didn’t want to be That Guy. That Guy the office workers would be talking about for the next week and a half who came in off the street all disheveled and pungent and asking for a glass of water who finally had to be escorted out by security because damn, he’s drinking all the Sparkletts! Nah. I never want to be That Guy.
Instead, to ward off the dizziness I closed my eyes and clutched the handrail: my friendly metal guide who would lead me upward. When I opened my eyes again I hoped to find that I’d covered amazing ground and landed on the 103rd floor but I should have known better than to hope for so much. I swear the sign that read FLOOR 81 smirked at me as I passed.
I developed quite a severe limp in my left leg and for a few moments tried to tell myself I could make it the rest of the way by hopping on my right foot. Three pitiful hops and a slip that sent my head clunking against the steel railing convinced me otherwise. At least I had my throbbing forehead to divert me from my bum knee.
The 85th floor and for the first time I seriously considered taking the elevator.
The 87th floor and not only had I convinced myself that I wouldn’t be able to make it but was sure Todd was dead. I also wondered how long it would take to find the floor’s elevator.
It took me 25 minutes to get from the 88th floor to the 89th. This whole thing was stupid and, I was now sure, impossible. If it weren’t for my knee it wouldn’t be such an ordeal but I never even thought that spill in the laundry mat would come back to haunt me like this.
Granted, Todd had become the poster child of the average overweight obese American you read about in health reports but as far as I knew both of his legs still worked and I was convinced he had been at the top waiting for me for at least an hour and a half. And every floor has access to an elevator, right?
The 91st floor. So close to the end and yet still so fucking far away. I can’t make it. It can’t be done. It cannot be done. My knee was swollen to the point where I had to slice my jeans open with the penknife I usually carry in my back pocket. The skin underneath looked more like a green rotten head of cauliflower than a kneecap. I accidentally nicked myself with the knife and the milky pus that seeped out sent me into a fitful bout of dry heaves. So close, and yet so far.
I managed to open the heavy door marked FLOOR 91 and hobbled into the waiting hallway. I was so intent on finding an elevator that I can’t even describe my surroundings. Whether the walls were brick, carpeted, or covered with chicken heads I didn’t notice. I spotted the elevator a mere 10 yards away (thank God for small miracles!) and it remained my sole focus.
I limped my way to the elevator and pushed the button with the arrow pointing upward. I figured I’d check to see if Todd had bested me once again. At least if he did the bastard would make for something nice and solid to hold me up on the elevator ride back down.
Once inside the elevator I collapsed. The doors quietly whooshed closed and once again I began to ascend. I watched the different floor numbers light up as I rose skyward with a speed that would have been unimaginable had I stuck to the stairs.
The soft tone of the elevator bell informed me that I had arrived at my destination. “Well,” I said to no one, “That was easy.”
And I didn’t move.
That was easy.
That was easy. And it wasn’t supposed to be. That’s why it was such a great bet in the first place. The best bets are never made over things that are easy to do. That would be pointless. The challenge of the bet is to prove to yourself that you can do something a little more difficult than your daily commute and if it takes a stupid bet to make you really dig in and reach inside of yourself then so be it.
When I look back on today I wasn’t going to remember my knee or my leg or my head (which by the way had been bleeding without my even realizing it) or the geek with bad breath in the stairwell. All I was going to remember about this day is I took the elevator to the top floor.
And that, my friends, is the very definition of bullshit.
I remained standing in the elevator and pressed the button labeled “91.”
Two and a half hours later I took my last excruciating step and was greeted by a door with FLOOR 103 spray-painted in red. Although this door didn't look much different from the hundred or so others I passed today, it was my favorite.
The remaining twelve floors had pretty much been a blur of fuzz and white-hot pain. I remember falling at least twice and felt warm tears on my cheeks at least twice as many times. I seem to recall a dark figure watching me at one point. It was hard to make out any details because the nearest light was either out of order or the bulb had simply burned out. I remember being afraid of the figure but as I slowly crawled upward he made no move to hinder my progress. He just watched. If he was even there at all. I was so out of it I’m sure it could very well have been an hallucination.
But I made it. I put my hand on the doorknob, turned it, and then stopped. I had forgotten my bottle of water 103 floors below me but my camera phone was still with me. I figured if any moment was worthy of being immortalized in a photo this was it.
I leaned over the handrail and peered down into the endless square zigzag maze of steps and guardrails below. I held out the phone and snapped away. I took a photo when we reached the top as evidence we had arrived. I knew I would need it.
I turned back toward the door. I wasn’t sure if Todd would be waiting for me on the other side or if I had indeed been the victor but I was pretty certain which way it was going to go.
The air hinge on the door stopped it from slamming shut and instead let out a small hiss as it quietly closed behind me.
An Easter egg, A Vampire, Chicago, and the line "I took a picture upon reaching the top as evidence we had arrived."
Last night we had our reading and it was really cool to see what everyone came up with. No two styles or stories were alike. There was a children's adventure story, a comedic journal entry as written by Napoleon Dynamite's brother Kip, a mysterious journey between a photographer and a local, and my entry here. Some of the language is very un-Ed-like, so fair warning. But this is what I came up with and I hope you enjoy it.
I MAY HAVE MISJUDGED my athletic abilities on this one.
At the time I made the bet with Todd it didn’t seem like the Herculean task it actually turned out to be. But fast-forward 37 floors and hindsight is definitely 20/20.
Todd and I hadn’t seen each other for 17 years before 10:30 this morning. We grew up in the same neighborhood cul-de-sac in a small Indiana town and after graduating from high school and moving on to college a letter every few weeks turned into a postcard every few months which turned into a Christmas card once a year. No one ever intends to lose touch with their closest friends but sometimes it just happens. He ended up in Chicago; I was in St. Louis.
When a friend of mine recently hooked me up with a gig playing at a jazz club in Chicago I jumped at the opportunity. I’d only been to the Windy City twice before and knew the music scene was hopping. I was also excited about the chance to see my old friend once again. I had to call his parents in Indiana to get his contact information (”He’ll be so excited to hear from you!”) and 45 minutes later Todd and I had planned to meet at the Sears Tower to reunite and catch up.
We met this morning and it was like no time had passed. We were our old selves again: laughing, joking, and punching one another in the arm. He showed me photos of his children and I brought him one of my cheapo CDs (”Even if you don’t like it, they make a great coaster!”).
Soon, the conversation turned tourist-y. “The Sears Tower, huh?” I said. “Tallest building in the world, right?”
“Well, it used to be. Up until like ‘96.” Todd replied.
“What’s the tallest building now?”
“Who gives a shit?” Todd said. I laughed out loud because I couldn’t agree more.
I craned my neck upward. “How tall is it?”
“110 stories.”
“That’s a lot of stairs,” I mused.
“Well you know, Ray, there’s also an elevator.”
“Smart ass.” I shot Todd the bird. “I mean if there’s a fire or something that’s a lot of stairs from all the way at the top.”
“If there was a fire, you couldn’t get out of my way fast enough,” Todd said. “I’d be the first one out of there.” I looked at him, specifically at his gut that made him look six months pregnant.
Todd caught my drift. “Screw you, Ray, I might have put on a few pounds, but I can still outrun you.” I didn’t mean to be so obvious about it but my reaction was the very definition of spontaneous laughter.
And thus the bet was born.
Twenty minutes later I replayed all of this in my head as I slowly climbed past the 46th floor. How did I let him talk me into a race up the stairs of the motherfucking Sears Tower? Sure, why not, I have nothing to do, why don’t I climb all the way to the top of the tallest building in the world (sorry, second tallest)? What the hell was my problem? I get winded carrying a bag of groceries to my third-floor apartment, what made me think I could not only climb a quarter of a mile up, but also beat the former high school football stud in the process?
Todd was far from the athlete he used to be, which is probably what convinced me I could finally beat him in an athletic game. We’re both just shy of 6 feet tall, although I thought I had a distinct advantage. Todd weighs in at around 240 and I only carry 170 pounds on my frame. There’s no way Todd can take me in this. Is there?
Through his connections with the building management, we were able to get permission to use two different stairwells at two opposite sides of the building. The rules were simple. We each climb a different set of stairs so we have no idea where the other person is. We can stop and rest as long as we want, but we cannot use any of the elevators. Of course, there’s really nothing stopping us from doing so except for our promise not to break that rule and among close friends, your word is all you need. (Although the building is 110 stories, the actual stairwell is only 103 floors so you know, we should be done a lot sooner.) With “On your mark, get set, and go” announced via cell phone, we were off. The first person to the top is the winner. Nice and easy. At least on paper.
Not so nice and easy to actually execute. Ask my legs as I reached the 39th floor. (Is that it? 39? I’m not even halfway there?) With each step I take my legs cry out at me. I’m an idiot.
I tell myself that when I get to the 50th floor I’ll stop and take five. Take a hit from my water bottle, catch my breath, and pray my second wind decides to show up to the dance. And then I realize that I tossed out what was left of my water right before entering the building. I can’t wait for that to come back and haunt me.
I hear voices above me. I can’t make out what they are saying but they obviously belong to a man and a woman speaking in soft tones. Surely they hear my heavy feet clunking up the stairs. What will they think when they turn and see me; out of breath and sweat pouring down my forehead like something out of a bad Saturday Night Live sketch? I can’t wait to see the look on their faces. Maybe I’ll ask them if there’s an elevator in the building just to get a laugh out of them.
But then I think twice about it. They have no idea I’ve been climbing the whole way up. For all they know I’m just running up from the floor below so I wouldn’t have to wait for an elevator. But surely they’ve been hearing my footsteps for some time now...they’d have to know that I’ve come at least three or four floors, wouldn’t they?
And suddenly they are in front of me. With all of my inane inner ranting about what they might think when they saw me, I gave no heed as to what I might see when I saw them.
I don’t think they even knew I was there. Their lips were pressed so close together that it almost looked like one person. These two were really going at it. I think I may have seen a nipple at one point but I quickly diverted my eyes and continued my climb. If they were aware of my presence they gave no indication. They had more important things to take care of and it was obvious I did not rank high on their list of priorities.
As soon as I passed them I realized that they were only distracting me from what was becoming an excruciating pain in my left leg; my knee to be exact. When I was standing on the street corner 44 floors below I hadn’t even thought of the incident at the laundry mat three years earlier.
I was doing a couple of extremely-overdue loads of wash on a rainy Friday night. I didn’t have a gig and since most people were out on Friday nights doing things that had nothing to do with laundry, topped by the fact that no one wants to lug their dirty clothes around in the rain, I was guaranteed an almost-deserted laundry atmosphere. Just the way I liked it. The only other people in the place were a middle-aged woman and her toddler terror who insisted on screaming every observation that popped into his head at the top of his lungs whilst repeatedly opening the washers mid-cycle and announcing, “THEY AIN’T DONE YET!” as water sloshed onto the floor.
Ten minutes after loading my clothes into a dryer the front doors opened and a wet whistling wind began to whip through the room. A woman struggling with two large laundry baskets did her best to make a speedy entrance but it wasn’t quite working out for her. She carried one basket in her arms while dragging the other behind her and was having trouble navigating the final turn inside. In the background the shouts of the Young Observer continued, refusing to be drowned out by the sounds of the wind and rain.
I made my way over to give the woman a hand. I reached for the basket in her arms and said, “Here, let me help you with that.”
She looked up at me and her brown eyes smiled. “Thank you,” she said, almost immediately diverting her eyes back down to the floor. By her accent I could tell those words were probably a majority of the English she spoke.
I smiled back at her, relieved her of her bulky load, and tried to guess her name in my head. Maria? Carmen? Rosa? And then I fell. The Young Observer's plot to foil my attempts of being smooth and cool were successful and my foot slipped on one of the puddles of water his curious excursions had created. I fell faster than an ostrich on ice skates and I heard my knee make a noise like I sat on a box of Cracker Jacks.
I played it off for most of the night (”I’m fine, really”) and Miranda (Miranda! I wasn’t even close!) had no idea how much pain I was actually experiencing. I’m pretty sure she thought my moans and groans later that night were just part of the throes of passion but as we laid there afterward, me spooning her from behind, brushing her hair back from her eyes and kissing the back of her neck, her contented and comfortable sigh told me she was completely unaware that my knee was begging me to “just cut me off for God’s sake and put me out of my misery you stupid son of a bitch!”
One thousand days and 56 floors later my knee reminded me that yes, not much had really changed, and I was still a stupid son of a bitch.
On the 59th floor I told myself there was no way in hell Todd had made it up this far. Not that you’ll find me gracing the cover of Men’s Health anytime soon, but I’m in pretty good shape and good God Todd got fat! I don’t care how fit you used to be, you can’t let yourself balloon up like that and then expect to win a race to the top of the Sears fucking Tower.
I pictured Todd in the opposite stairwell clinging to the rail, huffing and puffing. He’s probably already vomited the croissants we shared this morning and very likely is lying crumpled up and dying somewhere between floors 37 and 38. What if I make it all the way to the top only to learn that he’d had a heart attack and has been lying there for God knows how long, gasping for air, clutching his left arm, and trying to call for help all the while managing only to emit a faint wheeze?
Why the hell am I thinking like this? Why is it my thoughts automatically tend to jump to the worst-case scenario? Such is life here in the non-stop party that is my psyche.
My pace gradually slowed and as I arrived at the 66th floor I could just imagine an old woman with a walker behind me irked, annoyed, and wondering why I was moving so fucking slow. I laughed to myself at the idea and when I heard a soft cough above me I almost screamed out loud. The only noise I’d heard for the last hour had been the echo of my own footsteps and all thoughts of other people being in the stairwell left a long time ago.
There on the landing of the 68th floor was a small man leaning against a door that lead to a hall presumably lined with an endless row of offices. My first thought was he had gone out to sneak an illegal smoke but the absence of the unmistakable odor of tobacco in my nostrils told me that wasn’t the case.
Upon closer inspection I saw that he had been crying. His eyes were watery and red. Is this what happens to the office geek when no one else is looking? Have all of the jokes, jabs, and jibes finally taken their toll and forced this man to silently vent in private? How much seemingly harmless teasing has this man endured in his lifetime and more importantly, when will it stop? He probably taught himself to laugh along with the others and no one will ever know the chasm of ache that has been forged underneath that fake smile.
He looked at me as I began to pass and I nodded in acknowledgement. He said hello. The breath that wafted from his mouth nearly knocked me on my back. It smelled of old grease and farts. When he smiled the color of his teeth took me back to my childhood.
As youngsters my little brother and I always looked forward to Spring and the Easter holiday, primarily because of the invention of Paas. Was there anything else in the world that could even come close to the magic of coloring Easter Eggs? I loved to let mine soak in the colors for up to 20 minutes at a time because the longer they stayed submerged in the wonderful mixture of vinegar and Paas Pellets, the more brilliant the emerging colors would be. Red, blue, green and yellow did not exist with me. It was Red! Blue! Green! And Yellow!
One year my brother made an interesting discovery. He found that if you soak an egg in each of the colors for about five minutes at a time the result was a dull brown egg tinted gray. Not the most beautiful color in the world but nonetheless the answer to the question “What If?” This color came to be known to us simply as “THE EGG.”
This geeky little guy standing in the stairwell with breath that could strip varnish had teeth the color of THE EGG. He looked at me as if he were waiting for me to start a conversation; a conversation in which he didn’t know whether or not he wanted to be an active participant. And, like the stupid son of a bitch my knee continued to insist I was, I asked THE EGG how he was doing.
“Allergies,” he said, “They’re killing me.”
Allergies? That sure shot my story about the sad alienated crying geek all to shit. At least now I don’t feel so bad about wanting to stuff one of my sweaty socks down his throat to at least dilute the bad breath gurgling from up inside of him. If he were a cartoon character there would be little green clouds leaking from the corners of his mouth. And when he opened his mouth to speak again the words made me feel like I actually might be in a cartoon.
“There’s a vampire upstairs.” He said it with such a straight face and matter-of-factness that he might as well have said apples are his favorite fruit or cars run on gasoline.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how hard I was breathing. My chest felt like it was about to explode and I still had 35 floors to go. My heart was beating in my ears and I could have sworn this guy just told me there’s a vampire upstairs somewhere.
“Beg your pardon?” I said. Perhaps if I heard it again it’d be a little more believable the second time around.
“There’s a vampire upstairs. How far are you going up?”
“All the way,” I said. I felt like an ass standing there looking a big sweaty mess.
“Then you’ll want to watch out for the vampire. He won’t hurt you if you’re careful,” he advised me. He used his index finger to push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.
For a second or two I seriously contemplated hanging around for a bit and asking him about the vampire upstairs but I was in a race and couldn’t really waste a lot of time with the Dungeon Master swapping ghost stories.
“Thanks for the head’s up” is all I could come up with in response. What else was there?
When I reached the 73rd floor I was still thinking about the vampire upstairs. Partly because it was a little more than intriguing, but mostly because it kept my mind off of my knee which had just started making a scraping sound with each step upward. “That’s a new noise,” I told myself. “I’ve done everything from football to skiing to volleyball since that night with Miranda but this is the first time I’ve heard (and felt) it make such a sound. Of course, this is the first time I’ve climbed 74 flights of stairs since the injury, so I’m sure that has a bit to do with it.” I wanted to stop and look at the knee to see how badly it’d swollen but was too afraid of seeing something worse.
Around the 79th floor I started to get a little dizzy. I thought back to the half-full bottle of water I didn’t bother to finish or bring with me from breakfast and conceded for the third time during this little journey that I was indeed a stupid son of a bitch. I was sure it wouldn’t be breaking the rules to stop on one of the floors and snag some water from the Sparkletts dispenser in the first office I came across but I didn’t want to be That Guy. That Guy the office workers would be talking about for the next week and a half who came in off the street all disheveled and pungent and asking for a glass of water who finally had to be escorted out by security because damn, he’s drinking all the Sparkletts! Nah. I never want to be That Guy.
Instead, to ward off the dizziness I closed my eyes and clutched the handrail: my friendly metal guide who would lead me upward. When I opened my eyes again I hoped to find that I’d covered amazing ground and landed on the 103rd floor but I should have known better than to hope for so much. I swear the sign that read FLOOR 81 smirked at me as I passed.
I developed quite a severe limp in my left leg and for a few moments tried to tell myself I could make it the rest of the way by hopping on my right foot. Three pitiful hops and a slip that sent my head clunking against the steel railing convinced me otherwise. At least I had my throbbing forehead to divert me from my bum knee.
The 85th floor and for the first time I seriously considered taking the elevator.
The 87th floor and not only had I convinced myself that I wouldn’t be able to make it but was sure Todd was dead. I also wondered how long it would take to find the floor’s elevator.
It took me 25 minutes to get from the 88th floor to the 89th. This whole thing was stupid and, I was now sure, impossible. If it weren’t for my knee it wouldn’t be such an ordeal but I never even thought that spill in the laundry mat would come back to haunt me like this.
Granted, Todd had become the poster child of the average overweight obese American you read about in health reports but as far as I knew both of his legs still worked and I was convinced he had been at the top waiting for me for at least an hour and a half. And every floor has access to an elevator, right?
The 91st floor. So close to the end and yet still so fucking far away. I can’t make it. It can’t be done. It cannot be done. My knee was swollen to the point where I had to slice my jeans open with the penknife I usually carry in my back pocket. The skin underneath looked more like a green rotten head of cauliflower than a kneecap. I accidentally nicked myself with the knife and the milky pus that seeped out sent me into a fitful bout of dry heaves. So close, and yet so far.
I managed to open the heavy door marked FLOOR 91 and hobbled into the waiting hallway. I was so intent on finding an elevator that I can’t even describe my surroundings. Whether the walls were brick, carpeted, or covered with chicken heads I didn’t notice. I spotted the elevator a mere 10 yards away (thank God for small miracles!) and it remained my sole focus.
I limped my way to the elevator and pushed the button with the arrow pointing upward. I figured I’d check to see if Todd had bested me once again. At least if he did the bastard would make for something nice and solid to hold me up on the elevator ride back down.
Once inside the elevator I collapsed. The doors quietly whooshed closed and once again I began to ascend. I watched the different floor numbers light up as I rose skyward with a speed that would have been unimaginable had I stuck to the stairs.
The soft tone of the elevator bell informed me that I had arrived at my destination. “Well,” I said to no one, “That was easy.”
And I didn’t move.
That was easy.
That was easy. And it wasn’t supposed to be. That’s why it was such a great bet in the first place. The best bets are never made over things that are easy to do. That would be pointless. The challenge of the bet is to prove to yourself that you can do something a little more difficult than your daily commute and if it takes a stupid bet to make you really dig in and reach inside of yourself then so be it.
When I look back on today I wasn’t going to remember my knee or my leg or my head (which by the way had been bleeding without my even realizing it) or the geek with bad breath in the stairwell. All I was going to remember about this day is I took the elevator to the top floor.
And that, my friends, is the very definition of bullshit.
I remained standing in the elevator and pressed the button labeled “91.”
Two and a half hours later I took my last excruciating step and was greeted by a door with FLOOR 103 spray-painted in red. Although this door didn't look much different from the hundred or so others I passed today, it was my favorite.
The remaining twelve floors had pretty much been a blur of fuzz and white-hot pain. I remember falling at least twice and felt warm tears on my cheeks at least twice as many times. I seem to recall a dark figure watching me at one point. It was hard to make out any details because the nearest light was either out of order or the bulb had simply burned out. I remember being afraid of the figure but as I slowly crawled upward he made no move to hinder my progress. He just watched. If he was even there at all. I was so out of it I’m sure it could very well have been an hallucination.
But I made it. I put my hand on the doorknob, turned it, and then stopped. I had forgotten my bottle of water 103 floors below me but my camera phone was still with me. I figured if any moment was worthy of being immortalized in a photo this was it.
I leaned over the handrail and peered down into the endless square zigzag maze of steps and guardrails below. I held out the phone and snapped away. I took a photo when we reached the top as evidence we had arrived. I knew I would need it.
I turned back toward the door. I wasn’t sure if Todd would be waiting for me on the other side or if I had indeed been the victor but I was pretty certain which way it was going to go.
The air hinge on the door stopped it from slamming shut and instead let out a small hiss as it quietly closed behind me.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
A Blog That's A Little Depressing but Also A Little Uplifting
Aaron Marrs died this weekend.
Last night at a gathering of some of the people who knew him, someone mentioned that everyone felt like they could call Aaron one of their best friends; that's just the kind of guy he was.
Aaron loved everyone. Last night was proof. People from all walks of life came to tell stories about a man who will be remembered first and foremost as a Man of God. A vast of backgrounds, ethnicities, struggles, and beliefs joined together to recount stories about Aaron, what he meant to them, and the impact he made on their lives.
I heard about Aaron's ship going down in the waters of the Bering Strait on Saturday night. Immediately I joined the network of friends who were already scouring the internet for more information. IM became our conference call and Google was our home base. "Have you heard anything new?" "I just found this out." "Check out this article." "Are you OK?"
Leave it to Aaron to bring everyone together. His parties were always jam-packed full of fun people to hang out with and they gathered once again to remember the man who loved everyone and helped us all laugh a little harder, care a little more, and give of ourselves more freely. He was a storyteller like no other and his tales always left you laughing so hard you were crying.
I can't even express what a great guy Aaron was. Sure, when someone is gone people go on and on about what a good person they were but Aaron was one of the few people that others raved about when he was still around. My only regret with Aaron is that I didn't get to spend more time with him.
I'm extremely grateful for the time we DID get to share together. And when I see him again on the other side, I'll be the first in line to hear HIS version of what he's been up to. Initially it seems so sad that I won't see Aaron again in this lifetime, but as I think back to the gathering and recall the faces who were there to recount their stories with Aaron, I realize that he never really left us.
Last night at a gathering of some of the people who knew him, someone mentioned that everyone felt like they could call Aaron one of their best friends; that's just the kind of guy he was.
Aaron loved everyone. Last night was proof. People from all walks of life came to tell stories about a man who will be remembered first and foremost as a Man of God. A vast of backgrounds, ethnicities, struggles, and beliefs joined together to recount stories about Aaron, what he meant to them, and the impact he made on their lives.
I heard about Aaron's ship going down in the waters of the Bering Strait on Saturday night. Immediately I joined the network of friends who were already scouring the internet for more information. IM became our conference call and Google was our home base. "Have you heard anything new?" "I just found this out." "Check out this article." "Are you OK?"
Leave it to Aaron to bring everyone together. His parties were always jam-packed full of fun people to hang out with and they gathered once again to remember the man who loved everyone and helped us all laugh a little harder, care a little more, and give of ourselves more freely. He was a storyteller like no other and his tales always left you laughing so hard you were crying.
I can't even express what a great guy Aaron was. Sure, when someone is gone people go on and on about what a good person they were but Aaron was one of the few people that others raved about when he was still around. My only regret with Aaron is that I didn't get to spend more time with him.
I'm extremely grateful for the time we DID get to share together. And when I see him again on the other side, I'll be the first in line to hear HIS version of what he's been up to. Initially it seems so sad that I won't see Aaron again in this lifetime, but as I think back to the gathering and recall the faces who were there to recount their stories with Aaron, I realize that he never really left us.
Monday, November 15, 2004
Zombies In The Bible
I grew up going to church and Sunday School every week, so I tend to be amazed when I hear about something "crazy" in the Bible that I never ever picked up on before.
I am reading a book ("Once Upon A Tree") and the author mentioned Jesus' crucifixion and the curtain in the temple being torn in half, the earth shaking, and the sky turning black. He then went on to mention dead people coming out of their graves and walking the earth again.
I had to stop and re-read that a couple of times. I don't know about you, but I NEVER heard about that last part before. At first I thought I had read it incorrectly and he was referring to the end times or maybe even back to Lazarus.
I grabbed my Bible and started searching the gospels for the account of Jesus' death and lo and behold I found it. It's only mentioned in the book of Matthew but there it was(Mt 27:51-53 for those of you keeping score at home).
"At that moment the curtain of the temples was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus' resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people."
How did I never hear about this before? Who were the holy people? What did they do? How long did they run around before they dropped dead again? Yeah, I know the focus isn't the dead people but about Christ on the cross, but I definitely want more information on THIS. It's just so bizarre to me!
Has anyone else also been deprived of this story growing up? I definitely think I would have remembered something like this, but for some reason I never picked up on it before. I know sometimes you'll be reading the Bible and pick up on something you never noticed before and you'll get a revelation of sorts. But why is the topic of dead people walking around jumping out at me now?
I am reading a book ("Once Upon A Tree") and the author mentioned Jesus' crucifixion and the curtain in the temple being torn in half, the earth shaking, and the sky turning black. He then went on to mention dead people coming out of their graves and walking the earth again.
I had to stop and re-read that a couple of times. I don't know about you, but I NEVER heard about that last part before. At first I thought I had read it incorrectly and he was referring to the end times or maybe even back to Lazarus.
I grabbed my Bible and started searching the gospels for the account of Jesus' death and lo and behold I found it. It's only mentioned in the book of Matthew but there it was(Mt 27:51-53 for those of you keeping score at home).
"At that moment the curtain of the temples was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus' resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people."
How did I never hear about this before? Who were the holy people? What did they do? How long did they run around before they dropped dead again? Yeah, I know the focus isn't the dead people but about Christ on the cross, but I definitely want more information on THIS. It's just so bizarre to me!
Has anyone else also been deprived of this story growing up? I definitely think I would have remembered something like this, but for some reason I never picked up on it before. I know sometimes you'll be reading the Bible and pick up on something you never noticed before and you'll get a revelation of sorts. But why is the topic of dead people walking around jumping out at me now?
Friday, November 12, 2004
Keeping Up With The Joneses
Yesterday I got a chance to hang out with my good buddy John Jones from back home in Indiana. We've known each other since the 1st grade. We grew up hanging out together a lot and I still recall performing each year in the elementary talent shows doing Abbott & Costello's "Who's On First".
I haven't had a chance to hang with John in who knows how long. I saw him a few years ago at our 5-year reunion but we didn't get to really "hang out" hang out. John's workplace sent him down here to Nashville for a convention this week and yesterday we were able to get together and catch up. I drove him around and showed him the Nashville sight (like there's more than one sight to see here) and introduced him to the wonder that is Baja Burrito.
It was really good to see John again. It was refreshing. Hopefully I'll be able to see him again before another ten years goes by.
I haven't had a chance to hang with John in who knows how long. I saw him a few years ago at our 5-year reunion but we didn't get to really "hang out" hang out. John's workplace sent him down here to Nashville for a convention this week and yesterday we were able to get together and catch up. I drove him around and showed him the Nashville sight (like there's more than one sight to see here) and introduced him to the wonder that is Baja Burrito.
It was really good to see John again. It was refreshing. Hopefully I'll be able to see him again before another ten years goes by.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
The Year Of Ed
I'll be 34 in about a week, and let me tell you, as I look back I realize that 33 sucked big time. I remember when I turned 33 I was all excited because, you know, 33 was kind of a big year for Jesus and I wondered what this magical age had in store for me. After all is said in done, I feel like I've gone through a crucifixion or two of my own.
And I'm ready for 34. It's not that I'm ready for 33 to be OVER, but I'm ready for how good I know 34 is going to be. I'm ready for 34 to be a good year; to be the total inverse opposite of the age that I shall heretofore refer to as The Evil Age Of 33.
34 is going to rock. Really. I'm all set and I'm putting things into action.
34 is going to kick 33's butt.
Watch.
And I'm ready for 34. It's not that I'm ready for 33 to be OVER, but I'm ready for how good I know 34 is going to be. I'm ready for 34 to be a good year; to be the total inverse opposite of the age that I shall heretofore refer to as The Evil Age Of 33.
34 is going to rock. Really. I'm all set and I'm putting things into action.
34 is going to kick 33's butt.
Watch.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
New Music
One of the many things in life that brings me happiness is finding a new musical artist that I really dig. This year one of my discoveries has been Robbie Williams. That dude is cool. I have also recently stumbled upon Kristian Leontiou and am also delving into Fatboy Slim. Those Brits have something going on over there. There's also an English group called "V" (I don't know if it's pronounced "vee" or "five") and it's all thanks to a UK version of "Now That's What I Call Music." I'm hooked.
Since I'm talking music, let me also bring up Martina Topley-Bird. I don't know where she's from, but I read a good review on her album in Entertainment Weekly and I'm really into her sound. Kind of a Macy Gray meets Bjork meets Dicky Ochoa vibe.
Cool.
Since I'm talking music, let me also bring up Martina Topley-Bird. I don't know where she's from, but I read a good review on her album in Entertainment Weekly and I'm really into her sound. Kind of a Macy Gray meets Bjork meets Dicky Ochoa vibe.
Cool.
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