Friday, February 27, 2009

addendum

That last part has bugged me ever since I wrote it over a week ago.

"My craft needs the practice, anyway."

Huh? Since when have I had a "craft"?! That wording is just a mite pretentious from a kid with a blog and a bad screenplay in the can.

It's been two weeks since my tenure on the set of Tough Love ended. To flesh out my job a little further, basically they hired me to be Sisyphus. My night shifts consisted of repeated trips to the grocery store, sweeping and mopping floors, stocking the catering tables, and waiting in line at Jerry's Famous Deli to feed my fellow crew members. Then the next night I'd come in and do the same thing. Over and over.

None of these tasks left any mark. Every night I came back, it was like I'd done nothing at all. The floors were a mess, they all needed more food, more groceries, the catering table was a crime scene, and Jerry's Famous still took half an hour to make two sandwiches and a bowl of soup. 

I wasn't "Flood" here. Even though Key PA from Wedding Palace worked the day shifts, we only saw each other a couple of times. (He's still looking to get me on another crew with him. Score, hardcore.) At night, the few people I worked with kept mostly to themselves. On Sundays, the house was nearly empty. I spent most of my free time hanging with the security guard, named Rod. Much like the work I got done-- I probably didn't leave a huge mark on this job.

But you live and learn. I could have worked harder. Although I didn't meet very many people I could relate to, and I never bothered to pretend I was somebody I'm not. That could have affected the overall experience.

All in all, I can still take away lots of memories and lessons from Tough Love.

The best day of work was the first Sunday. I went with a "production coordinator" and the eight castmates of the show to Hollywood at 6am to a photo shoot. Although I was very confused and nobody was really explaining anything to me, I figured out they were shooting a bunch of promo stills and videos for the show-- all at once.

After the shoot, we went into West Hollywood to visit Sunset Tan. Yes, the one with the reality show. No, I've never seen the show. The girls all got nice fake tans, and some went across the street for a pedicure. My production coordinator and I split up and babysat various girls while they indulged in the Southern California way of life. I got to talk to a lot of them, and had a few vewwy intewwesting conversations. No, I'm not going to tell you anything I heard. Yes, that makes me a dillhole.

My Hollywood Sunday ended back on set, where Rod and I talked with an older woman with a GIGANTIC dog on a tiny leash. She was probably the most friendly person I've ever met on a street in Los Angeles. We were giving her advice on how to control her dog, who seemed to like "playing" with passersby, despite her struggles. That's when I discovered that Rod and I both watch Dog Whisperer.

"You have to be the pack leader," he said. "When Cesar does it, it's all psychological."

"Exactly," I chimed in. "You have to be the dominant one in the relationship. You don't need a lot of strength physically-- it's emotional strength that matters. Animals respond to that."

I stepped in front of the dog and glared down at him. I tried to direct my "energy" at him, like Khaaaan Cesar Milan does. The dog looked up at me. I leaned over him, imposing, and looked into his eyes with all the intensity I could muster. I said: "SIT." The dog jumped up and licked my face while I was still finishing the word. My mouth was slightly open. I remembered that detail.

I won't say that it's not going to be pretty satisfying watching Tough Love on TV next month. It'll be my first chance to watch something I worked on-- as a final product.

But without the "Flood" identity, the whole gig ended up being more of an exercise in pushing boulders up a big hill.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

wake up.

IGGY!!!

Huh?! What? Who's there?

THIS IS YOUR BLOG SPEAKING, IGGY.

(silence)

I MISS YOU.

Aw, come on, IQ. You're still getting all kinds of hits! Remember that Sylvester Stallone picture with the veiny arms, that got listed on search engines? You get twenty visitors a day from Europe!

WAS I CREATED SO THAT AWKWARD EUROPEANS WHO SEARCHED "SYLVESTER STALLONE VEINS" ON GOOGLE COULD MARVEL AT THE BICEPS OF A FORMER SOFTCORE PORN ACTOR?!

No, of course-- Woah. Wait, is that true?

YEP. I LOOKED IT UP ON WIKIPEDIA.

Well I can't help it if my quest got a little static for a while. I was distracted, I was uninspired. It happens! And it seems like you're doing all right without me, IQ. You even learned how to embed links in your sentences.

I HAD TO DO SOMETHING WITH ALL MY FREE TIME.

Agh. Jeez, I'm sorry.

AND IT'S NOT JUST ABOUT ME, EITHER. THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO READ THIS BLOG-- PEOPLE WHO HAVEN'T SEEN A NEW UPDATE IN WEEKS. THESE PEOPLE TRULY CARE ABOUT THE QUEST, IGGY. THEY DEMAND RESOLUTION. THEY DEMAND... ANSWERS.

I know. I just really haven't had much to say recently! The reality show went fine. Everything that was going on with the stars of the show, the eight girls who lived in the house for a month, was fascinating and hilarious. But for me, as a lowly PA, I was kept busy in other places, or kept watch during sleeping hours. I can't tell most of the stories I heard because that would breach my contract in many unpleasant and scrotum-threatening ways. So that kinda puts a damper on the whole blog-ability factor.

YOU COULD HAVE WRITTEN A POST ABOUT THAT!

Well... here I am?

I'M SO UPSET WITH YOU RIGHT NOW IGGY. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I SUMMONED YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Speaking of which-- how exactly is this conversation taking place?

DRUGS, IGG-STER.

Benadryl doesn't count. I take it to sleep sometimes. It's better than horse tranquilizers.

SO IF YOU CAN'T TELL ANY OF THE STORIES FROM SET... WHY DO YOU KEEP ME AROUND, ANYWAY?

IQ! You know why I keep you around. I don't just have to talk "shop" all the time! In fact, I don't even think most people find that all very interesting. I can tell stories that I want to tell, post what I want to post-- and it's all the stuff that matters to me most. I love having you around, Google-boy. And I meant to tell you, I dig the new look.

BLOGSPOT IS A FLAWLESS WEBSITE. MY CUSTOMIZATION OPTIONS ARE UNPARALLELED. PURCHASE GOOGLE STOCK.
Uh... Okay?

THE RECESSION IS A LIE. GOOGLE GETS 150 MILLION HITS PER DAY. BUY STOCK. BUY HIGHER RESOLUTION TV SETS. IGNORE THE MONOPOLY, ANTITRUST LAWS ARE OUTDATED-- GOOGLE WILL RULE-- MICROSOFT 2.0--

IQ!!!

(KGHH-- BLURG--)

(silence)

AGH. SORRY ABOUT THAT. 

I am both uncomfortable and, frankly, somewhat concerned for the future of mankind.

COME BACK TO ME, IGGY.

Okay. I'll start writing again. It's easier once you break that "first post in a long while" spell. My craft needs the practice, anyway.

YOU'RE THE BEST.

Thanks.

(SILENCE)

So uh... how do I get out of here?