You've Got to be F***ing Kidding Me!

I’ve wanted to start blogging regularly for a while now, but two questions confounded me; how should I start and would anyone even be interested in reading my inane ramblings.  I decided not to worry about the latter.  Let’s be real here; the last thing the world actually needs is another blog by another independent filmmaker whining about how hard it is to make his or her art.  To some degree blogging is really just a vanity thing anyway and/or an early sign of dementia because, let’s face it, it’s a good bet most bloggers are only talking to themselves.

With that issue aside the only question remaining was how to start a new blog.  What fascinating things could I say about myself and my experiences in the world of micro-budget film making to launch this new endeavor and, hopefully, entice a few friends or fans or casual internet surfers to check it out and maybe even come back for future posts?  And yesterday the answer presented itself:

Nothing.

Nope, I’ll be focusing on nothing about film making for this first blog entry.  Instead, I’m going to relate to you the series of bad luck incidents that plagued my Monday morning.  Why?  What’s the point? Because if I wrote this in a film you’d say, that's not believable.  It's one coincidence too many. 

Nothing tragic happened, mind you.  Just an escalating series of bad luck that reached the point of absurdity around 10:30am.

Now, if you'll indulge me, I'll borrow a line from an early passage in the novel “The Exorcist” by William Peter Blatty.

The beginning of the horror passed almost unnoticed …

I couldn’t find any of my navy socks.  I didn’t specifically need navy socks, not for any higher purpose other than the haze of my early morning thinking decided that’s what would best match the rest of my clothes.  So there I am looking for navy socks in my sock drawer, but there are none to be found.  Maybe the dryer?  No luck.  Laundry basket?  Nope.  Back to the sock drawer because … well, I’m still sleepy so I might have missed them the first go around.  Sure enough, I’d mistaken a navy pair of socks for black.  (By way of an excuse for this silliness, the wife was still asleep so I didn’t have the lights in the bedroom on, so cut me some slack.) 

Socks found, dressed, off to work.  But first I need to let the dogs out.  Down to the basement to get the pups and upon opening the door an awful smell slaps me in the face.  I’m awake now.  Downstairs I find the source.  The larger of our two dogs has gotten sick during the night and had herself an accident.  Several actually.  I’ll spare you the gory description.  Enough to say that it was liquidy and everywhere.

I spend the next few minutes performing the acrobatic feat of hustling two dogs – dogs who are excited to see me and expecting their morning round of petting and love and “who’s the best dogs!” – outside without letting either of them touch me.  Next I grab some plastic bags and use them to pick up some of the solid waste lying about, and then collect the soiled bedding that I’m not even going to try to clean, and all that goes to the garbage.  The rest is going to have to wait for my wife and daughter to clean because I’m now late for work.

Jump in the car, back out of the driveway and clomp, clomp, clomp.  Well that didn’t sound right.  Out of the car and a quick check reveals a flat tire.  Not a tire very low on air.  No, this is a flat flat, no air left, you aren’t going anywhere until you change this tire.

I won’t regale you with descriptions of my humorous deficiency in automotive repair skills.  Let’s just say the job took a while, but eventually I got the tire changed.  What I will mention about this portion of the morning is that the humidity was absurd.  It wasn’t even that hot.  Low 80’s maybe.  But damn, was it humid.  Somehow the moisture in the air merged with the sweat coming off my body to make Super Sweat, so by the time I’m finished with the tire my shirt is sopping wet.

So back in the house to sponge off and change shirts.

Finally I’m on the road.  I stop at the service to get the tire patched up.  It’s one of those quick oil-change places, but very good people there.  They do all my auto servicing and I never have any complaints about them.  Fifteen minutes later, the tire is plugged and back on the car, and I’m on the road heading in to work.

I decide to stop at the Chik-fil-a to grab a chicken bagel on my way in.  By this time it’s around 9:30 or so and the cafeteria at work is likely wrapping up the breakfast service, so it’s a quick, fast-food breakfast or wait until lunch.  I dart inside (I hate drive-thru), grab my chicken bagel and head back to the car.  As I go to open my door I hear this strange sound.  Like a snake hissing.  I step back to the rear tire, the one that only minutes ago got patched.  The hissing is louder.  I can see the spot on the tire where the patch was just done.  I push my finger against the sticky patch material.  The hissing stops.  Move my finger.  Hissing.  The patch didn’t hold.

Back to the service station.  This time they have me pull the car around to the service area behind the oil-change bays.  The mechanic takes the tire off the rim entirely and patches the hole from the inside.  This takes quite a bit longer, but when he’s done it is capital P, Patched, and it ain’t coming undone.  He puts the tire back on the car, walks up to me and says, “You’re good to go.”  I say thanks, and start the car.

Only it doesn’t start. 

Turn the key.  Nothing.  Somehow, some way, the battery is dead.

At this point I shout at no one in particular, “You’ve got to be f***ing kidding me!”

The mechanic, ignoring my outburst, calmly walks across the room and grabs the battery charger.  He hooks it up and a few minutes later I’m actually “good to go.”

I arrive at work around 10:30ish, turn the lights on in my office and sit down to eat my now cold chicken bagel.  As I take my first bite the florescent light overhead goes black.

At this point the situation has become so ridiculous that the only thing left to do is laugh, eat my breakfast and wait patiently for the bus that is surely going to come skidding off the highway and barrel through the wall of my office.

A few minutes later the overhead light comes back on as if to signal that the forces of the universe were now done having a laugh at me and I could go on about my day as normal.


And now for something completely different ...

I'm sort of aping my blog style from my Crewless Productions partner, Chance Shirley, in that he has his main blog post followed by a short section of random thoughts and links of interest for the day.  I suppose I could try to be more creative and come up with my own style ... but I really like his.  And since I'm already lifting the title for this second section from Monty Python, what the hell.  Do be sure to follow the link and check out his blog.  That way maybe he won't sue me.

Speaking of Chance, if you haven't ordered a copy of his film, Interplanetary, do it!  I'm in it and I'm dead sexy!

I am extremely unsure what to think about this.  I'm not anti-remakes, and Spike Lee has directed some wonderful films ... but I just don't know how this will translate to an American film. 

The more observant of you might notice that this isn't actually the first post on this blog even though I'm acting like it is.  So to be technically correct, this is the first public post.  I'd originally set up this space as a place to easily share some stills from the film I was working on to all the actors and crew, and update them on the progress.  Other than the pictures, I failed to post any updates.  I will rectify that soon, as my next post will be about that film.