If you don't have a drummer, then why do you have drums you fistful of assholes?

I love summer in LA! Even though it ain't quite summer and it was a bit overcast I still got to ride longboard waves with dolphins. Seriously. Fucking dolphins in the lineup and just me and my friend Beck (not the singer!) trading waves back and forth. Good damn times! Anyway, I surfed, walked the dog, did the laundry and took care of some paperwork. Following that I picked up the Midget and away we go!

She's still dorking it in regards to her English homework but I think the "ignore her until she does it herself" tact is working really well. She bugs me to do her homework and I give her some encouragement to do it herself. Here are some examples: "You don't need help. You're smart enough to do it yourself. Fuck off and leave me be, child!" You get the drift. More importantly, she's geeked on learning how to kill me on Halo 2. Oh yeah, sure, she wants to play "cooperative mode" but really she's just learning the game so she can battle me and win. Devious little bastard, I love her! We played Halo 2 for about 40 minutes while eating Fatburger and suddenly I realized it was past her bedtime. Oops. Off to bed, oh smelly one.

The girl is at the oprey so I'm going to keep watching hunting shows and Law & Order and maybe check out some Internet porn. I hear it's all the rage these days.

Peace out, bitches!

I am not afraid. They are not afraid. You blow up the wagon, you die. Or we kill you pretty soon. But we are amigos.

Hello world, I'm happy about Operation Bowfinger! Look, look what I did today:

That's right, if a deer is 2o yards away from me, which it won't be, I'll freakin' nail that sucker! Otherwise, I'm sure the deer will only feel the odd sensation of having an arrow zip over its back. Then he'll hear me quietly sobbing somewhere farther away then 20 yards.

Or maybe I'll be good at deer  hunting? Who knows. I'm excited though, I can't wait to start my preseason scouting missions to the middle of nowhere. I can't wait to backpack in, set up camp, and start still hunting bored and totally aware deer who, at this very minute, are planning various strategies to outwit and embarrass idjits like me. Damn, it's going to be completely ridiculous out there with me fumbling around trying to find a deer. 

Off to check tide charts for tomorrow. I chose early bedtime over booze so I could go out tomorrow and ride knee high waves. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Peace out, bitches!

It's come to my attention that you're not paying attention, Otto.

What can I say? The 1st AD isn't a 1stAD, she's Dustin Hoffman's personal assistant. The director is Hoffman's kid, not an actual director. The producers, yes, multiple producers, are not producers. They're mini-Hoffman's idiot acting buddies. The art department is on Zoloft. The only real criminals here are me, the DP, my second and the bastards of Grip and Electric. The real criminal, the ones who have been doing this awhile, are done. We're sick of it, we're over it, we're fucking stuck here two more days. Seriously, I just ate at fucking Applebee's for the second time this week because they have beer and they're the only joint open in Yucca Valley right now. What the fuck? By the way, tonight was also the second time I've ever eaten at Applebee's in my entire life. I gotta get out of here. To list the litany of idiocy experienced just today would overload Blogger. Just imagine your job and then think of all of the things that could go wrong. That someone could choose with time and space to make an "informed" decision and then imagine all of those things happening in one day. How would your workplace look? How would it feel? What would you do? Me, I went to my happy place: a break somewhere in Mexico with family and friends and head high waves, an endless supply of shrimp tacos and Pacificos, miles away from the nearest knucklehead with "a really terrific project that you just have to be a part of!" Bah! I need to win the Lotto and buy a spread out in the country and never do this again. I'll put a duck pond in and just hunt ducks and whatnot on my ranch and once in awhile drive back into town and wonder how I ever put up with these jackasses.

Peace out, bitches!

Well I ain't sorry for you no more, ya crazy, psalm-singing, skinny old maid!

Oh my fucking God! Today was one of the dumbest day I've ever been on set. Yeah, me, ten  years in and having worked on 'em when "excess" was a virtue, I just worked on my first of four days on the dumbest thing ever. Here's the skinny: THE Dustin Hoffman spawned a dreaded "actor/director" and he decided to call in some serious chits and got Bud from Repo Man and Remus Lewpin to star in his weird little wannabe Jarmusch short. Cut to the third reel: besides me and a couple of mercenaries, everyone else is a idjit! A fucking goddamn jackass moron dick in the ass douche bag sonofabitch! The 1st AD is wretched and shrill and stupid and almost made me have to bust her head open when she attacked V2.0 for doing her job. Good times for one third my rate!

Ah, I sound bitter and ya know, I am. Seriously! I'm working for a bunch of people who are only getting what they get because their parents actually rolled the dice and came up in the world. I'm currently out near Joshua Tree working for people who were born on third and thought they hit a triple and have no problem telling you why you fucked up and didn't hit a triple! Me! Semi-normal and always on the brink of clock-towering all of these cunts and this is what I'm dealing with on a holiday weekend! I could be doing so much more  right now. It's a holiday weekend and I could have been chilling with the girl and the Midget but nooooo! I'm in the desert trying to help other people who have had almost everything thrown at their feet since day one. What the fuck is wrong with me? Oh wait, I'm fine and the reality is that I'm not as big a douche as I think I am and maybe I should just admit I should be a teacher. What's so bad about being a film teacher? Ah, wait, I remember, film school teachers are failed film makers and failure is not an option- it's just something that happens all the fucking time. Ah, bitter again. That's it, I'm done. I'm annoying myself and whether or not you're annoyed I don't care. I'm done complaining and thus I'm done typing. Without my bitching I'm nothing? Get fucked, I'm just going to watch "Family Guy."

Peace out, bitches! 

I've never seen so many men wasted so badly.

I haven't posted since Monday as I've been physically unable to do so thanks in no small part to the rigors and idiocy of my chosen profession. Yes, a music video ate my baby! I prepped at Camera House on Monday, two cameras and a bunch of lenses, including my soon to be nemesis, the Angenioux Optimo 12:1. It's as big and heavy as a howitzer round but a thousand times prettier and when you have to physically move it between two camera crews spread out along the Venice boardwalk it defies the laws of physics and becomes twice as heavy. Weird. I also prepped an underwater housing for one of the cameras. That was actually fun as I hadn't used one in awhile so it was a walk down memory lane for this old man as I started remembering how to use the thing by remembering a bunch of jobs from days of old. It dawned on me that aside from just being rad, I've been a camera assistant longer than I've been doing anything else. I'm still on the fence as to whether or not this is a good thing. You know, I'm a responsible-ish adult now with a career and a future and 

blah blah blah. I'm boring myself right now. Back to the job: prep takes forever, V2.0 and Fab show up and we all have some yucks and Fab says she knows how to use the underwater housing and I know she's... fibbing. I'd say lying but it sounds mean spirited. Anyway, it was one of the first clues I had that this job was going to be a ball buster.

Call time: 1:30pm Venice Beach. What to do with the morning? Surf was flat so an hour of yoga it was. Then I went grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. Oh what a treat? Ghost and I walked for a bit and we shot some arrows or rather, I shot some arrows while Ghost chilled. Off to work!

The details of it all are pointless but here are some highlights and lowlifes:

Kelly Rowland is hot. I mean, super-nova hot. I'll put it this way, Jay-Z done fucked up. She was sweet, professional, and into her performances and handled the catcalls and assorted buffoonery of her fans very well. I might call her if this Melah thing doesn't work out.

Two units, one set of lenses, one lazy 2nd. That is how you make my  blood boil and my muscles hurt. 

Late night  in Venice is actually kind of nice. The out of town losers and the local lunatics pretty much clear out as soon as the sun goes down. All that's left are drunks and serial killers.

If nothing else, when shooting at the beach please do everyone a favor and rent Gators to haul gear around. While I love nothing more than a long walk on the beach at dusk I prefer doing it without the 65lbs case on my shoulders.

Hydroflex housings are expensive to rent. Renting them for one shot done in the dying moments of the day is usually dumb. This was no exception. I did like the fact that the director liked the way my ass looks in a wetsuit. I also liked that everyone carted Kelly and her entourage off in a truck while leaving the gear on the beach. This allowed my to go play in the surf while at work. Joy.

Wrap time: 1:30am. Just in time for a shot and a beer at the local tavern. Lights out!

The next day was spent lying on the couch and in bed crying from the combination of still pinched C8 nerve group and muscle fatigue from running around like a lunatic. Also, I'm apparently very old now. I did by some new arrows and a deer sized paper target with vitals marked on it. The photo shows an arrow grouping shot from 60 yards. There's one in the heart, which is nice, but the rest are kinda ugly. Look out Bambi, if you stay still for four arrows one might kill you. Hey, it was my first time shooting from that far!

Anywhy, it's Thursday and I need to walk Ghost and eat some form of food and then go prep for a short we're doing out by Joshua Tree. V2.0 is coming with and we'll probably regret doing this but so it goes. My friend is shooting it and he needs help. He's good, he just keeps making odd choices that don't exactly get him further along in his career. Whatever, I'll help him and maybe it'll be fun. Harry Dean Stanton is in it and I think I'm going to bring my cowboy hat and try to get a photo of me 'n Harry. Repo Man forever! Melah might come out and visit and I might stay an extra night so as to go hiking and maybe shoot some skeet. We'll see.

Peace out, bitches!

Names is for tombstones, baby! Y'all take this honkey out and WASTE HIM! NOW!

Bored at The Camera House Update:

So I took a tarot card test at my mom's sight and this is what I got. Read 'em and weep, I am.

You are The Wheel of Fortune

Good fortune and happiness but sometimes a species of
intoxication with success

The Wheel of Fortune is all about big things, luck, change, fortune. Almost always good fortune. You are lucky in all things that you do and happy with the things that come to you. Be careful that success does not go to your head however. Sometimes luck can change.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Peace out, bitches!

You know you're not too funny today, fat man.

On Sunday I didn't quite get my wishes of surfing and sloth fulfilled. We didn't go to our party because our pal didn't take the Midget so instead the girls moped around the house and we had Thai food. Boring. Sunday rolled around and instead of going to the beach we waited for said pal to get the Midget and then Melah and I saw Star Trek. Now I'd already seen it with the bros but dammit if it wasn't just as exciting the second time around! We drank Icees and ate popcorn and then it was off to do the laundry. Oh yeah, full blown Danger Ranger shit for us on Sunday! The Midget had to go to the doctor for an earache so the next thing you know, Sunday is over and we still hadn't cleaned the kitchen out so the landlord could redo the floors. Nothing quite compares to dismantling a huge fridge at 9pm except dismantling a huge fridge at 9pm and having an earthquake hit. That's right, an earthquake. Turns out it was 5.whatever near Long Beach and only one person got hurt. Maybe this will drop housing prices some more or spark an exodus from SoCal. One can hope. C'mon Doc, where's the shrine to simultaneous disasters in LA?

Back at work. Probably going to get crushed tomorrow out in Venice with Mr. Broms and Mr. Akerlund, two wonderful Swedes from back in the day. At least I'm working.

Peace out, bitches!

It's not often you see a guy that green have the blues that bad.

What can I say? We worked our asses off for two days in a sweaty-ass basement done up to look like a cafeteria. Even had 160 pimple faced bastard high school kids as actors and background. My god, those kids fucking text constantly! It's kind of creepy as they're constantly yammering as well while still texting. Annoying. Gross. Loud. Smelly. Stupid. Maybe Ani can just stay seven for awhile...

I went out in Williamsburg last night and hung out with the hipsters. It was fun. I ate a bunch of empanadas I ordered from a street vendor while speaking horrible Spanish. I really should learn Spanish. We got a little tore up but it weren't too bad. I met cousin's boyfriend and was relieved that not only is he a surfer, he's a nice guy and not at all Benny-like. Go cousin!

I home and showered and my luggage has hopefully showed up by now. We'll see. Melah signed us up for a party tonight so I guess I should nap and then do that thing. Can't wait to hit the surf tomorrow and I don't care if it's flat or epic, I just need to get into my beloved Pacific.

Peace out, bitches!

Only money brings you here? Hell no! I just love to have my picture taken with lions.

Oh me oh my how I can't stand The Ex. In the never ending saga of one person being a total douche to another person I now have to pay "late fees and excess account charges" in the neighborhood of $300. Really? You're that hard up for chaos and revenge that you're going to sic your attorney on me for $300? Such an ass. As the Swede said over pasta, "She's a loser. Just remember that and you will be fine. At least you don't have kids with that loser." Truer words were never spoken. (passage redacted due to legal reasons) I just need to pay this lunatic and get on with my wonderful life.

NYC is funny. CBGBs is a boutique store dedicated to... CBGB's paraphernalia. The Bowery has been refigured as an East Coast Melrose. People preen and dress up and look like piranhas on a fucking Thursday night while all the while the junkies scream at each other and the illegals do all the real work and the middle class just tries to make it across a bridge or through a tunnel and back to some semblance of sanity. I love that people say LA is so fake a New York is a "real" city. Stand inside a club or a restaurant in Manhattan and tell me that all of the store bought tans and overpriced clothes and robot smiles are real. Watch a gaggle of desperate suits puff up their chests whenever a group of coked up chickenheads walks by and tell me this is anything other than performance are writ large. Tell me! I dare you! Give me a slice and a beer with my pals in a rat hole bar and I'm in the real New York. You can keep Park Ave, I'll take the Bowery! Oh wait, that's all yupped out. I'll take the Alphabets! Oh wait, that's all yupped out too. Dammit! Brooklyn! Nope, gentrified. Aw hell, I'm out of here. You can find me on a beach in Cali come Sunday morn.

Peace out, bitches!

And when there was no fowl, we ate crawdad and when there was no crawdad to be found, we ate sand.

Last night in NYC was a blast. Venard, who I ain't seen in a long-ass time, picked me up at JFK and I got to meet his kids and his ex-girlfriend. She's apparently a lot like The Fucking Ex-Wife: mean, loud, bitter, and mad at the world. They broke up  and now he's dealing with life and working nights and taking care of the kids during the day. As always he's still upbeat but damn, it's rough out here! We drove in, stashed the gear at Crille's hotel, had a beer and some buffalo mozzarella with Crille and then we were off to Crif Dog.

Crif Dog is the best hot dog joint in NYC. I don't care what anyone else says, this place has it all. Crazy combos (The Spicy Redneck: dog wrapped in bacon, covered with chili, jalapenos, and coleslaw), great prices, and PBR and Jager. Whoops, they got busted since last I was in New York and now no booze. Not a problem as Martina and Becky met up with us and away we went. First stop, crazy tequila bar complete with a staff that didn't speak Spanish or pronounce anything correctly. Everyone got stupid mixed drinks (Micheladas and Sneakers and who the fuck cares) while V and I went with top shelf anejos and beers. Good but not great. Next up, Mars Bar. Total shithole. One bathroom busted, the other stunk to high heaven. Super narrow and cramped and slightly gross smelling. Covered in really cool/rambling/psychotic graff and possessed of an absolutely fantastic jukebox. From Frank Sinatra to the Cramps with several odd stops in between. Our friend Helene had shown up by this point with her boyfriend and she and I proceeded to kill the jukebox. Beers for all my friends.

I also at this point had a long heart to heart with cousin regarding girl and I think all is well now. Go cousin!

Are we done yet? Nope. One more bar who's name I now forget and the next thing you know people start dropping like flies. It's 3am and time to call it a day. Jet lag not yet setting in so I knew the next morning would suck.

It did. I prepped. I ate a pastrami on rye. I took a cab to Brooklyn. I sat on set waiting for the camera to show up. I moved two cameras worth of stuff by myself and set up cameras. I sat. I left. 

We ate snails at fan-fucking-tastic Chinese place in the newly remodeled Bowery. Congee Bowery Restaurant has real Chinese food. No chicken kung pao here, nope no way nevah. This place is as real as it gets and while the service staff can all suck my sweaty balls the food killed. Snails in black bean sauce, shrimp spiced rice noodles, "juicy buns," snow pea leaves, beef chow mein from heaven, and spicy fried tofu. Add a few rounds of Tsingtao and away we go.

TSA stole/lost two t-shirts, a pair of swim trunks, and one sock. I shall smell for the rest of this trip unless I can get at least one shirt. I hate TSA.

OK, up early tomorrow for work and then sleep and then work and then drinks and then up and on the plane. Work next week!

Peace out, bitches!

Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory.

I am packed up and ready to go. I have packed lightly for stealth and ease of movement. I am infiltrating NYC and dammit I am excited about this. I shall visit with friends I have not seen for awhile, friends I made through The Goddamn Ex-Wife. Strangely enough I have the feeling that they like me more than The Goddamn Ex-Wife. Funny how things work out. Anywhat, I got almost everything done I needed to do today except for my laundry and that does kind of suck balls. Oh well, I won't look as sexified as I'd like but so it go. So it go.

Peace out, bitches!

Haven't you ever heard of the healing power of laughter?

What? Seriously? So the midget is all laughter and fun and running around and acting like a brat this weekend and now, Monday morning when there's swell, she's suddenly sick. I don't like kids. There, I said it. Obviously we can't send her to school because then she'll infect everyone else but now my day is compromised. No early surf and dog walk. No taking care of the grocery shopping nice and early, beat the crowds, you know? No, I now get to clean the house and sit around until Melah gets off work early. At 11am. That's half the day stuck in the house! Dammit! Is there any way to be single, mid-20s and living in SF again? Just drinking and skating and not worrying about too much else? No? Fuck. Better get started on the dishes then.

Peace out, bitches!

Did Doogie Houser just steal my fucking car?

It's so funny, just when you think it can't happen again someone goes out and makes another Star Trek movie and what can I say? I saw it. It ruled. Nice blend of old Star Trek movie madness and new school snarkiness and CG work. There were a few scenes on the bridge that were completely over stylized but overall it worked. The nicest part was that I saw it with both the brothers. The not nice part was that we saw it at one of those super malls: The Americana at Brand. You know, trolley car for no good reason, overdone lawns, super expensive niche stores, and a ton of people wearing either their pajamas or their Sunday best. I found it completely annoying and couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Last night I took the girl to AOC on Beverly. The prices are steep but the food is phenomenal. We started off with a fine selection of cheeses including a stunningly complex and delicious Italian blue. After the cheese came the artisnal salamis: four different types whose names are now lost to me but by God they were good! Next up was an amazingly simple but flavorful salad of arugula, radish, fried calamari, and an aioli salad dressing that killed. It was a small plate and I truly wish I knew how to make it as I'd have that for dinner every night. Our entrees showed up in quick order and the lamb skewers with artichoke and almonds and salsa verde were stunning. Melah had ordered diver scallops wrapped in prosciutto with English peas in a saffron butter sauce. Oh. My. God. The dark horse was the fingerling potatoes in creme fraiche. So damn good it made me want to slap myself. For dessert I went out on a limb for me and ordered a warm blueberry gallette with ice cream and whipped cream. The girl got the bittersweet chocolate tart and it blew my dessert out of the water. All in all a wonderful way to celebrate Saturday and a great way to spend a few hours.

Mother's Day: what? It's Hallmark crap. On top of that I have to go to what will probably be a crappy restaurant with Melah's parents. Damn holidays.

Peace out, bitches!

I asked for it. 'To be heading into the inexorable, where only reality reigns.'I was drunk with those words. Well, this is reality.

After Sunday I was too depressed to even bother writing. Spring Turkey Season 1 was a complete failure except in the sense that I realized I need to work on my mouth calls and my Primos Turkey Strap Vest sucks balls. I killed my self all Sunday morning and still ended up with nothing to show for it except a few bizarre encounters with people and animals. 

I got into the field at dawn and suited up in a ghillie suit and headed out with only a hen deke. I had read that the big ass tom deke I had would likely scare other toms away in late season so, being an adherent of book learnin', I headed out with only one deke. It didn't matter. Best camo system ever, good looking deke, patience, and every call I could muster and six hours later no turkeys. Not even a hen. Not even a peep from anything. Sure, a covey of quail walked out of the brush an arms length away from me but so what? I couldn't shoot 'em so who fucking cares? OK, I watched doves battle in the skies above my head but so what? I was there for a turkey and it didn't happen. I am depressed.

In other news, I worked for two days on a Jonas brothers video and didn't really mind as I was the B-cam guy and happy to have the work. The only real highlight to the whole 48 hours was the taco cart guy at the end. Who doesn't want freshly made carne asada and carnitas tacos at the end of a long day? Production even sported for a bottle of tequila and gave all what wanted a shot. It went well with the case of Pacificos we had chilling on the truck. Good times.

In even more other news, my aunt went batshit and kicked her 16 year old twins to the curb. Guess who's stuck with them now.

And in a final installment of otherness news, I'm going to fuck off now and purchase a ticket to NYC for to make it the one JC Penny commercial with Swedish DP. I'm going to go to Crif Dog immediately and scarf for awhile and then try to get into Bourdain's old joint. Yeah, it's all about eating when I go to New York. What a bum I am.

Peace out, bitches!

Ok, so why are we here? Probably to answer the most basic question: "What is wrong with you people?"

Seventeen and eighteen year olds are funny wehn grouped together in your living room. They're awkward and odd and lean on things they shouldn't and spill food all over your freshly cleaned floors. God bless 'em, at least they didn't raid the booze. We hosted Sister 3's birthday party and it seemed to go well. Melah's parents brought over a gang of geek, I mean greek, food and everyone drank soda, didn't smoke dope, and listened to music and hopefully managed not to scratch any of my CDs. Good times. Lazlo showed up and helped me kill a case of Newcastle and that was that except I needed to wake up at 4am to head up to Ft. Hunter-Ligget. Traffic fucked me but I made it and now I sit forlornly in yet another motel room, turkey-less. I might cry a little.

I hunted Training Area 29, which is a gargantuan chunk of relatively untouched bit of California valley beauty. I love it here. It's gorgeous and, aside from the occasional sound of .50cal rounds going off in the distance, it's tranquil. I actually fell asleep for about twenty minutes while posted up looking for turkeys. Full ghillie suit and face mask and decoys set up and bam, asleep. Silly man. I walked and called and staked out a couple of spots but nothing came of it except I jumped some of the biggest jack rabbits I've ever seen and found a million and a half quail and dove. It never fails, you go hunting and find millions of whatever is out of season and nothing that you can actually shoot. I saw deer everywhere and even stalked up to within twenty yards of a doe. It was funny, I don't think she knew I was there until I popped up and used my mouth call. How's that for fun? You're a deer and you're just chilling, lying around when all of a sudden a tree pops up and screams at you like a turkey. What the fuck?!

Anyway, I'm a bit depressed. Tomorrow is the last day of turkey season and I think I'm going to come up with a goose egg. In my defense, it's my first season and I worked most of the time. Tomorrow is only going to be day six for my first spring turkey season. How unsatisfying. I guess I'll have to cheer myself up by going pig hunting sometime soon. Not that I was particularly successful at that the two times I went but hey, that's why it's called hunting and not shopping.

Peace out, bitches!

What's the point? Hooks and lines...

I spent Wednesday night in a Motel 6 in Oceanside and it felt like heaven. A real bed and a hot shower, good times! I was going to surf but it was pretty flat and all I had was my 6'4" which doesn't really come alive until it gets to at least chest high. Oh well, I had a good time driving up the coast, checking out spots and listening to the radio. When I got into LA I had to get to the doctor as my arm was killing me. Turns out I have a pinched/fucked up C8 nerve which has rendered my left arm semi useless. Not completely done, just in pain all day all the time. So fun. my doctor gave me a clean bill of health and says I still don't need to come in until I'm 40. Hmm, that's right around the corner, isn't it? Am I to believe that one day I'll wake up and just be in bad shape? Sounds fun. 

I took Melah and Bog out to dinner at Harold and Belle's last night and all I have to say is, "Damn, it feels good to be a creole." Perfectly good meal and then a table full of loud, drunk imbeciles sat next to us and proceeded to be as loud and annoying as humanely possible. Um, just because the President is black doesn't mean we get to act like stereotypical loud-ass niggers when we go out, does it? I dunno, I didn't get a memo regarding this type of crap. Melah thinks my family is just as loud when we're all together. I pointed out that at least our loud conversations are at least a lot more interesting, witty, and generally more fun. Jeez, I hope we don't sound as ignorant as the table next to us!

Surf time and then clean house for Sister 3's 18th b-day party. Out in the woods for a few days and everything falls to pieces...

Peace out, bitches!