Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Off and On: Victory Over Crabs!
Off and On: Victory Over Crabs!: The bad news is, no paying work again today or checks from our other movie endeavors. The good news is, Mike had a very good interview toda...
Victory Over Crabs!
The bad news is, no paying work again today or checks from our other movie endeavors. The good news is, Mike had a very good interview today and another tomorrow. Send all your good karma this way that I'll finally start with the job my temp agency claims to have for me and that Mike gets a good permanent gig!
So, since the water level dropped and today was a beautiful day we went fishing again. This time there weren't too many people already taking up the good spots on the dock and we dropped our nets. Lo and behold, we caught eight crabs! Fish were all over the place, but they weren't biting. Gumbo is on the menu for tonight and the next few days!
Now that we know what to do, it's so easy a five year old could handle it. Step one: Find chicken leg. Step two: Tie chicken leg to bottom of net. Step three: Lower net into water and wait 10-15 minutes. Step four: Pull up delicious crab slowly and dump into five gallon bucket. Step five: Repeat steps one through four ad infinitum, or until you run out of crab.
Well, we didn't run out of crab, but we did run out of room in the bucket. Since eight crab were way too many to eat on our own we invited James over to indulge and watch a movie. I gave myself crabby butt by accidentally sitting on my bowl of gumbo. One towel and a bunch of laughing later, we got down to munching and movies. "13 Assassins" is "The Seven Samurai" on steroids, by the way. Not much on plot, but some pretty cool fight scenes.
Off to bed now, I'm crabbed out and ready to sleep. Here for your enjoyment is today's crab adventure in glorious color.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Off and On: Parker, Yet Again!
Off and On: Parker, Yet Again!: I tell you what, it's not easy being in the movies. We've got it pretty slick as extras, but it's still essentially blue collar work. Wake...
Parker, Yet Again!
I tell you what, it's not easy being in the movies. We've got it pretty slick as extras, but it's still essentially blue collar work. Wake up at 5:30 am for 7:00 call time, nosh on what may or may not be a good breakfast (in this case it was great...lunch, not so much), sit around and wait, and then do exactly as the director tells you in all kinds of weather or risk his ire. And oh yeah, don't look at the stars of the show. All in all though, I've had worse jobs and it is fun when you're actually doing something.
It appears that Mike and I will have some up front face time on screen with today's primary actor Jennifer Lopez. The beginning of the shoot went smoothly, then lunch just seemed to drag. It was a beautiful day today so cast, crew, and extras were all relishing the pleasant weather. Unfortunately, we forgot the sunblock and now Mike and I look like Bob the Tomato. The entire second half of the shoot was an exercise in deliberately not looking conspicuous. And through it all, I was reminded of what is, quite possibly, J-Lo's most striking and memorable moment of her acting career. Enjoy! http://youtu.be/ENLPC1MxqDg
Friday, September 2, 2011
Off and On: Foul Winds and Decadence
Off and On: Foul Winds and Decadence: It's Labor Day weekend and around these parts that means four days of homer-sexual debauchery in the French Quarter. Thousands upon thousan...
Foul Winds and Decadence
It's Labor Day weekend and around these parts that means four days of homer-sexual debauchery in the French Quarter. Thousands upon thousands of gay men (and for women, the smaller festival of Dykeadence) flood the 'hood for parties, drunkenness, and sex sex sex.
This year, however, may end up a bit more sparse due to Tropical Storm Lee coming through. I personally am extremely thankful for the rains it's brought. Not only has it cooled things down to a more than tolerable 81 degrees, but it put out the remainder of this week's swamp fire. Lightning struck out in the marshes at the beginning of the week and it was left to burn itself out; much to the chagrin of everyone in a 30 mile radius that had to breathe the acrid smoke. It was so bad that I woke up out of a dream that the house was on fire at the start of it. No worries, the house is fine but the ozone stank to high heaven all week.
As the temp agency STILL hasn't gotten me working (but says the job is still on at last correspondence) today we took advantage of the dreary weather and went fishing and crabbing in St. Rose. This taught us two valuable lessons:
1. Show up early before all the good spots are taken.
2. Crabs WILL take bacon as bait.
Here's the proof!
This was a small one, barely bigger than a deck of cards. They get about twice this size, and boy are they yummy! They're also called Gumbo crabs and are extremely tasty in da soup. Mmm...gumbo. But, since we only caught this little one, he went back into the pond. By the way, since the chicken wire in the back was so rusted it was crumbling, we ended up getting two crab nets at Walmart for $1.97 each that worked just fine. Now that I have one to reference, I can make my own with some wire coat hangers and cotton thread. Yay!
Aside from living off the land (such as it is), the other task of the week was revisiting the Parker shoot. This time it was background work for a parade setting. Instead of being blown up this time we got to...are you ready for this? Watch Jason Statham drive around a corner! Yeah!
Ok, it wasn't quite on the same level of propane explosions but he's still hot. Yeah, I said it. Jason Statham. HAWT. Watch the horse racing scene in Cranked 2 and tell me he's not. Actually, the most amusing part of the short shoot was watching the directors' spat in the school bus. There were a bus load of Boy Scouts that were supposed to come on scene at a certain time and missed their cue. The director took off his hat (always a bad sign) and issued a stream of blue words visible through the swamp smoke. The assistant director was standing in the bus doorway between him and the Scout mom, acting as a go-between so she didn't share the wrath. I'm not sure what was said, but the next thing I see is her take a good smack at the back of the A.D's head! The main director backed off shortly thereafter. I wouldn't want to mess with a Scout mom either!
This year, however, may end up a bit more sparse due to Tropical Storm Lee coming through. I personally am extremely thankful for the rains it's brought. Not only has it cooled things down to a more than tolerable 81 degrees, but it put out the remainder of this week's swamp fire. Lightning struck out in the marshes at the beginning of the week and it was left to burn itself out; much to the chagrin of everyone in a 30 mile radius that had to breathe the acrid smoke. It was so bad that I woke up out of a dream that the house was on fire at the start of it. No worries, the house is fine but the ozone stank to high heaven all week.
As the temp agency STILL hasn't gotten me working (but says the job is still on at last correspondence) today we took advantage of the dreary weather and went fishing and crabbing in St. Rose. This taught us two valuable lessons:
1. Show up early before all the good spots are taken.
2. Crabs WILL take bacon as bait.
Here's the proof!
This was a small one, barely bigger than a deck of cards. They get about twice this size, and boy are they yummy! They're also called Gumbo crabs and are extremely tasty in da soup. Mmm...gumbo. But, since we only caught this little one, he went back into the pond. By the way, since the chicken wire in the back was so rusted it was crumbling, we ended up getting two crab nets at Walmart for $1.97 each that worked just fine. Now that I have one to reference, I can make my own with some wire coat hangers and cotton thread. Yay!
Aside from living off the land (such as it is), the other task of the week was revisiting the Parker shoot. This time it was background work for a parade setting. Instead of being blown up this time we got to...are you ready for this? Watch Jason Statham drive around a corner! Yeah!
Ok, it wasn't quite on the same level of propane explosions but he's still hot. Yeah, I said it. Jason Statham. HAWT. Watch the horse racing scene in Cranked 2 and tell me he's not. Actually, the most amusing part of the short shoot was watching the directors' spat in the school bus. There were a bus load of Boy Scouts that were supposed to come on scene at a certain time and missed their cue. The director took off his hat (always a bad sign) and issued a stream of blue words visible through the swamp smoke. The assistant director was standing in the bus doorway between him and the Scout mom, acting as a go-between so she didn't share the wrath. I'm not sure what was said, but the next thing I see is her take a good smack at the back of the A.D's head! The main director backed off shortly thereafter. I wouldn't want to mess with a Scout mom either!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Off and On: Star Whores
Off and On: Star Whores: Well, the temp agency still didn't call back for when I start the full time spot they got me so it's back to prostituting ourselves for the ...
Star Whores
Well, the temp agency still didn't call back for when I start the full time spot they got me so it's back to prostituting ourselves for the movie business. Yes, it's more work as extras. Mike has already worked one shoot this week for a pilot called "Wild Card" in which he sat in Orleans Parish Prison for 13 hours doing...absolutely nothing. Granted, being an extra is a lot of hurry up and wait, but this set of folks are incredibly disorganized. Forty people sitting in a cell block and doing time, waiting for their turn to get out. If they were going for realism, they got it. He did get to see the tilapia tanks, though. Yeah, I had to ask him to repeat it when he said it too. Apparently the prison system used to have a fish farm and provided 90% of the area's restaurants and grocery stores with their tilapia. After Katrina, it never opened back up again and now they just have empty fish bins. Tomorrow, it's on to the glamourous town of Thibodaux for more work on "Parker". Sorry, no explosions this time.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Off and On: A Small Retraction
Off and On: A Small Retraction: While all the rest of the post earlier was true in, "How We Gonna Pay, How We Gonna Pay" Apple is not guilty of the aforementioned sales tac...
A Small Retraction
While all the rest of the post earlier was true in, "How We Gonna Pay, How We Gonna Pay" Apple is not guilty of the aforementioned sales tactics. It turned out to be a true interview session with Apple's corporate culture at the forefront; cheering upon introductions and running down the aisle to get nametags. Great enthusiasm throughout the whole thing. And while it'll be Wednesday before anything is heard, I can thankfully say that Apple is at least showing growth and gumption. I apologize for the unintended slur, Apple has my thumbs up!
Off and On: How We Gonna Pay, How We Gonna Pay...
Off and On: How We Gonna Pay, How We Gonna Pay...: Ugh, life sucks right now. We're two months behind on rent and the landlord is getting antsy. My lease is up and he's allowing me to go mo...
How We Gonna Pay, How We Gonna Pay...
Ugh, life sucks right now. We're two months behind on rent and the landlord is getting antsy. My lease is up and he's allowing me to go month to month but unless we win the lottery things are going to be bad for awhile. Mike is currently at another interview, this time with Apple at the mall.
I'm going to rant for a minute now, hold on to your hats. We all know it's a tough economy and money is tight. Sales is one of the worst businesses to be in because nobody with half an ounce of sense is spending on anything they don't absolutely need. Anyone who can do sales in this environment and actually make something of it nine times out of ten has my kudos. What I have a problem with is what appears to be a new trend in "sales" tactics.
In the last two weeks, I, my friend Lodie, and now Mike have all applied for what appeared to be straightforward positions that turned out to be sales pitches to a captive audience. (See blog from 8/22/11 "The Crab People" for my experience.) Lodie had this happen to her not once, not twice, but four times in one week. Now Apple is doing the same with Mike as we speak.
There will always be people who want something for nothing. Case in point, the people who've never entered a contest, yet win a "free boat". Upon arrival to collect the prize, they're told that they're being arrested for past tickets and/or warrants. People who show up for time share meetings thinking they're going to walk away with a thousand dollars or a free vacation for two with no investment or time wasted get what they deserve. I get that. There's a time and a place for ploys like this.
Deliberately wasting the time, energy, gas, and already strained financial resources of people who are only trying to find honest work to support themselves and their families is shameful. In each of these cases the ad that was responded to was made to look as though it were an application for a job, nothing else. And while a "group interview" in the most informal sense possible was held, it counted for nothing. The worst part is, if you're really desperate for work you don't want to get up and leave the diatribe because there's the chance the company might still hire you. So you are reduced to being a captive audience in the worst possible way; having no interest in purchasing any product from the company but paying attention because you never know when the sales patter will stop and the actual employment related questions begin.
And to any businesses out there who might be considering this as a way to get people in to listen to your spiel? Don't. Ok? Just don't. The depression won't last forever and if you do manage to survive it, there will be a lot of people who will remember the shady tactics you resorted to in the name of profit instead of doing something effective like, oh, say cutting the CEO's bonus. Revenge is a dish best served cold and I guarantee that's the temperature of the reception you'll get when you try to make a profit off the crowd you duped. Dishonesty never pays.
Ok, rant over. Tonight's gourmet meal is red beans and rice with sausage. Film at 11:00.
I'm going to rant for a minute now, hold on to your hats. We all know it's a tough economy and money is tight. Sales is one of the worst businesses to be in because nobody with half an ounce of sense is spending on anything they don't absolutely need. Anyone who can do sales in this environment and actually make something of it nine times out of ten has my kudos. What I have a problem with is what appears to be a new trend in "sales" tactics.
In the last two weeks, I, my friend Lodie, and now Mike have all applied for what appeared to be straightforward positions that turned out to be sales pitches to a captive audience. (See blog from 8/22/11 "The Crab People" for my experience.) Lodie had this happen to her not once, not twice, but four times in one week. Now Apple is doing the same with Mike as we speak.
There will always be people who want something for nothing. Case in point, the people who've never entered a contest, yet win a "free boat". Upon arrival to collect the prize, they're told that they're being arrested for past tickets and/or warrants. People who show up for time share meetings thinking they're going to walk away with a thousand dollars or a free vacation for two with no investment or time wasted get what they deserve. I get that. There's a time and a place for ploys like this.
Deliberately wasting the time, energy, gas, and already strained financial resources of people who are only trying to find honest work to support themselves and their families is shameful. In each of these cases the ad that was responded to was made to look as though it were an application for a job, nothing else. And while a "group interview" in the most informal sense possible was held, it counted for nothing. The worst part is, if you're really desperate for work you don't want to get up and leave the diatribe because there's the chance the company might still hire you. So you are reduced to being a captive audience in the worst possible way; having no interest in purchasing any product from the company but paying attention because you never know when the sales patter will stop and the actual employment related questions begin.
And to any businesses out there who might be considering this as a way to get people in to listen to your spiel? Don't. Ok? Just don't. The depression won't last forever and if you do manage to survive it, there will be a lot of people who will remember the shady tactics you resorted to in the name of profit instead of doing something effective like, oh, say cutting the CEO's bonus. Revenge is a dish best served cold and I guarantee that's the temperature of the reception you'll get when you try to make a profit off the crowd you duped. Dishonesty never pays.
Ok, rant over. Tonight's gourmet meal is red beans and rice with sausage. Film at 11:00.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Off and On: Comfort Food
Off and On: Comfort Food: Yesterday was a rough day. Poor Mike got extremely sick with heat exhaustion, nearly to the point of heat stroke due to the ineptitude of t...
Comfort Food
Yesterday was a rough day. Poor Mike got extremely sick with heat exhaustion, nearly to the point of heat stroke due to the ineptitude of the major shipping company he was throwing boxes for as a temp job. I had a good interview with the veterinarian's down the street, but was told it would be another week for round two of interviews. Sigh. So to make things a little better, we took a brief jaunt on the streetcar to Harrah's and used our leftover voucher for $10 and played penny slots and $0.25 blackjack for awhile. The free drink was about all we expected to get out of it and we weren't disappointed.
Heading back to the streetcar, I smelled the most horribly appetizing scent in the air; deep fried greasy something-or-others. Didn't really matter what, I got an instant craving for fat fried goodness. My general policy is to avoid deep fried, greasy foods because they're bad for me, give me heartburn, and mess with my gall bladder. Sometimes, if you're miserable anyway, you want at least a good reason to be so. That was yesterday.
Before getting home, we stopped by Rouses and picked up a few supplies. Poor Mike was exhausted by this time, having well underestimated the heat sickness so he played at being a slug on the couch. I got in the kitchen and spent the next hour and a half creating the most greasily decadent dinner I could come up with. On the menu were fried chicken tenders and home grown okra fresh from the garden; breaded and fried as well. Skins on garlic cheddar mashed potatoes rounded out the plate and the dollop of dip for the chicken was a buffalo wing blend. Dessert was my mama's easy recipe for banana pudding (though I almost forgot the bananas). And of course, you can't have a proper southern meal like that without a glass of sweet iced tea.
Naturally, sleep did not go well with heartburn inducing tastiness of that caliber. It's always darkest before the light as they say, and the light hit when I heard my phone ring. It was a job offer, and a good one! I'll be starting (possibly tomorrow) on a temp to perm gig doing typing M-F 9-5 with acceptable pay. And it's about fifteen minutes closer than the last one was. Hoody hoo! Send all your kudos for Mike to find something permanent and paying well and we'll be set. Yeah!
Heading back to the streetcar, I smelled the most horribly appetizing scent in the air; deep fried greasy something-or-others. Didn't really matter what, I got an instant craving for fat fried goodness. My general policy is to avoid deep fried, greasy foods because they're bad for me, give me heartburn, and mess with my gall bladder. Sometimes, if you're miserable anyway, you want at least a good reason to be so. That was yesterday.
Before getting home, we stopped by Rouses and picked up a few supplies. Poor Mike was exhausted by this time, having well underestimated the heat sickness so he played at being a slug on the couch. I got in the kitchen and spent the next hour and a half creating the most greasily decadent dinner I could come up with. On the menu were fried chicken tenders and home grown okra fresh from the garden; breaded and fried as well. Skins on garlic cheddar mashed potatoes rounded out the plate and the dollop of dip for the chicken was a buffalo wing blend. Dessert was my mama's easy recipe for banana pudding (though I almost forgot the bananas). And of course, you can't have a proper southern meal like that without a glass of sweet iced tea.
 |
| Does the new food color wheel include "brown"? I think we have that one covered. |
Monday, August 22, 2011
Off and On: The Crab People
Off and On: The Crab People: As in both catching tasty crustaceans and being "crabby". This weekend started with a "job interview" as a receptionist at ITT Tech. I wen...
The Crab People
As in both catching tasty crustaceans and being "crabby". This weekend started with a "job interview" as a receptionist at ITT Tech. I went in and discovered there were about seven other women waiting for the group interview setup. No problem, I've done group interviews before. What it actually turned out to be was a thinly veiled attempt at school recruitment. Two hours later, I left the building more than a little pissed that my time had been wasted and gas burned for nothing while Mike was waiting on me to leave the building.
Fortunately, there was some good that came out of it and that was we were close enough to pick up my friend Jason who was in town on his new truck route. We went home, made some smoked sausage po' boys and homemade okra caponata with the backyard crop and had a good time.
Bedtime came early Friday night because Saturday morning we were up before the roosters (who were still at Pal's on the other side of the Bayou) and on set early for Ricochet. Six in the morning was the starting time and boy were there a lot of bleary eyeballs. The set was at the Orleans County Courthouse because it's a crime drama and the scenes being shot were all trial scenes.
Now, for those of you who aren't that familiar with the behind the scenes ways and means of movies and tv, one of the things they make sure you know as an extra is to not wear logos (copyright stuff), whites, or reds. White stands out too much and red bleeds when you're on camera. When I looked through my closet the night before, all I had was reds and whites that were suitable for a courtroom setting except for one shirt. It's a swirly pattern in primarily black and purple...and very low cut. It's classy, but well, let's face it; I can't help the way I'm built. The girls were definitely wanting to be part of the show through no fault of my own.
It was still pretty early on and the director was telling people which side of the courtroom he wanted people to go to. The PA's were calling extras out based on their appearance and the director said "Now everyone, if we say for example, 'Red Shirt' go to the other side, don't take it personally. We're trying to get things done quickly here." He then pointed to the mid-twenties guy next to me who looked like this: http://nerf-this.com/motherly-issue/.
"Moustache! You, go over there. And the young lady next to you (pointing to me) , who we'll call Poochie...um, because...of her...shirt design."
I grinned and laughed along with everyone else. Poochie? I had a brief, bright memory of the little fluffy pink dog that had a stamper in its paw. Mike texted me from across the room. "Did he just say what I think he said?" Yep. He sure did. I knew he was trying to find a descriptive, yet non-offensive adjective for my buxomness, but it just didn't get any better. So for the rest of the day, I found myself trying to keep my cleavage to a minimum, and the crew moving me as far in the back as they could without being too obvious about it.
Mike, on the other hand, got tons of on screen camera time including interaction with Julie Benz! She played
"Darla" on Buffy and Angel and is on Dexter as the serial killer's girlfriend/wife. Too cool! Mike started out as a juror, then got moved to being a reporter, then replacing a guy who started drooling in his sleep mid-shot behind the actress. He says he doesn't want to be an actor, but I really don't think they're giving him the option.
While I'll probably never be anything more than an extra on television, I have decided to take a hint from reality tv with crab fishing a la Deadliest Catch. There's a big roll of chicken wire stuffed beneath the house and we're about to create a crab trap or two to take to Lake Ponchartrain. You can catch all kinds of stuff in there, but the blue crabs are all over the place. And with a lot fewer freezing temperatures. Tune in next week when we bring you the catch of the day!
Fortunately, there was some good that came out of it and that was we were close enough to pick up my friend Jason who was in town on his new truck route. We went home, made some smoked sausage po' boys and homemade okra caponata with the backyard crop and had a good time.
Bedtime came early Friday night because Saturday morning we were up before the roosters (who were still at Pal's on the other side of the Bayou) and on set early for Ricochet. Six in the morning was the starting time and boy were there a lot of bleary eyeballs. The set was at the Orleans County Courthouse because it's a crime drama and the scenes being shot were all trial scenes.
Now, for those of you who aren't that familiar with the behind the scenes ways and means of movies and tv, one of the things they make sure you know as an extra is to not wear logos (copyright stuff), whites, or reds. White stands out too much and red bleeds when you're on camera. When I looked through my closet the night before, all I had was reds and whites that were suitable for a courtroom setting except for one shirt. It's a swirly pattern in primarily black and purple...and very low cut. It's classy, but well, let's face it; I can't help the way I'm built. The girls were definitely wanting to be part of the show through no fault of my own.
It was still pretty early on and the director was telling people which side of the courtroom he wanted people to go to. The PA's were calling extras out based on their appearance and the director said "Now everyone, if we say for example, 'Red Shirt' go to the other side, don't take it personally. We're trying to get things done quickly here." He then pointed to the mid-twenties guy next to me who looked like this: http://nerf-this.com/motherly-issue/.
"Moustache! You, go over there. And the young lady next to you (pointing to me) , who we'll call Poochie...um, because...of her...shirt design."
I grinned and laughed along with everyone else. Poochie? I had a brief, bright memory of the little fluffy pink dog that had a stamper in its paw. Mike texted me from across the room. "Did he just say what I think he said?" Yep. He sure did. I knew he was trying to find a descriptive, yet non-offensive adjective for my buxomness, but it just didn't get any better. So for the rest of the day, I found myself trying to keep my cleavage to a minimum, and the crew moving me as far in the back as they could without being too obvious about it.
Mike, on the other hand, got tons of on screen camera time including interaction with Julie Benz! She played
"Darla" on Buffy and Angel and is on Dexter as the serial killer's girlfriend/wife. Too cool! Mike started out as a juror, then got moved to being a reporter, then replacing a guy who started drooling in his sleep mid-shot behind the actress. He says he doesn't want to be an actor, but I really don't think they're giving him the option.
While I'll probably never be anything more than an extra on television, I have decided to take a hint from reality tv with crab fishing a la Deadliest Catch. There's a big roll of chicken wire stuffed beneath the house and we're about to create a crab trap or two to take to Lake Ponchartrain. You can catch all kinds of stuff in there, but the blue crabs are all over the place. And with a lot fewer freezing temperatures. Tune in next week when we bring you the catch of the day!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Off and On: I Always Wanted to be in Pictures
Off and On: I Always Wanted to be in Pictures: You know, it's funny. Most of the time people involved in acting take on real jobs to survive while waiting for roles. Here lately it's be...
I Always Wanted to be in Pictures
You know, it's funny. Most of the time people involved in acting take on real jobs to survive while waiting for roles. Here lately it's been just the opposite for me and Mike. We're desperately trying to find regular paying work and in the meantime taking spots as extras to pay the bills.
Yesterday we arrived to be extras on the set of Parker knowing it was going to be an active shoot. Lots of milling about, acting like normal fairground patrons. The scene was at the Ohio State Fair (but shot at the National Guard outpost/Fairgrounds in Covington, LA). Typical fairground setup, barrel riders at the grandstands, stage full of square dancers; hot dog and cotton candy vendors, etc.
For those of you who have never been an extra, let me tell you it's hard work. We did get fed really well and paid $80 each for our time, but it's essentially like being in a union. When you work, you work hard in all kinds of environments and weather. There's a lot of "hurry up and wait" in which you're not doing anything but waiting on the director, production assistants, sound guys, etc.. In this case, we were also waiting on the pyrotechnics operator. Stunt Heather in action!
Fortunately, the base had an awning space close by the square dancers' stage so that we didn't have to go too far for shade before being called back. Here we sweated, sweated, and sweated some more. Despite getting a late start, we had the foresight to grab two insulated bottles of water as well as an umbrella for standing in the sun between takes.
The exciting part was watching the fire scene. The backdrop for the square dancers were six lengths of blue and red drop curtains that were around 30 feet high. The square dancers (who were mostly in their early fifties and sixties) were supposed to be dancing around, notice smoke, then run offstage toward the camera. The director Taylor Hackford was really good and got people motivated without resorting to being a jerk, unlike our last experience with the crew on Treme.
All day they did this; shoot a scene, wait. Shoot another scene, wait. Get put into one position or another and wait some more. The very last scene of the day was one last "curtain on fire" scene. They told everyone that they needed us to run like we had before, but this time the director would yell "boom!" and that would be our cue to panic and head toward the back side of the stage. Mike was worried I'd pass out from heat exhaustion so I went up front, but they called me up anyway. At this point, Mike was on the back side of the stage closest to where the propane tanks were and I was on the front end where the square dancers were scurrying off.
Three, two, one..."boom"? No "boom". Where the boom should have been there was a three-tier explosion! Whoosh! We got three fireballs up thirty feet of charred curtain and singed elderly! Let me tell you, the panic was real. We weren't sure if the pyrotechnics had gone wrong or what but we ran. I suspect it was a clever ruse on the part of the director for realism, because once I got out of the way of stampeding septugenarians, I paused, grinned and said "wow!".
On his end of things, Mike became a star in his own right because not only was his face right in the camera, people started following his lead when he turned and sprinted 25 yards off once the explosions started. He'll definitely have a close-up shot in the movie, so be sure and watch it when it comes out. Oh yeah, extra cool points because Jason Statham is going to be in it too.
Following the shoot, we decided to go to Taco Bell because we'd burned off lunch; no pun intended. It was a really nice one; one of the stores that's gone with the hoity-toity cafe decor. One of these additions was a four foot by three and a half foot taco related painting that was hung artfully on my side of the booth. Tired, sweaty and hungry we sat down...and the painting immediately fell off the wall and onto my head.
When I said I wanted to be in pictures, this was not what I'd anticipated.
Mike and I are mid-burrito, trying to hold up this massive canvas painting and fortunately the manager noticed and came to help us with the comment, "Well that's a first!". She removed the painting after asking if I was ok, and went back to work. As soon as she left, the lamp above us started dripping condensation. We gathered up our orders and moved to another table to finally finish dinner. I was disappointed because she didn't offer me even a free taco for the inconvenience, but it's ok. I figure karma has better for me than a complimentary chalupa.
This weekend, extras in Ricochet! Stay tuned.
Yesterday we arrived to be extras on the set of Parker knowing it was going to be an active shoot. Lots of milling about, acting like normal fairground patrons. The scene was at the Ohio State Fair (but shot at the National Guard outpost/Fairgrounds in Covington, LA). Typical fairground setup, barrel riders at the grandstands, stage full of square dancers; hot dog and cotton candy vendors, etc.
For those of you who have never been an extra, let me tell you it's hard work. We did get fed really well and paid $80 each for our time, but it's essentially like being in a union. When you work, you work hard in all kinds of environments and weather. There's a lot of "hurry up and wait" in which you're not doing anything but waiting on the director, production assistants, sound guys, etc.. In this case, we were also waiting on the pyrotechnics operator. Stunt Heather in action!
Fortunately, the base had an awning space close by the square dancers' stage so that we didn't have to go too far for shade before being called back. Here we sweated, sweated, and sweated some more. Despite getting a late start, we had the foresight to grab two insulated bottles of water as well as an umbrella for standing in the sun between takes.
The exciting part was watching the fire scene. The backdrop for the square dancers were six lengths of blue and red drop curtains that were around 30 feet high. The square dancers (who were mostly in their early fifties and sixties) were supposed to be dancing around, notice smoke, then run offstage toward the camera. The director Taylor Hackford was really good and got people motivated without resorting to being a jerk, unlike our last experience with the crew on Treme.
All day they did this; shoot a scene, wait. Shoot another scene, wait. Get put into one position or another and wait some more. The very last scene of the day was one last "curtain on fire" scene. They told everyone that they needed us to run like we had before, but this time the director would yell "boom!" and that would be our cue to panic and head toward the back side of the stage. Mike was worried I'd pass out from heat exhaustion so I went up front, but they called me up anyway. At this point, Mike was on the back side of the stage closest to where the propane tanks were and I was on the front end where the square dancers were scurrying off.
Three, two, one..."boom"? No "boom". Where the boom should have been there was a three-tier explosion! Whoosh! We got three fireballs up thirty feet of charred curtain and singed elderly! Let me tell you, the panic was real. We weren't sure if the pyrotechnics had gone wrong or what but we ran. I suspect it was a clever ruse on the part of the director for realism, because once I got out of the way of stampeding septugenarians, I paused, grinned and said "wow!".
On his end of things, Mike became a star in his own right because not only was his face right in the camera, people started following his lead when he turned and sprinted 25 yards off once the explosions started. He'll definitely have a close-up shot in the movie, so be sure and watch it when it comes out. Oh yeah, extra cool points because Jason Statham is going to be in it too.
Following the shoot, we decided to go to Taco Bell because we'd burned off lunch; no pun intended. It was a really nice one; one of the stores that's gone with the hoity-toity cafe decor. One of these additions was a four foot by three and a half foot taco related painting that was hung artfully on my side of the booth. Tired, sweaty and hungry we sat down...and the painting immediately fell off the wall and onto my head.
When I said I wanted to be in pictures, this was not what I'd anticipated.
Mike and I are mid-burrito, trying to hold up this massive canvas painting and fortunately the manager noticed and came to help us with the comment, "Well that's a first!". She removed the painting after asking if I was ok, and went back to work. As soon as she left, the lamp above us started dripping condensation. We gathered up our orders and moved to another table to finally finish dinner. I was disappointed because she didn't offer me even a free taco for the inconvenience, but it's ok. I figure karma has better for me than a complimentary chalupa.
This weekend, extras in Ricochet! Stay tuned.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Baking Bonanza!
I might have bitten off a little more than I could chew today, but it turned out ok. I decided that since the experiment with Chinese Pork Buns went so well earlier in the week, today would be a good day to take on baking.
I get most of my recipes from AllRecipes.com and for the most part the recipes turn out ok if you follow the reviews and comments. I found the Fleischmann's yeast sponsored one that said it was the winner at the Iowa State Fair and decided to try it. I had all the ingredients it called for so I figured it was worth a shot.
I had an inkling something was awry when the liquid ingredients alone took up most of my pastry bowl. After combining and adding two cups of flour, you were supposed to slowly add a cup of flour at a time to get a soft dough. After mixing in the initial two cups, I had pancake soup.
Somewhere between six and eight additional cups (and one run to the store for another bag of all-purpose flour) later, I got to the soft dough stage. The roughly five pounds of dough produced still had to rise a second time. Thirty minutes later, the world's largest cupcake was protruding from my biggest mixing bowl. All I wanted was two mornings' worth of cinnamon rolls and now I had enough dough to feed an army.
Mike had taken over at this point (I think he likes to poke and knead the soft stuff) and commanded that the dough be cut into thirds. This was still too much so the thirds turned into fourths with a bit of dividing and squashing. One quarter became cinnamon rolls, the other three-quarters got dumped into greased bread pans with crossed fingers.
All the time this was going on, we were finishing up round two of steamed Chinese Barbecue Pork Buns, and Mike made dinner from the last of the week's leftovers. We had dinner, watched a few episodes of Shin Chan, and baked the bread and rolls. It turned out...well, just check out the photo to see.
Three absolutely beautiful loaves of light, fluffy bread and ten cinnamon buns glazed in orange-bourbon icing. We couldn't have done it this perfectly if we'd tried. YUM!
I get most of my recipes from AllRecipes.com and for the most part the recipes turn out ok if you follow the reviews and comments. I found the Fleischmann's yeast sponsored one that said it was the winner at the Iowa State Fair and decided to try it. I had all the ingredients it called for so I figured it was worth a shot.
I had an inkling something was awry when the liquid ingredients alone took up most of my pastry bowl. After combining and adding two cups of flour, you were supposed to slowly add a cup of flour at a time to get a soft dough. After mixing in the initial two cups, I had pancake soup.
Somewhere between six and eight additional cups (and one run to the store for another bag of all-purpose flour) later, I got to the soft dough stage. The roughly five pounds of dough produced still had to rise a second time. Thirty minutes later, the world's largest cupcake was protruding from my biggest mixing bowl. All I wanted was two mornings' worth of cinnamon rolls and now I had enough dough to feed an army.
Mike had taken over at this point (I think he likes to poke and knead the soft stuff) and commanded that the dough be cut into thirds. This was still too much so the thirds turned into fourths with a bit of dividing and squashing. One quarter became cinnamon rolls, the other three-quarters got dumped into greased bread pans with crossed fingers.
All the time this was going on, we were finishing up round two of steamed Chinese Barbecue Pork Buns, and Mike made dinner from the last of the week's leftovers. We had dinner, watched a few episodes of Shin Chan, and baked the bread and rolls. It turned out...well, just check out the photo to see.
Three absolutely beautiful loaves of light, fluffy bread and ten cinnamon buns glazed in orange-bourbon icing. We couldn't have done it this perfectly if we'd tried. YUM!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Overdue Update
Wow, sorry about the lateness of posting. It's been a helluva time lately, and unfortunately, much of it negative. It's an emotional, sordid tale (but an interesting one) and perhaps someday I'll tell you about it. If I ever do go into it, for legal reasons it'll be way in the future after things are well and fully calmed down. How's that for a teaser?
What I can tell you is that the new job is now an ex-job. I hired on with the anticipation of being primarily a receptionist and biller for a freight company and occasional dispatch assistance. An inkling that something wasn't quite right appeared when they said they'd been through three billers in a year. It turns out that "occasional dispatch help" meant that they expected me to become a secondary dispatcher and learn the job skills of the other two girls in the office as well as my own to perfection within a month of being there. So when they pulled me into the office to express the concern that I wasn't quite getting it...you get the idea.
So I'm back in the job market and in my spare time am back to work on my cookbook. Be on the lookout for a project update!
What I can tell you is that the new job is now an ex-job. I hired on with the anticipation of being primarily a receptionist and biller for a freight company and occasional dispatch assistance. An inkling that something wasn't quite right appeared when they said they'd been through three billers in a year. It turns out that "occasional dispatch help" meant that they expected me to become a secondary dispatcher and learn the job skills of the other two girls in the office as well as my own to perfection within a month of being there. So when they pulled me into the office to express the concern that I wasn't quite getting it...you get the idea.
So I'm back in the job market and in my spare time am back to work on my cookbook. Be on the lookout for a project update!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Off and On: So Tired...
Off and On: So Tired...: "It's been a helluva week. The new job is off to a good start. It's stressful, but learning anything new is and I've been through worse. I..."
So Tired...
It's been a helluva week. The new job is off to a good start. It's stressful, but learning anything new is and I've been through worse. I like the people, the work isn't so bad, and the benefits are good. I have offered a long shot of Evan Williams to St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things, in both thanks for finding me a good job and a request for peace within myself and my household. Seems to be working so far! Sorry about the crabby mood earlier in the week, I try not to let the stress get to me but sometimes it wins. It's all good now.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Off and On: Yes to Success and No for an Answer
Off and On: Yes to Success and No for an Answer: "This week began my freedom from the hotel pit that's kept me (barely) afloat and working a new job! Yes, you are now looking at the latest ..."
Yes to Success and No for an Answer
This week began my freedom from the hotel pit that's kept me (barely) afloat and working a new job! Yes, you are now looking at the latest and greatest CSR and Billing rep that the freight industry has ever seen. Yesterday was orientation and a buttload of training videos, today was learning the job. I could do this in my sleep. It's AS400 based, which I've used for the better part of a decade and involves all of three screens. Whee. They were right, I'm probably going to be bored. You know what? It's ok. I get 40 hours a week, an actual LIVING WAGE, health insurance in 90 days, a noon to 8pm schedule M-F and every weekend off. Did I mention that we get off all holidays too? I'll have to work Mardi Gras, but who cares? There's six weeks of parades to see before then!
As a result of this wonderful new schedule, I have the ability to do my weekly laundry run at Checkpoint Charlie's, relax, and hear some free music without being exhausted before going to work the next day. Well, that was the plan anyway.
I was starving because the last thing I'd eaten was a chicken pita sandwich at around 4pm and it was 10:00 before I got into the French Quarter and grabbed a bite to go at Verti Marte. It was an additional twenty minutes to find parking in the Marigny because today was apparently the party of the century between Frenchman and Esplanade. I ended up hauling my twenty pounds of laundry three blocks before finally nudging open the grimy swinging doors at Checkpoint. I took a break during the lugging to talk to my mother who was bewildered at the fact that I was "schlepping my laundry all over town at night". I explained there was free music, food, and a bar and she still didn't get it. What's not to like about free entertainment? "You live a strange life out there." Hmph. Philistines....
The opening act was a duo playing a sort of New York jazz style. Girl with a wispy voice on the piano, guy playing oboe to accompany. The sort of music you'd imagine a lot of people wearing all black designer clothes listening to with apertifs slung casually around. Her voice was a little too thin to do the cover of "Crazy" as made famous by Patsy Cline justice, but I think Willie Nelson would have liked the style they lent his song. Betcha didn't know he wrote it, did ya? Your trivia for the week brought to you by the letter A: for Annoyed.
Annoyed is exactly what I became after moving to the back to separate my clothes. Gone were the potheads from last time, but replacing them was a hispanic male who also brought his laundry in...and immediately started trying to make the moves on me. I've been under a lot of stress lately and I was already feeling twitchy. If I haven't eaten, my blood sugar drops and it makes me even more nervous and jumpy. So while I did my best to try and make polite conversation while dropping broad but unsuccessful hints that I didn't want any company, I got even more edgy. I don't care how many trips to Iran you take every year, you're still a Mexican roofer and you irritate me.
Here's the thing. No matter what my weight has been, whether 125 lbs or the current unmentionable number, Mexicans in particular have always had a serious thing for me. I find this particular hispanic branch-off to be especially loathsome. While men as a rule are prone to thoughtlessness in pursuit of happy pants times, Mexicans take it to a whole new level. The culture teaches that women are nothing more than baby makers and caretakers and that the men can do no wrong. I find it incredibly insulting to be even addressed by people of this mindset, and this was one of those guys. I can't tell you how many times I've been openly and continually stared at as if I were a side of beef even after pointed glares and comments. I am not that kind of Heifer.
By the way, just so you don't think I'm being biased in favor of those with a more pasty shade of skin, I refuse to date Irishmen as well. I was married to one and had a short term relationship with another who looked (and drank) like he came straight off the docks. In both cases, the boasting tales of the grand shilleleagh were pitifully just that. I think I'm going to stick with mutts of German or Polish descent. At least that way we can braid each other's chest hair.
As a result of this wonderful new schedule, I have the ability to do my weekly laundry run at Checkpoint Charlie's, relax, and hear some free music without being exhausted before going to work the next day. Well, that was the plan anyway.
I was starving because the last thing I'd eaten was a chicken pita sandwich at around 4pm and it was 10:00 before I got into the French Quarter and grabbed a bite to go at Verti Marte. It was an additional twenty minutes to find parking in the Marigny because today was apparently the party of the century between Frenchman and Esplanade. I ended up hauling my twenty pounds of laundry three blocks before finally nudging open the grimy swinging doors at Checkpoint. I took a break during the lugging to talk to my mother who was bewildered at the fact that I was "schlepping my laundry all over town at night". I explained there was free music, food, and a bar and she still didn't get it. What's not to like about free entertainment? "You live a strange life out there." Hmph. Philistines....
The opening act was a duo playing a sort of New York jazz style. Girl with a wispy voice on the piano, guy playing oboe to accompany. The sort of music you'd imagine a lot of people wearing all black designer clothes listening to with apertifs slung casually around. Her voice was a little too thin to do the cover of "Crazy" as made famous by Patsy Cline justice, but I think Willie Nelson would have liked the style they lent his song. Betcha didn't know he wrote it, did ya? Your trivia for the week brought to you by the letter A: for Annoyed.
Annoyed is exactly what I became after moving to the back to separate my clothes. Gone were the potheads from last time, but replacing them was a hispanic male who also brought his laundry in...and immediately started trying to make the moves on me. I've been under a lot of stress lately and I was already feeling twitchy. If I haven't eaten, my blood sugar drops and it makes me even more nervous and jumpy. So while I did my best to try and make polite conversation while dropping broad but unsuccessful hints that I didn't want any company, I got even more edgy. I don't care how many trips to Iran you take every year, you're still a Mexican roofer and you irritate me.
Here's the thing. No matter what my weight has been, whether 125 lbs or the current unmentionable number, Mexicans in particular have always had a serious thing for me. I find this particular hispanic branch-off to be especially loathsome. While men as a rule are prone to thoughtlessness in pursuit of happy pants times, Mexicans take it to a whole new level. The culture teaches that women are nothing more than baby makers and caretakers and that the men can do no wrong. I find it incredibly insulting to be even addressed by people of this mindset, and this was one of those guys. I can't tell you how many times I've been openly and continually stared at as if I were a side of beef even after pointed glares and comments. I am not that kind of Heifer.
By the way, just so you don't think I'm being biased in favor of those with a more pasty shade of skin, I refuse to date Irishmen as well. I was married to one and had a short term relationship with another who looked (and drank) like he came straight off the docks. In both cases, the boasting tales of the grand shilleleagh were pitifully just that. I think I'm going to stick with mutts of German or Polish descent. At least that way we can braid each other's chest hair.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Itchy!
I went into the back yard to water my poor abused tomato plants and yank some more okra when apparently I ran into something my skin doesn't like. Possibly poison ivy, but who knows? It was dark back there and it wasn't a slug. If I wasn't before, I am now singing the praises of castille soap for getting promptly rid of any extra oils that stuck around. And thank goodness somebody had the foresight to purchase generic antihistamines. Takes a little longer than calamine, but worth the wait. Sigh....
Only one more full day left to go at the hotel! Sunday I'm leaving early due to having to be at the new job at 8am Monday morning, which means it'll go by like molasses in winter. I'm ready to work where lunch breaks exist and pay is reasonable for the work done. Crap, I need to buy khaki pants. I hate khaki. It makes my whole waist look unappealing and I'm a terrible mess in it. Khaki: Almost as bad as wearing white, but with more old butt! Ick.
Only one more full day left to go at the hotel! Sunday I'm leaving early due to having to be at the new job at 8am Monday morning, which means it'll go by like molasses in winter. I'm ready to work where lunch breaks exist and pay is reasonable for the work done. Crap, I need to buy khaki pants. I hate khaki. It makes my whole waist look unappealing and I'm a terrible mess in it. Khaki: Almost as bad as wearing white, but with more old butt! Ick.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Off and On: Support Your Local Weirdo
Off and On: Support Your Local Weirdo: "Ok guys, there have been a few changes to le blog. First, I got rid of all the crappy advertisements because they earned me all of $0.09 an..."
Support Your Local Weirdo
Ok guys, there have been a few changes to le blog. First, I got rid of all the crappy advertisements because they earned me all of $0.09 and were really annoying. Yay for that! In return, however...muahahaha....
Ahem. In exchange, I have posted the AMAZING MONEY MAKING WIDGET located just to the right of my blog. There are a range of amounts you can donate from dirt cheap to "whoa, baby!". Don't worry, I'll love you either way but the fancy dinner at Sizzler will get ya more than the dollar menu at Taco Bell. I'm taking a note from PBS and will be doing pledge drives pretty soon because goddammit I'm broke. Cool prizes will be given depending on donation as well as all this lovely free content to bring excitement to your lives.
Most importantly, thanks for following and spreading the word so I can continue to bring you more adventures! See you next time!
Ahem. In exchange, I have posted the AMAZING MONEY MAKING WIDGET located just to the right of my blog. There are a range of amounts you can donate from dirt cheap to "whoa, baby!". Don't worry, I'll love you either way but the fancy dinner at Sizzler will get ya more than the dollar menu at Taco Bell. I'm taking a note from PBS and will be doing pledge drives pretty soon because goddammit I'm broke. Cool prizes will be given depending on donation as well as all this lovely free content to bring excitement to your lives.
Most importantly, thanks for following and spreading the word so I can continue to bring you more adventures! See you next time!
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Off and On: A Taste of a New Story I'm Working On
Off and On: A Taste of a New Story I'm Working On: "I watched with mild interest as the paunchy man in his fifties sprayed bleach water on the stainless steel countertop in my kitchen. He wor..."
A Taste of a New Story I'm Working On
I watched with mild interest as the paunchy man in his fifties sprayed bleach water on the stainless steel countertop in my kitchen. He wore the uniform of the mundane, a polo shirt liberally peppered in grease stains and flour from chicken that he'd fried for my picnic on the lawn. The black workman's slacks he wore hung beneath his ample gut, barely held up by the cheap big box store belt made from all-synthetic materials. Sweat beaded on his pasty white forehead, the hair from his widow's peak dangling like a worm in front of a creature who, anywhere else in the pond, would have been a very big fish.
"La Danian," I said. "I hope you're not getting tired, there's still the refrigerator to clean and the floors to mop and wax before you can leave." The older man cringed from a mixture of irritants. Annoyance at his "slave" name that was nowhere near indicative of his tenth generation East Coast upbringing, frustration with a worthless body made soft by years of desk work, and general disgust with the manual labor I was putting him through. But primarily, it was the absolutely horribly real fear of failing me. If he failed me, he failed for life.
"I'm going to be kind to you tonight and let you have a ten minute breather before you get to work on the floors. You did a good job on getting all the picnic items prepared today, but you need to move faster next time. I don't do overtime and you either get it all done or you go on report. Since this is your first week I'm going easy on you."
"Thank you, Mistress Red," he gasped. I nonchalantly handed him a bottled water from the refrigerator and closed it again, watching as he gulped the chilled water down too quickly and promptly gave himself brain freeze. I rolled my eyes at how pathetic he was. No more so than many of the others, but that would change. A few minutes ticked by and I watched as the sweat rings that mooned his armpits began to evaporate. Normally my mind was constantly working even in downtime, deciphering based on his profile and instinct the best way to express my dismay at his current worthlessness, but I was just too tired.
I leaned down to speak to him, the man still panting from filthy physical labor and exhausted from general emotional stress. "I've changed my mind La Danian, you are being released early tonight. If you wish to make up for the time, you may contact me tomorrow afternoon and I will schedule you in next week."
The man's face contorted in porcine fear. "Thank you Mistress Red. Mistress, may I ask a question?"
"You may," I replied.
"Was it something I did? Or didn't do that I'm being asked to leave early? If there is, I'd like to be able to fix it."
"No, La Danian, it wasn't. I'm just tired tonight. And I compliment you on having the bravery to ask if you have displeased the one you answer to. Taking responsibility for your actions is a step most don't fully comprehend until the very end. Some never do. I will remember this." I smiled at him as he looked up at me from his knees, grateful as a puppy.
"Thank you Mistress Red. I will leave now with your permission." I nodded my assent and he bowed his head in reverence to me before groaning to his feet. He rolled down the hallway and out the side door reserved for the Service Industry.
I sighed and grabbed a clean towel and the bleach water again. In leaving he'd slung sweat over the newly shining countertop. I reminded myself how this was just one minor irritant and that I loved my job more than anything. One of the good bits about it popped into my head, and I felt myself automatically grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you Congressman, it is for this I serve my country."
Five years ago I was approached with a plea from someone who knew how close our nation's representatives were to a massive bloody revolt enacted by the populace. Bread and circuses no longer distracted the crowds of suffering, unemployed masses while the public's "representatives" dined on steak and strippers. To avoid collapse, change must occur and it must come from within. The masters at the top knew nothing of the servant's lot and were unlikely to change on their own. The theory being, in order to represent the people, they must understand them and to do that they must live like them.
For too long those in power beheld those they governed as nothing more than a means to an end. It became my job to teach them in a manner that would create humility, modesty, and appreciation for a solid work ethic that was more than just patter. What better way to do that than use their own carnival of perversions against them?
Welcome to the retraining of the nation's capital; my name is Red and I am The Mistress. I love my job.
"La Danian," I said. "I hope you're not getting tired, there's still the refrigerator to clean and the floors to mop and wax before you can leave." The older man cringed from a mixture of irritants. Annoyance at his "slave" name that was nowhere near indicative of his tenth generation East Coast upbringing, frustration with a worthless body made soft by years of desk work, and general disgust with the manual labor I was putting him through. But primarily, it was the absolutely horribly real fear of failing me. If he failed me, he failed for life.
"I'm going to be kind to you tonight and let you have a ten minute breather before you get to work on the floors. You did a good job on getting all the picnic items prepared today, but you need to move faster next time. I don't do overtime and you either get it all done or you go on report. Since this is your first week I'm going easy on you."
"Thank you, Mistress Red," he gasped. I nonchalantly handed him a bottled water from the refrigerator and closed it again, watching as he gulped the chilled water down too quickly and promptly gave himself brain freeze. I rolled my eyes at how pathetic he was. No more so than many of the others, but that would change. A few minutes ticked by and I watched as the sweat rings that mooned his armpits began to evaporate. Normally my mind was constantly working even in downtime, deciphering based on his profile and instinct the best way to express my dismay at his current worthlessness, but I was just too tired.
I leaned down to speak to him, the man still panting from filthy physical labor and exhausted from general emotional stress. "I've changed my mind La Danian, you are being released early tonight. If you wish to make up for the time, you may contact me tomorrow afternoon and I will schedule you in next week."
The man's face contorted in porcine fear. "Thank you Mistress Red. Mistress, may I ask a question?"
"You may," I replied.
"Was it something I did? Or didn't do that I'm being asked to leave early? If there is, I'd like to be able to fix it."
"No, La Danian, it wasn't. I'm just tired tonight. And I compliment you on having the bravery to ask if you have displeased the one you answer to. Taking responsibility for your actions is a step most don't fully comprehend until the very end. Some never do. I will remember this." I smiled at him as he looked up at me from his knees, grateful as a puppy.
"Thank you Mistress Red. I will leave now with your permission." I nodded my assent and he bowed his head in reverence to me before groaning to his feet. He rolled down the hallway and out the side door reserved for the Service Industry.
I sighed and grabbed a clean towel and the bleach water again. In leaving he'd slung sweat over the newly shining countertop. I reminded myself how this was just one minor irritant and that I loved my job more than anything. One of the good bits about it popped into my head, and I felt myself automatically grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you Congressman, it is for this I serve my country."
Five years ago I was approached with a plea from someone who knew how close our nation's representatives were to a massive bloody revolt enacted by the populace. Bread and circuses no longer distracted the crowds of suffering, unemployed masses while the public's "representatives" dined on steak and strippers. To avoid collapse, change must occur and it must come from within. The masters at the top knew nothing of the servant's lot and were unlikely to change on their own. The theory being, in order to represent the people, they must understand them and to do that they must live like them.
For too long those in power beheld those they governed as nothing more than a means to an end. It became my job to teach them in a manner that would create humility, modesty, and appreciation for a solid work ethic that was more than just patter. What better way to do that than use their own carnival of perversions against them?
Welcome to the retraining of the nation's capital; my name is Red and I am The Mistress. I love my job.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Off and On: Flights of Bohemian Fancy
Off and On: Flights of Bohemian Fancy: "What a lovely day today was! I got to catch up on sleep, had a Saturday off of work, went to Vieux to Do, and felt useful by getting the ra..."
Flights of Bohemian Fancy
What a lovely day today was! I got to catch up on sleep, had a Saturday off of work, went to Vieux to Do, and felt useful by getting the rank dishes in the sink cleaned.
The early part of the week wasn't so nice. In addition to crazy hormones, I developed a migraine (the only time I get them is during Shark Week) and called in sick to the hotel. While I pitied the lone front desk agent, I would have been worthless.
A general sense of malaise settled over the house and its varying piles of socks, shoes, and floating dust bunnies. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a lump of laundry stirred; not from developing an innate intelligence as one might think, but from birthing a swollen, crabby adult female. Said female was as likely to retreat back into the warm tangle as squint at you, but managed to refrain from doing so.
And yet, this battle against household drudgery and mother nature too was won. I dragged myself from the miasma of clothing, put on makeup, and presented myself admirably to a prospective employer for an interview. I won the job, and have finally caught up on sleep today as well as had a great time in the French Quarter. There was a cooking demo by the Louisiana Seafood commission in air conditioned splendor, multiple Zydeco bands, and more local produce sellers hawking Creole tomatoes than you could shake a deciduous forest at.
Now, I intend to curl up on the couch with a cheap and heavily doctored cardboard box pizza, anime, and perhaps an adult beverage. It's been a good day.
The early part of the week wasn't so nice. In addition to crazy hormones, I developed a migraine (the only time I get them is during Shark Week) and called in sick to the hotel. While I pitied the lone front desk agent, I would have been worthless.
A general sense of malaise settled over the house and its varying piles of socks, shoes, and floating dust bunnies. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a lump of laundry stirred; not from developing an innate intelligence as one might think, but from birthing a swollen, crabby adult female. Said female was as likely to retreat back into the warm tangle as squint at you, but managed to refrain from doing so.
And yet, this battle against household drudgery and mother nature too was won. I dragged myself from the miasma of clothing, put on makeup, and presented myself admirably to a prospective employer for an interview. I won the job, and have finally caught up on sleep today as well as had a great time in the French Quarter. There was a cooking demo by the Louisiana Seafood commission in air conditioned splendor, multiple Zydeco bands, and more local produce sellers hawking Creole tomatoes than you could shake a deciduous forest at.
Now, I intend to curl up on the couch with a cheap and heavily doctored cardboard box pizza, anime, and perhaps an adult beverage. It's been a good day.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Off and On: Called in Today
Off and On: Called in Today: "Wasn't intending to, but my body convinced me. I went to bed early last night but awoke feeling completely unrested. Got up, took a shower..."
Called in Today
Wasn't intending to, but my body convinced me. I went to bed early last night but awoke feeling completely unrested. Got up, took a shower, got pretty for my interview (which went very well) and realized I needed to sleep more when I was trying to fall asleep during the process. I'm really hoping I get this job because it offers full benefits in 90 days and an actual LIVING WAGE. Holy hell! It's only about 2 minutes farther than where I'm driving now, so that's not bad. I think the guy doing the hiring tries to scare off the wusses in the first five minutes so he doesn't have his time wasted. Not a bad way of working things, but it's a little intimidating from the opposite side of the desk.
So! Today's adventure was falling asleep in the chair once I got home and AFTER my nap! I think my poor body would've killed me had I gone in today. The boss man wasn't really pleased when I called in, but considering how little consideration they've given me for basic requests such as a month's notice to have two particular days scheduled as my off days, I don't give a crap. It's not like I'm getting any more poverty stricken anyway; I'm in the same spot as if I had worked. Come to think of it, I might have fewer taxes removed. Eight hours on my feet all day, no lunch, no breaks and smiling at everyone that comes up. They can bite me.
All right, all right, I can hear my mother nagging in my ear from 800 miles away about how I should be thankful that I have a job. I am thankful, believe me. That, however, doesn't take away my right to bitch about things that are genuinely wrong. No, it won't fix anything, but it makes me feel better to get it off my chest so please shut your yap Mom. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. Yes, I know it makes you angry and you were just trying to help. You're absolutely right, I should think on the positive side of things because there is nothing in the world but daisies and sunshine. Yes, I'm being sarcastic, I'm a satarist and it is a tool of my trade. No, I'm not using that as an excuse to be rude. Mother, go take a pill. Please.
So! Today's adventure was falling asleep in the chair once I got home and AFTER my nap! I think my poor body would've killed me had I gone in today. The boss man wasn't really pleased when I called in, but considering how little consideration they've given me for basic requests such as a month's notice to have two particular days scheduled as my off days, I don't give a crap. It's not like I'm getting any more poverty stricken anyway; I'm in the same spot as if I had worked. Come to think of it, I might have fewer taxes removed. Eight hours on my feet all day, no lunch, no breaks and smiling at everyone that comes up. They can bite me.
All right, all right, I can hear my mother nagging in my ear from 800 miles away about how I should be thankful that I have a job. I am thankful, believe me. That, however, doesn't take away my right to bitch about things that are genuinely wrong. No, it won't fix anything, but it makes me feel better to get it off my chest so please shut your yap Mom. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. Yes, I know it makes you angry and you were just trying to help. You're absolutely right, I should think on the positive side of things because there is nothing in the world but daisies and sunshine. Yes, I'm being sarcastic, I'm a satarist and it is a tool of my trade. No, I'm not using that as an excuse to be rude. Mother, go take a pill. Please.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Off and On: Deeds of Dapper Derring-do
Off and On: Deeds of Dapper Derring-do: "I haven't committed enough of these lately. I would like to be able to get my groove going, dress up in all my finery, and take on the town..."
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Deeds of Dapper Derring-do
I haven't committed enough of these lately. I would like to be able to get my groove going, dress up in all my finery, and take on the town. There are, however, two problems with this.
1. I'm out of finery.
2. I'm dead broke.
Which means that I have two options available to me. Wear what I have and do it anyway, or become rich and purchase a whole new wardrobe. Come to think of it, I could do both. It'll take awhile for my new clothes to be properly tailored anyway. These Parisian fashion designers just take for-EVER.
In any event, having no money sucks. Working at the hotel as a front desk drudge will never make anybody rich (hell, it won't even pay the bills NOW) so it is up to me to find a way to make some money. The best way to do that is to put the intention out in the universe that I need a way to make enough to support myself, put some aside in savings, and maybe have a little extra for a vacation now and then. If I just happen to end up doing something that makes me happy and gives me more money than I need, well that's just a bonus and I will gladly donate to charity an extra million or two. So now all I have to do is put the idea out there and the tools and environment to succeed in this will come to me eventually. Because really, if I don't say anything about it how is the great cosmos going to know? Ok, ready? Here we go.
Me: "Universe?" *ahem* "I would like to make lots of money under the above stipulations. Any help triggering these events would be appreciated. Thank you."
(Cricket who has been stalking me for the last four days throws itself up against the bookshelf in a blindingly stupid attempt to escape.)
All right things are in motion, I feel better now. I shall continue to work on the book I am writing and hopefully by the time I am done with it, some lovely publisher will already have read my most excellent blog and offer me a contract for rights to it. It's a really good book. Really.
In other news, I will be having assistance in keeping the roof over my head soon due to having two new roommates move in within the month. I'm looking forward to having peeps in the house again on a full time basis as well as assistance with rent and such. Aside from most awesome roommates, the latest addition to the cotillion is the adoption of a local pirate wench (brought as a housewarming gift). Morghan has been keeping me entertained and serves an excellent rum punch.
More to come as events develop, I shall endeavor to update the blog more often. Hurricane season is here and I have yet to supply myself with suitable emergency tools and rations. Next on the list: Zombie Apocalypse supplies.
1. I'm out of finery.
2. I'm dead broke.
Which means that I have two options available to me. Wear what I have and do it anyway, or become rich and purchase a whole new wardrobe. Come to think of it, I could do both. It'll take awhile for my new clothes to be properly tailored anyway. These Parisian fashion designers just take for-EVER.
In any event, having no money sucks. Working at the hotel as a front desk drudge will never make anybody rich (hell, it won't even pay the bills NOW) so it is up to me to find a way to make some money. The best way to do that is to put the intention out in the universe that I need a way to make enough to support myself, put some aside in savings, and maybe have a little extra for a vacation now and then. If I just happen to end up doing something that makes me happy and gives me more money than I need, well that's just a bonus and I will gladly donate to charity an extra million or two. So now all I have to do is put the idea out there and the tools and environment to succeed in this will come to me eventually. Because really, if I don't say anything about it how is the great cosmos going to know? Ok, ready? Here we go.
Me: "Universe?" *ahem* "I would like to make lots of money under the above stipulations. Any help triggering these events would be appreciated. Thank you."
(Cricket who has been stalking me for the last four days throws itself up against the bookshelf in a blindingly stupid attempt to escape.)
All right things are in motion, I feel better now. I shall continue to work on the book I am writing and hopefully by the time I am done with it, some lovely publisher will already have read my most excellent blog and offer me a contract for rights to it. It's a really good book. Really.
In other news, I will be having assistance in keeping the roof over my head soon due to having two new roommates move in within the month. I'm looking forward to having peeps in the house again on a full time basis as well as assistance with rent and such. Aside from most awesome roommates, the latest addition to the cotillion is the adoption of a local pirate wench (brought as a housewarming gift). Morghan has been keeping me entertained and serves an excellent rum punch.
More to come as events develop, I shall endeavor to update the blog more often. Hurricane season is here and I have yet to supply myself with suitable emergency tools and rations. Next on the list: Zombie Apocalypse supplies.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
There are some people...
...who are brilliant beyond comprehension in one fashion or another but cannot find that spark of faith in themselves to allow for happiness. Reasons, excuses, justifications; all convenient but just another layer of pretty wrapping for a blackened cancer. It grows, it spreads, it eats away at each flimsy facade becoming bigger and bigger with every chance to feed. Fear is its nourishment, misery its goal.
I want to be happy.
A long time ago I came to the conclusion that my happiness was attainable in conjunction with my set of morals and standards. I was fortunate enough to have been judged worthy by those on a higher plane but that I needed to "loosen up". Sometimes it is possible to try too hard. If you lose all the joy in life by single-mindedly focusing on ideals, it is just as bad as not abiding by them at all. That isn't to say that ideals aren't worth having, but extenuating circumstances don't mean an automatic trip to hell.
There's an exchange between deceased British schoolboys in the "Season of Mists" portion of the Sandman series in which the two temporarily escape Death. One says to the other, "I think hell is a place, but I don't think you have to stay anywhere forever." Our prisons are ourselves and sometimes it takes a great earthquake to rattle the doors down. Even then, a lot of people just don't know what to do. Like lab rats who've spent a lifetime in confinement, when it comes to the choice of escaping their pain or sitting they stay because they don't know how else to react. And while it would be a far simpler matter to be able to blame all problems on a fearsome godlike hand wielding implements of torture from the bigger side of locked bars, it's never that easy. Most of the time, it's the cage that we create for ourselves that keeps us trapped.
Find your happiness and you'll find yourself. When you get hold of it, hang tight and everything you need will come through. At the end of the day, you still have to look at yourself in the mirror but maybe you can be satisfied with what's on the other side.
I want to be happy.
A long time ago I came to the conclusion that my happiness was attainable in conjunction with my set of morals and standards. I was fortunate enough to have been judged worthy by those on a higher plane but that I needed to "loosen up". Sometimes it is possible to try too hard. If you lose all the joy in life by single-mindedly focusing on ideals, it is just as bad as not abiding by them at all. That isn't to say that ideals aren't worth having, but extenuating circumstances don't mean an automatic trip to hell.
There's an exchange between deceased British schoolboys in the "Season of Mists" portion of the Sandman series in which the two temporarily escape Death. One says to the other, "I think hell is a place, but I don't think you have to stay anywhere forever." Our prisons are ourselves and sometimes it takes a great earthquake to rattle the doors down. Even then, a lot of people just don't know what to do. Like lab rats who've spent a lifetime in confinement, when it comes to the choice of escaping their pain or sitting they stay because they don't know how else to react. And while it would be a far simpler matter to be able to blame all problems on a fearsome godlike hand wielding implements of torture from the bigger side of locked bars, it's never that easy. Most of the time, it's the cage that we create for ourselves that keeps us trapped.
Find your happiness and you'll find yourself. When you get hold of it, hang tight and everything you need will come through. At the end of the day, you still have to look at yourself in the mirror but maybe you can be satisfied with what's on the other side.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Mrs. Stein Don't Rent to Gypsies Anymore
It is mid-festival season here in New Orleans and I am working at a name brand hotel near the airport. It's a job, and it pays, but not well. There are small perks to it such as getting occasional tips and fed homemade nummies, but aside from that it's fairly banal. For the most part we get a lot of repeat customers such as the oil workers or corporate contracts, but every once in awhile people try to return who aren't wanted; the Gypsies.
Now, I'm not entirely new to dealing with gypsies. There are actually two Gypsy groups that go through the South on a regular basis. The first are the Travellers, a set of Irish gypsies with brogue and all, who typically move with the carnivals. They're not above picking your pocket, but are more likely to sit and have a beer with you while they do it. Travellers love a ruckus and bar workers can't stand them once they've had to deal with them.
The Romani on the other hand, are of the stock that you might picture wearing colorful flowing outfits bedecked in coins and tassels. If only it were that glamorous or obvious. They wear average or sometimes poor clothing, depending on what angle they're working. As the song says, gypsies come in bunches like bananas on a green banana tree. Where there is one, there are likely at least twenty of his friends hiding out waiting to see what they can get away with. Tonight was a perfect example. But before we get to that, let me backtrack a bit.
A few days ago, two women in outfits that made me immediately think they were "working girls" came into the front lobby. Now, we've had women who practice the world's oldest profession in before, and quite obviously so, but as long as they don't try recruiting customers nobody really cares. (By the way, this is a good quality hotel. The attitude is just the typical New Orleans perspective about vice.) So it surprised me that this pair was immediately ushered out of the hotel with undisguised glares directed at them and pointed comments between housekeeping and the front desk. I've never seen so many of the crew agitated at one time. The housekeeping manager made it a point for me to get as good a look at the two as possible before they left.
When the head of housekeeping explained they were gypsies who'd been in before, I understood. The look on the lead's face was one of pure disgust and loathing. Gypsies are not the images of romance and adventure they're made out to be in books and movies. They're shysters who are trained from birth as part of their culture to rip people off, especially the weak and naive. Typical gypsy tactics are to send in one or two unassuming (or deliberately distracting) people as scouts to figure out the best way to divide and conquer while the other thirty or so (minimum--I'm not joking) wait in the sidelines for the cue to swarm.
Tonight, the same two girls came in wearing decidedly different clothing than two days before. Had I not taken a good look (though that sixth sense definitely kicked in) I might have missed the correlation. I say girls but they were easily in their forties and were road beaten. Their dark, gritty complexions had lines like leather and an air of permanent travel b.o.. Definitely rough around the edges, but given that they were posing as blue collar workers it fit the disguise. They came in asking about room rates, discounts, could they pay half up front and the other half in the morning...you see where this is going.
Sure enough, as soon as they were told in no uncertain terms that the rate would stay and must be paid up front per management they left; chittering in obviously disappointed Romanian. One truck full of gypsies down, and a van with no windows carrying god knows how many following behind them. Score one for the good guys!
Wait a minute, did I wear underpants today? Dammit!
Now, I'm not entirely new to dealing with gypsies. There are actually two Gypsy groups that go through the South on a regular basis. The first are the Travellers, a set of Irish gypsies with brogue and all, who typically move with the carnivals. They're not above picking your pocket, but are more likely to sit and have a beer with you while they do it. Travellers love a ruckus and bar workers can't stand them once they've had to deal with them.
The Romani on the other hand, are of the stock that you might picture wearing colorful flowing outfits bedecked in coins and tassels. If only it were that glamorous or obvious. They wear average or sometimes poor clothing, depending on what angle they're working. As the song says, gypsies come in bunches like bananas on a green banana tree. Where there is one, there are likely at least twenty of his friends hiding out waiting to see what they can get away with. Tonight was a perfect example. But before we get to that, let me backtrack a bit.
A few days ago, two women in outfits that made me immediately think they were "working girls" came into the front lobby. Now, we've had women who practice the world's oldest profession in before, and quite obviously so, but as long as they don't try recruiting customers nobody really cares. (By the way, this is a good quality hotel. The attitude is just the typical New Orleans perspective about vice.) So it surprised me that this pair was immediately ushered out of the hotel with undisguised glares directed at them and pointed comments between housekeeping and the front desk. I've never seen so many of the crew agitated at one time. The housekeeping manager made it a point for me to get as good a look at the two as possible before they left.
When the head of housekeeping explained they were gypsies who'd been in before, I understood. The look on the lead's face was one of pure disgust and loathing. Gypsies are not the images of romance and adventure they're made out to be in books and movies. They're shysters who are trained from birth as part of their culture to rip people off, especially the weak and naive. Typical gypsy tactics are to send in one or two unassuming (or deliberately distracting) people as scouts to figure out the best way to divide and conquer while the other thirty or so (minimum--I'm not joking) wait in the sidelines for the cue to swarm.
Tonight, the same two girls came in wearing decidedly different clothing than two days before. Had I not taken a good look (though that sixth sense definitely kicked in) I might have missed the correlation. I say girls but they were easily in their forties and were road beaten. Their dark, gritty complexions had lines like leather and an air of permanent travel b.o.. Definitely rough around the edges, but given that they were posing as blue collar workers it fit the disguise. They came in asking about room rates, discounts, could they pay half up front and the other half in the morning...you see where this is going.
Sure enough, as soon as they were told in no uncertain terms that the rate would stay and must be paid up front per management they left; chittering in obviously disappointed Romanian. One truck full of gypsies down, and a van with no windows carrying god knows how many following behind them. Score one for the good guys!
Wait a minute, did I wear underpants today? Dammit!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Milk and Eggs
I like eggs. Eggs are good for you, they taste good, and they are absolutely indispensible in baking. (I've tried it without before; it's not the same. Crazy vegans.)
So when the farmer's market that's held down the block on Thursdays opened up I took the opportunity to peruse the wares. $8 a pound for greens is ridiculous, but I was willing to concede to the $5 a gallon (no different than the grocery store here) farm fresh whole milk and $2.50 a dozen eggs, gathered that day.
Before I give the review, let me say that genetic modification of food is a major issue for me. I firmly believe that if it wasn't for all the hormones they pump into chicken and cows for faster production that my childhood growth rate would have been far different. I was in third grade (and a year younger than my other classmates) when I started getting the molehills that turned into mountains. I was ten when I won the monthly lottery and abruptly stopped growing taller, leaving me at my currently stumpy 5'3. My mom and dad both come from families where the average height runs from 5'5-5'7 and with minimal to average boobage. My brothers are 6', 6'1, and 6'2. I look like a toadstool next to them. Coincidence that chicken was on the menu a minimum of three times a week, eggs once or twice, and we drank an average of three gallons of milk every seven days? I think not.
Further, I have a theory that all of these additional hormones exacerbated my existing genetic predisposition toward Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) that I've been fighting since I was walloped with puberty. It sure as heck didn't stop the little buggers forming. Or slow the hair growth. Or improve the mood swings. Or any prevent of the other fun things like having these irritating, sometime exploding, cysts grow to the size of goose eggs that have to get removed with surgery. Yeah.
Not to put too fine a point on it, as a result I've become particular about the dairy and poultry products I consume. Thus, the milk purchased direct from the two old men running the booth for the farm.
First off, it actually looks like milk should look. Not watered down white "all bills paid" apartment paint (you know exactly what I'm talking about; especially if you've lived in them) but something that looks like it might have a modicum of nutritional value. The jug actually says "shake before pouring" because it hasn't been uber-purified and still has the straight from the source fat and vitamins in it. It was flavorful and a healthy off-white with a few flecks of cream floating at the top. In other words, it tasted like milk should taste. And now for something truly horrifying, go to the link below:
Human Milk from Cows
As far as the eggs are concerned, they were so fresh there were still tiny bits of hay and chicken feather in the carton. They ran the gamut from dark brown, to speckled, to one or two "Easter Egger" eggs; naturally light green. Cracking them open actually took effort as opposed to the standard, brittle, white-shelled eggs you get in the store. Inside was a "white" that was see-through clear until cooked as opposed to that cloudy gunk you usually get. The yolk was so bright it was almost orange, and when put in the frying pan became nuclear (no pun intended) yellow.
I now remember why I never liked eggs over-easy or over-medium as a kid; it's just too strong a flavor for me. The texture of a farm fresh egg is completely different from the industrial standard of atomic chicken goo offered today. Its yolk is extremely rich and gooey to the point of resembling a thin paste. The act of ingesting one is a constant reminder of the fact that it's an organic protein and not just some prepacked glut. This is how I remember them being as a kid on Sundays waiting for mom to put together our big breakfast of the week; waiting for the bright yellow goodness of scrambled eggs that tasted like more than just a conduit for salt and pepper. Come to think of it, breakfast was the only meal that never really burned.
And for perfect timing in the name of newsworthiness, this article. Be sure and read the comments about the picture.
http://www.nola.com/pets/index.ssf/2011/04/feral_chickens_have_proliferat.html
So when the farmer's market that's held down the block on Thursdays opened up I took the opportunity to peruse the wares. $8 a pound for greens is ridiculous, but I was willing to concede to the $5 a gallon (no different than the grocery store here) farm fresh whole milk and $2.50 a dozen eggs, gathered that day.
Before I give the review, let me say that genetic modification of food is a major issue for me. I firmly believe that if it wasn't for all the hormones they pump into chicken and cows for faster production that my childhood growth rate would have been far different. I was in third grade (and a year younger than my other classmates) when I started getting the molehills that turned into mountains. I was ten when I won the monthly lottery and abruptly stopped growing taller, leaving me at my currently stumpy 5'3. My mom and dad both come from families where the average height runs from 5'5-5'7 and with minimal to average boobage. My brothers are 6', 6'1, and 6'2. I look like a toadstool next to them. Coincidence that chicken was on the menu a minimum of three times a week, eggs once or twice, and we drank an average of three gallons of milk every seven days? I think not.
Further, I have a theory that all of these additional hormones exacerbated my existing genetic predisposition toward Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) that I've been fighting since I was walloped with puberty. It sure as heck didn't stop the little buggers forming. Or slow the hair growth. Or improve the mood swings. Or any prevent of the other fun things like having these irritating, sometime exploding, cysts grow to the size of goose eggs that have to get removed with surgery. Yeah.
Not to put too fine a point on it, as a result I've become particular about the dairy and poultry products I consume. Thus, the milk purchased direct from the two old men running the booth for the farm.
First off, it actually looks like milk should look. Not watered down white "all bills paid" apartment paint (you know exactly what I'm talking about; especially if you've lived in them) but something that looks like it might have a modicum of nutritional value. The jug actually says "shake before pouring" because it hasn't been uber-purified and still has the straight from the source fat and vitamins in it. It was flavorful and a healthy off-white with a few flecks of cream floating at the top. In other words, it tasted like milk should taste. And now for something truly horrifying, go to the link below:
Human Milk from Cows
As far as the eggs are concerned, they were so fresh there were still tiny bits of hay and chicken feather in the carton. They ran the gamut from dark brown, to speckled, to one or two "Easter Egger" eggs; naturally light green. Cracking them open actually took effort as opposed to the standard, brittle, white-shelled eggs you get in the store. Inside was a "white" that was see-through clear until cooked as opposed to that cloudy gunk you usually get. The yolk was so bright it was almost orange, and when put in the frying pan became nuclear (no pun intended) yellow.
I now remember why I never liked eggs over-easy or over-medium as a kid; it's just too strong a flavor for me. The texture of a farm fresh egg is completely different from the industrial standard of atomic chicken goo offered today. Its yolk is extremely rich and gooey to the point of resembling a thin paste. The act of ingesting one is a constant reminder of the fact that it's an organic protein and not just some prepacked glut. This is how I remember them being as a kid on Sundays waiting for mom to put together our big breakfast of the week; waiting for the bright yellow goodness of scrambled eggs that tasted like more than just a conduit for salt and pepper. Come to think of it, breakfast was the only meal that never really burned.
And for perfect timing in the name of newsworthiness, this article. Be sure and read the comments about the picture.
http://www.nola.com/pets/index.ssf/2011/04/feral_chickens_have_proliferat.html
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Tired Heather
My day has finished up with a quickly scarfed greaseball of a dinner (Krispy Krunchy...uh, Kchicken?) followed by drinking pre-mixed TGI Friday's White Russians straight from the bottle. I am going to regret this in the morning (and probably at about 2am as well).
Good and/or humorous things that happened today. I remembered to make coffee and it was good! I earned $20 in tips from the local cabbies for sending them hotel business. I didn't kill anyone today. My garden seedlings are doing quite well. La Quinta in Slidell had a meth lab blow up in it.
Not so good things that happened today: I forgot to eat. It was extremely busy due to French Quarter Fest, the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival, and Lady Gaga. The manager (who could give a crap about how well he does at this site and seems perpetually stoned) wandered off leaving me by myself to close. Bleah.
I am currently reworking my resume because my tiny two-week paycheck gets nowhere near to covering even half my expenses. Thus, I sent it to Mike for a second opinion. He noted that as I only had the last five years of job history this could be a potential problem as most employers look for the last ten. I explained that the time missing was hosed due to my ex-leech and I was reluctant to note it. Mike pointed out it was all in how creatively you worded the situation.
"In that case," I said. "I took a four year sabbatical helping at-risk children and the mentally ill."
The more I think about it, the better it sounds. Who's gonna question that?
Good and/or humorous things that happened today. I remembered to make coffee and it was good! I earned $20 in tips from the local cabbies for sending them hotel business. I didn't kill anyone today. My garden seedlings are doing quite well. La Quinta in Slidell had a meth lab blow up in it.
Not so good things that happened today: I forgot to eat. It was extremely busy due to French Quarter Fest, the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival, and Lady Gaga. The manager (who could give a crap about how well he does at this site and seems perpetually stoned) wandered off leaving me by myself to close. Bleah.
I am currently reworking my resume because my tiny two-week paycheck gets nowhere near to covering even half my expenses. Thus, I sent it to Mike for a second opinion. He noted that as I only had the last five years of job history this could be a potential problem as most employers look for the last ten. I explained that the time missing was hosed due to my ex-leech and I was reluctant to note it. Mike pointed out it was all in how creatively you worded the situation.
"In that case," I said. "I took a four year sabbatical helping at-risk children and the mentally ill."
The more I think about it, the better it sounds. Who's gonna question that?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Post Tornadic Stress Disorder
Aaagh! My poor garden. I just get it set up, the plants are settled in, and today we had one of the scariest storms I've been in for ages. No thunder, no lightning, just extremely heavy winds and rain of tornado like proportions. And then everything got cold so I have to dig my jacket out of the closet again. 52 degrees outside just when I thought it was safe to wear shorts. Oh well.
Aside from that, the only other interesting bit is that the dog next door is a very good puppy. She heard somebody going through the backyard and alerted her people appropriately who then informed me. Sure enough, the gate I'd put up the day before was moved like someone had taken a shortcut or been snooping. It also makes me feel better that next door couple like guns too. We'll have to do a day at the range.
Aside from that, the only other interesting bit is that the dog next door is a very good puppy. She heard somebody going through the backyard and alerted her people appropriately who then informed me. Sure enough, the gate I'd put up the day before was moved like someone had taken a shortcut or been snooping. It also makes me feel better that next door couple like guns too. We'll have to do a day at the range.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
There Are Times...
...in life, in which the Universe in no uncertain terms tells you to stay put. It is times like these that I heed that advice, even when my chocolate pudding attacks me.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Gardening and Weapons of Mass Destruction
I don't believe I've gone into detail about the 300 Incident. Please allow me to backtrack and give the following account.
Just prior to Mardi Gras, James (unofficial roommate and all around cool guy) asked me to order him a sword for his Princess Bride costume for the Pal's annual parade. Here is James as Wesley; hero and princess rescuer.
James is of the opinion that banks and credit cards suck so he gave me cash and I used my ancient PayPal account to order the above really nifty sword for him. Is that a corset on the floor in the foreground? I didn't notice that before.
Anyway, the sword was ordered with only one minor difficulty; that being my need to correct my address. The vendor said fine, no problem, and we went about our business. Approximately a week later we were out running errands and came back to find a UPS notice on the door saying we'd missed a shipment. As both of us had received all our costuming bits, neither knew what it could possibly be. I went online and found that it was from an online weapons supplier different than the one his sword had been ordered from. Further, there were two packages involved weighing a total of 89 pounds.
This was intriguing! What possibly could it be? A prize? A major award? A year's supply of pet food? Who knew? At this time, it was determined that in the spirit of adventure and early Christmas we must find out. At 8pm, we arrived at the UPS office to pick up the packages. They were so huge we had to put them on a Home Depot style dolly and cram them into my Suzuki SX4 as best we could. James was so thrilled I doubt WWIII would have stopped him from getting this fabulous unknown package.
Bristling with excitement, we hauled both boxes into the house and started opening the bigger one. IT'S...another box. And another box. And another. All of these were about the same size and nondescript. Finally I saw on the inside of one of the flaps a label reading "Spartan Helms, Standard. 8 count, 2 boxes".
Around the same time, James had opened one of the the smaller containers and produced an absolutely beautiful solid brass licensed replica of the helmets worn by the soldiers in the movie 300. The helmets were functional, had leather chin straps, and a nice solid wood stand to show them off on. They also smelled like gun oil having been well-lubricated to keep a decent shine.
James was wiggling like a six-week-old puppy. I have to admit, I was rather excited as well. After looking at the invoice, it was determined that there had been a mix up when I'd updated my address with the original company. Company number 2 had accidentally assigned me my own wholesale account and sent me stuff (which had already been paid for by the people wanting it). In addition to nothing being owed and they not having my bank account information in any case, it also appeared that there were 16 sharpened Spartan swords from the same series on back order.
Oh, it was birthday, Christmas, and National Beer Day all in one when James saw that. However, after checking the company's website and discovering that each helm retailed for approximately $350 I knew there was no way we could keep this neat swag. Somebody had sent out a very costly wrong shipment to a stranger with no liability and the oversight would be quickly discovered. Not only that, my conscience wouldn't let me keep it. James pleaded not to return his windfall and so we made a deal. If a month passed and nobody found the error, he could keep his helmets.
Unsurprisingly, within a week and a half I got an e-mail from the company. The dealer knew full well I was under no obligation to return the helmets (though I would have anyway without prodding) and offered me a gift for my troubles. James was in a pout about losing his awesome helmets, believing nothing could be cooler than having enough headgear to start an army with. Plus, having gone as a Spartan for Mardi Gras some years back and pulled it off exceedingly well he felt he was entitled. Nonetheless, one gift was better than no gifts and the helmets were going back no matter what. And after I pointed out that with his new gift he could go on the offensive against invaders rather than being defensive he felt a lot better.
This week James got his prize. It's a Raptor Katana of Spiffiness, which also has its own YouTube videos that the erstwhile conqueror/anarchist had been glued to until its arrival.
I can sum up everything you need to know about this sword in one word: sharp. It makes me very nervous, especially with James leaping around my new tv with it while cackling with glee. However, it did extremely well against the outdoor shrubbery. That bush never saw it coming.
And on the subject of outdoor horticulture, we finally made the garden!
It was by far the easiest garden I've ever made. Soft ground without being mushy, only a few roots, and no rocks to speak of! Earthworms were everywhere and the soil was dark enough to resemble Michael Jackson in his early days. I used the pile of bricks that have been in the far corner of the yard as a border and the two gates that were sitting rusting as climbing trellises. The plants in progress are pickling cucumbers, Creole and Beefeater tomatoes, kidney beans, watermelon, and okra. I'm so excited! I'm going to try to put in a blackberry bush too once the new fence is put in.
I also found out that the bunch of banana trees that grow like crazy in the corner are actually meant to be there. Most banana trees around here are essentially a weed variety which don't yield much, if any, fruit. This particular set in my back corner originally came from one of the previous tenants. He was an old Cuban man who lived in the house about 30 years prior that brought the seeds/sprouts with him and let them go in the backyard. My landlord Edgar said that they were the only thing in the yard that Katrina didn't kill. Prior to the storm he had some thriving red tip photinias against the back fence that kicked the bucket but the bananas were just fine.
Now that I think about it, there may be a good reason the soil was as dark brown and rich as it was. Eww. Well, it's far too long now for anything like Hepatitis to have survived from the flooding and contaminate potential crops.
In any event, woo hoo! Yay for not starving!
Just prior to Mardi Gras, James (unofficial roommate and all around cool guy) asked me to order him a sword for his Princess Bride costume for the Pal's annual parade. Here is James as Wesley; hero and princess rescuer.
Anyway, the sword was ordered with only one minor difficulty; that being my need to correct my address. The vendor said fine, no problem, and we went about our business. Approximately a week later we were out running errands and came back to find a UPS notice on the door saying we'd missed a shipment. As both of us had received all our costuming bits, neither knew what it could possibly be. I went online and found that it was from an online weapons supplier different than the one his sword had been ordered from. Further, there were two packages involved weighing a total of 89 pounds.
This was intriguing! What possibly could it be? A prize? A major award? A year's supply of pet food? Who knew? At this time, it was determined that in the spirit of adventure and early Christmas we must find out. At 8pm, we arrived at the UPS office to pick up the packages. They were so huge we had to put them on a Home Depot style dolly and cram them into my Suzuki SX4 as best we could. James was so thrilled I doubt WWIII would have stopped him from getting this fabulous unknown package.
Bristling with excitement, we hauled both boxes into the house and started opening the bigger one. IT'S...another box. And another box. And another. All of these were about the same size and nondescript. Finally I saw on the inside of one of the flaps a label reading "Spartan Helms, Standard. 8 count, 2 boxes".
Around the same time, James had opened one of the the smaller containers and produced an absolutely beautiful solid brass licensed replica of the helmets worn by the soldiers in the movie 300. The helmets were functional, had leather chin straps, and a nice solid wood stand to show them off on. They also smelled like gun oil having been well-lubricated to keep a decent shine.
James was wiggling like a six-week-old puppy. I have to admit, I was rather excited as well. After looking at the invoice, it was determined that there had been a mix up when I'd updated my address with the original company. Company number 2 had accidentally assigned me my own wholesale account and sent me stuff (which had already been paid for by the people wanting it). In addition to nothing being owed and they not having my bank account information in any case, it also appeared that there were 16 sharpened Spartan swords from the same series on back order.
Oh, it was birthday, Christmas, and National Beer Day all in one when James saw that. However, after checking the company's website and discovering that each helm retailed for approximately $350 I knew there was no way we could keep this neat swag. Somebody had sent out a very costly wrong shipment to a stranger with no liability and the oversight would be quickly discovered. Not only that, my conscience wouldn't let me keep it. James pleaded not to return his windfall and so we made a deal. If a month passed and nobody found the error, he could keep his helmets.
Unsurprisingly, within a week and a half I got an e-mail from the company. The dealer knew full well I was under no obligation to return the helmets (though I would have anyway without prodding) and offered me a gift for my troubles. James was in a pout about losing his awesome helmets, believing nothing could be cooler than having enough headgear to start an army with. Plus, having gone as a Spartan for Mardi Gras some years back and pulled it off exceedingly well he felt he was entitled. Nonetheless, one gift was better than no gifts and the helmets were going back no matter what. And after I pointed out that with his new gift he could go on the offensive against invaders rather than being defensive he felt a lot better.
This week James got his prize. It's a Raptor Katana of Spiffiness, which also has its own YouTube videos that the erstwhile conqueror/anarchist had been glued to until its arrival.
I can sum up everything you need to know about this sword in one word: sharp. It makes me very nervous, especially with James leaping around my new tv with it while cackling with glee. However, it did extremely well against the outdoor shrubbery. That bush never saw it coming.
And on the subject of outdoor horticulture, we finally made the garden!
It was by far the easiest garden I've ever made. Soft ground without being mushy, only a few roots, and no rocks to speak of! Earthworms were everywhere and the soil was dark enough to resemble Michael Jackson in his early days. I used the pile of bricks that have been in the far corner of the yard as a border and the two gates that were sitting rusting as climbing trellises. The plants in progress are pickling cucumbers, Creole and Beefeater tomatoes, kidney beans, watermelon, and okra. I'm so excited! I'm going to try to put in a blackberry bush too once the new fence is put in.
I also found out that the bunch of banana trees that grow like crazy in the corner are actually meant to be there. Most banana trees around here are essentially a weed variety which don't yield much, if any, fruit. This particular set in my back corner originally came from one of the previous tenants. He was an old Cuban man who lived in the house about 30 years prior that brought the seeds/sprouts with him and let them go in the backyard. My landlord Edgar said that they were the only thing in the yard that Katrina didn't kill. Prior to the storm he had some thriving red tip photinias against the back fence that kicked the bucket but the bananas were just fine.
Now that I think about it, there may be a good reason the soil was as dark brown and rich as it was. Eww. Well, it's far too long now for anything like Hepatitis to have survived from the flooding and contaminate potential crops.
In any event, woo hoo! Yay for not starving!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
In my hand was a bowl of oatmeal and in my heart a longing for someplace to buy emergency toilet paper. In the land that forsook Walmart, the local groceries had been closed for hours. Only now, in my near hour of need does it occur to me that today would have been a good day to make a grocery list.
Instead, the hours were whiled away by the light glowing from the television, a victim of the Xbox opiate called Fable III. How I love John Cleese and Simon Pegg. The beauty! The voices! The chickens!
Alas, despite my desire to sleep the sandman will not come. Now would be a good time to do that grocery list, I believe. Perhaps afterward I will read until my eyelids grow heavy, nodding off in mid-sentence. Goodnight sleepy, rain drenched world. See you in the morning.
Instead, the hours were whiled away by the light glowing from the television, a victim of the Xbox opiate called Fable III. How I love John Cleese and Simon Pegg. The beauty! The voices! The chickens!
Alas, despite my desire to sleep the sandman will not come. Now would be a good time to do that grocery list, I believe. Perhaps afterward I will read until my eyelids grow heavy, nodding off in mid-sentence. Goodnight sleepy, rain drenched world. See you in the morning.
Monday, March 28, 2011
How My Days Work
Behold, the secrets of the Heatherverse are about to be unleashed! You wanted to know the most intimate details of my existence? What, you don't care? Well stop reading then.
If, however, you would like to experience a typical day in my world (which is, as we all know, the prime reality; everyone else are just visitors) please continue.
After several hours of checking up on my nocturnal real estate in the land of dreams, nightmares, and occasionally alternate realities and time jumping I am awakened by the noxious bleating of my cell phone alarm. Depending on whether or not my anti-depression meds are working I may or may not feel rested. Hint: I'm usually sluggish and tired. Nonetheless, I drag my arse out of bed and let Porch Cat in to feed and try to sneak in to nap on the furniture. The first step following this is the kitchen for coffee, provided I don't immediately throw myself into chores.
Chores usually happen on the good days because I'll have the energy and I prefer a clean house. During these times, breakfast usually gets skipped for a good lunch because I know I have to get as much done as I can before my energy runs out. I know, I know breakfast is the most important meal yadda yadda yadda.... I eat! I promise! I just get distracted.
After tearing around and doing chores, errands, etc. it's usually time to sit and play for a bit and eat something before I pass out. Friends come over and at some point there is usually a brilliant idea created that nobody ever follows through with. I've had so many of these I should really be rich by now.
Usually by the end of the day the dirty dishes have once again multiplied like Tribbles (some of them even growing pink fur) and are demanding washing. I ignore them for as long as humanly possible because if there's one thing I can't stand it's bitchy dishes. It's like having a passive aggressive husband; filthy and glaring at you from the corner of your eye. Ugh.
The end of the day comes and I make contact with the heads of my army that I haven't spoken with in a few days. All is usually well and they each say they love and miss me. I concur, then go off to read before bed. If more of my army was here, I'd probably be having midnight picnics in the cemeteries. Actually, that's probably a bad idea. The last time I was in a cemetery at midnight I got bit on the boob by a brown recluse. Hmm, may have to rethink that one.
Anyway, that's a typical day for me. Exciting, isn't it?
If, however, you would like to experience a typical day in my world (which is, as we all know, the prime reality; everyone else are just visitors) please continue.
After several hours of checking up on my nocturnal real estate in the land of dreams, nightmares, and occasionally alternate realities and time jumping I am awakened by the noxious bleating of my cell phone alarm. Depending on whether or not my anti-depression meds are working I may or may not feel rested. Hint: I'm usually sluggish and tired. Nonetheless, I drag my arse out of bed and let Porch Cat in to feed and try to sneak in to nap on the furniture. The first step following this is the kitchen for coffee, provided I don't immediately throw myself into chores.
Chores usually happen on the good days because I'll have the energy and I prefer a clean house. During these times, breakfast usually gets skipped for a good lunch because I know I have to get as much done as I can before my energy runs out. I know, I know breakfast is the most important meal yadda yadda yadda.... I eat! I promise! I just get distracted.
After tearing around and doing chores, errands, etc. it's usually time to sit and play for a bit and eat something before I pass out. Friends come over and at some point there is usually a brilliant idea created that nobody ever follows through with. I've had so many of these I should really be rich by now.
Usually by the end of the day the dirty dishes have once again multiplied like Tribbles (some of them even growing pink fur) and are demanding washing. I ignore them for as long as humanly possible because if there's one thing I can't stand it's bitchy dishes. It's like having a passive aggressive husband; filthy and glaring at you from the corner of your eye. Ugh.
The end of the day comes and I make contact with the heads of my army that I haven't spoken with in a few days. All is usually well and they each say they love and miss me. I concur, then go off to read before bed. If more of my army was here, I'd probably be having midnight picnics in the cemeteries. Actually, that's probably a bad idea. The last time I was in a cemetery at midnight I got bit on the boob by a brown recluse. Hmm, may have to rethink that one.
Anyway, that's a typical day for me. Exciting, isn't it?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Today Was a Good Day
I got plenty of sleep, went to work, and enjoyed myself. I'm thinking about picking up some extra work on my days off to get a little spare cash. But then, when would I have time to plant the garden? The sink sprouted kidney bean is already six inches tall, I'm going to end up with Swamp Thing if I don't plant it soon.
Today I had a problem. Not a big one, a minor one. There are a number of oil workers that are staying at the hotel for the next month and one of them has decided he likes me. Some little Mexican guy, I don't know. He called down to the front desk and started asking me if I was single. I blew him off saying he missed me by a few weeks, sorry. He called again for a wakeup call and asked if I was sure I wasn't single. He continued flirting with me saying he'd be there for several weeks and would I give him a wakeup call every day? Sigh.
Here's the problem. I'm not very good at flirting unless I am the one initiating it. Because it happens so rarely that guys flirt with me I tend to get extremely flustered and tongue tied. It always surprises me and throws me off, especially if I'm in the middle of concentrating on something else.
The second time El Guapo called I was trying to get the end of shift done as well as check in a couple that had just showed up. It finally clicked what he was talking about with the "wakeup call" and when he asked for the third time about being single I said, "Uhhh, I'm sorry I have to talk to you about this later". He laughed, knowing how thrown I was and hung up.
I looked up at the couple and said "I apologize, that guy keeps trying to marry me." The lady thought this was one of the funniest things she'd heard and just rolled with laughter. I have to admit, seeing her as tickled as she was at my predicament made it a lot funnier.
On the way home a pickup truck with a couple of very drunk white boys started the same thing at the stop light. What is this, the day for Heather's yearly flirt quota? Geez. Well, could be worse.
Today I had a problem. Not a big one, a minor one. There are a number of oil workers that are staying at the hotel for the next month and one of them has decided he likes me. Some little Mexican guy, I don't know. He called down to the front desk and started asking me if I was single. I blew him off saying he missed me by a few weeks, sorry. He called again for a wakeup call and asked if I was sure I wasn't single. He continued flirting with me saying he'd be there for several weeks and would I give him a wakeup call every day? Sigh.
Here's the problem. I'm not very good at flirting unless I am the one initiating it. Because it happens so rarely that guys flirt with me I tend to get extremely flustered and tongue tied. It always surprises me and throws me off, especially if I'm in the middle of concentrating on something else.
The second time El Guapo called I was trying to get the end of shift done as well as check in a couple that had just showed up. It finally clicked what he was talking about with the "wakeup call" and when he asked for the third time about being single I said, "Uhhh, I'm sorry I have to talk to you about this later". He laughed, knowing how thrown I was and hung up.
I looked up at the couple and said "I apologize, that guy keeps trying to marry me." The lady thought this was one of the funniest things she'd heard and just rolled with laughter. I have to admit, seeing her as tickled as she was at my predicament made it a lot funnier.
On the way home a pickup truck with a couple of very drunk white boys started the same thing at the stop light. What is this, the day for Heather's yearly flirt quota? Geez. Well, could be worse.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Electronics and Gardening
This week has been dedicated to moving forward with repairs to broken stuff, gradual cleaning, and the plotting of the backyard layout. Despite the five canisters of salt Other Brother poured in the center of the lawn at the end of last summer, the swamplands have seen fit to take over with minimal difficulty. I have done gardening before without a tiller, and let me tell you it is a pain in the back. Unfortunately, I do not have the cash to buy a tiller at this time or a contact to borrow one. Hence, the garden shall be done the old-fashioned way; with Rico hooked up to a plow--muscles contracting and a sheen of sweat coating his tender mocha skin. And me sitting on the stoop overseeing the labor, moisture pooling in my loins while sipping a mint julep in my sundress and summer hat. BWAHAHAHAHAAH!!! Just kidding, Rico.
Actually what it means is that my broke ass will be visiting Home Depot for a cheap hoe and shovel. This is as opposed to the cheap ho's available in the FQ. Likely, I will once again be reminded of my absolute muttness in the world of whitey as I managed to inherit a skin tone that leaves tan lines any farmer could be proud of. What doesn't stay blindingly white will turn lobster red, and FAST. The remainder looks like Jackson Pollack came after me with brown gravy.
The other big news is that at long last I have a replacement Xbox 360! Other Brother took his Xbox with him upon moving back to Dallas. So, when taxes came in that was my present to myself. The rest is being hoarded for bills and rent. Plus, since I had the foresight to purchase the coverage plan for my Best Buy bottom-line floor model Dynex tv (which was dying), I got it replaced free of charge. Also, they upgraded me to an LG model which is really, really nice. Well worth the $100 investment for the Geek Squad coverage. Essentially, I got a free tv worth roughly double my initial investment. I rock the casa.
I highly recommend saving yourself a chunk of change by purchasing a refurbished Xbox. The last time I bought one it was a refurb too and it worked fine for years. This time around I got the new slimline with 250 gig hard drive and Kinect ready. One controller, hdmi cable, and a headset are also included for the cost of $249 (which includes shipping and handling). The only thing I'm mildly dissatisfied with is the fact that no cord came with the controller. I like not the idea of changing out batteries every two seconds. Still and all, that's a minor issue I can live with. Damn I love Amazon.
I'm working (finally!) but on the lookout for higher paying, less painful employment. I don't mind doing front desk customer service, but my feet and hips do. Eight hours a day standing with no lunch break and barely a chance to sit and rest my feet is ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely thankful that I have regular work coming in, but I'd be stupid not to keep my resume updated and available.
Ok, that's all for now folks. Tomorrow comes early and I'd like to attempt to get some sleep tonight before blue collar gardening. Ergh!
Actually what it means is that my broke ass will be visiting Home Depot for a cheap hoe and shovel. This is as opposed to the cheap ho's available in the FQ. Likely, I will once again be reminded of my absolute muttness in the world of whitey as I managed to inherit a skin tone that leaves tan lines any farmer could be proud of. What doesn't stay blindingly white will turn lobster red, and FAST. The remainder looks like Jackson Pollack came after me with brown gravy.
The other big news is that at long last I have a replacement Xbox 360! Other Brother took his Xbox with him upon moving back to Dallas. So, when taxes came in that was my present to myself. The rest is being hoarded for bills and rent. Plus, since I had the foresight to purchase the coverage plan for my Best Buy bottom-line floor model Dynex tv (which was dying), I got it replaced free of charge. Also, they upgraded me to an LG model which is really, really nice. Well worth the $100 investment for the Geek Squad coverage. Essentially, I got a free tv worth roughly double my initial investment. I rock the casa.
I highly recommend saving yourself a chunk of change by purchasing a refurbished Xbox. The last time I bought one it was a refurb too and it worked fine for years. This time around I got the new slimline with 250 gig hard drive and Kinect ready. One controller, hdmi cable, and a headset are also included for the cost of $249 (which includes shipping and handling). The only thing I'm mildly dissatisfied with is the fact that no cord came with the controller. I like not the idea of changing out batteries every two seconds. Still and all, that's a minor issue I can live with. Damn I love Amazon.
I'm working (finally!) but on the lookout for higher paying, less painful employment. I don't mind doing front desk customer service, but my feet and hips do. Eight hours a day standing with no lunch break and barely a chance to sit and rest my feet is ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely thankful that I have regular work coming in, but I'd be stupid not to keep my resume updated and available.
Ok, that's all for now folks. Tomorrow comes early and I'd like to attempt to get some sleep tonight before blue collar gardening. Ergh!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Lessons From the Front Desk
This week I began working in the public eye after ten plus years of being a desk jockey. My feet are killing me as are my hips, and I'm beginning to remember just how much pain one's body goes through standing for eight hours. By the end of the night my feet and hips hurt so bad I couldn't do anything except lean on the counter and shift my weight back and forth. Ugh. Thank goodness for drive-through daquiris.
Listed also among the things I had forgotten was just how miserable most people are in a customer service position; especially a face to face one. The pay is low, the hours suck, and being at the bottom of the ladder means doing the most work. Personally, I'm happy just to have a job so I can put up with any number of gripes. This has also served as a reminder as to why it's imperative I finish my bachelors degree as soon as possible. I'm too good to be a grunt at property #2B4QZ---whatever.
Having said that, there are definitely amusing moments in the position. Single ladies, look no further. If you want to find a strong young man with too much time and money on his hands come on by. The hotel I work at hosts frequent groups of oil company workers. All of these roughnecks and riggers are in pretty decent shape too. I'm apparently allergic to whatever they're bringing in from the rigs and don't have an interest in any of them as they're a little too rugged for me. Might be a good option for others in the neighborhood, though.
One guy came up and asked for laundry soap for the machines, then balked at the $1 a load price. Still, he said he'd buy it because he hated waiting for his buddies to go to the grocery store to pick up the bulk Tide. "It takes them three hours to get done on a shopping trip," said the poor, tired Mexican.
"Why does it take them so long?" I asked.
"They're out there looking for girls."
I suppose there are worse places to pick up chicks than the ketchup aisle, but it seems to me to be more challenging than necessary.
I also find myself relating to Fawlty Towers a lot more now. Not so much John Cleese's character, but the fact that I keep seeing the same faces so many days in a row. This property has a lot of regular repeat customers so it's kind of like a sitcom in that way too. Lots of moments that are important to someone but drone on as part of the background for me. I'm half tempted to wear a white button up shirt with black pants, fake moustache, and nametag stating "Manuel" for April 1st. All I'll say to people is "que?" and address my co-worker as "Meestah Fawlty". Sheer hilarity.
Listed also among the things I had forgotten was just how miserable most people are in a customer service position; especially a face to face one. The pay is low, the hours suck, and being at the bottom of the ladder means doing the most work. Personally, I'm happy just to have a job so I can put up with any number of gripes. This has also served as a reminder as to why it's imperative I finish my bachelors degree as soon as possible. I'm too good to be a grunt at property #2B4QZ---whatever.
Having said that, there are definitely amusing moments in the position. Single ladies, look no further. If you want to find a strong young man with too much time and money on his hands come on by. The hotel I work at hosts frequent groups of oil company workers. All of these roughnecks and riggers are in pretty decent shape too. I'm apparently allergic to whatever they're bringing in from the rigs and don't have an interest in any of them as they're a little too rugged for me. Might be a good option for others in the neighborhood, though.
One guy came up and asked for laundry soap for the machines, then balked at the $1 a load price. Still, he said he'd buy it because he hated waiting for his buddies to go to the grocery store to pick up the bulk Tide. "It takes them three hours to get done on a shopping trip," said the poor, tired Mexican.
"Why does it take them so long?" I asked.
"They're out there looking for girls."
I suppose there are worse places to pick up chicks than the ketchup aisle, but it seems to me to be more challenging than necessary.
I also find myself relating to Fawlty Towers a lot more now. Not so much John Cleese's character, but the fact that I keep seeing the same faces so many days in a row. This property has a lot of regular repeat customers so it's kind of like a sitcom in that way too. Lots of moments that are important to someone but drone on as part of the background for me. I'm half tempted to wear a white button up shirt with black pants, fake moustache, and nametag stating "Manuel" for April 1st. All I'll say to people is "que?" and address my co-worker as "Meestah Fawlty". Sheer hilarity.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
What an Interesting Week
Well, better make that a week-and-a-half. The chaos of recent days has been like a vacation without ever leaving home. The time speeding by has been dedicated to playing tour guide and having a good time with out-of-towners. Stephie arrived first followed by Mike and Misti. We saw the Hermes/Krewe d'Etat parade and caught a metric buttload of beads, walked the French Quarter, gambled, ate great food, and generally partied. Some of us partied a little too hard and were subject to the throes of hangovers, as was to be expected. There was also the Pal's Parade walk from Mid-City to the FQ, but that was abruptly stopped when Scott Monster started feeling poorly. We created our own parade instead and gave out beads to small children (who were appropriately appreciative) and chatted with other locals. Later on in the week we did laundry and Mike and Misti got tattoos from Electric Ladyland. I think that was really my favorite part.
I also got to have a lovely visit at Brennan's with my second cousin Deb (who I haven't seen since I was about 13), met her sister Becky and their friend Dan, and was reminded that the world truly is small. Try to follow this one:
"Other Brother" Matt lived in NOLA for about two years previous to moving back to Texas. While he was a resident of LA, he worked for Scott Monster at the FQ Suites. Scott Monster and Karrie Monster were (and are) a couple. Karrie Monster works at Whole Foods and has a friend named Jacqueline who worked there as well. Jacqueline and Matt dated for awhile and then parted ways. Jacqueline started seeing a guy named Cameron who also worked at Whole Foods and was divorced from his wife Nicole. Cam no longer works at Whole Foods but Nicole still does. Nicole is my cousin Deb's other cousin, and oddly the only person out of the whole bunch who hasn't been either a visitor or resident of my current house.
Spring has sprung and love is in the air along with the onset of bugs and the extra ripeness of Bourbon Street. The stench also pertains to my armpits after hiking way too long in bad shoes to be a costumed extra for the HBO series Treme. Hey, I got paid so I'm not complaining; look for me in Episode 7, Season 2.
In other movie news, I talked to one of the production assistants about liking his shirt and asked if the design was from the "Preacher" comic book series. He was very impressed that I recognized it and gave me a lovely tidbit. The tale of the Reverend Jesse Custer has officially been picked up for filming (he was friends with the producers) and will finally be in production as well as Garth Ennis' following series "The Boys". "Preacher" I'm thinking will definitely be filmed locally due to the plotline, probably not so much for "The Boys".
Whew! I think that's all. Is that all? I know it's been a long time wait for posting but dang it's been busy! I'm ready for my nap now Mr. DeMille.
I also got to have a lovely visit at Brennan's with my second cousin Deb (who I haven't seen since I was about 13), met her sister Becky and their friend Dan, and was reminded that the world truly is small. Try to follow this one:
"Other Brother" Matt lived in NOLA for about two years previous to moving back to Texas. While he was a resident of LA, he worked for Scott Monster at the FQ Suites. Scott Monster and Karrie Monster were (and are) a couple. Karrie Monster works at Whole Foods and has a friend named Jacqueline who worked there as well. Jacqueline and Matt dated for awhile and then parted ways. Jacqueline started seeing a guy named Cameron who also worked at Whole Foods and was divorced from his wife Nicole. Cam no longer works at Whole Foods but Nicole still does. Nicole is my cousin Deb's other cousin, and oddly the only person out of the whole bunch who hasn't been either a visitor or resident of my current house.
Spring has sprung and love is in the air along with the onset of bugs and the extra ripeness of Bourbon Street. The stench also pertains to my armpits after hiking way too long in bad shoes to be a costumed extra for the HBO series Treme. Hey, I got paid so I'm not complaining; look for me in Episode 7, Season 2.
In other movie news, I talked to one of the production assistants about liking his shirt and asked if the design was from the "Preacher" comic book series. He was very impressed that I recognized it and gave me a lovely tidbit. The tale of the Reverend Jesse Custer has officially been picked up for filming (he was friends with the producers) and will finally be in production as well as Garth Ennis' following series "The Boys". "Preacher" I'm thinking will definitely be filmed locally due to the plotline, probably not so much for "The Boys".
Whew! I think that's all. Is that all? I know it's been a long time wait for posting but dang it's been busy! I'm ready for my nap now Mr. DeMille.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Four Score and 2 Billion BCE...
...when I got married at age 24 I was just out of a string of bad dates/relationships, dealing with debilitating depression and anxiety, and having second thoughts despite the gray anvil on my shoulders. I was watching all my friends pair off and tired of the only people that I could respect making any moves on me being girls. After the last horrible date (in which the guy I'd been seeing came over only to leave after 2 hours to go to a party) I was done. I made the decision that I'd sleep with this last guy and if it didn't work out I was going to go lesbian. The choices on the other side of the fence were at least friendlier, if a little more complicated.
My first time with this guy; indeed with any guy up to that point, turned out to be non-consensual, because I hadn't been ready to do the deed right at that moment. I was irritated that I'd waited 24 years to be with someone and wasn't even given the choice to be ready. Didn't help that he was essentially limp from that point on and cried like a bitch the first time I was actually ready because there was "too much pressure". But, being the "good wife" I dealt with it and thus spent the next four years getting less emotional and physical affection than I ever had in my entire life.
Pride has always been my downfall. I hate being wrong, though I make a concerted effort to see the other side of things and listen with an open mind. Nobody knew how horribly depressed I was prior to the marriage because I thought I could "handle it". Or that I was marrying him only because of a misguided promise I made to myself when I was small that I'd wait for the right one. That, and the overwhelming need to ensure the safety and upbringing of two bright, creative, well-behaved twins from his first marriage---because I knew he couldn't do it. It was also my chance of being a mom when I realized there was very little likelihood of having kids of my own; which turned out to be a blessing.
The whole thing was disaster and lies from the beginning and I felt trapped physically on top of dealing with undiagnosed chronic genetic depression. He was a psychopath and though he never laid a finger on me (and went out of his way to avoid touching or communicating with me at all unless it was to belittle me or lie) I count myself lucky to have gotten out alive. He was going to leave one way or another and when he saw his cruelty and negligence was killing me he opted to drop all responsibilities (including his children) and run away to Oregon with the office secretary rather than have my death on his hands. If he'd had a pair, I have no doubt he would have killed me and gotten off on it. By the way, the secretary promptly booted him after 6 months.
Why is all this coming up now? Because even though I'm sick with a fever and broke I have a roof over my head and family and friends that love me unconditionally. I'm living in New Orleans, a city I've loved for as long as I can remember, and having an excellent time even though I still battle depression on a daily basis. I'm not saying that the abuse in my marriage was deserved, far from it; but I wouldn't have gotten to where I am today without enduring and learning from it. You can only appreciate what you have and know that you can succeed when you've hit rock bottom and the only way to go is up.
I also appreciate that I was older when I flubbed it by marrying the douche. I can barely imagine being 18 and taking the plunge into poverty, having a spouse unafraid to steal or destroy the little I'd built for myself, and take everyone down with him because of selfish desires. I can't fathom being 18 and wanting to do anything but go out without a curfew and getting my degree. I especially can't comprehend doing it with kids involved.
I guess the moral to the story is this; users take heed. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and while you may consider your actions to be pure and enlightened, taking advantage is taking advantage. Deep down you know your actions are solely based on immediate self-fulfillment regardless of your purported altruism. It hurts those around you and causes suffering in ways you never have considered. Those of you who recognize yourself as the victim in a similar misfortune, do yourself a favor and think of the outcome you are likely to face since the other party is obviously not. Save yourself while you have the chance and screw dissenting opinions. Just remember, you'll be happy and they won't be alone. There's always another sucker out there to take your place.
My first time with this guy; indeed with any guy up to that point, turned out to be non-consensual, because I hadn't been ready to do the deed right at that moment. I was irritated that I'd waited 24 years to be with someone and wasn't even given the choice to be ready. Didn't help that he was essentially limp from that point on and cried like a bitch the first time I was actually ready because there was "too much pressure". But, being the "good wife" I dealt with it and thus spent the next four years getting less emotional and physical affection than I ever had in my entire life.
Pride has always been my downfall. I hate being wrong, though I make a concerted effort to see the other side of things and listen with an open mind. Nobody knew how horribly depressed I was prior to the marriage because I thought I could "handle it". Or that I was marrying him only because of a misguided promise I made to myself when I was small that I'd wait for the right one. That, and the overwhelming need to ensure the safety and upbringing of two bright, creative, well-behaved twins from his first marriage---because I knew he couldn't do it. It was also my chance of being a mom when I realized there was very little likelihood of having kids of my own; which turned out to be a blessing.
The whole thing was disaster and lies from the beginning and I felt trapped physically on top of dealing with undiagnosed chronic genetic depression. He was a psychopath and though he never laid a finger on me (and went out of his way to avoid touching or communicating with me at all unless it was to belittle me or lie) I count myself lucky to have gotten out alive. He was going to leave one way or another and when he saw his cruelty and negligence was killing me he opted to drop all responsibilities (including his children) and run away to Oregon with the office secretary rather than have my death on his hands. If he'd had a pair, I have no doubt he would have killed me and gotten off on it. By the way, the secretary promptly booted him after 6 months.
Why is all this coming up now? Because even though I'm sick with a fever and broke I have a roof over my head and family and friends that love me unconditionally. I'm living in New Orleans, a city I've loved for as long as I can remember, and having an excellent time even though I still battle depression on a daily basis. I'm not saying that the abuse in my marriage was deserved, far from it; but I wouldn't have gotten to where I am today without enduring and learning from it. You can only appreciate what you have and know that you can succeed when you've hit rock bottom and the only way to go is up.
I also appreciate that I was older when I flubbed it by marrying the douche. I can barely imagine being 18 and taking the plunge into poverty, having a spouse unafraid to steal or destroy the little I'd built for myself, and take everyone down with him because of selfish desires. I can't fathom being 18 and wanting to do anything but go out without a curfew and getting my degree. I especially can't comprehend doing it with kids involved.
I guess the moral to the story is this; users take heed. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and while you may consider your actions to be pure and enlightened, taking advantage is taking advantage. Deep down you know your actions are solely based on immediate self-fulfillment regardless of your purported altruism. It hurts those around you and causes suffering in ways you never have considered. Those of you who recognize yourself as the victim in a similar misfortune, do yourself a favor and think of the outcome you are likely to face since the other party is obviously not. Save yourself while you have the chance and screw dissenting opinions. Just remember, you'll be happy and they won't be alone. There's always another sucker out there to take your place.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Are You Sitting Down?
I am, because despite the departure of Other Brother from being my roommate I still retain my Throne, Bench, and Couch of Perpetual Indulgence Mark II. If I had a full time job, I might think about replacing the echos in the living area with new furniture; like an Eames Lounge Chair from the lovely people at CSN who do home decor and furnishings. By the way, if you leave me a comment at the end of this blog I'll choose at random one winner of a $15 gift code to use as you wish at any of their 200+ websites. They only ship to the US and Canada so if you happen to be my one Vietnamese reader out there, sorry about that but feel free to say "hi" anyway. Canadians may run into international shipping taxes from receiving their stuff, but otherwise you can use the gift code for whatever you'd like.
Okay, corporate obligations aside, here's a recap of the weekend. Other Brother came back with his Mom and Uncle in a whirlwind of moving and relocated yesterday. Everything's fine with us, he's going back to Dallas where the work is and is still fulfilling his financial obligations to me. I can't and don't blame him for going where the work is, but I'll miss him. I looked despondent enough when he left that unofficial roommate James gave me a gruff hug and then said we should go to his place to watch a movie so I wouldn't be stuck alone in an empty house.
Off to James' house to watch Dead Snow, the most awesome Norwegian zombie flick ever created, and drink scotch. After the movie was over work began on The Comic Books. The Comic Books are James' latest acquisition apart from the Sofa of Doom. Both came from Tommy, a friend who had to move to South Korea for work. Tommy offered to sell James not one, not two, but EIGHT fully packed comic boxes (Length 30 X Width 9 X Height 12 3/4) for the low low price of $200 since he had to vacate and didn't care about storing them. In these crates were just about every title, storyline, crossover, graphic novel, and special edition known to man for the past ten years under Marvel, DC, and then some; a good 95% of which are in pristine condition.
Unfortunately, James is much the same way I am about my comic books when I get around to organizing them. It becomes a mission for which perfection is the only option, damned be the time it takes. James had been working on this solo for the better part of two and a half weeks and was becoming increasingly frustrated with this nightmare of an OCD project. So we sat down and for five hours sorted, separated and arranged by number (lowest on top) all these titles. With the two of us working we got through a large chunk of the collection, but it's by no means finished.
This, in large part, is the reason that we spent a few hours at the New Orleans Comic Con today. Tommy had the annoying habit of purchasing all issues in a series but for one in the middle (probably thinking he'd already bought it) and James was interested in hunting down a few missing issues as well as purchasing more bags and boards for his acquisitions. The first three hundred bags barely scratched the surface.
The fee for getting in was not what we had been led to believe and absolutely ludicrous to the point that I feel exceedingly guilty since James had offered to pay. When you get in, the comic stores are selling you stuff, the dealers are selling you stuff, and the stars sure as hell are selling you stuff. $25 for an autographed photo? Really?
All right, I admit it was kinda neat to see all those big names in one spot. The childhood geek in me loved seeing Peter Tork of the Monkees (lookin' good for his age) as well as Louis Gossett Jr. (short!). I must've seen Firewalker with him and Chuck Norris about fifty times. Walter Koenig (Chekov - Star Trek) was there too, although that was kinda sad because the last time I really paid attention to him was when I was in Vancouver on Halloween holiday in '09--not two miles from the park where his son committed suicide that same week. On a lighter note, Ernie Hudson from Ghostbusters is none too shabby for as long as he's been around and seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself.
The only people who weren't hawking stuff were the members of the 501st, a Star Wars costume troupe that does charity events. My friend Karrie Monster is a soon-to-be member and was helping out with the booth in Sith gear. Karrie introduced me to her two friends Megan (dressed as LeeLoo from the Fifth Element) and Amber, wearing a blond wig and very short red dress. Amber had been commandeered to assist in bringing traffic to Daniel Logan's (Boba Fett from Star Wars: Episode II) booth. This guy is a tiny little perv of a Kiwi. He's maybe 5'3" and weighs slightly more than a cheeseburger. But good grief his personality is big! The first comment he had as Karrie, Megan and I wandered up was to look up and ask "Threesome? Foursome?" Naturally I brought the girls up front and center and said "these count as four". His eyes bugged out and he agreed wholeheartedly.
Amber interjected and asked if we wanted to see her ad space. We said sure, and came around the booth where she was, Daniel waving us in. Amber then turned her backside to us, lifted her dress, and showed us the outerwear set of panties she'd made that read "Your Ad Here" on the crotch. The ladies and I all agreed this was pretty funny and Daniel suggested we show the neighbor in the booth behind...who happened to be Adam West. (If you need me to tell you who that is you need to pull your head out from under that rock.) The explanation was given, the curtain pulled aside....
I can't tell you how funny it was to see that old man tilt his head, stare, and then immediately with a look of incredulity turn around and go back to his booth. The next victim was Nicholas Brendan (Xander of Buffy). He got called over and this time Amber showed her sign from the booth counter. He was wearing shades (because, y'know, they do that in Hollywood) and came over, same head tilt, then the expression of shock as he realized what it was he was looking at. I couldn't watch when they tried it with Walter. I was afraid that poor old man would have a heart attack.
I glanced over to the next table where one of the other actors was having lunch and giving a quizzical look as to what was going on at our booth. I wandered over and said I was going to leave the perverts for awhile and talk to some normal people. She asked what they were doing and I explained the gag to her. Her name was Keisha Tillis and she's a very pretty, well-spoken, up and coming actress. As of late she was in the AMC series The Walking Dead. I've read two of the graphic novels (again thanks to James) and really enjoyed them, but hadn't gotten a chance to see the show yet. I'm gonna have to now, she was really nice and I loved the books.
After hobnobbing with the nerdy and famous, we went back to the house for JamesBurgers. The rest of the day was calm and rainy. I've got a temp job in the AM, so that's all for now folks! Tune in next week, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel. And now a word from our sponsor (Your Ad Here).
Okay, corporate obligations aside, here's a recap of the weekend. Other Brother came back with his Mom and Uncle in a whirlwind of moving and relocated yesterday. Everything's fine with us, he's going back to Dallas where the work is and is still fulfilling his financial obligations to me. I can't and don't blame him for going where the work is, but I'll miss him. I looked despondent enough when he left that unofficial roommate James gave me a gruff hug and then said we should go to his place to watch a movie so I wouldn't be stuck alone in an empty house.
Off to James' house to watch Dead Snow, the most awesome Norwegian zombie flick ever created, and drink scotch. After the movie was over work began on The Comic Books. The Comic Books are James' latest acquisition apart from the Sofa of Doom. Both came from Tommy, a friend who had to move to South Korea for work. Tommy offered to sell James not one, not two, but EIGHT fully packed comic boxes (Length 30 X Width 9 X Height 12 3/4) for the low low price of $200 since he had to vacate and didn't care about storing them. In these crates were just about every title, storyline, crossover, graphic novel, and special edition known to man for the past ten years under Marvel, DC, and then some; a good 95% of which are in pristine condition.
Unfortunately, James is much the same way I am about my comic books when I get around to organizing them. It becomes a mission for which perfection is the only option, damned be the time it takes. James had been working on this solo for the better part of two and a half weeks and was becoming increasingly frustrated with this nightmare of an OCD project. So we sat down and for five hours sorted, separated and arranged by number (lowest on top) all these titles. With the two of us working we got through a large chunk of the collection, but it's by no means finished.
This, in large part, is the reason that we spent a few hours at the New Orleans Comic Con today. Tommy had the annoying habit of purchasing all issues in a series but for one in the middle (probably thinking he'd already bought it) and James was interested in hunting down a few missing issues as well as purchasing more bags and boards for his acquisitions. The first three hundred bags barely scratched the surface.
The fee for getting in was not what we had been led to believe and absolutely ludicrous to the point that I feel exceedingly guilty since James had offered to pay. When you get in, the comic stores are selling you stuff, the dealers are selling you stuff, and the stars sure as hell are selling you stuff. $25 for an autographed photo? Really?
All right, I admit it was kinda neat to see all those big names in one spot. The childhood geek in me loved seeing Peter Tork of the Monkees (lookin' good for his age) as well as Louis Gossett Jr. (short!). I must've seen Firewalker with him and Chuck Norris about fifty times. Walter Koenig (Chekov - Star Trek) was there too, although that was kinda sad because the last time I really paid attention to him was when I was in Vancouver on Halloween holiday in '09--not two miles from the park where his son committed suicide that same week. On a lighter note, Ernie Hudson from Ghostbusters is none too shabby for as long as he's been around and seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself.
The only people who weren't hawking stuff were the members of the 501st, a Star Wars costume troupe that does charity events. My friend Karrie Monster is a soon-to-be member and was helping out with the booth in Sith gear. Karrie introduced me to her two friends Megan (dressed as LeeLoo from the Fifth Element) and Amber, wearing a blond wig and very short red dress. Amber had been commandeered to assist in bringing traffic to Daniel Logan's (Boba Fett from Star Wars: Episode II) booth. This guy is a tiny little perv of a Kiwi. He's maybe 5'3" and weighs slightly more than a cheeseburger. But good grief his personality is big! The first comment he had as Karrie, Megan and I wandered up was to look up and ask "Threesome? Foursome?" Naturally I brought the girls up front and center and said "these count as four". His eyes bugged out and he agreed wholeheartedly.
Amber interjected and asked if we wanted to see her ad space. We said sure, and came around the booth where she was, Daniel waving us in. Amber then turned her backside to us, lifted her dress, and showed us the outerwear set of panties she'd made that read "Your Ad Here" on the crotch. The ladies and I all agreed this was pretty funny and Daniel suggested we show the neighbor in the booth behind...who happened to be Adam West. (If you need me to tell you who that is you need to pull your head out from under that rock.) The explanation was given, the curtain pulled aside....
I can't tell you how funny it was to see that old man tilt his head, stare, and then immediately with a look of incredulity turn around and go back to his booth. The next victim was Nicholas Brendan (Xander of Buffy). He got called over and this time Amber showed her sign from the booth counter. He was wearing shades (because, y'know, they do that in Hollywood) and came over, same head tilt, then the expression of shock as he realized what it was he was looking at. I couldn't watch when they tried it with Walter. I was afraid that poor old man would have a heart attack.
I glanced over to the next table where one of the other actors was having lunch and giving a quizzical look as to what was going on at our booth. I wandered over and said I was going to leave the perverts for awhile and talk to some normal people. She asked what they were doing and I explained the gag to her. Her name was Keisha Tillis and she's a very pretty, well-spoken, up and coming actress. As of late she was in the AMC series The Walking Dead. I've read two of the graphic novels (again thanks to James) and really enjoyed them, but hadn't gotten a chance to see the show yet. I'm gonna have to now, she was really nice and I loved the books.
After hobnobbing with the nerdy and famous, we went back to the house for JamesBurgers. The rest of the day was calm and rainy. I've got a temp job in the AM, so that's all for now folks! Tune in next week, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel. And now a word from our sponsor (Your Ad Here).
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