June 2003 Archives
June 29, 2003
A Pretty Girl
A pretty girl is like a violent crime.
If you do it wrong, you could do time,
But if you do it right, it is sublime.
— Magnetic Fields
Posted by Stan on June 29, 2003 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Random Musings
June 28, 2003
Contact!
I’ve done a lot of really stupid things to impress women. I use “stupid” as a catch-all term for both the things that are dangerous and possibly illegal and the things that are just so utterly lame that I can’t believe that, at one point in time, I was completely convinced that it would seem really impressive.
Did you ever see that Simpsons where Milhouse gets Krusty’s autograph on his stomach to impress girls, and then he shows the girls, and they all run away screaming? That scene sums up roughly 60% of the things I’ve done to impress the fairer sex.
When I was a junior in high school, a really, really slutty girl was very attracted to me. Honestly, in high school, the only women I could attract were either (1) so skanky that they were completely indiscriminate, (2) so desperate that they thought I looked good, or (3) insane. Not much has changed since then, except that I can categorize them into one of those three groups. In high school, I used to categorize them as follows: (1) she likes me, therefore I must attempt to date her.
At any rate, this slutty girl was under the impression that under the doughy, acne-splatter facade she saw raged a tiger rippling with muscles and an aesthetically pleasing complexion; she was mistaken, but this did not stop her from not-very-coyly prodding me into transforming my physique into something presentable. The first thing to go: the glasses.
One day, perched cautiously on my thunderous thighs, she pulled my glasses off and announced, “You’d look a lot better with contacts.” An interesting point.
After school, I made an appointment with my ophthalmologist so I could get contacts. She gave me a sample pair, showed me how to put them in and take them out, and then left me on my own to practice putting them in and taking them out. Thirty minutes later without anything to show for it, I decided to give up. What the hell was the point?
Defeated, I meandered home, wondering what I could possibly do to get rid of the glasses. I couldn’t go without them, because I’d both be blind and my lazy eye — the primary reason for getting glasses in the first place — would start floating all over the place, which is even more unappealing than glasses.
I decided to take the honest — and stupid — approach, and I explained my plight to the slutty girl. She responded thoughtfully by going into graphic detail about how she had been fooling around with a senior when her parents walked into the room. I think she broke up with me at that point, although I was never really positive that we were actually going out. She may still think we’re still an item at this point. She was not very bright.
Flash-forward four years. The lazy eye is gone after a painful and irritating surgery, but the glasses remain. I was getting sick of them, so at my last ophthalmologist appointment, I asked about trying contacts again. I decided that it would be more reasonable, in the grand scheme of things, if I used the Extended Wear contacts, which apparently no longer act as horrible bacterial petri dishes that cause eyes to look roughly like the Horsehead Nebula after sleeping in them.
She introduced me to a strange, short optometrist who works in her office, and he showed me how to put in and take out contacts in greater — and more painful — detail. Still, being the completely incompetent person that I am, coupled with my intense phobia of getting my hands in the general vicinity of my eyeball, it took me an hour and a half to get them in and out and then back in again.
My eyes were stinging, tearing (that’s as in “teardrop,” not like I tore my eyeball apart — goddamn the English language!), swollen, and bloodshot. Despite the fact that it was painful and I would express my pain by saying things such as “Ow,” the optometrist kindly assured me that “there is no ‘ow.’” He will not be getting a Christmas card.
When I got home, my mother showed me what she assumed was an easier way to get the contacts in and out. Since it only took me an hour, I guess she was technically correct. Still, I kept them out because my eyes were extremely irritated and swollen, and I didn’t need them getting more irritated. I figured I’d let them recover for a few days before trying again.
So Tuesday night, I tried again. It took me another hour to get them in, but I decided I would keep them in for at least a few days, to see how horrible sleeping in them actually was. If it worked out, I’d just keep them in until I needed to replace them. I still didn’t like putting in the contacts (taking them out isn’t as bad), but I felt better about myself because I was doing this to help myself, not to impress the ladies (who, honestly, aren’t impressed by the things I do anymore; actually, they never were, but my ability to deny that is wearing thin).
So Wednesday passed with few problems, except that the right lens was somewhat blurry. Thursday attempted to pass, as well, but things got bad. That blurriness in my right lens? It got worse during class. By the time I was driving home, I could barely see anything more then ten feet away from me. This is not a good thing while driving.
Smart people — i.e., people who aren’t me — would have pulled over, said, “Gosh, I can’t drive. I should get some help,” and then wait for said help to arrive. I did this: I closed my right eye. And I’m not dead or injured, and neither is my car, so I guess that worked out.
When I got home, I took them out. My mother insists that either I tore or smudged the lens. I’ve been so frustrated by the contacts — somebody at some point told me they were easier than dealing with glasses; what in the hell happened to that? — that I haven’t put them back in. I’m still not sure if I will or not.
I think I’ve given up. Again.
Posted by Stan on June 28, 2003 10:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Stories of Pain and Humiliation
The hell?
My mom just had the following conversation with my grandpa:
Mom: How are you?
Grandpa (insincerely): Fine.
Mom: What does that mean?
Grandpa: Well, the doctor says I had a slight stroke a few days ago.
Mom (wtf?): A…slight stroke?
Grandpa: Thanks for sending pictures of your daughter’s new house.
Mom: Um. Maybe we should talk about this stroke.
Grandpa: Oh, I just have double vision. It’ll go away in a few days.
Mom: Have you been driving like that?
Grandpa: (long period of silence) No. So, she’s moving in today?
And after that point, he refused to talk about it. What the hell is wrong with my family?
Of course, I think I inherited the “never tell anybody anything serious unless you absolutely have to” gene.
Posted by Stan on June 28, 2003 3:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Family: The Horror…
June 27, 2003
Friday Five (9)
- How are you planning to spend the summer [winter]?
In school. Enjoying myself. - What was your first summer job?
Making $5/hour (yes, it was even below minimum wage then) sweeping floors, stocking, and pulling inventory at my dad’s warehouse. - If you could go anywhere this summer [winter], where would you go?
I’d like to trace my ancestry back to Sicily, where I would meet and fall in love with a beautiful native who dies in a freak car-bombing. Then I’d come back home to New York and marry second-choice Diane Keaton. - What was your worst vacation ever?
I’d have to go with the Thanksgiving trip to visit my aunt in which I (1) broke my arm, (2) got lost in the woods, and (3) ate dry, horrible turkey that eventually caused some sort of brown-gray liquid to seep from various bodily orifices. Okay, that last part wasn’t true. The turkey wasn’t dry. - What was your best vacation ever?
I think “least worst vacation” is more appropriate. I’d vote for any vacation where I got to stay home and sit on my ass. I actually think any vacation shorter than a month that involves actually leaving town is more trouble than it’s worth. Plus, being spared decades of driving with the whole family harmonizing off-key to the cast recording of Les Misérables is a definite plus.
Posted by Stan on June 27, 2003 12:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Friday Five/Albums of the Week
June 23, 2003
Hrm
This morning, my mother started a new job. She’s working 6-10 a.m. at a store down the street from hour house. I decided that I’d start gradually getting up earlier and earlier, until I’m up with her at 5 a.m. I’ve been getting sick of waking up so late — the day zips by too quickly. Plus, with her out of the house for a little over four hours, I can actually work in peace and quiet.
Anyway, the plan this morning was to get up at 8 o’clock, blog about my weekend for an hour or so, and then either do something productive or watch Cowboy Bebop (probably the latter). But I, for the first time in my meager life, slept through my alarm.
Actually, it’s a physical impossibility for me to literally sleep through my alarm, but when I woke up this morning at 9:57, my alarm was off, so either I turned it off in my sleep because my subconscious didn’t want to have to get up that early, or it went off at 8 o’clock and I woke up and shut it off and was so tired, I fell right back asleep and don’t remember it.
Either way, that sucks.
Anyway, I have two decent stories, one about the ophthalmological horrors of Friday, the other about my cousin’s graduation party, that I haven’t had time to blog about, and probably won’t until the end of this week. Hopefully I won’t forget.
Posted by Stan on June 23, 2003 10:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Random Musings
June 20, 2003
Friday Five (8)
- Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short?
Straight. Short. - How has your hair changed over your lifetime?
When I was in elementary school, I used to shave it all off, except the back, which had a tail. If you can possibly believe it, that was a somewhat popular style back then. The longer the tail, the cooler you were, man.Then, when I was in junior high and started getting into really terrible heavy-metal bands, I grew my hair out really long and I looked more retarded than I normally do.
Since then, I’ve had pretty much the same hairstyle.
- How do your normally wear your hair?
Parted on the left. - If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like?
I’d grow it out really long and get a Peter Frampton perm. - Ever had a hair disaster? What happened?
I, specifically, haven’t, probably because I don’t do much experimentation. My sister has had a lot of problems, though. She used to dye her hair all the time, and she did it a little too often, so one time her hair came out gray. Then, another time, she got her hair cut really short and styled really stupidly, and it looked so bad she refused to go to school for three days until she could comb out the style.
Posted by Stan on June 20, 2003 10:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Friday Five/Albums of the Week
June 19, 2003
Lecture Week
This week, our professor went out of town for reasons that obviously aren’t any of my business, so we had guest-lecturers on Tuesday and today. The guy who came in on Tuesday gave the best sound lecture I’ve ever heard (and I’ve heard a lot), so he’s pretty kick-ass.
The guy who came in today tried to go over stuff that we’ve already gone over, or stuff that we will be going over soon (according to the syllabus), so he really didn’t have much of a lecture. Then, we spent about 30 minutes learning the ins and outs of the digital editing lab. Seeing 25 brand new G4s hooked up through A/V systems that would make baby Jesus weep, assuming baby Jesus was a computer geek and/or film editor, got me pretty excited. I am a tremendous geek.
Then, we watched a few Production II films and deconstructed them. Most of them were not particularly good. As I am often fond of saying, the absolute most important question to answer when writing something is “why.” Why does this character like his life simple? Why does this character run from attractive women running from apples? Why does this lawyer think he’s going to get a promotion but instead is chewed out by a senior partner?
Those are questions that were raised mentally in all of the films we watched. None of them are answered, but they’re all important. If you don’t know why a character would do something, why the fuck are you going to care if they do it? That’s what separates a good story from a bad one. It’s also why so many movies are so fucking terrible: characters are slaves to the plot, when they should be creating the plot through properly motivated, logical actions.
At any rate, I find it fairly illogical that so many people are so preoccupied with getting a good shot or a good sound, they totally ignore their story. Robert McKee is fucking right, that rotten son of a bitch. Frankly, I don’t care about my shots. As long as there is something that isn’t a massive blob of blue-black or yellow-white, it’s fine. The story and the intent of the writer and/or director are more important elements.
But that’s a whole rant I didn’t even want to get into.
This weekend, I have to come up with three decent ideas that I can flesh out and pitch by Tuesday. I have a couple, but nothing is really fleshy yet, so I’ll be working on that most of the time. I’m also trying to pare down a 112-page script I wrote in high school with Jeff, so it can be used as my final film. I’m not sure it’s going to work out.
The script can be trimmed, I’m sure, but the excessive warnings against using dialogue, even if the idea is to have the bad, kung-fu-style dubbing, are turning me into more of a wuss than I usually am. When my professor comes back, I’m going to talk to him about it and see if it’s do-able.
We’ll see, I guess.
Posted by Stan on June 19, 2003 8:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | School Rants
June 13, 2003
Friday Five (7)
- What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do, but never have?
I’ve always wanted to keep an aluminum baseball bat in my car, so when some fucking cocksucker does something really inappropriate like drive 10 under or cut me off (or cut me off and then go 10 under), I can follow them, and then at the next light, bash all his or her fucking windows in.That’ll learn ‘em!
- When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest?
I am generally honest. Brutally honest. Unnecessarily honest. I am a horrible monster. - Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn’t? What happened?
Yes. It seems like every few months, people start confiding horrible secrets that they haven’t told anyone else. I guess I’m trustworthy like that. But then, it’s like I become a partner in crime because I’m the only one who knows, so I’m always getting this extra secret information that I don’t want to know. - If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why?
It’s weird, because the only stuff I watch/read/play that isn’t directly set in what is supposed to be the real world, it always creates a fictional universe that is a horrible, horrible place to live. So I wouldn’t really want to live in any place, except maybe the magical Mushroom Kingdom with Mario and Yoshi.Or possibly Vice City, just for the fun of it.
- What’s one talent/skill you don’t have but always wanted?
That magical and elusive coordination between hand and eye that one needs in order to actually hit a baseball with a bat. I don’t think I’ve ever hit a baseball since I played T-ball in preschool. And even then, it was a challenge.
Most recently, that all happened with The Cheat, which is weird because I barely even knew him.
Posted by Stan on June 13, 2003 11:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Friday Five/Albums of the Week
June 11, 2003
If Only the Professor Were Mark Harmon…
Yesterday was the beginning of a new era in my college experience, one of trying frantically to get into as many summer school courses as I could so I can graduate some time before 2018. Of course, it’s me here, so obviously the two classes I desperately needed were either full or canceled, thus ensuring that everybody on the planet will soon be able to use the following exchange from Tommy Boy:
Chris Farley (for the purposes of this analogy, me): “A lot of people go to college for seven years.”
David Spade (any human being who will ever speak to me): “Yeah, they’re called doctors.”
I have about as much luck as that guy you see in casinos sitting in a dark corner weeping, but I did get into one course that I don’t specifically need to take now, but I may as well get it out of the way so I can take 285,000 credit hours next semester. That course, as I may or may not have mentioned, is Production II.
I did well in Production I because both the professor and TA liked me. I am surprisingly pleasant, even affable, when I find ways to mask my general contempt for humanity. However, two-and-a-half of the three-and-a-half films I made in that class sucked ass. And I’m not talking about a small, flat, anorexic ass. I am talking about a terrifying, enormous, Pzykotic ass of doom.
Few films suck that amount of ass, but I will gladly take my place beside Death to Smoochy and Battlefield Earth as having created some truly and consistently terrible work. People might be wondering, but are more likely not wondering, why my films were so bad. There are several reasons for this:
- Poor planning
- Incompetence
- Lazy editing
- My inability to light anything properly*
This time around, I’ve decided I want to make some films that I’m really proud of, for two fundamental reasons:
- I have to have something to show to people when I graduate
- The infamous Crush is in my class, so I have to at least impress her with my auteurism and tremendous ego
This brings us to day one of class, which is, as every student knows, “getting to know you/building a rapport” day. Or, more accurately, “blow this off/the syllabus is in my box” day. This summer class follows the trend of the math class I took one summer in high school: every single student is some monstrous sitcom cliché, which leads me to the conclusion that this semester is going to fucking rock. The various cliché are as follows (and pay attention, since these nicknames are likely to stick when I blog about them):
- The Loudmouth
- two guys that we, as a class, decided were cloned from Beavis and Butt-Head
- Super-Hot Pothead Girl
- The Unpleasant Catholic Girl
- The Jock
- Token Hispanic Guy
- Goth Girl
- Inferiority Complex Girl
- John Q. Average American
- The Crush (who I guess could be more loosely defined as “Chip-on-the-Shoulder Lashing-out-at-Society Girl,” but she’s still The Crush to me)
- The Token Articulate African-American Fellow
And then there’s me. I guess my stereotype is Enormous Geek Guy, but mostly they just call me Stan.
The professor is a pretty cool guy. He’s very into nurturing our creativity, and he’s very pro-College because he was an NYU dropout who has nothing good to say about their program. He loves the idea that we all are able to write and direct our own shorts. He was not thrilled with being a boom operator on somebody else’s film (hence the “dropout” thing).
We didn’t do much in class other than introduce ourselves to the class as a whole, go over the syllabus and semester projects, and then pair off and get into the nitty-gritty of ourselves with somebody else. I was paired up with The Loudmouth, who is far more well-rounded than I give him credit for with my broad stereotyping.
All told, I think the semester is going to be a lot of fun, and based on the class make-up, I should have at least one interesting story blogged by the end of the semester.
*I missed the lighting lecture and got some pro-tips by the failures I am friends with. Since then, I’ve mastered the fine art of three-point lighting.
Posted by Stan on June 11, 2003 8:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | School Rants
June 4, 2003
I Will Survive
For those urgently concerned about my wilderness survival skills, I am, in fact, alive and quite possibly kicking. I’m just not specifically blogging, because I’ve been spending all my time relaxing in preparation for summer school, which begins (for me) on Tuesday. Therefore, nothing notable has happened, and while that’s never stopped me before, it will stop me now.
Unless, of course, you really want to read extended, Dennis Miller-esque rants about how terrible people around here drive. Or detailed accounts of sitting around in soiled underwear, eating Cap’n Crunch and watching my stories. If I were you, dear, sweet reader who accidentally stumbled on this site while unsuccessfully searching Google for Vince Neil blowjob videos, I’d consider myself lucky.
Posted by Stan on June 4, 2003 12:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | Random Musings
