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March 2008 Archives

March 21, 2008

Best Grocery Store Find Ever

Head Wipes: For Discerning Bald Guyz.

Posted by Stan at 3:13 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (2)  | Random Musings

March 20, 2008

Ultimate Prank

For the past few weeks, I had reason to believe one of my Internet nerd friends was in a military jail for unknown crimes. An important distinction: having reason to believe doesn’t mean I believed it — not at first, at least. In fact, I was first told this by another friend, who said he was IM’ed with the news by a close personal friend of our li’l Marine. She signed on, said, “Oh my God, Peter’s in jail,” then signed off — and never signed on again.

“I don’t believe it,” I said. “He was just online, like, yesterday. I don’t think they give you online privileges in jail.” Still, it made me wonder. It’s perfectly reasonable for somebody to be online, then go out and commit a crime, then be found out and jailed for it. Or, perhaps, commit a crime many weeks ago that has just now been traced to him.

I remained cautiously optimistic until he fell of the face of the planet, and everyone kept going back and forth about what could have possibly happened. I found myself looking up news articles involving Marines, and when I couldn’t find any I wondered briefly if he had given us all a pseudonym (and since he’d sent nearly everyone in my online nerd hovel a package at one time or another, that would add mail fraud to his list of charges). It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.

After all, my name isn’t even Stan.

[Cue dramatic musical sting.]

I do have issues, however. No denying that much.

After a few weeks of Peter disappearing, I didn’t know what to think…until tonight, when somebody using his moniker signed online. He remained for a few minutes, didn’t acknowledge anybody, then left. Was this a practical joke? FBI agents playing around with his seized computer? What the hell happened?

Then came the big reveal: he had sent one of us a letter. He didn’t want to mention it because he was afraid to even open it. It bore the typewritten return address of a USMC brig in San Diego.

Finally, he opened it, and…what the fuck? Baffled, he scanned its pages for the rest of us to try to understand.

That is some big-time craziness. I can’t argue with it.

If you’ll notice, page three has a reference to myself and this blog. For those too lazy to read, here it goes:

I am sure once that the Stanley cousin obtains the word of my situation thus it will launch and to then disseminate a diatribe of million-word on his under-ground-tighten the bulletin…

For a little while — too long, actually — I believed it, and I fully intended on posting the letter as some kind of plea for understanding. We spent far too long poring over the pages, trying to assess whether or not it was written in some elaborate code (and whether or not we could crack said code) or just the product of a drug-addled and possibly insane mind.

As uncomfortable as it made me, I still thought there was something off about it. On his worst day, Peter could construct a coherent sentence. Plus, certain parts — the section about iPods running from the bottom of page one to the top of page two, for instance — screamed “prank!” to me, but enough of it disturbed me and I suddenly started feeling guilty for shrugging at the alleged charges.

After awhile, Peter’s handle signed on yet again. This time, he started to talk. Plus, his IP checked out. It was him, and the whole thing was an elaborate, goofy prank. It was mostly just a matter of timing it with a period when he knew he wouldn’t have any Internet access for a few weeks.

How’d he get the appropriate level of crazy for the letter? He initially wrote out a “crazy rant” but decided it didn’t sound crazy enough. Solution: use Babelfish to translate it into French, then translate the French back into English and transcribe it onto note paper.

Why? Why not? I love a good prank, and this is probably the best one I’ve seen pulled since the time, several years back, that Jive “came out” to a couple of our friends.

The world needs more high-quality pranks, so Peter, I salute you.

Posted by Stan at 10:47 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Friends: Can’t Live with ‘Em

March 19, 2008

Undicked?

Just got an e-mail from Mark regarding the job. To his credit, he’s trying to undo the damage he’s done by feeding me little bits of info.

I sort of snickered when he mentioned that he was the first person to interview for the position and that she didn’t schedule a follow-up with the marketing department right away (as she did when I interviewed for the position). Then I felt legitimately bad when he mentioned he was replaying the interview in his head over and over again, thinking of questions he answered poorly. It wasn’t just his penchant for honesty that did him in — it’s his unrelenting negativity. After feeling bad, I got pissed off again: he knows he’s the kind of guy who will walk into a job interview knowing he didn’t get it — so why go for it in the first place, when he knows I need it (and, in this particular case, want it) more?

Based on the questions he thought he botched, Mark attempted to coach me into giving “correct” answers. The irony, of course, is that I’ve already got my bases covered. His main concern was saying “no” when asked if he’d ever have interest in pursuing a career in law; I stated flat-out in my cover letter that I’d love to get some firm experience, even in the marketing department, before pursuing a J.D. His other big concern was “hyping” my web skills. Yes, there are two positions open — yet another reason to be annoyed he didn’t mention it; he really was just trying to eliminate any competition, no matter what, for this job he didn’t believe he’d get — one for print material, the other for web. According to my largely fictitious resume, I have ample experience with both media, but I did hype the web skills more. I remembered from my previous interview that they were shifting to focus more on the web, and the web-design group is part of the marketing department.

Now, here I am, taking my accumulated knowledge and blitzing the HR lady, without any success (so far). Meanwhile, Mark has had his first (and probably only) interview. What the hell?

Based on what Mark told me, I decided I should wait until Friday before contacting the head of marketing. I still feel kind of strange about doing it, but like many others have said: if I don’t risk pissing some people off, I’d never hear anything. So either they’re going to be elated and the ball will start rolling, or they’re going to be pissed and it’d be the same basic result. What’s the harm in going for it?

Posted by Stan at 11:57 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Job Shit

March 18, 2008

Dicked Around

Longtime readers might remember a passing reference to a job interview I was pretty stoked about awhile back. It’s pretty clear that I didn’t get the job; if I had, I probably wouldn’t be quite so enraged about everything. What I neglected to mention is that — perhaps adding to my rage — it was down to me and one other person, and the other person got the job. I received a pretty heartfelt phone call in which they told me they had to go with the other candidate, strongly hinting that they felt he was unqualified (not that I was, but hey, they liked me) and he was being pushed on them because he was an internal candidate.

Well, I got that interview through my friend Mark (now would be a good time to check out the new Cast of Characters link in the sidebar), who worked for the law firm. He would send me periodic e-mails with other jobs I might be good for. Many of them I felt like I was too unqualified for, and I didn’t want to keep applying to jobs I had no shot at and risk pissing off the HR lady. Around September, a similar job in the same department opened up. I applied…and heard absolutely nothing.

I was never sure why. At first, I thought the “we really wanted to hire you” call was bullshit, but why? I had interviewed for a totally different position prior to that, and I discovered the hard way that company policy is to just send a polite rejection letter. They didn’t need to call — in fact, they called me on a Friday afternoon and by the time I returned, they were gone for the day, so I spent the whole weekend assuming I had the job. That kind of sucked, and it’s probably one of the many reasons why bland rejection letters are preferred. I thought the call was really nice — not as nice as getting the job, but again, they didn’t have to call at all. They could have left me assuming that I’m a crappy, unskilled, and inexperienced prospective employee.

So I moved on to pinning it on the HR woman. Either she believed the open position wasn’t a good fit for me, or (more likely) she already had a candidate she was rallying around. I know the way the human resources game works: they get a candidate or two for a position and run them as far as they can down the line. If you come in too late, you’ll never hear from them, because they don’t want to upset the balance of the candidates they’ve already chosen. I was tempted to go to the people who interviewed me, circumventing HR completely, but I decided not to. It seemed like a breach of etiquette, and I didn’t really want to have the people who nearly hired me get pissed off and not hire me.

Cut to: today. A position pops up on their website — the exact position I nearly got lo those many months ago. I check the website maybe once every two or three weeks, just in case something relevant pops up. I was under the impression Mark quit the job several months ago, so I didn’t figure he’d be keeping up with their employment postings. So I filled out the online application and sent it in.

Then I thought, Maybe this time I should harass the head of the department. If the HR woman is never going to contact me, I really don’t have much to lose by going over her head…right?

I tried to remember if anyone — of the six or seven people I met in the department — had given me a business card — essentially granting permission for me to harass them — but I couldn’t find one. His communication info is splattered on his profile on the site, though. I thought, I could say he gave me a business card. This was in May — would he really remember? The only way he would is if they never gave anyone a business card.

Still concerned, I e-mailed Mark. I figured he’d at least know the ins and outs of this company’s particular hierarchy. He could tell me whether or not it would be a problem to contact someone I barely know, who isn’t in human resources, about an open position.

Mark had been strangely MIA the last 10 days or so. The last I heard from him, he sent me an e-mail; I replied, asking a few basic questions, but never heard anything back. It was weird, but not in a suspicious way. He does that sometimes, and since he got married I don’t see him as much. No biggie, right?

Wrong. Turns out, Mark never quit the job. I don’t know why I thought that; I remember him getting really frustrated with his boss and quitting. Maybe he just said he was tempted to quit but never went through with it. I honestly don’t remember, and it was obviously not something we discussed over e-mail (yes, I went back through the old ones). He e-mailed me back within an hour to tell me, sheepishly, that he wasn’t sure he could (or should) give me any good advice because he had applied for the same job — and was interviewing for it this afternoon.

He fell all over himself with apologies and half-assed explanations: the only reason he didn’t let me know was because I’d been given the runaround the last time, he didn’t think he had a shot in hell of getting the job, he wanted to show the company he had interest in a full-time position (right now he’s part-time, but as he describes it, he makes a full-time salary working half the hours), blah blah, etc.

I don’t want to be mad about this. It’s his prerogative to tell me or not tell me. It’s his prerogative to decide, “Hey, if Stan almost got this job, I’m a shoo-in.” And in some ways, it’s on me for not checking this particular site for jobs on a daily basis, cutting him off at the knees by asking him for a referral before he even sees it on the site himself.

I’ve been dicked around by this company more than once (even in the optimistic interview stage, the HR woman gave me the runaround), and now I’m being dicked around by a good friend. I feel pathetic for paraphrasing Michael Scott from The Office, especially since he’s talking about his girlfriend and not just a regular friend, but it all comes back to this: you expected to be dicked around by your job (even one you haven’t gotten yet) — but not by friends.

I talked it out with some other people. I don’t know if it’ll get me anywhere, but I think I found a pretty good strategy for contacting the department head without pissing off either him or the HR woman. If they liked me as much as I thought they did, he can bug HR for my resume. If he didn’t, that’s that.

I hope this strategy works out, even though it has FAILURE written all over it, because then I can fuck Mark over. We’ll be even, and then we can go back to being normal friends again. No muss, no fuss.

If it doesn’t work out, though…I’m a hell of a grudge-holder.

Posted by Stan at 4:48 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Job Shit

March 17, 2008

Laurie

I’ve been friends with Laurie for awhile (now would be a good time to take advantage of the new Cast of Characters link on the sidebar), a friendship built largely on awkwardness and miscommunication. To wit:

When I first met her, I felt an instant attraction, so I asked her to go to the movies. Now, ordinarily, I could understand why, in film-student circles, this wouldn’t be instantly seen as a date. But when I asked Laurie, I could see from the contortions on her face that she knew what I was asking — she took the time to process it, then broke into a wide smile and said, “Yeah,” all fake-shy-like.

And then we never, ever went to the movies. Ever. See what I mean? It’s confusing.

The friendship kept going. Despite my inability to seal the deal (or even getting her to acknowledge there was a deal there to be sealed), I discovered she was a person I wanted to know. I also got involved with somebody else, so after awhile the romantic notions with her just dissolved like they did with Gina. We were just friends, like normal people, for a few years.

Then, I got on MySpace. Then, she found out I was on MySpace. Then, things got weird. Weirder.

She started to drop awkward comments on my MySpace page, there in public, for everyone to see. Things about how she missed me, but the way they were phrased (which I am not going to quote verbatim because I just Googled them and they’re comically easy to trace back to me) led me to the pretty clear conclusion that…she’s into me. For real.

But this just led to more awkwardness. She promised to call and didn’t; I promised to make definitive plans to see her and didn’t. After an ill-fated attempt to go to an Oscar party in a blizzard failed, we didn’t talk much anymore…

…until a month ago, when it started all over again, with another random comment, this one even more unusual and salacious than before. After calling herself “a fool,” she decided it was “imperative” that we get together. Written as if the world would literally crumble to pieces if we didn’t not drop everything and rush into each others’ arms, I elected to respond. I told myself, “This isn’t really worth the effort. I’ll respond, and if something happens, it happens. If not, whatever.”

Responding to the comment led to catch-up text-messaging, after which I didn’t hear from her at all. Out of the blue, a day or two ago, she sent me a private message on MySpace, explaining to me that her life has been hectic, she’s also unemployed, she’s had car troubles that needed taking care of, and she has neither forgotten about me nor of our plans to see each other. She closed by saying, “Just let me get things together, if you know what I mean.”

Somebody, please explain to me what that means. I don’t know!

But when I got this message, I was hooked again. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s going to be a series of mishaps resulting in us seeing each other for maybe five minutes in the year 2008. And that’ll be that…

There’s just that small part of me that I can’t seem to kill, the one that listened to too much Cheap Trick as a lad and believes the main priority is wanting to be wanted. Even if it never gets to pivotal phases like “seeing one another on a regular basis” or “not crassly manipulating each others’ emotions” (I can’t claim she’s the only one guilty there), part of me is merely happy that there’s someone out there who wants me, even if it’s only for 15 alcohol-fueled sections prowling MySpace late at night.

Posted by Stan at 5:52 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Friends: Can’t Live with ‘Em, Fumbling Attempts at Relationships

March 16, 2008

What Is It Good For?

I’m working on something new now. I’m just going to assault people with genre stuff until somebody thinks something I write will make some money. This one’s kind of a kids’ movie — I guess more of a “young adult” thing, though, hitting that “tween” demographic, I guess. I’m trying to keep it toned down in terms of language and violence, but I always liked movies like The Goonies and (the original) Bad News Bears for respecting kids enough to realize that about 90% of them have ridiculous potty-mouths, so everyone in the audience can handle it except overly sensitive parents.

Doesn’t matter. I am consciously trying to keep this light, but here’s where the problem starts: it’s about war. I’m not hugely concerned with the violence — ironically, there isn’t much. It has a lot of satirical elements concerning the futility of war, but mainly it’s about a group of kids whose fighting escalates into all-out assaults during recess. It’s kind of inspired by this general sort of cabin fever that affected kids while I was in junior high; when we were stuck inside for most of fall and winter, when spring broke they’d just go apeshit. We’d have recess in a large park across the street, with more than enough space to hide from the prying eyes of teachers and lunch moms, and all manner of craziness would take place. Nothing to the extreme of this script, but in getting into the mentality of my 12-year-old self, a lot of it felt like the extremes I take the script to. Much of the comedy comes from this exaggeration, but I think it also contains a great deal of emotional (if not literal) truth.

And then I came up with the perfect opening sequence: a beat-for-beat spoof of the Omaha Beach sequence in Saving Private Ryan. Without drawing much attention to the fact that I’m clearly spoofing one of the most famous battle sequences in recent movie history, I’d use the spoof to clearly establish the main characters, the battle lines, the physical space of their “battlefield” (i.e., a city park), and set the comic tone for this goofy “war” (which mainly involves throwing crabapples at the other side, going back to the “it’s not that violent and nobody even gets hurt” statement).

Is this disrespectful? I’m honestly not sure, because my taste has no sense of boundaries. To me, funny is funny, and if I can pull it off the way I think I can, that’s great; if I can’t, I’d end up changing it anyway. Is there a taboo in mocking — even if I’m doing it with affection — a fearless and reverent piece of filmmaking? I don’t know.

Posted by Stan at 3:11 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Random Musings

March 15, 2008

More Bad News…

Note: This will be my last post on this subject. This blog isn’t about politics, or the atrocious ways the media covers the news, but I dunno…the whole thing makes me feel uncomfortable. Why do people feel the need to be so invasive?

Be sure to read tomorrow’s post: More about masturbation and bowel obstructions!

I still believe the New York Times’ coverage of the Spitzer whore was atrocious, but CNN managed to outdo them pretty quickly:

updated 1:19 p.m. EDT, Fri March 14, 2008

Dupre’s MySpace page evolves with scandal

By Mallory Simon
(CNN) — In three days, Ashley Alexandra Dupre went from being an unknown 22-year-old aspiring musician to the fifth most-searched subject on Google because of her alleged sexual encounters with New York Gov. Eliot Spitzer.

After she was identified by The New York Times, throngs of journalists staked out her home.

At the same time, she appeared to have jumped on her MySpace page, which was identified by the Times, and a Facebook profile with the same name and photos.

It seemed she was trying to stay one step ahead of journalists, attempting to limit what information they could access.

She was seemingly aware that the press would have access to her friends and every word, photo and comment on her profiles, so she began by deleting connections between her friends on Facebook.

Facebook and MySpace have become one of the go-to background tools for journalists in the past couple of years, allowing members of the press to put a face to the subject of their story and find out more about them.

As more people make profiles on these Web sites, the information they make available is more frequently becoming public fodder.

Pictures from her apparent MySpace and Facebook profile were splashed across media Web sites — and Dupre appeared to take notice. Time stamps and activity on what appears to be her Facebook profile shows she was staying up all night cleaning up her profile and responding to critics on the Internet.

American University Professor Chris Simpson, an expert in Internet and privacy law, said there is no expectation of privacy when it comes to social networking Web sites.

If you post photos or comments, there is a chance your information can end up on the front page of The New York Times, although in most cases it won’t.

“A week ago, only [Dupre’s] friends cared,” he said. “But once you put it up for the world to see, you can’t control which fraction of the world will see it.”

Simpson also said while Dupre may have originally left her profiles open hoping someone would discover her music, it also left her susceptible to media scrutiny after the Spitzer scandal.

“Unfortunately, you can’t say, ‘Oh well, I didn’t want that kind of publicity, I only wanted positive publicity,’” he said.

While most people may understand their profiles are subject to public viewing, Amanda Lenhart, senior research specialist for the Pew Internet and American Life Project, said focus groups have shown they generally can’t think of a scenario where their information would become so public.

Early Thursday morning, it appears Dupre realized she needed to make some changes to alter what the public would be able to know about her.

At 3 a.m., there was an entry that she had completed a “thorough profile scrub,” leaving only a couple of photos of herself on Facebook.

At the same time, the self-described aspiring musician left a clip of one of her songs on MySpace and frequently linked to a page where users could download it.

So does Dupre want the attention that comes along with this scandal or not?

“Maybe promoting herself and her music on the Internet means she does want to make it available to everyone in a very public way,” Lenhart said.

Some of her close friends made sure their feelings were known to the press, too. Some posted on her MySpace page telling her to ignore the media, that they would be there for her and reminding her to stay strong.

But even those who weren’t close with her seemed to want in on the action. Some identifying themselves as her high school classmates created a group on Facebook devoted to those who had classes with her.

The early morning hours slipped by and Internet activity on Facebook continued until 5 a.m., when she apparently confronted the high school classmates on the group page. It seemed she believed they were trying to exploit her situation.

“Do me a favor and don’t try to cash out… thanks,” she wrote on the Facebook group page.

Thursday morning, the Dupre Facebook status gave the impression she wanted no part of the attention.

“Sneaking out the back door,” she wrote under her “current status.”

But as the day went on, it seemed Dupre’s feelings were changing and she might have been embracing the newfound spotlight.

The page had received more than 1,100 friend requests on Facebook. Initially, she ignored them.

By the afternoon she apparently gave in, but the feelings were short-lived.

By 2:30 p.m. Thursday the Facebook and MySpace profiles were gone, but they reappeared Friday.

If your attention span is too short to properly digest such thorough journalism, here are the story highlights:

STORY HIGHLIGHTS

• Dupre becomes the fifth most-searched subject on Google
• After being identified by The New York Times, Dupre cleans up her profiles
• Dupre to high school classmates: “Do me a favor and don’t try to cash out…”
• Facebook and MySpace pages that appeared to be Dupre’s are deleted

So here’s the problem this time: it’s incredibly lazy, bordering on incompetent, to write a lengthy “news story” whose primary source is a MySpace page…

…but it’s still better than writing an article from the perspective of a MySpace-stalker, obsessively checking the profile and recording every minute detail, justifying your actions by talking to “experts” who toss around “maybe” like it’s the only word they know.

I’m not denying that Ashley Alexandra Dupré is newsworthy. Other than her ridiculous hotness (marred only by her comically fake giant boobs), I don’t give half a shit about her. I can understand why people would, and that’s fine. I don’t object to the media covering the story. What they’ve covered so far, however, isn’t a story. Also, Rick Sanchez is a fucking idiot. He has nothing to do with any of this (as far as I know), but he works for CNN and it must be stated. Not even Tony Harris, Paul Zahn, or Soledad O’Brien can match his stupidity. It’s astounding.

Sorry for that diversion. It just has to be mentioned every time CNN is mentioned.

I’ve complained about two “news” sources (so far) stooping to sensationalism (more than usual) because, basically, I’m really angry. Still, at the end of the news cycle, the real idiots have revealed themselves: the American public. As the New York Daily News “reports”, some of Dupré’s songs — featured on a pay music website with a sliding scale — has blasted to the top.

“Move Ya Body” was the quickest cut ever to hit the site’s maximum price of 98 cents per download, said Joshua Boltuch, co-founder of the music Web site, the only place where Dupré’s songs can be purchased online.

“It went up to 98 cents in just five hours during the middle of the night,” Boltuch said. “That’s incredible.”

I can understand going to her MySpace page and listening to the one song she posted there for free out of morbid curiosity. I can’t imagine anybody who wouldn’t after hearing the only interesting fact of her life — her musical aspirations. But to listen to that song, then click her link to the pay site, and lay down money? After hearing one piece of shit song for free, you then pay for two or three more songs? Who does that?*

So far, this has netted Dupré $200,000, or 200 hours of “labor.” That is astounding. Also, nobody in the world — including the billions of people who didn’t pay for her songs; we all deserve to be lumped together for this one — is allowed to accuse her of indecency, immorality, or any of the other disparaging epithets leveled at prostitutes. The most indecent thing about the story to date is how much money gullible idiots gave to her. What the fuck, guys?

*Coldplay fans not required to answer. [Back]

Posted by Stan at 9:19 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Random Musings

March 14, 2008

“Journalism”

It’s the story “everybody” has been waiting for: just who is the woman Eliot Spitzer wanted to sex up? I know I was desperate to know. After all, there’s so little going on in the world. It’s nice to finally see a meaty story. And here’s one, from the New York Times:

For an Aspiring Singer, a Harsher Spotlight

By SERGE F. KOVALESKI and IAN URBINA
Published: March 13, 2008

She left a broken home on the Jersey Shore at 17 and came to New York City to work the nightclubs as a rhythm and blues singer. Now, at 22, she is the unwitting, and as yet unseen, star of the seamy drama that is the downfall of Gov. Eliot Spitzer of New York.

Kristen, the prostitute described in a federal affidavit as having had a rendezvous with Mr. Spitzer on Feb. 13 at the Mayflower Hotel in Washington, has spent the last few days in her ninth-floor apartment in the Flatiron district of Manhattan. On Monday, she made a brief appearance in federal court, where a lawyer was appointed to represent her. She is expected to be a witness in the case against four people charged with operating a prostitution ring called the Emperor’s Club V.I.P.

In a series of telephone interviews on Tuesday night, she said she had slept very little over the past week, with all the stress of the case.

“I just don’t want to be thought of as a monster,” the woman said as she told the tiniest tidbits of her story.

Born Ashley Youmans but now known as Ashley Alexandra Dupré, she spoke softly and with good humor as she added with significant understatement: “This has been a very difficult time. It is complicated.”

She has not been charged. The lawyer appointed to represent her, Don D. Buchwald, told a magistrate judge in court on Monday that she had been subpoenaed to testify in a grand jury investigation. Asked to swear that she had accurately filled out and signed a financial affidavit, she responded affirmatively.

A person with knowledge of the Emperor’s Club operation confirmed that the woman interviewed by The New York Times was the woman identified as Kristen in the affidavit. Mr. Buchwald confirmed various details of Ms. Dupré’s background but would not discuss the contents of the affidavit.

Ms. Dupré said by telephone Tuesday night that she was worried about how she would pay her rent since the man she was living with “walked out on me” after she discovered he had fathered two children. She said she was considering working at a friend’s restaurant or, once her apartment lease expires, moving back with her family in New Jersey “to relax.”

She did not say when she had started working for the Emperor’s Club, or how often she had liaisons arranged through the ring. Asked when she met Governor Spitzer and how many times they had seen each other, Ms. Dupré said she had no comment.

As of Wednesday morning, Ms. Dupré’s MySpace page recounted her “odyssey to New York from New Jersey through North Carolina, Miami, D.C., Virginia and Austin, Texas;” public records show that she lived in Monmouth County, N.J., in 2001, and in North Carolina in 2003. She owns a company, created in 2005, called Pasche New York, which her lawyer said was an entertainment business designed to further her singing career.

Music is her first love, and on the MySpace page, Ms. Dupré mentions Patsy Cline, Frank Sinatra, Christina Aguilera and Lauryn Hill among a long list of influences, including her brother, Kyle. (She also lists Whitney Houston, Madonna, Mary J. Blige and Amy Winehouse as her top MySpace friends.) In the interview, she said she saw the Rolling Stones perform at Radio City Music Hall on their last tour after a friend gave her two tickets. “They were amazing,” she said.

On MySpace, her page says: “I am all about my music and my music is all about me. It flows from what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen and how I feel.”

She left “a broken family” at age 17, having been abused, according to the MySpace page, and has used drugs and “been broke and homeless.”

“Learned what it was like to have everything and lose it, again and again,” she writes. “Learned what it was like to wake up one day and have the people you care about most gone.

“But I made it,” she continues. “I’m still here and I love who I am. If I never went through the hard times, I would not be able to appreciate the good ones. Cliché, yes, but I know it’s true.”

Ms. Dupré’s mother, Carolyn Capalbo, 46, said that after her daughter finished sophomore year in high school, Ms. Dupré moved to North Carolina. “She was a young kid with typical teenage rebellion issues, but we are extremely close now,” Ms. Capalbo said in a telephone interview Wednesday.

In 2006, Ms. Dupré changed her legal name, according to records in Monmouth County Superior Court, from Ashley R. Youmans to Ashley Rae Maika DiPietro, taking her stepfather’s surname since she regarded him as “the only father I have known.” But in the interview, she referred to herself as Ashley Alexandra Dupré, which is how she is known on MySpace.

On the Web page is a recording of what she describes as her latest track, “What We Want,” a hip-hop-inflected rhythm-and-blues tune that asks, “Can you handle me, boy?” and uses some dated slang, calling someone her “boo.”

“I know what you want, you got what I want,” she sings in the chorus. “I know what you need. Can you handle me?”

Her MySpace biography says she started singing professionally after a musician she was living with heard her singing the Aretha Franklin hit “Respect” in the shower and burst into the bathroom with his lead guitarist. She says she toured and recorded with them, then moved to Manhattan in 2004 and “spent the first two years getting to know the music scene, networking in clubs and connecting with the industry.

“Now it’s all about my music, it’s all about expressing me.”

In the affidavit, the woman the Emperor’s Club called Kristen is described as “an American, petite, very pretty brunette, 5 feet 5 inches, and 105 pounds.” She apparently was booked at about $1,000 an hour, placing her in the middle of the seven-diamond scale by which the prostitutes were paid up to $4,300 an hour.

Ms. Capalbo said that she was “shell-shocked” when her daughter called in the middle of last week and told her she had been working as an escort and was now in trouble with the law. She said she was not sure that Ms. Dupré realized who Mr. Spitzer was when he was her client.

“She is a very bright girl who can handle someone like the governor,” Ms. Capalbo said. “But she also is a 22-year-old, not a 32-year-old or a 42-year-old, and she obviously got involved in something much larger than her.”

Benjamin Weiser contributed reporting.

So here’s the thing: I didn’t give two shits about the news until the epic 2000 election — the first election I voted in — and while I know this isn’t exactly a new thing, the moment I started caring was the moment I (slowly but surely) realized how fucking awful the media covers “news.” Since about 2004, I haven’t been able to look at a newspaper or watch the TV news without feeling mildly disgusted at not just the selection of “stories” but the way in which they are covered. However, the article above goes far beyond any level of badness I’ve witness. Seriously, when the most valuable source you have in your story is a fucking MySpace page, maybe it’s worth holding off the report for a day or two. I don’t even care about the mostly incoherent quotes from her mother, the article’s subtle tone of pity*, or the bland biographical details that barely paint a picture of who she is as a person. I’m bothered by the fact that there’s no story here. Not yet, anyway.

The New York Times is supposed to be all classy and shit, so why did they print this sub-Enquirer bullshit? I mean, their lengthy profile of Axl Rose and his struggle to complete Chinese Democracy was totally pointless and barely newsworthy (especially in 2005 — at the very least, 2007 was a red-letter year for Axl continually saying Chinese Democracy will be out without ever releasing it), but it went into a great deal of depth, didn’t editorialize — author Jeff Leeds just told it, from beginning to end. The worth of a story like that is definitely questionable, but the bottom line is, the story was there to tell. The article on Dupré gives us the fascinating details of somebody’s MySpace profile, with only one or two legitimate quotes from humans worth talking to. Not exactly front-page material. Hell, that’s barely worth burying in the back with follow-ups and Alessandra Stanley retractions.

Is this just a “new kind of journalism” that I’m not understanding? I totally get the value of utilizing “new media” to cover a story. It may have been bad form to publicly release Cho Seung-Hui’s writing and videos, but at least they helped (in some way) to complete our psychological picture of a killer, using his own words. Forget the platoons of pundit/psychologists invading newsrooms nationwide; the fact that we can read his writing, listen to his voice, see his face saying the words — it allows us to draw our own conclusions and understand the situation.

In this case, the MySpace profile is not the story. Generic “insights” on a blog post and faux-profundity don’t paint any kind of portrait of this person. At least, not anything different from any other MySpace profile on the planet. Her terrible song is the closest thing to getting at the truth of this person, her situation, and why she was backed into the corner of whoredom. I hate to sound mean, because I’m not exactly Eric Clapton, but that song screams “don’t quit your day job.”

Still, MySpace is an artifice that exists, in many (dare I say most?) people’s minds, as an avenue to hype themselves up. Every person I’ve ever talked to who had a MySpace profile, even if they decide to make it private at some point, has mentioned putting some kind of lie on their profile, from tiny and white to outlandish and mean.** MySpace is the high school/college reunion of the Internet, a place where many people actively hide their true selves from the people they know will be looking, because it’s a lot easier to just lie than to explain why being the assistant to a big-shot producer is an impressive job even if it only means a tiny credit at the very, very end of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 sandwiched between CATERING MANAGER and FIRST ASSISTANT ACCOUNTANT.

Should this really pass as news, or as substantive information about a woman somebody, somewhere wants to learn about?

*I don’t think she’s a monster — I mainly think she’s exploiting the wealthy as much as they’re exploiting her, so the whole morality issue is kind of neutralized. Also, living in an apartment in Flatiron and vacationing on the French Riviera? I’m pretty sure if she wanted to “make it” as a singer, her money could be put to better use elsewhere. I do think we should feel sorry for Spitzer’s wife and daughters, though. They can now look forward to an endless series of awkward holidays and family events. [Back]

**Like listing your status as “married” because you know it’ll piss off all your old boyfriends. [Back]

Posted by Stan at 4:43 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (1)  | Random Musings

March 12, 2008

Welcome to the Party, Pal…

Here’s what nerds argue about:

Where’s the first act-break in Die Hard? I watched this movie today, for the first time since I was maybe 10-years-old, in my continuing effort to analyze the way movies in this genre are put together. In particular, this movie was recommended to me because it shares one common element with my action thriller: an extremely long first act. I’m not ordinarily one to follow the goofy Field/McKee “if [insert jargon] doesn’t happen on page [number], your story will fail” line of reasoning. For me, screenwriting is about 30% mechanics, 70% instinct. Anybody who has seen a lot of movies could write a screenplay with a rough but definable three-act structure, even if they don’t know that’s what they’re doing. The structure may be the only thing they get right, with all the plot points and arcs hitting the right beats, because it’s ingrained in the medium.

So I have a 41-page first act, which is a huge no-no under the “mechanics first” school of thought. I believe Field says the act-break should happen on page 28; McKee, an even 30. It’s probably bad form for a bottom-rung screenwriter working on spec to color outside the lines. I know of readers who will read 10 promise-free pages, then skip ahead to 30, to the middle page (which is roughly where the dramatic “midpoint” will occur, e.g. 60 on a 120-page script), then count back 30 pages from the last (e.g., 90 on a 120-page script) to see if there’s a turning point. That’s fucking idiocy, although I admit I’ve done it myself once or twice. I usually at least read through the first act, no matter where the break happens. Fortunately, most of the shit I read is right out of Field, so it’s easy to discern the act-break and give up.

This screenplay is a little different. Although it’s still on spec, it’s written specifically for the firmly bent ear of a producer who will never, ever buy or make this script. But hey, it could get me a job doing useful things, like getting paid to ramble about why some piece of shit script doesn’t measure up to Die Hard. Point is, I have some wiggle room. This isn’t something that’s being read based on a cold-query. Plus, the 41 pages are tight as shit. This is the fourth draft, and while I don’t dare say it’s even close to perfect, the first act does exactly what first acts do, more economically (despite its length) than any script I’ve ever written. It’s merely longer because there are a lot of dominos to set up before knocking the first one down.

Before I send this off, I decided to check out Die Hard, both to refresh my memory and to justify my long first act (if necessary). Here’s the problem: the act-break is subject to debate. The friend who recommended it told me, in no uncertain terms, that the act-break is very simple to find: “Welcome to the party, pal.” That line is almost 56 minutes into the movie, which might make it the longest first act in cinematic history.

I can see it: it’s a confluence of events and characters (notably, the introduction and integration of Sergeant Al Powell) that drive the rest of the movie. In that moment, Hans and his buddies realize, in addition to posing a general threat, McClane may actually thwart their efforts completely; Powell finally believes there’s a problem, thanks to a body dropped on his squad car and a hail of gunfire from the terrorists, and calls for backup, which motivates the police and smarmy TV reporter (and later, the FBI) to show up, and gets on a steamroller of uncovering the method to Hans Gruber’s madness and how McClane will undo it all.

However, and this is where the nerd argument comes in, I’d argue the act-break comes much earlier. (And considering the length of the movie, “Welcome to the party, pal” would function as the midpoint.) The spot that screamed “act-break” to me occurs right around the 30-minute mark (sadly, the traditional place for the break). Shortly after McClane hides while Hans kills Takagi, he makes the decision that sets the rest of the movie in motion: he’s not going to come at them guns a-blazing, but he’s not going to hide. “Think…think, goddammit!” Then, he pulls the fire alarm.

The fire alarm ruse doesn’t work, but it’s the moment McClane takes action instead of hiding. (Okay, technically he takes action while hiding.) That simple action leads to Tony’s death a few minutes later, which leads to the insane Karl stuff later in the film. At the same time, if the fire alarm made Hans realize somebody was up to something, Tony’s death and the classic NOW I HAVE A MACHINE GUN — HO-HO-HO! sequence made him realize McClane was a true threat. His death is also what gets McClane the lighter, the radio, and, of course, the machine gun. The radio is the key to pretty much everything else that happens in the movie — without it, he’d never get in touch with the unsympathetic dispatchers, Powell, Hans, or anyone else — but he wouldn’t have gotten any of it if he hadn’t taken the important action of pulling the alarm.

So, what say you, movie and/or screenwriting nerds? When is the first act-break in Die Hard — the fire alarm, or “Welcome to the party, pal”? If you agree with me, can you think of any other movies (be it an action movie or anything else) with a particularly long first act?

Posted by Stan at 5:51 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Career-Based Rambling, How Not to Write a Screenplay

March 7, 2008

Special Effects

I mentioned this offhandedly at one point, but here’s the deal: CGI has ruined special effects innovation. When it is used merely to enhance the story — as in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, for instance, and also Jurassic Park (which I recently rewatched and wow, the special effects still hold up) — and populate a world with things that cannot exist in reality, I don’t have a problem with the use of CGI. Good artists manage to lend weight and texture to the objects, making them look less cartoonish than, say, Samuel L. Jackson’s death in Deep Blue Sea.

However, while there are still minor innovations in the realm of CGI, nothing compares to the insane genius of practical effects. I’ve been working on an action script rewrite, and one of the comments on the previous draft is pretty obvious: too much action. It muddles one character’s arc, which doesn’t quite ruin the script, but it doesn’t help. So lately, I’ve gone back to some of my favorite action movies to see How They Did It — mainly in terms of balancing story and character with action set-pieces.

Watching Point Break a couple of weeks ago helped. The intensity of everything in that movie, from the backyard chase to the end, wouldn’t have much dramatic impact if we weren’t already thoroughly invested in Johnny Utah’s internal conflict. I can’t believe I just wrote that, but it’s true.

I also broke out another Cameron Classic, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, which is one hell of a movie with a paper-thin third act (but fuck, they’re up against the T-1000 — who needs plot twists?!). Then I tossed in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Each of these movies gave me separate goals to think about — they’re so tightly constructed. It’s very rare you have a drinking contest as both a point of character development and a major plot point.

After thinking about how to improve my script, I considered the insanity of these movies. Like, at the beginning of the movie, Alfred Molina is covered in tarantulas. Real tarantulas. When was the last time you’ve seen that in a movie? All I ever see are poorly rendered CGI bugs. Most people know the story of Harrison Ford and the cobra separated by a thin pane of glass. Snakes on a Plane (which used more real and/or rubber/”practical” snakes than I would have thought) aped that shot — with a cheesy, CGI snake.

Terminator 2, which did use digital effects extensively (but again, to enhance, not as a cheap catch-all) has some amazing practical effects, like using an amputee for the scene where the T-1000’s body freezes and breaks apart. Can you imagine a time and place where a man was paid millions to come up with a way to have a “liquid metal” machine freeze and break apart, and he comes up with “amputee”? Nowadays, the most innovative thing about a shot like that is actually making the frozen pieces look convincing.

I understand the reasons for the switch: these days, CGI is just cheaper and easier. But as a result, we’ve lost an element of movie magic. There’s rarely a sense of wonder in seeing something new on film. “How’d they do that?” has been replaced by “Wow, that’s pretty good CGI!” It’s disappointing.

Posted by Stan at 6:04 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Random Musings

March 6, 2008

Workplace Comedy

The gossip mill is abuzz with the news that the girl at work who trained me to “student surpasses teacher” level forced my former boss to make good on a lunch he owes her. He owes everyone in the office lunch, and this is the first time he’s ever actually done something about it. Why would he do this?

Simple answer: the idiot, who I left her to finish training, cannot learn. The Trainer wanted to go out and have lunch with The Boss to discuss, at length, her problems with The Idiot. But, of course, nothing happened. He’s been backed into a corner, and he’s finally admitting it. Because, remember, if she fires The Idiot, work slows from her aunt, and his lead man — brother-in-law of the aunt — has threatened at least once to make a power play to usurp The Boss’s job. This is bad because, at this point, the lead man does all the work and The Boss takes all the credit.

Turns out: it’s not just up to The Boss. He doesn’t manage the entire branch, and the actual branch manager — as well as the regional manager — are exceedingly unhappy. The Trainer has tried to keep up with it as best she can, but she’s juggling more responsibilities than she deserves, so the warranty work has slowed down. Customers have started complaining, and The Boss can only stave them off with the “the other guy quit and she hasn’t been trained” excuse for so long.

This week, shit has really hit the fan.

On Monday, the branch manager discovered The Idiot’s MySpace tendencies, and was both irritated and revolted when he learned her MySpace login implies her disgusting fatness is supposed to be sexy*. Yeah, they’ve used VNC for as long as I’ve worked there to monitor HTTP traffic, which is why I’d sit around on Hotline (or sit around writing in a WordPad file I’d e-mail to myself at the end of the day) but never did anything too obscene or abusive when I was on the web. I’d never be dumb enough, for instance, to constantly login to MySpace, a site notorious for excessive and unnecessary page loading and refreshing.

Normally, Internet abuse is usually handled with a stern talking-to. If it increases, you may get written up. Getting written up is actually fairly difficult because, even without the branch manager’s lasseiz-faire management style, the company doesn’t use a “point” system like many companies I’ve worked for, where they say it’s “three strikes, you’re out” when in actuality, it’s more like 30 strikes. But you can get written up for more minor infractions. At this company, it really is three strikes, you’re out, but you have to do something really severe to get written up…

…unless somebody with the authority has it in for you. So combining the horrible work with the Internet abuse, the branch manager felt okay writing her up. It’s clear from her past work that it’s not a one-time thing. She got written up. Two strikes left.

Lying is another sure way to get written up quicker than usual (again, going back to the theory that you’re pissing off someone in authority — most bosses don’t like being lied to, especially when it’s glaring). As a random example, let’s say you have car trouble. You start work at seven, and you work 20 minutes away, so you warm your car up at around 6:30. Only it doesn’t start. You try for five or 10 minutes to get it started, but it’s pretty clear that’s not happening. So at 6:40-ish, you call in and say, “I’m going to be late.” It’s still 20 minutes or so before you’re scheduled to start, you have a reasonable excuse — no muss, no fuss, unless you do it every day for a month or something.

Here’s what you don’t do: not show up and leave everyone wondering where you are until around 8:30 before calling up to say, “Hey, I had car trouble, but I’m on my way.” This is what The Idiot and her aunt did on Wednesday. It’s common knowledge that the aunt picks up The Idiot every morning, so it was only surprising that neither one showed up in the sense that they should have been there. It was more surprising that both of them called within 30 seconds of each other to announce they’d be late, after already being 90 minutes late. So it’s pretty clear that they were both lying, although nobody knows why.

The thing that cracks me up about this more than anything is that the aunt was formerly an exceptional worker — fast, efficient, and smart (all things considered). Ever since The Idiot started, the aunt’s work has declined rapidly — meaning that, instead of hiring a new employee, The Boss has actually kinda lost one. Or two, if you count me.

Thanks to the obviousness of the lie and the violation of company policy (it is written in the handbook that you have to call at least five minutes early if you’re going to be late, and seriously, five minutes is pretty generous), both the aunt and The Idiot got written up. Maybe it’ll be a wake-up call for the aunt. Hell, maybe getting written up twice in one week will be a wake-up call for The Idiot, too.

Snicker time: because I quit, The Boss has lost what little shot he had (not much of one, to be honest, so it’s kind of a hollow victory) to become the branch manager of a new branch.

I sat back there and, thanks to some creative accounting, made the branch around $10,000 in about four months (that’s excluding the other three months I spent trying to figure out how to creatively account). For the most part, this is chump change, except they went from making the tiniest profit in the company to falling somewhere around the middle of the pack. Now they’re headed back to loser status. That’s the magic of being a college graduate (even one from an art school) working far, far, far below your skill level. I managed to do a lot of things not even The Trainer figured out.

Because I’m gone, the regional manager is starting to think maybe The Boss doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing — he doesn’t know how to hang on to valuable employees, and he’ll replace them with any mangy moron he can find. I have been told that, in the wake of my quitting, they took the warranty situation very seriously as a deciding factor before tossing his name completely out of the hat for the new branch. I know it’s mean, but it makes me very, very happy.

*Unlike certain folks who may read this blog, I am of a mindset that “big” can be beautiful. I was raised in the Midwest, so that kind of mindset is pretty ingrained. However, in this case…maybe it’s because she’s such an idiot, or maybe it’s because she clearly does think she’s sexy, but nothing is more nauseating than attempting to look at her. [Back]

Posted by Stan at 5:53 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | “I’m a Living Joke!” - Horror Stories from the Workplace

March 5, 2008

Harry Caray: Shill

AT&T has launched a devastating attack on Chicago.

Hot off rumors that they bankrolled a dummy consumer-advocacy group to get cable deregulated in Illinois so they could muscle in on untapped territory, they’re launching a new digital cable service across the city. There’s only one problem: nobody’s ever heard of AT&T, a tiny upstart with dim associations with the telephone. They need a great spokesperson to spread the word. Who to get…who to get?

Hey, I know! How about Harry Caray, beloved Chicago icon? Oh…he’s dead?

Hey, I know! Why don’t they get that half-assed comedian, John Campanera, to do a Harry Caray impersonation so bad, it makes Frank Caliendo seem talented. Don’t forget to dress him up so he bears a stronger resemblance to that creepy Six Flags guy than Harry Caray. Also, he needs to do some mildly offensive “Harry Caray is incoherent schtick” hyping up the great AT&T cable plan. That’ll really win over Chicagoans!

Now, look, I think Will Ferrell’s Harry Caray is hilarious, but there’s something about it that’s…I don’t know, endearing, like he loves and embraces the absurdity of Harry Caray’s late-inning, Bud-fueled zaniness and wants to preserve it in his impression. There’s something weird and disturbing about exploiting his memory to sell cable, even more when you add to it the guy is no good and looks really creepy in the make-up. It also might be less offensive if they didn’t play the same three Harry Caray commercials during every single commercial break, on every single channel, everywhere. Damn, AT&T! Scale back the marketing. We already have your phone service; based on our experiences with that, you should already be aware that, if given the choice — which your fake advocacy group deemed so important — nobody in his right mind would switch to you for cable.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any examples of these horrible commercials, but I found something that might actually be worse. John Campanera, without the make-up, doing his impression.

You might notice something odd about this clip. That’s right, it’s taken from a semi-legitimate documentary about the life of Harry Caray. I can’t find much in the way of information at the website explaining who made it and whether or not it’s “official,” but it seems they’ve interviewed some pretty high-profile people who would respect the man’s legacy. Why they spent time talking to a comedian is beyond me, and I’m not sure if misspelling his name shows the filmmakers’ apathy toward him or just general incompetence. The whole thing strikes me as very odd, but at least in the clip (while spectacularly unfunny) he isn’t selling anything. Except, maybe, himself.

On the plus side, I suppose I need to congratulate Chip Caray, for no longer being the most embarrassing part of the Harry Caray legacy.

Posted by Stan at 8:12 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Random Musings

March 31, 2008

Photo Blog: Over the Counter

In January, I received a helpful e-mail from my health insurance provider. It informed me that Zyrtec — the allergy medication I’ve taken since I was 15 — would now be providing prescription-strength pills over the counter, so if I attempted another prescription refill, they’d have no problem charging me $145 instead of the usual $15.

I don’t usually take my allergy medication in winter, because there aren’t as many outdoor allergens to ruin my life. But allergy season is upon us, and as such I finished my Zyrtec prescription on Sunday and had to take a trip up to Walgreens to find the over-the-counter version. They had a bunch of options: five tablets, 14, 30, or 45. I would have preferred to go big, for maximum value, but the 30- and 45-tablet options were locked in little cabinets. I don’t really like pushing the button and having someone from the pharmacy assist me, because, aside from the other sordid reasons, there’s a girl working in that pharmacy who I unintentionally stalked for about three months about eight years ago.

Now, when I say that, don’t get all in a tizzy thinking I’m some psycho nutbar. Different people have different definitions of “stalking” (apparently). Standing behind a tree in her front yard, chain-smoking and staring at her bedroom window — that’s stalking. Asking a girl on a date multiple times, including prefacing one or two of them with flowery (and, I’ll admit, embarrassing) declarations of love — that’s just a delightful cocktail of persistence and stupidity. No matter how you define it, there’s nothing more humiliating than seeing her. She actually stopped working there for awhile, but now she’s back, and I’m compelled to switch over my prescription pickup location to a slightly farther but much less awkward location. But fuck, it was Sunday, I didn’t want to drive 10 minutes when I could have driven three.

I also didn’t want to risk having to see or speak with her if I could avoid it, so I didn’t push the little assistance button. Even though it was kind of a rip-off, I grabbed two 14-tablet thingies and went home.

Then I tried opening them. I’m usually not easily daunted by something as simple as medication, but look at the way it’s packaged:

In case you can’t tell from the photo, that’s 14 pills, each individually packaged in plastic about five times larger than it needs to be. I went to the tool drawer to grab an array of tools I thought might help.

Unfortunately, when push came to shove, the only thing that could possibly work were my fingers.

Here’s the thing: perhaps the only parts of my body that have any kind of strength or dexterity are my hands. I’m a sloppy guitarist, an incompetent video game player, and a fast typist — my hands have developed Samson-like power.*

I flipped over the package and found some handy instructions:

Easy enough, until I pushed the damn tabs and yanked it back

That’s right: the size of the holes are too small to get the pill packages out. I’m sure they did this so the packages wouldn’t all spill out at the same time, but they made them too small. It took a concerted effort just to get one out. I decided to improvise.

Yanking off the entire back worked wonders. Not only did the individual packages not spill out — the plastic packaging acted as a handy bowl to hold them.

I got my first look at the individual package:

There’s some nice, handy perforation. I’ll bet that’s how you get to the pill.

Hmm, TEAR BEND TEAR. That seems like more effort than what’s needed, but still, I’ve dealt with worse over-the-counter packaging. Or I thought I had, until I attempted to TEAR.

With what I can only describe as a Herculean effort, I tore off the little tab. Unfortunately, my hands are only at a Samson strength level, so it took an unreasonable amount of effort to accomplish very little.

In fact, it accomplished practically nothing. It tore, but it didn’t exactly burst forth with the sweet nectar of allergy relief. Still more effort was required, because I did not yet BEND and TEAR (again). So I bent.

Bending opens up a tiny slit in the foil. I slid one of fingers underneath it, tore, and —

What the FUCK?! How is it still not open?! One more swipe finally got it:

That was completely unreasonable, a waste of time and effort that took more than five minutes when it should have taken about three seconds (like it does with every other over-the-counter medication on the planet).

I discovered an easier way, which I will pass along to the few readers who have stuck with this post. Fuck TEAR BEND TEAR. Here’s what you do: bend it, hard, with the brute force of a powerful hand (or perhaps a pair of pliers, if you’re a weakling) and slam that fucker in half. It’ll pop open a much wider, more useful slit that penetrates both layers of that shitty foil. You’ll know you did it right if you hear the distinctive pop that normal would suggest you’ve done something very, very wrong.

Tear that open like a Hershey bar on Easter, and you get to the pill:

There you have it. Putting forth a minimal amount of effort, you can bust apart that shitty packaging. If you get no other regular exercise, you may want to do it the hard way. Keep in mind you’ll need to do this 13 more times (or 27 if you doubled up like I did), so by the end of it you should be pretty bulked up, at least in the general hand-wrist-forearm area. On a related note, you’ll accumulate a bit of a mess:

Is this why they’re charging so much for the over-the-counter variety?

*Please don’t cut them off. [Back]

Edit 3/31/08 — I can’t find any kind of explanation for the ridiculous over-packaging. There are some blurbs about Zyrtec-D getting the usual meth treatment — behind-the-counter, photo ID, etc. — but regular Zyrtec doesn’t have pseudoephedrine. What the hell?

Posted by Stan at 2:22 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (2)  | Stories of Hilarity and Humiliation

March 30, 2008

Homicide Revisited

Over the past few months, I’ve been re-watching Homicide: Life on the Street, the classic low-rated show about the humdrum lives of Baltimore homicide detectives. I was primarily inspired to do this when I found myself unable to wait a full week for The Wire’s final seasons. I had just re-watched the first four seasons in anticipation of its fifth and final season, so what else to do but revisit its spiritual cousin.

I don’t want to use the word “mistake” to describe the experience, but it’s certainly shattered my fond (and vague) memories of the show. It’s actually been beneficial in illustrating the many ways networks compromise a series’ artistic and intellectual ambitions for the sake of sensationalism and ratings. This isn’t exactly a new thing, obviously, and I suppose some credit must be given to NBC for tinkering with the show rather than simply canceling it.

The first two seasons — and many episodes from the show’s third season — take the bold stance that the life of a homicide detective is boring, repetitive, and draining on the soul. They establish a cross-section of young detectives and old-timers, black and white, men and women, and use these characters to imply bleak things like, “You want to see Pembleton in 20 years? Take a look at Bolander.”

One first-season episode takes place entirely in the squad room. No murders happen; no cases are solved. Hell, only one case is even discussed, and even then only peripherally. It’s just these people, hanging out, allowing us to get to know and understand them. In some series, that isn’t abnormal; in a cop show…well, let’s just say sitting around listening to existential malaise and debating the merits of classic rock over country music shine a light on why the series wasn’t exactly a ratings winner.

Another episode concentrates the bulk of its action to the interrogation room — The Box — as Pembleton and Bayliss attempt to get a confession out of an elderly arabber* suspected of raping and murdering a little girl. It’s just three characters, going around and around, with the detectives realizing they aren’t getting anywhere. Credit the writers for turning these little plays, which could be both tedious and hackneyed, into taut hours of television.

No, they saved “tedious and hackneyed” for the fourth season. Okay, that was a cheap shot, but there is a near-instant drop in quality that starts in the fourth season. With a few notable exceptions, the show turns into…every other cop show on TV. Suddenly, this noble tribe of detectives are battling ruthless serial killers on an almost-weekly basis, we’re treated to lingering shots of the more-gruesome-than-before corpses, cops are getting involved in fistfights (or worse, gunfights) with suspects for no reason other than action. The characters’ depressed, existential rants form an uneasy marriage with an emphasis on ripped-from-the-headlines violence and cop-show clichés, morphing from Homicide: Life on the Street into Law & Order: Baltimore.

And then I hit the wall: Frank Pembleton’s stroke moment.

In its initial run, I clearly stopped watching the show at some point in the third season, probably when I lost track of it in the time-slot shuffle, and I’m not a big fan of spoilers, even of 10-year-old shows. I didn’t see it coming, and yet I suspect upon watching it: this is the definitive jump-the-shark moment.

“Jumping the shark” is a phrase I’ve kinda learned to loathe. Everywhere you go, people toss that phrase around like it means something. Maybe that’s what I’m doing right now, because the “jump-the-shark” moment is usually something that can’t be identified until long after a series has ended. What if Happy Days, after Fonzie had jumped that shark, had gotten better and better? What if Ron Howard leaving and Ted McGinley joining hadn’t affected the show at all? It could have just as easily been like Diane getting replaced with Rebecca on Cheers (or even Woody replacing Coach). You can’t say (though many did) that “the Tailies” showing up on Lost is its jump-the-shark moment, because maybe Ana-Lucia was annoying, but nobody could know her presence on the show or the distraction from the main story would cause a huge quality decline, just as you couldn’t have known the writers would cut these storylines short after negative fan reaction.

Considering the slow degrade of Homicide over the course of the fourth season, maybe it’s already jumped the shark — maybe getting rid of Bolander and Felton was the first bad move. Maybe promoting Howard to sergeant did it. I haven’t watched the last three seasons, so I can’t really be certain. I just have a feeling, after this stroke incident, the show isn’t going to improve. Andre Braugher’s a tremendous actor who could most certainly manage the complexities of a once-brilliant detective hobbled both mentally and physically. Will the writing match the performance?

I guess time will tell. This storyline could give the show a shot in the arm and return it to compelling television. Maybe NBC, once they buried it in the Friday night dead zone, stopped giving a shit about trying to boost the ratings and just let it be what it is.

I have doubts, but it’ll be nice if this move doesn’t totally ruin the show.

*One of the many joys of watching this series and The Wire is learning the colloquialisms and customs of a city. Both of these shows revel in Baltimore and its eccentricities, building a sense of place few series match. An arabber (or A-rab, depending on which neighborhood you come from) is Baltimore slang for street peddlers who use horse-drawn carts. [Back]

Posted by Stan at 2:41 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Reviews

March 29, 2008

Sycophants

Found this on a blog, where the author has a weekly tradition of predicting weekend box-office success:

SUPERHERO MOVIE (2960 theaters). Craig Mazin over at Artful Writer wrote and directed this, which means it’s likely to be more consistent and funnier than “Epic Movie”, “Date Movie” and that ilk. Should do pretty well. $19.3 million.

This is a pretty good blog, for the most part, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with the prediction — I’m just a little distracted by the reasoning. I’ve checked out Artful Writer on occasion, and for the most part Mazin knows his shit — but even as writer-director, he’s not the only guy in charge. Take, for example, two films he’s credited with co-writing: Scary Movie 3 and 4. Co-written by Mazin and longtime Zucker collaborator Pat Proft (the fourth also adds even longer-time collaborator Jim Abrahams), directed by David Zucker, each with unusually good casts — and they’re just dreck.

The quality problems stem from a desire to spoof the latest movies…without having any story purposes for doing so. The best Zucker movies took a genre and ran with it. If they could come up with story reasons to add a spoof (such as the Blue Lagoon part of Top Secret! and the Casablanca/Saturday Night Fever flashback in Airplane!), they’d go for it. Now, they’ve given up on trying to find “story reasons” — or coming up with the lamest possible narrative motivations — and instead settled on Family Guy-style randomness. That may work for a cartoon*, but it’s harder to successfully pull off when you have to contend both with live-action and movie lengths. It’s even harder to pull off when the lack of effort is so evident. To quote from the AV Club’s review of Date Movie:

As with the Scary Movie series—of which Date Movie director Aaron Seltzer and co-writer Jason Friedberg are chief perpetrators—the result is a comedy that congratulates its audience for getting references to movies that made over $200 million.

The early Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker movies didn’t have to be on the cutting-edge of pop culture. Top Secret! — released in 1984 and by far their best movie — spoofs The Great Escape, various popular genres from the ’50s and ’60s (Cold War spy movies, beach movies, musicals, westerns), Elvis, the Beach Boys, to the extent that the overtly current references (the sex machine and Blue Lagoon bit) almost take you out of the homage/spoof of decades-old movies. There has to be a disconnect here. ZAZ made some of the all-time great spoof movies, so what’s gone wrong here? Boredom with current movies? A studio mandate that they must parody X, Y, and Z top-grossing movies? Considering the TV spots for Superhero Movie devote an unhealthy amount of face time to an already-stale Tom Cruise Scientology video spoof, it’s clear how the studio wants the movies to be seen (and made for that matter): topical and disposal. Will anyone find that parody funny (or even recognizable) a year from now? Two? Ten?

While Mazin shouldn’t shoulder the complete burden for Superhero Movie’s probable suckitude, he’s not blameless. It’s unsafe to assume, just because you read his blog and he seems pretty sharp, he’ll make the cream of the spoof-movie crop. In fact, Superhero Movie is getting the best reviews since the first Scary Movie, but none of the reviews are effusive, exactly. The bulk of the positive ones spend far too much time explaining that Date Movie, Epic Movie, and Meet the Spartans are so putrid, the marginal quality improvement in Superhero Movie is like a breath of fresh air.

I have nothing but respect for Terry Rossio and Ted Elliot for turning Disney’s lamest ride into a pretty good movie; that doesn’t let them off for the sequels. I love Ken Levine’s blog, but would that have made me assume Mannequin 2: On the Move is worth the time? Back in the olden days, when I used to read misc.writing.screenplays, I admired and valued the wisdom of Bill Martell (a nice antidote to Skip Press, who still trolls that place — yeah, I checked in about a month ago just to see what was doing). In fact, I still check out Martell’s “script secrets” on a regular basis, and I was kicking myself when I started Dying Proof because his book on writing action screenplays is out of print (and going for something like $95 on Amazon)…and yet, I don’t necessarily see myself running out to rent one of his Cinemax late-night epics starring Shannon Tweed. Unless, well, it’s late at night, and I…well, you can imagine.

Point being, you can’t put blinders on or accept certain givens just because you respect and value a fellow writer; more often than not, you’ll find yourself saying, “Wow, what a shitty movie… I wonder if the script was better.” You know, like I’ve done with a half-dozen Woody Allen movies over the past decade.

*It doesn’t, a fact many Family Guy fans fail to notice. [Back]

Posted by Stan at 1:19 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (3)  | Career-Based Rambling, How Not to Write a Screenplay

March 28, 2008

Bragging Writes

(I promise I will stop titling posts with awful, awful puns.)

All blogs are paeans to narcissism, and mine is no exception. The Stupid Blogger has opened me up to a galaxy of wannabes and hangers-on clinging to the blogs of moderately successful screenwriters, and I’ve noticed that many of these (including Stupid’s) include a little sidebar hawt CSS action documenting their progress on current projects. I elected to do what any screenwriter would do: I stole it because I thought I could make it better.

I noticed all of these blogs, without exception, ape some code they most likely found here, considering the dimensions and margins are exactly the same (the only difference are the colors). Though it’s helpful and I also stole my code from this blog, I decided to modify it to make it look a little classier (at least, I think it’s a little classier — fuck off if you disagree).

Though I don’t wish to remain fully anonymous (once somebody stumbles across this blog, they can unravel my terrible secrets with ease), I do wish to remain as difficult to Google as possible. As such, I’ll be giving each project outdated working titles instead of the actual, current titles. I know from my own dorky reader experience that if I read a script and wanted to know more about the writer, I’d pop their name and/or e-mail address into Google. If that yielded no results, I’d punch in “[Title] screenplay,” just to see if anything popped up. It only did once, but that’s beside the point: it’s possible. I wouldn’t be thrilled if the Big-Shot Producer or someone from his company Googled “[Dying Proof’s real title] screenplay” and ended up here, where I’ve written moderately hostile things about him.

That long explanation is my way of saying, “That’s why one script shares its title with a Juliana Hatfield song, and the novel is the title of the fictional town in which it takes place.” The war script is so new, I don’t even have an outdated fake title for it. I try to give my material more attention-grabbing titles by the time my work is worth seeing by people who aren’t me and the sad group of Chosen Ones who read my early drafts and send thoughtful comments such as, “Comma splice!” and “Please stop sending me this shit!”

On a slightly less narcissistic note, I felt like I should probably add progress bars like these since I’ll be rambling about these projects more often.

Edit 3/29/08 — Since this is about adding random, unnecessary shit to my blog, I should add that I’ve finally added functional, threaded comments to Stan Has Issues™ — enjoy!

Posted by Stan at 4:34 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Random Musings

March 27, 2008

Character Ark

Yes, I know how to spell. That’s a pun. You’ll see.

I discovered from the blog of stupidity that a screenwriting forum I no longer read (because, honestly, it got too full of people like her) has had somewhat of a debate on character arcs, prompted by a post by this guy. His take is decidedly an argument against arcs. Her take?

But that doesn’t mean authority is always wrong either, because that would be equally short sighted. So I say, if your script calls for character arcs, knock yourself out. And if it doesn’t, knock yourself out with that too.

Way to be Switzerland!

I’ve always found McKee’s Story (the book that prompted this debate, apparently) as more of a beginner’s tool. As the title suggests, it gives you the nuts and bolts of story, and while it has a pretty rigid methodology for placing these nuts and bolts into the script itself, most writers realize — slowly or quickly — that screenwriting doesn’t require a “kitchen sink” approach. Much like Ikea furniture, even if you follow the instructions, you’re bound to have a few screws left over.

That said, I will reluctantly admit I agree with my stupid-blogging-nemesis’s bottom line — not every script needs a character arc in order to succeed. I disagree with the general contention that it has more to do with story than a writer’s particular tastes, because my personal experience always starts with a character arc, tied tightly to the story, but more often than not, these arcs either get changed or eliminated in later drafts.

The first draft of a screenplay I’ve been working on for over a year had a pretty simple character arc: the protagonist had a strong, active desire to not act anything like his father, but the machinations of the plot put him to the test, and as a result he reluctantly turns into his father (quite literally; long story). By the fourth draft, which I’ve just finished, the arc is about the relationship between the protagonist and his sister; they each have arcs that are intertwined, and they couldn’t be more different from the first draft. (In fact, in the first draft, he didn’t even have a sister, and by this draft, the father thing has almost become such a red herring that it may disappear in the next draft.)

Meanwhile, I couldn’t find the narrative throughline to my war screenplay until I started thinking about potential characters, many of them inspired by former friends, and I stumbled on the most obvious solution: one of the characters grows so disillusioned with the inanity of this “war,” and the increasing violence and chest-thumping of his friends, that he ends up turning his back on these formerly close friends. Suddenly, it turns into a coming-of-age story, with this character as the anchor. From there, I can figure out all the surrounding characters, plot the major beats of the story, and within a few weeks, I’ll have a serviceable first draft.

Notice how intertwined the storyline is with the protagonist’s emotional journey. That’s just the way I work. Story depends on character motivation, and if a story goal changes, it’s either because of an external factor…or the character’s motivation has changed. What changed it? That’s the arc, and in my scripts, usually it’s the story that changes the character and his or her motivation — that’s why they’re tied together so tightly. However, I have one friend who is so story-focused his early drafts have flat caricatures, and another who is so character-focused her “stories” just kind of amble on without purpose, like a Richard Linklater movie or any one of my blog posts.

With regard to “Mystery Man,” I don’t wholly disagree with him. His blustery “character arcs are stupid and I have proof!” attitude is a little unnerving, but his point holds up in more than just the examples he provides. Countless noir (anti)heroes go through the entire film without changing — that’s the whole point. They have a hardwired code of ethics that they stick to, unwavering, no matter how the shit flies around them. His example of The Maltese Falcon is great. In both the novel and the film, Sam Spade’s character unspools as the film does. At first glance, he appears to be just as sleazy and conniving as the sordid bunch he’s mixed up with, but as the story moves, we learn he’s abusing them (just as they try to abuse him) to find out what he needs to know to uncover who murdered Archer, his partner. Not because he liked Archer, particularly — it’s part of his code. If his partner’s murdered on a case, he owes it to the partner to find the culprit. (In the novel, Spade also mentions it’s bad for business if your partner gets killed and you aren’t a good enough detective to solve the case. I haven’t seen the movie in awhile, but I believe they omit this callous but hilarious explanation.)

Still, character arcs exist even when they don’t appear to. I’ve seen some super-thin, bordering-on-unnecessary character arcs — it doesn’t take much to establish your character, then force them into a situation that allows them to change or be changed as a result.

To take one of Mystery Man’s examples, I thoroughly disagree that Indiana Jones remains fundamentally unchanged. Throughout the trilogy, yes, an argument could be made, because he pretty much has the same arc in all three movies, meaning the changes that occur within each movie clearly don’t last. However, pretend for a moment it’s 1981, Raiders of the Lost Ark has just hit the big screen, and we’re seeing Indiana Jones for the first, and possibly last, time.

At the beginning of Raiders, there’s the great sequence with the idol and the giant rolling ball and the double-cross by the rival archaeologist and his native pals. Indy has a slightly jumpy guide who dies pretty quickly in a booby trap. This leaves Indy pretty much unaffected; he keeps going, because at that point, nothing matters but grabbing the idol. Human lives, with the possible exception of his own, don’t matter.

By the end of the movie — well, he’s not willing to blow up the Ark of the Covenant with the rocket launcher, but by that time his priorities have definitely shifted from getting the Ark for the State Department. Now he has two goals: keeping Marion safe and keeping the Ark out of the Nazis’ hands. These are story goals, but they represent change inherent in the character — as soon as the Ark has been dug up and Indy realizes the awesome power that’s been unearthed, he knows it shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. He’d never destroy an artifact of that magnitude, but he’s definitely lost interest in having it just to have it. At the same time, he understands the value of people over artifacts. Not huge arcs, but they’re definitely there.

Temple of Doom downplays the “I can’t let this awesome power fall into the wrong hands” angle, but they it has a similar “people over objects” arcs, with Short Round (and to a much lesser extent, Willie). As Mystery Man rightly points out, the start of Indy’s mission this time is pretty selfless — he’s set on a quest to find a sacred stone that he has little personal interest in, so he can save an Indian village (and the children who have been enslaved). If you’re a robot or a monster, you can argue that Indy finally embracing the surrogate father role with Short Round — with Shorty’s declaration of love finally snapping him out of blood-nightmare hypnosis — did not fundamentally change him. After all, Temple of Doom takes place a year before Raiders, and Short Round is nowhere to be found. His absence does not appear to have any real bearing on Indy, but who knows? A lot can happen in a year, especially when you’re Indiana Jones.

Last Crusade brings back the exact same arcs: Indy’s priorities change when he learns the Nazis want the Holy Grail. How does this not reflect a transformation in his character? It’s blunter than usual, which is maybe why this is the only one Mystery Man was willing to acknowledge. If his character remained unwavering in his commitment to find the Holy Grail above all things, the Nazis would be little more than annoying, difficult-to-swat houseflies. He’s still willing to grab that cup for himself, but he’s only willing to do so after his father is safe and the Nazi threat has been neutralized. As with the other movies, his external goals have shifted in a way that shows a change in the person we understand him to be.

These inner changes are so subtle and quick, so intertwined within the story itself, they may have been unintentional — but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. They don’t have to necessarily happen over the course of the entire movie, or in the third act, as the misleading term “arc” (and the more-misleading McKee) might have you believe. In The Parallax View, Joe Frady starts out as a confirmed skeptic, unwilling to believe any wild government conspiracy theories. He changes his tune by the second act, and although he remains pretty much unchanged through the rest of the movie, his early change is significant. In fact, he wouldn’t have any external goals for the entire movie if he didn’t experience a fundamental inner change — but it’s not something people would traditionally think of as an arc, since it happens in the first 20 minutes. It’s advantageous, though, because in a film like this we get to see the change — not just have hints of its possible future impact.

For all my arguing and complaining, like I said, I don’t fully disagree with Mystery Man. His underlying point is valid. The bulk of his other examples are either solid enough for me not to poke holes, or I just haven’t seen the movies recently enough one way or the other. I agree that a great screenplay doesn’t, by necessity, have to have a character arc. I do, however, believe that many films have subtle, barely-there arcs that shouldn’t be ignored. They’re there for a reason, and they add to the overall story. If Indiana Jones had seen Nazis and said, “Eh, they’re an emerging, misunderstood political party. I still want the Ark, but it’s not like they’re pure evil,” or if he had found out they kidnapped Marion and said, “Eh, we used to do it, but I really want that Ark,” it would have revealed new information about his character without making fundamental changes to the “obsessed playboy archaeologist adventurer professor.” But do you think it would have made a better movie? Indy’s goals needed to change, but in order for that to happen, he needed to change.

As Mystery Man says somewhere in the middle, “I should acknowledge that gurus and theorists have different interpretations about arcs.” I don’t think this is applicable just to gurus and theorists, but to all writers. With something so subjective, you can only go back to the filmmakers themselves to find out if my interpretation of Indy’s arcs are what they had in mind, or if Mystery Man’s belief that Indy remains fundamentally unchanged holds true. As with my Die Hard contention, none of us wrote the screenplay, so we can all make well-supported, valid, but completely separate arguments about the usual dramatic conventions.

It doesn’t mean any of us are right.

Posted by Stan at 2:33 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Career-Based Rambling, How Not to Write a Screenplay

March 26, 2008

Meanest Prank of All Time?

About six months after posting the surprisingly famous R. Kelly rant, I received my first confused/misguided request for R. Kelly’s e-mail address, from someone clearly thinking I was R. Kelly, despite the decidedly anti-Kells sentiment I spewed at the time (I’ve since learned the error of my ways and have come to love and respect the man’s tortured genius). This started an echo-chamber effect that has lasted to this day, with commenters from places as distant as Cameroon and as close Louisville posting their desire to contact R. Kelly. Around October of last year, I decided I’d start pranking them all. Nobody responded to my e-mails, in which I pretended to be R. Kelly by affecting poor spelling and an awful attempt at “street” patois, except for one guy. This is his story.

He left this comment in late September:

hi Kelly this is a fan.i know what people say about u but man,never mind.i personally like u for u have helped me without knowin.i started singing and as a matter of fact even won awards with some R and B tracks all under students entertainment.because of u ihave lot of songs which iwill like to give some out.they are really good and since u put the spirit in me must give them back to u.how do ido that?i need ur email address.mine is [e-mail address omitted despite the fact that you could just go over to the R. Kelly post and find it].ineed ur email.u will not be disappointed when u hear the songs.Thanx for ue help

I responded…

Date: Sunday, October 7, 2007 12:20:21 AM CDT
From: Robert Kelly
To: Samuel Anang
Subject: Kells callin

hey man, Mr. Samuel Anang, i first off got to say i appreciate ur
support more than every at this stone cold time in my life. i been
goin thru this trial n my law-bro twan be juicin galz n tryna get up
in they faces with a gat when he better off chillaxin in the club.

it’s great to my ears that u sing and that i been such a inspiration
to u all thru out ur life. i wold like to hear ur music as soon as
possible, bro. u can hit me back at this email for now until time
stops. i got me a blackberry so i can hear ur shit, even in the club.

~kells~

To my surprise, he got back to me by morning:

Date: Sun, 7 Oct 2007 09:59:40 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Re: Kells callin

wow,is this really u Kells?how do i let u hear the songs?i will like to send just one to u to hear first.u will like what u have helped me put together.should i send it through an EMX or what?plzzzzzzzzz let me know how to get the song to u ,plzzzzzzzzzz.if it is really u,then i am more than willing to give ur songs out.[they are urs cus u helped me.remember?]i will expect ur reply soon.
bye,
Samuel

I didn’t respond to this one. The moment I started sending these prank e-mails, I felt a mixture of guilt and immaturity I hadn’t felt since the time in fifth grade one of my friends and I set fire to a plastic shopping cart behind Kmart. (If you’re thinking that’s impossible to do, here’s how you do it: take a piece of easy-to-ignite cardboard, light it, and toss it in the cart. You can thank me later.) I spent almost a week hemming and hawing, without responding, because this ignorant sap had already bought into something that was clearlyfake.

However, when he responded again, I decided not to feel guilty. He sorta had it coming. Yes, that’s all I need to justify immoral and unethical behavior. Feel free to enlist my help in your next crime spree.

Date: Sat, 13 Oct 2007 10:55:37 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Whatz up?

Yo Kells,
             howz life?i do not know if u got my last message but i know u kinda busy so might not reply that fast.actually this is the guy who said will like to give some tracks out since u helped him do that.i will please like u to give me a contact adress so that i will send the song.i will go to an underground studio and have a recording of one of the songs in order to send it to u.i just want u to know that u really put ur spirit in me and i have got lot of songs to give up.plz give me a contact address to send the CD after the recording .plz do let me have it cus u will not be disappointed.i only want u to have trust in me before i send the other ones.Once again, it is my greatest desire to give my songs out to u cus u helped me write them and as i am not out as a musician ,will give what i have for now up to the one who helped me write them..Hope to hear fromu soon.
Samuel Anang

Because (once my guilt was alleviated) I’m the meanest person in the universe, and pranking was the whole point, I honed in on the sheer desperation and kiss-assiness. I decided to come up with a convoluted, ridiculous method of sending a CD to ensure Kells would get it.

Date: Saturday, October 13, 2007 9:23:30 PM CDT
From: Robert Kelly
To: samuel anang
Subject: Re: Whatz up?

i got to say it make me a little surprize 2 no the impact i have. i mean, i hear all it all tha time be it from a young hunny or a fan on tha street or @ mcdonald’s, “kells, u give me so much spirit.” i feel so happy when i hear those words comin out a persons mouth, & i’m real happy i get 2 connec wit u, Samuel.

u want 2 get yo records out 2 me, hear what u do. it might sound a lil tricky but i tell u, follow tha directions & i’ll get ur stuff. i’ll listen & tell u how i feel wit honesty. i get tha feelin i’ll luv it, tho.

hear how u do it. find 1 of them CD mailing envalopes wit tha bubble rap, a black one. if u can’t find black, get yo self a sharpie & color it black. it GOT 2 b black, ALL black. also get urself 1 of them silver glitter markers. u need it later but i figure it save you some time 2 get it with the sharpie & envalope.

so u got tha black envalope, what u do is put ur CD in there and mebbe drop a note sos i no it u & why u sendin (i get lots of emails, that’s why i never answer before sorry!), seal that fucker up.

then wit tha silver marker, write this address up top 2 send it 2:

Zomba Recording Corporation
Attn: R. Kelly 2389104
137-139 West 25th Street
New York, New York 10001

it b eazy this way. them numbers 2389104 b a sekrit code 4 just me & my special friends 2 send stuff. i will get it this way. i’d send my home address but i b hones: i don’t know u at all.

if u want, u can also email some tracks to me, mp3 tracks, i can get em thru email if u can send em. it b eazier 4 sho, but if u can’t i understand. just send the CD 2 that address, k?

~kells~

—————————————
Sent using BlackBerry

Get Kells on yo ringtone @ http://www.r-kelly.com/mobile.html

I still think the Blackberry joke is funny. I came up with it after receiving a series of e-mails from the Big-Shot Producer with that footer, and since Double Up had recently come out and I found the “Ringtone” song hilarious, I decided to include an ad, as well.

This sent Samuel on an epic quest to do right by Kells. It didn’t end well.

Date: Wed, 24 Oct 2007 09:20:17 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Re: Yo Kells

Hi Kells’
sorry its a long time since u heard from me after ur last reply.i actually had to put some things in place to get about half the amount of money for the recording.also i spent day s trying to find the black CD envelope which i could not find.i actually had to colour another envelope all black but it was also rejected.Finally i had to use a brown envelope and a pen to write the address.please forgive me.i also registered it so it gets to you safely,if not i will hold the post office responsible so i know it will get to you.expect it in a week’s time.i do not have much to say but will wait for ur coment on the song.once again sorry the procedure was altered.
Samuel

It was around this time where I realized the prank had plateau’ed. I had nowhere else to take it except chastise him and end the “relationship” because he disobeyed my procedure. I just kinda sat on it. He sent a few more e-mails, which became increasingly needy and desperate. They made me start to feel guilty again.

Date: Thu, 1 Nov 2007 06:42:28 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Got It?

i know its been long.As i said in my last reply,i sent the CD but not in a black envelope cus we do not have that type here and a coloured envelope is not accepted.that is why i put it in the brown one and wrote the address boldly in pen on it.once again i am sorry for that.but i registerd it ;therfore it must get to u and that should be latest by 3RD of Nov.please let me know immediately you get it.u might like to talk to me too.i should have asked for ur number but for a person like u,u cannot do that.mine is [phone number omitted].i know this will also help us to know each other better.i will be expecting your call too when you have the CD.PLEASE DO NOT GET ANGRY WITH ME cus of the difference in envelope.Once again,i am very SORRY.
hope to here from u soon.
Samuel

In the e-mail above, he at least seems a little excited — he’s so confident in his life-changing songs, he’s handing out phone numbers. A few days later, he gets a little desperate:

Date: Mon, 5 Nov 2007 10:59:56 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: I am worried

Hi Kells,
           i have been waiting for your reply to know if you have had the CD.Did u check from the Zomba Recording Corporation?i registered the CD and so i expect it to get to u by now.if it hasn’t,i will have to hold the post office responsible for misplacing it.i have already told you why i could not send thru a black envelope ;we do not have it here and a coloured one is not acceptable.i appologised cus the rules are inevitable.please forgive me if it will give u a hard time trying to have it from the corporation but i have got to know if u have requested for it from the corporation.Please reply cus i am kind of confused now.hope to hear soon.
Samuel

In this next one, he attempts to send one of the songs by attaching one of those .cda shortcut files that you see on Windows if you double-click on an audio CD. Needless to say, it didn’t work.

Date: Thu, 8 Nov 2007 11:55:24 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Track

Yo Kells,
i do not know if you have still got the track but i have finally sent it to you through the mail.Kells i know you will get the CD itself since i have already sent but for now this is the same track.Let me know immediately you get it and do not disappoint me.i wrote the whole song though but was helped by some one with the chorus.i did the rest of the verses and the backing of the last chorus.Kells i trust in you to let me know when you get it that is why i have sent it to you.
Samuel

This time, I contemplated writing him back. Since he was so excited about sending this stuff through e-mail, I decided maybe encouraging him to download iTunes and rip some MP3s would do the trick. At the very least, I could get some mild amusement out of his low-quality songs.

I decided not to reply until he sent two more…

Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2007 02:00:40 PM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: i sent song into mail too

Hi Kells,
            i have sent the song into ur mail cus it might delay to have the CD and i do not know the comment you will have on the track but this is what i got to say supposing you like it.i am adding this before the reply cus i will like you to combine all the reply since it might take a long time before i hear from you again.
  Reasons why i will like to give my tracks to you
1]Anybody i ask to help me come out with my tracks either want me to sell it out to them to sell it to other artistes or will like to take them forcefully from me.[probably its cus of my age]
2]i am a student who will like to further my education and so either i give the songs out or i combine it with formal education but as i said i cannot trust anyone in my country so far to help me.
3]U are the mentor that led to writing the tracks so if i have got to give them out,it must definitely be u.

Reasons why i will like to come to US
1]The only sound engineer i can trust has travelled so cannot have any more recordings here and send to u;moreover i will like you to see me for”seeing is believing” in order to know what i have got in me and if the track is actually from me.
3]i have a track which talks about the problem u are going through and that means ,even if i can trust another engineer here u will have to do it yourself.
Kells i know the reasons i have given is enough to let u know how close i want to be to u just because u are my mentor.plzzzzzz Kells i mean whatever i have said so please do something about it so i get to u in US.I CAN COME BACK AFTER THAT.If you still doubt,u can let me take care of the neccessary documents to come there and if u do not like my songs u can send me back that very day.i must get to you early so u can decide to send me an invite ticket which i can take to no where but u.i will need your telephone number if it will be cool with u.i have sent mine in a previous mail.
Kells i want to make it up to u so please respond to my calling.u might like to see my pic so will send to u.
Your homie,
Samuel

Here’s where I started losing my guilt again: he’s a leech. He’s kissing R. Kelly’s ass for a free trip to join his entourage and be rocketed to superstardom by Kells. What the fuck? But before I could respond, he sent the second one:

Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2007 02:08:25 PM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Fwd: My pic

in the second pix,i am the one in yellow and receiving the award ;;Best Solo Artiste” in High School

Note: forwarded message attached.
__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Tired of spam? Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around
http://mail.yahoo.com

The following are the headers for this message/rfc822 message.
Date: Mon, 30 Jul 2007 07:27:52 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: My pic
From: Selorm Eckert Lotamey
To: samuel anang

You’ll notice something subtle here: the photos he sent of “himself” were forwarded directly from some other dude’s e-mail, subjected “My pic” — and meanwhile he’s telling Kells not only that it’s him, but that he’s winning an award for music! This eradicated my guilt once and for all: I didn’t know what, other than money and famewhoring, Samuel Anang wanted out of Kells…but he was clearly running some kind of low-level scam attempt. I don’t know if he unraveled the ruse or just really thought R. Kelly wouldn’t see through such a transparent lie, but I decided to throw in the towel and just be as obnoxious as possible, trying to get him to send as much music as possible and generally mindfuck him until I got bored with it.

I wrote him an e-mail, which unfortunately I lost, about iTunes and requesting he rip some tracks for me to take a listen to. It took him over a week to respond with two songs:

Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2007 09:00:22 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: I finally sent it//////////

My Man,
         i am happy that a new album will be out soon.And 4 the trial i am with u thru it.Cus of that i have written a track 4 you but does not offend anybody and talks about u and the hatred some people have 4 u.U’ve got to hear it and know how to arrange the verses cus u must do it urself.
Anyway, i know u’ve now heard the song.i actually wrote it looking at how ur wife might feel after all what is being said about u.[especially the second verse of song].It is therefore dedicated to her and my future wife .
Kells,got about 10 tracks to give out but as said and explained in previous mail,cannot have anymore
recordings hear .It will be faster if documents will be made and sent to me or an invitation.I guess u can let some1 cater 4 that since u are damn busy.U can decide to let him come and check if i really can deliver here in my country.I will be expecting ur reply on
1]The song and what u intend to do with it cus u might re-do it or ask me to do it again since it is not a masterpiece.
2]My coming to the states.if yes let me know what to do;if no,let me know why?
3]A comm. number that will make comm faster. Kells got to be there cus’Seeing is Believing’
Samuel

It’s kind of important the he says he has “about 10 tracks to give out.” Trust me.

Once again, I listened to the music, I reveled in the badness, but I…didn’t respond. By that time, it had less to do with stringing him along and more to do with getting busy in my embarrassing social life. I just couldn’t take the time to respond to prank e-mails. He sent me two, spaced almost two months apart.

Date: Fri, 7 Dec 2007 11:59:34 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: hope u heard it

Hey Man,
i sent the track on 17 Nov.this time i did it right.but man i think thewre is so much about u on air but i know i will be the last guy to stand by u.i now got so much trax i want to give out.they will only need few re arrangements from the king of R and B himself.i will be very if u can make the arrangements for my coming to the states soon and u can have another album soon.
Samuel

I love the exploitative promise that his songs will lead R. Kelly to another blockbuster album.

Date: January 22, 2008 12:22:54 PM CST
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Ur son Samuel

Hi Kelly,
            its been more than 2 months now.but i know its cus of the tour and all the accusations people put on you all because u evergrow in the music industry.plz pardon me cus i am about to say a lot.i sent u the track in Nov but since i had some 1 sing the chorus u might think it is not mine cus of that,i made another song all cus of the troubled mind u have in recent times and named it ”troubled mind”. i sung as if i am u so everywhere u hear ”I” that is ”U”. but for the intro,that is my message to u.Somewhere in the the middle there is a place starting with ”I said Kells is the man”;that will be whom u will feature.i am jxt saying so even tho you might change a lot of things.Once again i am sorry for the poor recording so u will have to use earpiece.i did it in a friends room not a studio yet he took an extra $200 in addition to $300 that i gave him cus he did not want me to use his room.i had to borrow the extra $200 so even if u will like to see me before u show ur appreciation plz send the $200.All what i ask for is to be a songwriter to u since things dont always go well with me financially.I will be happy if u can also send an invite to me sos i can come and give the remaining 9 tracks in addition to the ”wat u gonna do”.For i wil like u to put the ”troubled mind” on air as an exclusive one because of the problems being put on u.
NB;
1] U can send the money thru Western Union or any other to Ghana and with info given
i will go for it.
2]in case u want to send the invite
[mailing address omitted]
3]my number is [phone number omitted]
4]If this is not Kells plz let him have the track and if u will not link me,i will still work with u sos i can make a living. Hope to hear soon.

He forwarded this same message two weeks later when I didn’t respond, but mainly what I was waiting for (in addition to being too busy/lazy to respond) was more music. When he didn’t send any, I decided to kickstart this prank.

Date: February 8, 2008 11:14:27 AM CDT
From: Robert Kelly
To: samuel anang
Subject: Re: Ur son Samuel

yo samuel, how u be?

i sure’s sorry bout not gettin back 2 u sooner, it just so hard like u said cuz of tha tour & such & my blackberry done broke so i had ta wait until i got near a computer. listen i got tha trax u emailed to me.

i got 2 say, it a little raw, but there somethin there. b4 i go 2 all tha trouble of sendin finances ur way, i just wonder if u can send another track or 2 so i can get a better feel 4 ur styles. if u could do that plz it’d help out a lot.

thx samuel

~kells~

I’m not saying “b4 i go 2 all tha trouble of sendin finances ur way” is an explicit admission that I’d help pay for shit, but I could see how somebody would get the wrong idea. The way I read it (and what I meant when I wrote it) is, “If you send me more songs and they don’t suck, I’ll consider bringing you to America.” Nonetheless, even though this time it nearly took him a month to respond, seeing the phrase “sendin finances” apparently got Samuel salivating:

Date: Mon, 3 Mar 2008 10:08:39 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Subject: Done it

Hi Kells,
    i finally did it.i payed$500 for them.i plead with u to send at least the money i borrowed to do this so that u can decide to send something later or let me come there.i ill expect u very soon.and please any bank here ill do.
bye
Samuel

With that, he sent three additional tracks. He also changes his story quite a bit. First, it’s “I paid $300 for 10 tracks but now the dude is demanding an extra $200”; now he’s actually he just recently paid a full $500 for these three “new” tracks he sent me. Did he really pay $1000 to record 13 tracks with bargain-basement technology? Seriously, I need to move to Ghana. I could make a living there.

I listened to the songs, but I felt like the prank had pretty much run its course. The combination of me lying to him, and him lying to me, made me feel like the whole thing was a wash.

Samuel disagreed.

Date: Mon, 17 Mar 2008 08:07:57 AM CDT
From: samuel anang
To: Robert Kelly
Reply-To: Samuel Anang
Subject: Are You Still There?

Hi Kells,
           What is keeping you that long after i sent three tracks on 3rd Feb? i can wait for long but as i told u the money used for the recordings even though rough was borrowed and now the lenders are putting the pressure on me.U can at least check the mails once in two weeks to respond to some of us.If the problem on you is now too much u can link me to someone else to help me if possible cus u have known me for seven months but it seems to me as if we just met.Please if there is too much on u such that things will not work out between us,let me know.At least i can sell some few things i possess to pay those who lent me the money and may look somewhere else for help.i would not blame u ,i will understand.please do reply soon.
Sam

I hope I’m not the only one who notices the not-entirely-subtle shift in tone from friendly/hopeful/desperate to mildly hostile — but not too hostile, so as to avoid pissing “Kells” off. His e-mail made me feel a little uncomfortable, like if I didn’t respond, he’d send his “lenders” to go kidnap Kells — or, worse, he’d expose me and send them in my direction. Nobody wants that, least of all the person I intend to trick them into thinking is the real culprit, so I decided to officially end this prank, not just leave it hanging.

look bro, i wanna beleeve tha best in peeps but i don’t get this attitude. i ain’t promise u nothin but that i’d listen ,n i did. u got somethin, thay ain’t no doubt bout that but i think its real hard 2 beleeve u spend $500 on them trax

i ain’t tryina hurt but u dont know what it like bein kells lately shit b gettin RAW. i got a trial goin on n it cost all kind a $$$ n my new record ain’t b sellin like back in 94…started real good but now it goin down. ran way over tha top on my new trapped chapters. and to top that off, some punk stoled my blackberry. so hear u r, not catchin my pain, jus askin 4 handouts like all tha rest

i think we need to end this. u won’t hear from me again.

~kells~

(Note that I have a continuity error of my own: earlier I said my Blackberry was broken, but now I changed it to stolen. Oops!)

I’m about 98% sure Samuel Anang is full of shit. He may owe some people $500, but I don’t think it’s for those recordings. He’s trying to get R. Kelly to be his sugar daddy, and when he doesn’t get his way, he gets angry and, I don’t know, I sense a little fear in that last e-mail.

But what if he’s telling the truth? If he’s gullible enough to believe I’m R. Kelly, he’s gullible enough to pay $500 for some worthless recordings. That makes me feel guilty for stringing him along, but I can’t get over the real, concrete lies (which make me assume the implicit lies are just as concrete). Am I the only person in the world who could overthink a prank like this? Maybe…

I’m going to give him a few days to send a response. If I don’t hear from him, I’m dismantling my R. Kelly mailbox to ensure Samuel won’t hear from “him” again.

Posted by Stan at 4:53 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Stories of Hilarity and Humiliation

March 25, 2008

Walgreens Woman

When I was in high school, I made an unintended friend. I’d known her since third grade, but even back then, I found her overbearing and off-putting. She had a syrupy sweetness that, first of all, seemed like a huge put-on (P.S.: it was!), but mainly, it didn’t blend well with my seething cauldron of rage and disappointment. Yes, I was even bitter and hate-filled back then, before I had to read A Separate Peace and When the Legend Dies. I think it started when my teacher took away a set of plastic nunchaku that had cost me a good amount of money (most likely stolen from my sister). He thought it was a weapon, even though it was hollow plastic that wouldn’t have done any more damage than throwing a carrot stick at somebody. So I had to tell my parents about it, and they had to come to school to redeem them, and also ground me.

I may be getting distracted.

The thing about this girl, who I will call Walgreens Woman for reasons that will make sense later, is that she had less institutional trauma, more familial trauma. Her dad was a stereotypical violent, misogynistic Arab who was notorious for beating his wife and his children. I seem to recall an incident of him barging into a school holiday assembly in fifth grade and dragging Walgreens Woman and her sisters out because, fuck, it was all about Christmas. Also, there was an incident (I think) in the same year when he was arrested for beating his wife with a vacuum cleaner. I assume there was some poetic justice in his choice of weapon, but…that’s harsh!

She pretty much dropped off my radar in junior high. I can’t remember if she moved and went to a different school or if we just never had a single class together, but I can’t remember ever seeing her. In high school, however, she was suddenly back. Junior year, she and I were partnered together in our school’s show choir, I think because we were the only two who couldn’t dance at all. They just stuck us in the back. We ended up becoming unintentional friends. I seem to recall, early in the year, literally hiding in a neighbor’s backyard to avoid her seeing us. By the end of the year, she didn’t seem so bad. Annoying, yes, but she had let some of her vulnerability slip through. It made her less of a Stepford wife. And, of course, we were partnered up again senior year.

But by the time graduation rolled around, I felt a little put off by…everything about her. She took our random partnership assignation a little too seriously, making far too big a deal out of it and not-so-subtly implying that this relationship was the closest a person could get to dating. I consciously avoided her during the summer, which wasn’t difficult, and hoped that with college, she’d be out of my life for good.

Not so. My roommate, one of my best friends from high school, was still involved with a girl from high school. This girl was friends with Walgreens Woman, and she “accidentally” gave Walgreens Woman our dorm-room number. I will never forget the horrific night of the X-Files season premiere, when I had to listen to my roommate talk to her for the first half hour, then I had to talk to her during the second half hour. The whole thing was a wash.

She seemed to believe the call was pretty urgent, though. Turns out, she now had a job at Walgreens, and she thought the manager there was flirting with her, but she wasn’t sure. She went through the whole story with my roommate first, then me, asking what was happening and trying to get advice. I did acknowledge that yes, he was probably flirting with her, but I refused to give advice.

Six months later, she was pregnant. Not the advice I would have given, but them’s the breaks…

(On a semi-related note, my little suburb’s most notorious mass murderer also worked at the very same Walgreens — okay, technically it’s different, but only because they demolished the original one and rebuilt a new one in the same location — and got involved with the manager there. He gave her drugs and convinced her to kill her family. Things don’t end well for Walgreens Woman, but at least she hasn’t murdered anyone. Yet.)

The last conversation I can distinctly remember was at a choir concert a year or two after high school. Lucy and I went because her boyfriend at the time was a senior, and Walgreens Woman was there, running around to all the people we used to go to school with, showing off pictures of her baby. She came to us, showed us the picture, and complained that the baby was really ugly. She…wasn’t wrong, but still — it’s her own kid!

After that, she fell off my radar screen. I heard a couple of rumors, that she married the Walgreens manager, that it turned out he was wanted in California for skipping out on a prison sentence, but after awhile, the rumors disappeared. (Turns out they were all true, too.)

Then, two weeks ago, she sent me a random message on Facebook, supporting my long-time conclusion that social networking sites are the scourge of the Internet. She wanted to know how I was doing. I figured so much time had passed, she’d certainly have stopped making such a huge deal out of our show choir partnership. She has a kid, she’s married, she’s probably grown up a little. What’s the harm in sending her a message loaded with lies to create the impression I’m doing a lot better than I am?

Then I got her response, which contained at least five references to “never forgetting” I was her partner. Good Lord. She continued with a sob story about her “psycho” husband and how she divorced him, but not before having another kid, and both of her kids are “special needs,” so she tried going to college for their benefit but it didn’t work out, and now she’s working a shit job while her mom stays home with her kids, and would I like to have dinner with her some night?

I immediately told her I was sick (which was true), and then when she asked if I was feeling better, I told her I had to go out of town (which was not). I got the advice from friends who didn’t know her, who could be objective about it (and by “objective,” I mean “listen to my highly subjective account of our friendship and her life story and feel better that they agree with me”), and they all suggested I run the fuck away.

And run the fuck away I shall, but still…a part of me feels awful because her life has been legitimately miserable, and many of the problems were caused by forces beyond her control. One night of my life wouldn’t be so bad, but that’s how it starts, right? I’ve been down this road before, so I need to get my disdain in check and not let any nostalgia or (shudder) sympathy cloud my judgment.

Posted by Stan at 11:03 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (1)  | Stories of Pain and Humiliation

March 24, 2008

Stupid Bloggers Need the Most Attention

About a month ago, Ken Levine posted a really stupid critique of No Country for Old Men, written by Bob “Back to the Future” Gale. (Some of the nitpicks are reasonable, but the bulk of them are either a side effect of not paying attention or just not understanding what was happening. I don’t understand why people, especially professional writers, found the movie so difficult to follow.) This post isn’t about that.

No, it’s about the comments, many of which fawn over Levine’s incisive and insightful criticism, while failing to realize he didn’t actually write it. From these comments, I found a gem of a blog, somebody who wrote in the comment that she read the screenplay and “didn’t get it.” I thought, “Hmm, that might be interesting.” I clicked on the blog…

…and found pretty much the stupidest analysis of a screenplay I’ve ever seen. I’m not the smartest guy in the world, and I’m often the last person to accuse someone of outright stupidity — hell, even in this case, after examining the full breadth of her posts, I’d chalk it up to a toxic combination of ignorance and naïvete — but her blog post was full of woefully misguided arguments, mainly because she doesn’t understand certain English words. Quite seriously, this was the problem with her post: even though she admits she understood these confusing passages in the context of the next sentence or two, the Coens’ (or Cohens’, as she repeatedly calls them) are at fault.

I’m not going to link to the blog specifically, but I will post excerpts that will easily trace back to it, because I’m that kind of guy.

The windshield stars.

A quick second round pushes part of the windshield in.

“The windshield stars”? As clever as that may sound, it’s confusing. I had to stop a second and re-read the line because I wasn’t sure what it meant. So I was like, huh? Wha…. oooh.

I don’t understand this at all. Has she never read a novel? She’s really gone through her whole life, gotten a Masters in creative writing, and never seen or heard “stars” used as a verb to indicate the unique way windshields shatter? Even beyond that, the next sentence makes it very clear. It’s a sudden, surprising — dare I say confusing? — moment in both the screenplay and the film.

Later, she writes:

Part of me wants to chalk that up to style points and get over it. But part of me does not like the way I had to constantly pay close attention to understand what the hell was going on in this script. The story should flow like a story, not feel like an assignment for my college English class.

Here are the flaws in that logic:

1. She’s a writer, but she doesn’t like a script that requires you to pay attention to the words on the page?
2. “The story should flow like a story”? Yet the bulk of her criticism revolve around the script being too novelistic in its approach.

Nobody in Hollywood wants to read, so you want to pack as much power into each individual word as you can — that’s where the challenge lies. A screenplay’s a blueprint for something that will appear on the screen, and like a blueprint, everything has to be very carefully planned out — especially for unsold spec writers. For instance, you don’t want to “direct on the page,” so you have to use the power of suggestion — if you write it well enough, the director will take an individual sentence and shoot it in the exact way you want it shot. Those sensitive folks don’t want you doing their job for you, which is why so many scripts loaded with camera jargon go nowhere.

It’s also why reading a shooting draft, especially by a writer-director, isn’t the best study tool for an unsold screenwriter. It’s useful in a lot of ways — you can see what they cut out, you can see how they wrote out a particular sequence, reordering of scenes in the editing room (for instance, the Point Break screenplay opens with the big robbery/backyard chase, then flashes back — horrible for the movie, but what a great way to open a script) — but you have to learn to ignore endless sluglines marking shots and angles, overuse of the dreaded “we see,” etc. When it’s at the shooting draft stage, all bets are off. It’s been sold, greenlit, and it’s on its way to being made. You can be as lazy as you want.

Or you can be as dense and novelistic as you want. I’ve read several Coen scripts, and they all read that way — slugs are rare and vague, action blocks are loaded with purple prose, often with unfilmable character details that one assumes is there for them to remember while directing. You know why? Because they’re a writing/directing/producing team that has made a shitload of successful movies. At this point, even with the stinky recent legacy of Intolerable Cruelty and The Ladykillers, they could shit out pretty much anything and get a greenlight. They’re the Coens.

So if they write “the windshield stars,” do they really care about Joe or Jane Schmoe seeking it out online or buying it from one of those scuzzy guys on Hollywood Boulevard who makes his living selling tattered, fifth-generation Xeroxes to wannabes? They know what it means, one assumes the cast and crew know what it means it if they realize reading comprehension involves stringing many sentences together to form understanding — so who cares?

This blogger does, and that’s the problem. I started reading forward in her blog, but it took awhile for the obsession to set in. The more she wrote, the more ignorant and irritating she seemed. (Especially when she started mocking the writing skills of her students, rather than lamenting the total institutional failure their poor writing represents.) I started to wonder, “Has she always been like this, or is she getting a little too hoity-toity now that she’s directed a short film?” So I went back to the archives…

…long story short, this is not a new thing. And after reading obsessively, it occurred to me what her problem is. It’s not just the ignorance and the naïvete coloring her judgment and causing ill-informed, dumbass opinions. It’s the fact that she blames everything and everyone else for anything bad that happens in her life. Since I’ve already belabored the point with the Coens excerpt, I will use that as the example: she didn’t like the script because she doesn’t understand English words and (apparently) has a problem with putting thought into what she reads. Somehow, this is the Coens’ fault.

The entire blog is littered with examples of this blameless attitude. Sometimes it’s justified; more often, it’s just shrill stupidity. But after reading through the archives, it made me wonder:

Do people think the same thing about this blog?

That implies people read it to begin with, but what if they stumbled on me randomly? What if I started commenting on others’ blogs to generate traffic, and before you knew it people were clicking through, reading posts they find stupid, ill-informed, and offensive, and then they go back through the archives and make judgments about my character that are, quite simply, the unvarnished truth?

It’s the way shit goes when you let it all hang out, but I’d hate for someone to jump the wrong conclusion, like if they read a post where I do something nice for somebody and assume I’m not conniving and hateful. I guess that alone justifies the recent About Stan link on the sidebar.

Posted by Stan at 11:42 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (2)  | Stories of Hilarity and Humiliation

March 23, 2008

Good News, Everyone!

Longtime readers may call my unhealthy obsession with the Beach Boys leading me to a slightly healthier obsession with Dennis Wilson’s long out-of-print LP Pacific Ocean Blue and my complaining that it’s been out of print for almost two decades, despite being much better than a lot of the shit in the Beach Boys’ catalog. Turns out, someone finally agrees with me, and a deluxe, double-CD reissue will come out in June.

I’m both excited about this release and glad I didn’t spend $150 on one of the OOP CDs when I had the chance a year ago.

Posted by Stan at 6:56 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Random Musings

March 22, 2008

Research: Period Music

The new screenplay I’m working on has gotten me jazzed on bad mid-’90s nostalgia. See, it’s about a bunch of seventh-graders, so I don’t want to fail, in spectacular Diablo Cody fashion, to replicate the rhythm and jargon (both idiomatic and pop-cultural) of contemporary 12- and 13-year-olds. I’m still entrenched in the decaying pop-cultural mélange of 2008, so I could probably fake it much more reasonably than Ms. Cody by, for instance, not putting words into a 2008 12-year-old’s mouth that they would not know. This goes beyond inauthentic dialogue, though. I don’t even want to admit, much less understand, that we live in a world where a 12-year-old would have their own cell phone, credit card, or laptop. I simply can’t write it.

I’ve elected, instead, to set the screenplay in the spring of 1995 and try my damndest to evoke the junior-high zeitgeist of the day. It was a world where people were united and divided by MTV (because, back in those days, they still played about 12 hours of music a day, as opposed to the current 30 minutes) and whether or not you had a Super Nintendo, where kids were much more divided by moronic cliques than anything I ever saw in high school (one thing movies consistently get wrong).

As a result, my primary method of research has been looking at back issues of Guitar World and Nintendo Power — the only magazines I subscribed to at the time — and I’m eternally grateful to myself for not throwing anything away. Ever. These magazines are like time capsules. There’s plenty I remember interesting me back then, but the small things I’ve forgotten are encased within those pages. Even though I haven’t really thought about it in over a decade, did I remember Bush’s single-factory Sixteen Stone? Yeah, it was right there, sitting inside my brain. But what about the Toadies’ endlessly replayed “Possum Kingdom”? Never would have entered my head if Guitar World hadn’t tabbed it. Same with Alanis Morissette, despite my sister blasting Jagged Little Pill, like, four times a day for a year.

It’s nice to fill in the gaps of what I’ve forgotten and didn’t care about — it’ll help me flesh out the other characters — but the main goal is to recreate the world I inhabited at the time, one that cared about pretty much nothing but music and video games, where you’d get the shit beaten out of you for admitting you liked the Goo Goo Dolls more than Pantera (based on a true story, though fortunately I wasn’t the victim — good thing the Goo Goo Dolls sucked!), where meaningless shit was so much more important than it is now.

It’s — among other things — a valentine to my misspent youth, and consequently I compiled a list of albums (which I at one time either loved or hated) to help me get into the mood when I write. I’d like to try to dig up some more bad R&B and pop, but at the time, I was all grunge and metal, so that’s where my mind goes first. If anybody has any suggestion from music in this period (around 1992-1995) — even if it’s older music, if there’s a period-relevant reason for you listening to it, like Beavis & Butt-Head getting me into AC/DC and Black Sabbath, I’m all ears.

Posted by Stan at 2:13 PM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (1)  | Career-Based Rambling, How Not to Write a Screenplay

March 3, 2008

Script Review: Jennifer’s Body by Diablo Cody

It might surprise you to learn I didn’t hate Jennifer’s Body. I didn’t like it much, either, but it manages to eschew most of Juno’s more egregious problems with its legitimate fantastical setting (as opposed to Juno’s “people are accusing us of offering an irresponsible message, so we’re calling it a fantasy” fantastical setting). It also, despite its problems, doesn’t try to forget or ignore where the story should naturally head in favor of a sloppy, forced happy ending. It’s sloppy and forced in other areas, to be sure, and its ending is unremarkable, but Jennifer’s Body knows its role and, for the most part, lives up to it.

Here’s a brief outline of the story: plain-jane Anita “Needy” Lesnicki (I am not making up that name) is 17 and institutionalized. In voiceover, she suggests that we ought to know how she ended up in the nuthouse, which flashes back to her killing her best friend, the once-beautiful Jennifer Check who has now become some sort of unknown monster. Jennifer’s mother catches Needy in the act; she’s arrested and, eventually, hauled into the nuthouse. Of note is a song — a “soaring rock anthem” — which places twice during this opening sequence — once when Needy is dragged into solitary confinement, and again during the flashback where she’s arrested.

Needy decides to flashback even further to give context to her murder. At the ripe young age of 16, Needy and Jennifer are best friends. Needy has a geeky, awkward boyfriend named Chip (so reminiscent of Paulie Bleeker from Juno, Michael Cera might as well play him). Jennifer, a bit more promiscuous than Needy, wants to go to the Carousel, only music venue in their tiny town (Devil’s Kettle, Minnesota), to see a band called Soft Shoulder. Jennifer thinks the lead singer is hot. Needy doesn’t want to go, particularly, but she does because they’re best friends.

The Carousel is a shithole where they run into various other schoolmates and townspeople — including the cop who will eventually arrest Needy — and a foreign exchange student who is always referred to as “Ahmet the Indian.” The band takes the stage. They’re decent but nothing special, yet somehow, even needy thinks they look really cool onstage. Jennifer wants to become a groupie and tries to rope Needy into it, but Needy will have none of it. Nikolai Wolf, the lead singer, approaches Jennifer right away and invites her to their van. Needy overhears him talking with the other bandmates about only wanting Jennifer because she’s a virgin. Needy warns her, but Jennifer scoffs.

Jennifer’s about to follow Nikolai and the others out when an abrupt fire engulfs the club in flames. It nearly kills Jennifer, who manages to escape only because of Needy’s cunning. The fire destroys the Carousel and kills plenty of people they know well. Needy encourages Jennifer to come home, but charismatic Nikolai Wolf pretends to be very caring and compassionate, so Jennifer goes off with him. Needy walks home alone and, while griping to Chip about what happened at the Carousel, Jennifer shows up at her house — only she’s different. Creepy, corpselike, covered in blood… She nearly attacks Needy but, instead, vomits up black bile laced with porcupine-like spines.

At school the next day, Jennifer arrives looking absolutely normal and acting like she doesn’t have a clue what happened at the Carousel. Needy’s shocked and horrified. The school holds an assembly for the student victims, which Jennifer chuckles through. Suspicious, Needy tries to tell Chip about what happened the night before and the way Jennifer’s behaving now. Chip doesn’t believe her, especially after Needy is approached by Colin Gray (a goth kid) and Chip is struck with a bit of jealousy. Out on the football field, Jennifer approaches a jock named Jonas. They go to the woods outside the school for what Jonas assumes will be sex; instead, Jennifer tears him apart and eats him.

Jennifer calls Needy to tell her how great she’s feeling, but she’s interrupted by Chip on the other line. He needs to meet her urgently. Before Needy hangs up with Jennifer, Jennifer mentions how good-looking Chip has seemed to her lately. Needy doesn’t think anything of it. She rushes off to meet Chip, who has learned of Jonas’s death (they’re next-door neighbors) and that it looks like someone ate him. Needy decides this isn’t a coincidence, and that somehow Jennifer’s involved. The next day, word has broke on a national level about the strange things going on in Devil’s Kettle. Soft Shoulder uses this for their career advantage. At school, the principal holds another assembly. Jennifer acts very apathetic, and afterward, she asks Colin Gray on a date, stirring minor concern and jealousy from Needy. Meanwhile, Needy and Chip make a date for the same time.

That night, Colin meets Jennifer in an abandoned house, where she kills and eats him. Needy, meanwhile, has awkward sex (ostensibly for the first time) with Chip. It’s interrupted by a sudden uneasy feeling and hallucinations of blood and porcupine-spiked black bile covering the walls. Freaked out, Needy decides to drive herself home, but she’s stopped in the middle of nowhere by a creepy, bloody, threatening — yet powerful — Jennifer. Needy narrowly manages to escape. In voiceover, Needy explains that she’s always been able to feel what Jennifer feels, then has a flashback-laced dream of Jennifer accidentally pricking her finger with a tack and Needy sucking out the blood, which has apparently bonded them.

Later that night, Jennifer shows up at Needy’s hosue. Needy demands to know what’s going on. Jennifer explains, and we see in flashback, what happened in Soft Shoulder’s van. They have a plan to become famous by performing strange, demonic rituals on a variety of virgins. Jennifer admits to being a virgin, even though she’s not, so the ritual doesn’t quite accomplish what they want. Rather than become a sacrifice, it leaves Jennifer strangely powerful and yet…hungry. On her way home, she almost kills Needy but, instead, vomits, runs away, and runs into Ahmet the Indian. He narrowly survived the fire, but nobody knows he made it out. Jennifer kills and eats him.

In the single worst and most unnecessary scene in the script, a group of Colin’s goth friends show up for the funeral and make stereotypical asses of themselves, followed by Colin’s mother having a shrill, entitled freak-out on par with Allison Janney bitching out the ultrasound technician in Juno. When Needy arrives at school, Chip reminds Needy about the upcoming turnabout dance. Needy shows Chip research she’s done on Jennifer. She’s identified the ritual Soft Shoulder tried to perform on her and learned that, if it’s not performed on a virgin, “the result may still be attained, but a demon will forever reside the soul of the victim. She must forever feed on flesh to sustain the demon.” Yeah, I think there’s at least one missing word in that explanation, but it still doesn’t make much sense to me. Alas…

Chip still doesn’t believe Needy and insists on turning the course of the conversation to turnabout apparel. That evening, Needy gets into her dress — a self-conscious throwback to poofy, ’80s-style dresses — and heads off for the dance. So does Chip, but along the way he’s stopped by Jennifer, who tells him that Needy has been fooling around with Colin for months and is taking his death extremely hard — so hard, Jennifer fears Needy’s going insane. She tells Chip some of the things Needy has supposedly been saying, and they line up with Needy’s “crazy” theory about Jennifer, so Chip’s inclined to believe this. Jennifer claims to be upset, but from this experience, she’s realized how much she cares for Chip. She takes him to a public pool, where he thinks they might have sex. Needy, meanwhile, rushes to Chip’s house to find out where he is. When his mother tells Needy that he walked, she traces the route and figures they’re at the pool. Needy tries to kill Jennifer but can’t — Jennifer kills Chip and flees. This takes us back to where we started, with Needy slipping into Jennifer’s bedroom and murdering her, seemingly in cold blood.

In voiceover, Needy explains that if a demon bites you (as Jennifer did), you might absorb some of its powers. She has apparently developed super-strength, which she uses to escape from the mental institution. She hitchhikes a ride to nearby Madison, where she says she wants to catch a concert. The radio helpfully explains that Soft Shoulder will be playing in Madison. Fade to black.

Jennifer’s Body aspires toward horror-comedy but doesn’t quite meet either objective; it kinda meets in the middle, as “campy horror with some atrocious dialogue.” It bugged me that the few actual, funny jokes in the script get undermined by Cody’s somewhat annoying tendency to explain the jokes until they’re no longer funny. This is exemplified, obviously, by the final scene: Soft Shoulder is responsible for everything that happened, Needy never took revenge, she breaks out of the institution and wants to see a band play in Madison. We can put two and two together on that one, but no, the radio DJ has to spoonfeed us the explicit information that Soft Shoulder is playing in Madison.

The funniest joke in the script — probably the only one that made me laugh instead of rolling my eyes — came when the principal announced Soft Shoulder would be releasing a benefit single, and they would donate 3% of the profits to the families of the tragedy victims. That’s funny on its own, right? It immediately stops being funny when Cody forces Needy to point out that Soft Shoulder keeps 97% of the profits, then goes on to use the word “crass” and define it because no character in the screenplay is allowed to have any sort of intelligence that rivals or surpasses Needy, the Diablo Cody surrogate. This reminded me a lot of Juno MacGuff and pissed me off nearly as much.

Overall, though, while the script suffers from the same rhyme- and pun-based humor that ruined Juno, the dialogue didn’t strike me as quite so bad. The scene with the goths and the Grays at the funeral is, by itself, one of the worst individual scenes I’ve read in a very long time, but it’s destined to become an unfortunate DVD “bonus” feature. It has nothing to do with the plot, and it’s not even funny on the page, so I can’t imagine it making the final cut. But we don’t really get enough of characters other than Needy, Jennifer, and Chip to make apparent the glaring flaws in Cody’s dialogue style. Needy and Jennifer have a weird, alien chatter that I can kind of buy as the weird chatter of two best friends. Surprisingly, Chip’s dialogue has a different rhythm that keeps him from sounding exactly like them. Of course, each character, no matter how small, has at least one (sometimes more) “Diablo Cody” moment — where terrible, trying-too-hard-humor meets a rhyming dictionary — that threw me out of the moment. But I think it shows some writing progression, since Juno’s characters sounded indistinguishable from one another on the page (and were only distinguished in the movie by good acting and a few trimmed lines/scenes).

So the dialogue is unfunny but not as atrocious as I expected… What about the story?

Here’s where things get a little sticky… For one thing, everything I’ve read about this concept suggests that it’s something akin to “horror meets John Hughes.” Why? Because Needy wears a Pretty in Pink dress for two scenes? The high school scenes felt nothing like John Hughes’ oeuvre to me. What it resembled was a really, really bad episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. (In fact, I’m pretty sure the “group of thuggish guys ritually sacrifice chicks to gain success in life” has been used in at least one episode. If not Buffy, it’s been done elsewhere. The band satire isn’t as sharp as it could be, either, so that whole subplot feels like a waste of time.) I’m sure Cody thinks this is a feminist take on horror tropes (I’ll get into that more later), but nobody has done that concept as well as Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Cody’s out of her league, big-time, and the inevitable comparisons make it suffer. I guess we’re supposed to forgive the plot’s lack of originality because it’s supposed to be a satire, but its satirical edge isn’t even as sharp as Buffy, so why bother with this movie?

The gender politics are where I point and laugh my sardonic laugh. I don’t want to read more into the script than what’s on the page, but it’s hard not to. The “feminism” undercurrent falls apart when you realize that Cody’s writing about a dynamic I’ve certainly noticed: the “hot girl/ugly girl” dynamic. I haven’t dwelled upon it or anything, but I started developing this theory in high school. Back then, not surprisingly, I did everything I could to get hot girls to go out with me, and it only happened one glorious, glorious time. Much of the time, I ended up with the hot girl’s ugly best friend. That’s the weird thing: they all have an ugly best friend. And I know “ugly” is harsh and it’s certainly an exaggeration, but it’s just more concise to say “ugly” than “slightly less attractive and moderately more annoying.”

The thing that makes it weirder and worse, though, is that the ugly best friend gets extremely jealous and angry, to the point that they’re only “in name only” friends, and they spend much of their time seething and bitching about the hot friend. I have the misfortune of knowing this because who knows who and what ugly girls bitch about more than the asshole who dates them because he thinks they might be able to make a lateral move to their hot friend. And the thing is, the ugly girls have to know this. What kind of life is that? Christ, it’s so depressing, yet it seems like such a prevalent dynamic until the friendships dissolve midway through college.

So anyway, that’s what this script is about. Jennifer is the hot girl, Needy is the ugly girl, and the emotional core underpinning the “I eat dudes” metaphor is this notion that Jennifer chews men up and spits them out, but it doesn’t cross the line until Jennifer gets catty and goes after the guys Needy likes. My possibly misguided thought on the subject is that these girls remain friends — even “in name only” — and date cast-off guys out of a deep-seated insecurity. They fear getting cut off from their hot friend’s social circle because they’d go from having guys who aren’t terribly interested to nobody. They’d go from having female friends who merely put up with them to the ones who dump buckets of pigs’ blood on them at the prom.

I’m an outside observer, so maybe I don’t have the insight. Cody’s take is probably more consistent with the feelings of the “ugly girl.” Near the end of the script, Needy has a rather preachy, on-the-nose monologue declaring Jennifer the insecure one. Now, this concept sort of worked for me, because Jennifer is also written as a total slut. I can buy hot sluts as having deep insecurities. I’d never buy those irritating hot teases as insecure, though. They know what they have, know what it can get them, and just don’t give a shit about what others think, even their best friends.

All that aside, Jennifer’s Body presents an unintentional “Malcolm X for chicks”* argument. Because at the end of the day, it’s two catty, angry, jealous women fighting among themselves. And the script actually ends with Needy finally going after the real culprits — the guys in Soft Shoulder. We never get a quality resolution to this chunk of the story, because the story chose to tell is one of woman-on-woman bitterness and rage. I have to question the feminist credibility here. Wouldn’t the message be more powerful if Needy managed to break Jennifer free of her problems by killing the members of Soft Shoulder? She does this thing for her best friend, gets through into the nuthouse for it, but she’s A-OK because of feminine solidarity? The problem, I guess, is that Cody has a bigger problem with super-hot high school girls than she does with band assholes who lure underage girls into their vans for one reason or another.

So let’s see… Weak plot, weak dialogue, weak jokes, weak theme, and three solid main characters (and a dozen or so weak supporting characters)? It’s nothing special, but I liked it more than Juno.

*Before I offend anyone else by, apparently, not making this remark clear, it goes like this: one of Malcolm X’s views was that whites had an easier time keeping black people down because blacks kept fighting among themselves. He wanted blacks to unite, rise up, and separate from white society altogether. In a similar vein, Cody’s feminist ideals suggest that she wants women to rise up against a male-dominated society, but in the end, her screenplay gets sidetracked with petty squabbling among the two female characters and doesn’t give a satisfactory resolution on the men responsible for Jennifer’s plight. [Back]

Posted by Stan at 8:22 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (2)  | How Not to Write a Screenplay, Reviews

March 22, 2008

Suburban Shootout (2006)

Note: From late 2006 through the start of 2009, I volunteered to write content for and redesign a film-review website run by a former college professor. The arrangement didn’t end well, and as a result I removed my association from the site and decided to publish the reviews on my blog instead. Read about my misadventures with the site here.

I watched and loved this show when it originally aired in the U.S. (on Oxygen), which is why I requested to review Acorn Media’s new DVD set (even though one of our other writers had already signed up). I felt a little greedy, but I wanted to share my love with the Film Monthly readership and the world at large. However, if you noticed my use of past-tense verbs, you might have realized something went horribly awry.

I have two possible explanations. Either there was something magical about the zeitgeist of summer 2006 that Suburban Shootout just fit then but started to show its age immediately…or maybe it’s the type of shock-based comic effect that only works the first time you see it. Much of the comedy in Suburban Shootout does revolve around shock value, so if that’s the case, I’d split the difference and say this is worth a rental. However, if you rent it and hate it, chances are that the first explanation is correct.

On to the nuts and bolts: Joyce Hazeldine (Amelia Bullmore) moves to the charming suburb of Little Stempington with her police-officer husband, who’s tired of the chaos of the city. Little do they know, the entire town is controlled by two rival gangs—operated by women. Joyce finds this out rather quickly, when one gang blackmails her and the other enlists her as a sort of double agent. As each episode progresses, Joyce finds herself having to embrace her inner criminal in order to outwit each of the gangs. Bullmore’s standout performance is one of the few things about the show that still shone brightly on my second viewing. As the reserved housewife thrust into absurd circumstances, her gift for facial contortions and John Cleese-esque physical comedy elevates everyone and everything around her.

While Bullmore plays one of the all-time great straight-women, her fellow cast members routinely play everything over-the-top in the face of the cartoonish stories. The effect is hit or miss, because in a show like this, it almost works better for the characters to play everything as deadly serious. The winking, in-on-the-joke performances reduce the level of suspense, which kinda doesn’t work when the writing wants us to believe Joyce really is in some sort of danger.

Nonetheless, the sharp satire (not as British-specific as you might think) and Amelia Bullmore’s sublime acting definitely make Suburban Shootout worth a rental. Just don’t blame me if you hate it.

Posted by Stan at 12:00 AM  | Permalink  | Print-Friendly  | Comments (0)  | Reviews