9/23/2011 sad sad

These are the only people who talk to me.

In Atlas Shrugged, there is a section where the head of the science institute sells himself out and murders what science means to people. From that point on, science means anything anyone wants it to mean. Anything can be claimed to be science and anything can be done in the name of science.

It ruins the man who does it. He had been respected by the population who didn’t know anything about science yet despised by those who knew enough about science to know that it made their jobs difficult if not impossible. His acceptance of the terms makes the “new science” legitimate. The point being made is that it’s not so much that the concept of science was destroyed, but the real tragedy is when one is part of doing such a thing.

Getting a movie made can be said to be impossible. Getting a movie made and then into theaters in wide release is even more difficult. Getting a movie made, into wide theatrical release and then having people go see it is so difficult that, statistically, we might as well say it is impossible. A “movie” is now only made unless it is a “sure thing”. A sure thing contains one of these elements.

• the project is a sequel
• the project is a remake
• the content previously existed as some other media; preferably a television show or comic book
• it is animated
• the project can spin off a toy
• a combination of any of the above

The fine folks who are bringing you movies are finally realizing that having a “name” in the movie doesn’t even matter, though if you do have a “name” attached to your movie, you will have a better chance of getting it made. Not much, though. It’s not on that list anymore.

Let’s say that at least $100 million dollars will be spent on the movie that fulfills one of those requirements. After marketing and all the other crap, it will cost even more. Easily. (I did some actor math (bad math) and your payments on a $100million dollar home [30 year fixed] would be about $300,000 a month.)

That may be the tail wagging the dog. It might be because movies cost this much that they must have all of those elements, but maybe not.

An actor who is “single card, main title” in a “movie” will easily make at least a month’s mortgage payment on that house but more likely negotiations start at a cool million. If you’re one of the people in the end crawl credits, you’re probably hovering around SAG scale. Maybe more, but…

And that’s not the point. Lots of money is spent on movies, why shouldn’t actors who are recognized in them make a boatload? No reason not to. It’s a very good thing. More people should make more money. If you’re starting out and get to work for one day on the latest Michael Bay crap-a-thon, making 600 bucks for the day is plenty. It’s a trade-off. Them’s the rules.

I understand, deeply, that actors like John Malkovich, Frances McDormand, John Turturro and Patrick Dempsey need to make money. They used to be able to do a couple movies a year and make a few hundred grand. Maybe a million bucks or more with a back-end deal. The type of movies that made them stars are not being made and distributed the way they used to. If they are being made, they’re being made for a relatively small amount of money. So, John Malkovich makes an okay amount of money doing what we call an “indie” film once every couple of years instead of a couple times a year.

On the other hand, Malkovich accepts the offer for TransformersIII and pays off every mortgage his family has ever thought of.

John Turturro tells himself “Hey, I do this Transformers diarrhea flow, they pay me 5 million bucks, I can go off and make that Strindberg bio-pic with my friends that I’ve been wanting to do since I got into this crazy game.”

Frances McDormand, who is a national treasure, can just work. Seen any interesting roles for women over 30 lately? ‘Nuff said.

Patrick Dempsey gets to play a bad guy. He probably got to drive one of the cars shown in his “office”.

They are actors and actors act. They can then do stuff they want to do. TransformersIII is just a money job.

We can forgive them.

Right?

Can we?

Really?

Here’s the problem. It’s not that great actors have jumped, smiling and tap-dancing, through flaming hoops of anal vomit. Not really… probably.

This is the problem: Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg can go to bed telling themselves that they have the approval of John Malkovich, Frances McDormand, John Turturro and Patrick Dempsey.

Michael Bay believes he has directed John Malkovich. He believes he has had some creative input into John Turturro’s world. Spielberg feels a kinship to the Coen Brothers because McDormand and her husband came over for dinner and they talked lenses.

The fact that those actors are in it, make TransformersIII an even more reprehensible piece of cunt-snot than it already is. Their presence makes TransformersIII legitimate. (A fine word – legitimate). They legitimize Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg. They have been let into the club of artists. They bought their way in.

After the bride and I “saw” it, I told her that I’d rather our toddler son, Duncan, watch Japanese fist porn. In Japanese fist porn, there are consequences for behavior. He would learn that someone shoving a fist up someone’s anus causes the other human being to feel something.

There’s nothing even close to that in Transformers. Actions that are possible dangerous or pleasureable cause nothing but posing. It’s not even porn. It’s people who hate themselves playing with toys.

And, you know, I find taking offense at things to be tedious. If you are offended, you should leave. Leave it to the people who are not offended. I will. I will leave TransformersIII alone. But I would simply like to point out a few things, beginning with this: The new Steppin-Fetchit is now the Asian-Guy-Who-Acts-Gangsta.

I think it’s very soon where most movies are computer animated and actors simply provide the voices. That’s fine. I’m not whining “ah why can’t we return to the era of Canon films and art like Alien from L.A.!! I’m just pointing out that the only thing that is going to draw us out of our homes and into a theater is pure spectacle. We are in a world where all that is demanded by audience is spectacle. The Cirque Du Solielification of entertainment. Fireworks. No story necessary.

And, truly, that’s fine. I work 9-5. There is enough story in my life. There really is enough drama and comedy every day in the news. My son is a story. My wife and I laugh and play and have drama. Going to see fireworks on the 4th of July is fun. I love watching things explode.

But, an hour of fireworks isn’t a one act play. Cirque Du Soleil isn’t an evening at the theater. TransformersIII isn’t a movie.

If we can dismiss the amorality of massive anonymous bodycounts, using the memory of a national disaster to force emotion into a fireworks display and excusing hyper violence because “it’s only a toy”, TransformersIII is simply an evening of fireworks with great actors slumming and paying off some bills.

On the other hand, if there’s a shred of idealism left in us then, by our attendance and refusal to hold people who know better accountable, we are letting Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg shove Hasbro Toys right up there where the poop comes out of us.

As a new parent, I’ve heard many horror stories about how kids die. Specifically, these two:
1) Drowing in the toilet and
B) Smothered by a sleeping parent.

I’ve done extensive google-ing and the only toilet drownings are parents murdering their kids by drowning them in the toilet. I’ve located one article about a parent smothering their child (this is really tough to write… sheesh). But not one article about accidental toilet drowning or parental smothering.

One woman who way into Facebook neglected a kid in the bathtub, but I don’t find a child drowning in the bathtub to be much of an extraordinary claim.

There are plenty of articles about kids being killed by the family dog or falling down stairs, but that’s it.

If you search you will find many articles with people saying that these things happen but with not one source attribution.

Regarding the smothering, a friend online said “it happens every day” and someone closely associated with the baby cult we’re in said something similar regarding toilet drownings. “It happens all the time. It’s horrible.”

I think it’s a myth. As parents, we have plenty of horrible crap to worry about. I’d like to reduce the millions of things to worry about by two. It’s the “Big Toilet Seat Lock” industry perpetrating their evil corporatism upon us!!! Either that or just well-meaning people wanting to protect children.

Two days ago, I updated my Front End Dev resume on Monster.com. I opted to leave it “searchable by employers” but what that means is “have 20 recruiters call me regarding jobs that I’m not qualified for”.
Not only am I getting calls about .net gigs and email about managing a C# team in Torrance, but I think I’m being stalked by one guy who actually sent me a poem via text-message.
And I (block)quote:

Dean, don’t be mean
i gotta crazy job for u
crazier than charlie sheen.

This is the jam
with a bit of penut butter
smashed with ham

Dean let me tell u about all the goodness i got in between!

True story. Really. It’s on my phone. I’ll show you sometime.

Each and every one of them leads with a variation of this line: “Hey, buddy, a colleague of mine just handed me your resume and I’d like to discuss a position that I think you’re a great fit for. Gimme a call back at Desperate Recruitment Solutions…” The ones who email me send a robot-killer: “A colleague of mine just handed me your resume and I’d like to discuss a position that I think you’re a great fit for, please send me your resume.”

They probably mean “updated resume” but still.

Here’s the problem with all of this. Up until a year ago, I’d been out of work for just about two years. That includes any showbiz stuff. I was scouring the boards… there was nothing for front-end guys. Now I have a very nice gig, but we are just now tying up the loose ends created by that nightmare. What I learned about these tech recruiters is that they do not have jobs that you are a perfect fit for. They are at the worst lying and and at the least just playing a numbers game – compile enough resumes and ‘heads’ and eventually, one will hit and their company will make the arm and leg they charge companies for their “service”. One place I worked was paying the recruiter $60/hr for my $30/hr job. And I never met the recruiter. They just sent my resume over.

I say “just” as if that’s nothing. I understand that one must cull through a billion submissions, but… just sayin’. It’s good money if you can get it.

The poet who is stalking me said he has a front end gig for me that pays 110k. There are no front end dev positions paying 110k. Not U.S. dollars, anyway. Yet.

As soon as a company passes on your resume, they are impossible to get on the phone. I actually made it in to the office of one recruiter and it was like the call center in Slumdog Millionaire. A big dry-erase board with goals and “this weeks winners”. (by the way, if you are a ruby or .net developer, you win at life). A bell was rung when someone filled a position. Horrible.

The experience that really soured me on them was the guy who was buddy, buddy, buddy with me – “they want someone with a sense of humor, buddy” and, after my phone cut out on his boss once, I wrote an email, apologizing to her, ending the email saying that I’d purchased my phone plan from a guy in Nigeria who also promised me 30 million dollars. Cute, right? “I’m sorry that our call ended so abruptly. Service in Los Angeles is maddening. I hope we can talk again soon. I don’t understand why service is so bad, etc. …” Starts off nicely and culpable and then adds a quick little “joke”. No poem… nothin. Right?

My buddy wrote back saying that his boss didn’t think I seemed professional. True story.

I guess I’m just sour on the flesh-peddler idea in general. Except for three people and you know who you are.

Now, if you actually DO have a front-end-dev gig in Burbank that pays over 100k/yr, please shoot me an email at my first name at this domain. Better still – a recurring t.v. gig that leads to a regular gig 2nd season leading to directing 2 episodes 3rd season. Howbout that, buddy?!

Why do we insist on treating each other like shit?

While busting her butt until late nights as sole editor for the provenz’ extravaganza, she also rises when duncan feels like getting up… usually 6am… and deals with him until either grandma or help shows up to hang with him. Unlike me, she is able to juggle work & family with a semblance of a social life and extra-curricular activities with friends.

Mainly, she is an amazing mother to our son. So concerned with his well-being and happiness that she takes responsibility for things that she probably shouldn’t be taking responsibility for. Patient and loving to him at times that anyone else would launch the boy into the ocean and be done with him.

She’s able to cut the The Green Room at home, so she can do important things with Duncan like spend actual “quality time” with him at the end of the day, feed him, give him his bath and put him to bed… and then go back to work. She takes care of me… listens to me whine about my stupid job and wasted life and has been dealing with ALL of the bullshit paperwork on our house.

Plus, she is funny and smart and is a Hottie McHottenberger, rockin’ the hotness each and every day. Even when she doesn’t think she is rockin’ the hotness.

We’ve been together just about 11 years and each and every day has been a delight. Except for that one. But that was my fault. Pretty much.

Happy Birthday, Jessie the chimp Marion. You rule. You are a superhero.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ethantudorw/2011/02/05/the-neverhood-show-episode-32-dean-cameron

Elena is Elena Verdugo. If you are old enough to remember Marcus Welby MD., you know who she is. If you’re old enough to remember Abbot & Costello meet Frankenstein, you know who she is. Yeah. Totally awesome.

Our friend, RRG, just sent us an episode of Celebrity Bowling Elena Verdugo and Ed Asner “competing” against Lorreta Swit and Gavin McLeod (guess when it was shot). Here are some screen caps.

The cool “tricycle” thing is one of the prizes. The announcer says that you can “help ecology” by using one.

I guess it worked, because the impending ice age never came.

• The bride and boy are ill. In the bad way.
• Security Edition cards were linked on an extremely popular blog called Daring Fireball.
• Lawrence O’Donnell had Penn and the hero, John Tyner, on his show and they talked A LOT about the Security Edition cards.
• Penn went on the Wolf Blitzer show and basically did a commercial for the Bill of Rights – Security Edition cards.

Nuttiness. In the good way. Except for the bride and boy being sick. That is no damned good. I think we’ll just end up going to Marie Callendars for bird slaughter day. I’m taking the lad by the grandparents.

In other news, I did an interview with a very nice young person at the Horror Hound convention. He put it up here:
http://moviemeltdown.libsyn.com/.

There’s good stuff about the convention and, most importantly: ME!

cough.

Happy turkey slaughtering. I, along with most everyone else who has a non-retail job, have the next four days off and that is good schtuffs.

I got a new Ralphs Cult Member card today because I realized that my millions of points are going to an old phone number that the card is linked to and I have no way of… who cares? I got a new card.

So, in honor of using a sharpie to make things interesting, I did this:

ralphs reWARds

One of the people in the house saw a little puppy that had been abandoned. People often abandoned their dogs in the Hills. Figuring they’d become coyote food quickly and their lives would be over soon… or something.

We went out to take a look and discovered the most adorable little puppy. There wasn’t much of a coat left, she had maggots living in her ears and she was beautiful.

Since I had the largest apartment in the house, I pretty much demanded that I keep her.

I took her to the vet, who then charged me about $1,000 to get her back in shape. At that point, there was no question that she was my dog. The only thing left was to figure out a name.

Around this time, there were these ubiquitous radio ads for “TOP FUEL FUNNY CAR” racing that began “SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY” and then these two nutjobs screaming their heads off about the races. They’d always announce the racers: “WITH SHIRLEY ‘CHA CHA’ MULDOWNEY, DON ‘THE SNAKE’ PRUDHOMME AND BIG DADDY DON GARLITZ!!!!!”

I was talking to a friend’s girlfriend on the phone about what to name the puppy and she suggested “Shirley ‘cha cha’ Muldowney. But, at that point, the puppy was feeling better and was ripping up some socks I had on the floor. The dog was definitely *not* a Shirley. She was definitely a “Big Daddy”.

Once Big Daddy got completely well I came home from not getting a part on television to discover her lying nearly lifeless in a closet. Back to the vet and I maxed the Visa with another grand. I was seriously thinking of changing her name to Visa. But I enjoyed yelling “Come Big Daddy, Come!!!” at the dog park and obedience training.

Speaking of obedience training. I became a nut about it. I lived The Monks of New Skeet (Skete?) for three months. Big Daddy was a Shepard/Chow mix and from what I know about dogs, Chows are nearly untrainable. Big Daddy had a very similar personality as mine. She would do something you wanted done only if it made sense to her. Very stubborn. Yet completely loyal and sweet. She also acted more intimidating than she was.

The training paid off. She was about as trained as she could be. I think it’s important that dogs are trained. It shows respect for them and, more importantly, for other people who may not like dogs.

The 2k was the most I’ve ever spent on an animal. I now have a $2000 rule: If it’s over that, the dog dies. I can take that money that I would have spent on a domesticated animal and give it to charity.

That’s a tangent…

I was apart from her for 6 months when I lived and worked in Le Vegas back in ’96. Other than that, she’s been with me since 1995. The longest successful relationship I’ve ever had. The bride still has another 5 years.

When I was at the nadir about 10 years ago I was living at a friend’s house, ostensibly to take care of his dogs, while he was out of town working and Big Daddy and his two dogs became great buddies. One of them was very, um, excitable and the two would tire each other out. Well, the friend’s dog would tire Big D out. Both of the other dogs died a couple years ago. I make the joke that the excitable one was so happy and dumb that it didn’t know he was riddled with cancer until he literally dropped dead. No one had any idea.

Speaking of no idea… One of the things that helped my case in the early days of romancing the bride was Big Daddy. Jessie thought that a guy with a dog wouldn’t be as self-centered as other guys. Hmmm. I think that was it. Something about being able to think of something else…

The last 15 years have been a rollercoaster. No career, financial ruin, a second career, a bride, a child, another career loss.. and the dog was always there. I had a human that I got closer to, and that’s always better. We made another human and that’s even better. I felt a bit as if I’d abandoned Big Daddy, but she loved Jessie and the feeling was mutual.

As a sort of dry run for caring for a child, we got another dog, Snoot Snout, a couple years ago. They never really got along the way we’d hoped they would, but they certainly didn’t fight or anything. There was a tolerance. Better than them fghting.

On the eve of thanksgiving 3 years ago, Big Daddy collapsed and began shaking. I took her to doggie emergency and the vet didn’t really know what was wrong with her other than “she’s getting old”. She was never the same after that. She wasn’t able to walk so well, she got dizzy and fell, she got more stubborn. But she still enjoyed going to the dog park. It was as if she had a minor doggie stroke.

She’s been deteriorating since then. Losing her sight. Losing weight. She hasn’t really been able to walk or exercise over the past year. She *could* manage to drag herself upstairs if she felt lonely, but sometimes she’d fall down the stairs. She wasn’t able to go *down* the stairs without tumbling.

For a month or so, she would, sometimes, not be able to get up to go outside to poop. When she was able to get outside to go to the bathroom, she’d invariably fall down into it. She hasn’t smelled good for a while.

So. I took her to the vet today and had her euthanized. It was incredibly sad. She was such a sweetheart and I felt so bad taking her there… as if I was abusing our trust.

I was crying all the way there and managed to pull it together once I got there. A woman waiting for her pet, began cooing over Big D. “What a great dog! She’s so sweet!” I managed to croak out “She’s 15… I’m having her put down… ” and was able to at least stifle the sobs. Poor woman.

After filling out the paperwork – I opted to *not* keep her ashes. I’d had a fantasy where I have her hollowed out by a taxidermist and then get her head unscrewable so I could use her as a coin jar. It was Ajay Sahgal’s suggestion and it always seemed perfect. Unfortunately, the income couldn’t really justify that sort of expense. Oh well.

Big Daddy - Nutty & Happy

A nurse took her away and put a catheter in her. They brought Big Daddy back. The Vet came in and explained to me what was going to happen. I nodded and then she injected Big Daddy with a pain killer. I had one hand around a paw and scratched her ears the way she always liked. After 30 seconds, Big Daddy sighed and just relaxed like she hadn’t relaxed in years. Breathing got very shallow. The vet was listening to Big Daddy’s heart with her stethoscope. After another minute, the vet nodded.

The Vet left me alone with Big Daddy. I kept petting her and sobbing. It’s just sad. So sad.

I managed to make it out of the office without causing a scene, sat in my car and cried for a while. I came home to my lovely wife and son and our stupid little yappy terrier, SnootSnout (if you’re a fan of The Frogs, you’ll understand the name).

My sweet old dog is dead. I will miss her. Big Daddy is dead. Long live Big Daddy.