A Series of "Firsts" - Part Two

Hello, Habitual Habitué!

At 8 pm I received an email with the call time for my second day of filming on Forensic Firsts.  Here's what it said:

Hey everybody!

Here's the information for tomorrow! The location is the Dartmouth United Church, on 54 Woodlawn Avenue. Maps are attached.

Richard, Terry, Craig, David, Eric, Justin, Jozel, Thaddius, your call time is 930AM

Deborah, your call time is 430PM

I've spoken to many of you already regarding your wardrobe, but some of you I have yet to mention what to bring. If you can bring 3 options of the following items, that would be ideal.

Deborah, please bring a selection of casual wardrobe options, your character is a mother in the 1980's.

David, please bring the following: Suits, sports jackets, dress pants, black dress shoes. Also bring a selection of casual clothing, such as jeans, button up shirts etc. We will be able to use you as two characters tomorrow!

Thaddius, please bring the following: Suits, sports jackets, dress pants, black dress shoes

If you have any questions, please email me ASAP.

See you all tomorrow!
-Adam

This was lot more complicated.  Whereas my last gig involved a simple wardrobe, late call time, and a handy close location, this day appeared to be the polar opposite.

With a 9:30 am call time and a shooting location on the opposite end of the HRM, the prospects of taking a bus to get there seemed pretty daunting.  Especially considering that the wardrobe requirements would have me lugging along a massive garment bag, a small rolling suitcase and my manbag/murse.

Mercifully the early start time dovetailed with my wife's work hours, allowing me to drive to the location early and then hand the car back over to her.  Frankly, I didn't give a crap if I was abducted by gypsies at the end of the day, just so long as I could get there and complete the shoot.

The night before I printed off three location maps, charted out a return bus trip, ironed everything precious and then packed up my luggage.  By the time I was finished it looked as if I was going on a business trip to Helsinki instead of going to a film set.

Knowing that I had reliable transportation allowed me to sleep quite soundly.  Unfortunately, my eyes still popped open by themselves at 5:30 am; a full hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off.

Unable to get back to sleep I got up at 6:15 and began to run around my apartment like Curly from The Three Stooges.  After scarfing down a bagel and packing up all my shiznit, we hopped into the car around 7:40.  I wanted to leave as soon as possible to give us plenty of time to find the church and make sure that my ever-patient wife had plenty of time to get to work.

Besides, the traffic fleeing Fairview in the morning is like watching someone pouring a thousand marbles into a funnel attached to a garden hose.  Extricating ourselves from this was tremendously frustrating at first, but it became smooth sailing just as soon as we got out of our subdivision and onto the bridge.  In fact, we managed to get to the church just a shade after 8 am.      

Since it was still ridiculously early, I just dropped my stuff off in the church basement, helped one of the crew set up some tables and chairs and then went out for a stroll to kill time and procure some caffeine.  I got back to set just before 9 am and by then some of my fellow background performers had arrived.  The crew was also rolling in, laying claim to their own individual corner of the basement.

While I filled out my paperwork, Adam was quick to give me the scoop.  In addition to serving as a sketch artist in a completely different episode, I'd be portraying yet another real-life figure for most of the day.  I was blown away when he told me that I'd be portraying Detective Tom Jensen, who was instrumental in capturing the notorious Green River Killer.

Prior to this, the only thing I really knew about this case was that it involved a serial killer, took place in and around the Pacific North West in the 1980's, and it inspired the name of a grunge band.  After investigating it further for this entry I discovered that Gary Ridgeway was convicted of murdering forty-eight women but later confessed to nearly double that number.  In fact, he's claimed responsibility for more murders then any other American serial killer.  In other words, this dude's real piece of work.

I barely had time for the shock to wear off before Candace wrangled me into the makeup chair.  This time instead of getting a scoutmaster side-sweep my hair ended up looking vaguely wind-tunnel tested.

Wardrobe then promptly went to work.  I hoped that my efforts in lugging along so much clothing wouldn't be in vain but after Beth-Ann and Sarah looked through the items I'd brought along (including no less then five shirts, a sport coat, and three pairs of pants), the only thing they instructed me to put on was a pair of dark grey pants and my dress shoes.  They augmented this with a lighter-color grey shirt and a tweedy-looking, green-gray sports jacket from their own costume bins.

But but when it came to picking an appropriate tie, they seemed a bit stymied.  To their trained eye, everything looked too contemporary and/or conservative.

"Hold on!" I enthused.  "I brought along an entire bag full of ugly ties!"

"Okay, let's see 'em," Beth-Ann replied.

After overcoming the stubborn knot that I'd tied in the bag I held up each tie in turn for her inspection.

"How 'bout this one?"

"Nope.  Still too modern."

"Really?  Okay, what about this one?"

"Nope.  Too hideous," she replied, perfectly straight-faced.  

"Youch.  Alright, what about this one?" 

"Nope.  Too bland."

"Huh.  Okay, I've got one here but it may be a bit too flashy."

I pulled out a stripy gold, blue and black number and suddenly her eyes lit up.

"Oh, wait a minute!  I think we can work with that!"

It was then that I realized that there's a fine line between 'loud' and 'hideous'.  

Also getting decked simultaneously was Jozel, who'd be playing my female counterpart.  Eventually they had her clad in a very sharp-looking black pantsuit, with her classic red lipstick a match for her fiery red hair.

The third member of our plain-clothes law enforcement triumvirate was Eric.  Tall, bald, and goateed, Eric truly looked the part of a real cop.  I remember being supremely jealous of him since, at some point in time, the props department gave him a very realistic-looking airsoft pistol and holster to wear.  Lucky!  (best said in Napoleon Dynamite voice)  

And then there were the "boys in blue".  Dark complected with a slim build and fashionable eye-ware, Justin was cast as a young cop.  Wry and world-weary Thaddius played a veteran gumshoe to perfection.  With their flowing, full heads of wavy hair, I initially thought that they were slightly miscast as cops but as soon as they were in costume and serving up some priceless reactions, my initial concerns proved to be baseless.  

We didn't have much time to sit around and chat.  Just as soon as we were prepped we were led over to the older church where the interior was dressed up to look like a police field office.  There were vintage desks, old filing cabinets, corded desk phones, and ancient typewriters all around.

Even more impressive: the far wall of the church was covered with four huge bulletin boards each one chock-a-block with fake crime scene photos, victim mug shots, witness statements, pinned maps and a slew of scribbled-up post-it notes.  Kinda like this:

I stood there in rapt fascination watching as the Set Dec folks colored all of this in, eventually crowning their display with a large banner that read: GREEN RIVER TASK FORCE.        

Once again Director Jay Dahl was front and center, co-ordinating all of the fevered activity.  He paused for a moment to say hello to us, giving me a chance to talk with him about the featured case.

"Yeah, I'm originally from the West Coast so the Green River Killer was actually a big deal while I was growing up.  He was pretty terrifying."

And with that he was right back at it.  Without a doubt, Jay is certainly a "hands on" Director.  He was like a whirling dervish on set: prompting people to fill out the bulletin boards with more notes, consulting with the camera and lighting crew on technical minutia and making sure that our skeezy-looking push-button phones were properly disinfected before we began to use them.

"We don't want our Actor Friends getting sick!" he declared before moving on to something else.

Now, some people might consider the whole "______-Friends" thing to be an affectation but I thought it was a great way to generate good karma.  When you're shooting very quickly and without a great deal of money, it's critically important to keep the cast and crew in good spirits.  Although there were moments when time constraints and logistic headaches were clearly resulting in frustration, everyone on the set of Forensic Firsts seemed to be getting along famously.  

Eventually Jay instructed Jozel and I to take a seat at our designated desks so they could light us and pull focus.  After this was done, Jay gave us our marching orders.  After the Green River Task Force puts out a request for tips in the media, the office gets completely slammed with phone calls.  Indeed, the scene would best be described as "fevered activity".    

In order to properly sell a harried and overworked office, Jay jumped in and began to dress up our desks with coffee cups, newspapers, file folders, occurrence reports, half-eaten bagels, dried out orange wedges and discarded banana peels.  He even went so far as to give Jozel's desk a light sprinkling of bread crumbs.  If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the dude probably started his film career as a Set Decorator.

Which sort of brings me to another fascinating aspect of film-making: creating a series of visually compelling images.  Have you ever watch a movie or a T.V. show and suddenly noticed how flat, drab and lifeless everything seems to be?  That it kinda looks like someone's crappy home video?   Well, it's usually because the Director and Cinematographer haven't made any effort to create depth of frame.

Now I know that were weren't exactly shooting Silence of the Lambs but Jay always seemed concerned with creating a visually compelling shot.  Between takes he'd even dive in and assemble these little dioramas of detritus on top of copy paper boxes and place them in the foreground in front of the camera lens.  He was also keen on making sure that there were plenty of interesting things to look at in the background.

Despite this attention to detail, the phone that I'd been given wasn't for a desk.  In fact, to me it looked as if someone had just ripped it off a wall somewhere:

Laying flat on my desk, the receiver kept sliding off the hook whenever someone so much as glanced at it.  I mentioned this to Jay during one of his pass-by's and he agreed that it wasn't going to work.  After  swapping it out for a traditional phone, we promptly got down to brass tacks.

"Okay, Actor Friends, you've put out a request for tips from the public and now your office is being swamped with phone calls.  Try as you might, you just can't keep up with it.  This scene is all about exasperation and frustration.  You'll be on the phones, you'll finish with that call, hang up and not two seconds later the phone will ring again.  It's gonna be non-stop.  I also want you taking notes.  Try and come up with some real-looking names since we're going to do close-ups of this later!"

And just like that we were off and rolling.  Once again, even through there was no dialogue, we still had to emote our irritation and indignation.

"Oh, wow, that's great exasperation, David!" I heard Jay say at one point.

He followed this up by guiding me through an improvised telephone call in which I was allowed to audibly converse with him.

"Okay, David, you're at your desk, you're writing notes and then 'R-I-I-I-I-I-NG!', it's the phone!"

I snatched up the receiver.  

"Hello?" I demanded, rather testily.

"Is this Jensen?"

"Yes..."

"Jensen!  What the hell is going on down there?!?"

With Jay virtually screaming at me, I reacted instinctively to his taunts.

"Now wait a minute...!"  I shot back.

"You're useless, Jensen!  You're never gonna catch this guy!"

"Hey, what do you expect?" I reflexively countered.  "We have no resources and our manpower is stretched to the limit!"

"You think you're smart, huh?  You haven't got a clue!"

"What?!?" I sputtered back.

"Yeah, that's right, you heard me!" he shouted.  "You're useless!"

"I'm useless?!?  What about you people...?  Why don't you..."

"I bet you won't hang up on me!"

"Oh yeah?!?"

 "Yeah!  I bet you don't have the guts to hang up on me!"

"OH YEAH?!?"

"YEAH!!!"

*SLAM*

Friggin' brilliant.      

After Jay put Jozel and I though various permutations of this, the camera operators come in for a series of close-ups of various discarded items on my desk.  The camera man then expertly captured some whip-pans and quick zooms of us talking on the phone to create a mood of confusion, disorientation and all-around chaos.  During one take he asked me to stand up, whip my jacket off and roll up my sleeves.  He also called the makeup crew in to make Jozel look more harried and stressed out, even throwing a few bread crumbs from the desk into her hair!

I was then tasked to write down a series of names in my tiny notepad while I was being filmed.  Naturally, I used the names of various people in my life: my wife, friends and family members.  It's highly unlikely that it'll ever be legible on-screen but I thought this was more realistic then writing down shit like "Chuck Norris" and "Kim Kardashian".

While I was scribbling away, Jay would direct me to "circle the fifth name", "cross off the third name", "write a new name", "mark a star next to that" or tap the note pad.  When he asked me to come up with  a fictional phone number, I couldn't resist starting it with with "555".  Just as soon as Jay saw me doing this in the monitors he shouted: "Hey!  This guy knows about the '555' exchange!  We've got a real actor here!"  When I'd completely filled the page up, Jay asked me to pick up the note pad and "cheat it" (angle it) towards the camera without being super-obvious about it.

After depicting an office environment clearly stretched to the breaking point, things got even more intense.  I finally got my chance to be a first-hand witness to one of the greatest crime drama clichés ever...

The F.B.I. cometh.

Next time:

• We have an unscripted Matrix moment.
• In the immortal words of Huey Lewis and the News: "Gotta get back in time!"
• If I'm actually drained and exhausted while playing drained and exhausted, does this make me a method actor?    
• I participate in a "whisper party".  
• I'm thrown into the skin of another character and then switch back again!  
• The stress of the experience ages me a good twenty years.

EPIC  Y'know, I'm not a big proponent of capitol punishment, but I'd gladly make an exception for this Gary Ridgway creep...



FAIL  Whattaya mean these freaks and murderers are running free?!?

A Series of "Firsts" - Part One

Felicitations, Forensic Fiends!

I'm afraid that I've created a monster.

In April of 2010 I started this blog.  I used to do five entries a week but it was just too much to maintain.  Eventually I dropped it down to three entries and now I shoot for four posts a month.

But this doesn't mean that I'm slacking off: quite the opposite in fact.  In the interim I started up an entertainment review blog and another site for tabletop gaming.  Maintaining these three webby publications ("weblications?") on a regular basis keep me pretty friggin' busy, so much so that I tend to miss out on some real world (ergo: paying) opportunities. 

I hadn't done any background film work since the Stephen King A&E miniseries Bag of Bones back in September of last year and I was starting to get the itch to get back on set again.  Thing is, I'm often so immersed in my self-imposed writing deadlines that I don't actively troll the casting websites looking for gigs.  Which is insanely stupid since the film work actually pays me something and all my writing seems to do lately is bump up a hit counter.     

In order to properly set up this week's entry there's one other thing that I have to tell you: my friends send me a shit-ton of emails.  Honestly, I know that these people go to a place that they call work but I harbor some serious doubts if any actual work actually takes place there at all.  Cripes, back in my old call centre job I rarely risked sending an external email lest I be taken back behind the service entrance for what could only be called an Old Yeller special.

I'm also in a table-top gaming group with these passionate, dice chuckin' lunatics so between Monday and Wednesday my inbox kinda looks like friggin' Obama's.  The annoying thing is that I'm legitimately interested in the reading everything they send but I have to make a concerted effort to do so.  Sometimes it feels like another job, especially after I've finished editing an epic movie review or transcribing a lengthy board game session report.

And that was my precise mind-set last week.  I didn't check my email from Monday April 30'th until May 7'th.  Honestly, this was really weird for me.  Last Monday I finally broke down and had a peek at what had come through.  I was horrified when I came across the following notification:

 Hey there!

You fit the description of a character we are casting for Forensic Firsts season 2!

Forensic Firsts is a crime investigation docu-drama, produced for The Smithsonian Channel. We are shooting the dramatized re-enactments.

Shoot dates aren't set in stone yet, but are looking like they'll fall on or between May 9th and May 11th. The character will likely be for one full day (10hrs+) of shooting, potentially two. Shooting takes place within the HRM and you would require your own transportation. Lunch will be provided.

Please let me know if you're interested, available on those days, and if you still match your photos on the Hennessey Casting database.

If the answer to all of the above is 'yes!', then I'll show your head shots to the director and producers for final approval.

Please let me know ASAP! Thanks!

Adam

My heart shriveled up.  The email had been sent six days ago, which in movie terms might as well have been six months ago.  I was already somewhat familiar with Forensic Firsts, not because I'd seen the show (it's a U.S. exclusive on the Smithsonian Channel) but because some people I know in a local acting group had raved about their experience working on the show.

Despite how stale the offer was, I crossed my fingers and gamely wrote back, leading with an abject apology before asking if there was still something left for me to do.  Needless to say I positively jumped for joy after reading the following response:

Hi David,

Thanks for getting back to me!

We have cast most of the roles, but still have some left for Wednesday May 9th. We would need you for a full day, morning until evening. Exact times are being worked out, and the location is likely to be near the Armdale Rotary.

Please let me know ASAP if you're interested and available.

Thanks!

Adam

Although I'd probably missed out on a really sweet opportunity I was just happy to get back on a film set and hang out with some more cool n' creative people.  I didn't care if they intended to turn me into a human coat rack, I still still super-excited.  

I got the following location and call time email from Adam later on that evening:

Hi David,

I just left a voicemail on the number you have listed on the Hennessey Casting database for tomorrow, but just to reiterate, here are the details.

Your call time tomorrow is 11:00AM and the location is the Chocolate Lake Rec Center on 14 Purcell's Cove Road. I've attached some maps.

Wardrobe would like you to bring the following items:
- casual jeans (not baggy)
- dark shoes (not bright white sneakers)
- casual spring or fall jacket

Also, we can't have logos or brand names on the clothing.

Thanks, and see you tomorrow!
-Adam
         
This email represented a genuine trifecta of pure "win" for me.  First off, the call time was at 11 am and not, say, 6 am.  Secondly, the location was only about a ten minute drive from my place.  And finally: for once I'd be wearing casual clothes on a film set!

I dutifully packed three options for every requested article of clothing into my rolling suitcase.  I always bring along loose leaf and pens to write with and a book to keep me busy, but I'm usually so excited being on set that I never remember to use them.  Either I'm yakking with someone I know or I'm intensely studying the efforts of the crew as they set things up.  

Despite charting out my journey via bus (with its overly-optimistic travel time estimate of twenty minutes), I still left the house @ 9:30 to give me plenty of time to get over there.  Which was a wise move in retrospect since Metro Transit decided to throw in a twenty minute layover at the Mumford Terminal while I was waiting for my connector to show up.

The bus driver graciously let me off just a stone's throw away from the Chocolate Lake Rec Centre at around 10:15 am.  Once again, I'd arrived before any orientation signs had been set out so I just kinda stumbled around like Tom Hanks in The Terminal for a little while.  Mercifully, A.D. Adam, who'd sent me the previous communiqués, noticed me drifting around like a concussion victim and came over to introduce himself.

After taking me to holding down in the basement, he expertly filled me in what was going on. 
Every script for Forensic Firsts is based on a real-life crime story.  This particular episode dealt with a New Jersey teenager named Jason Henry who was accused of deliberately setting a lethal fire that killed his parents back in 2007.  After local police were quick to point the finger of blame at Jason, an entire community worth of character witnesses immediately rushed to the boy's defense.

Pretty meaty stuff, huh?
   
"Like I said in the email, we've already cast most of the roles," Adam told me.  "But we've still have a specific character that we want you to play: Jason's scout master comes out to proclaim his innocence at a press conference!"

Wow, this would indeed be a first for me.  Not only would I be portraying a character that figures prominently in a shot, I'd actually be playing a real person.

Soon wardrobe gals Sarah and Beth-Ann had me decked out in a tan-colored, badge-bedecked shirt with a blue neckerchief.   Not unlike this:

Then makeup-girl-extraordinaire Candace was charged with laying on the spackle.  After finishing my makeup, she applied gel to my hair and began twisting it into natty-looking side-sweep.

"Good Lord," I told her.  "You're not giving me dreads, are you?"

"Yes, didn't get the email about that?" she replied plaintively.

"Man, I gotta start reading the fine print," I muttered.

"Oh there was no fine print!" she quickly countered.

"Alright!  Alright!" I protested.  "But I gotta draw the line at..."

"Beads?" she said with a wry smile.  "Too late..."

I was delighted to see that fellow HalifACT!or Dale Willman had been cast in the role of Jason's mother and I'd be side-by-side with her at the "press conference".  Also along for the ride was a lovely retired gent named Gordon who played the part of Jason's priest.  This episode represented a first for Gordon as well: his first time ever being on set!

"Oh, you're in for a real treat!" I told him as I helped him fill out his daunting-looking paperwork.

The great thing about doing a fair amount of background work in a small city is that you start to recognize the crew and get to know quite a few of them.  For example, production assistant/human dynamo Zoe (who I'd worked on an indie film with just after the holidays) was like a house on fire.  Within a few minutes she's conjured up a fully-laden crafts services table, apparently from out of thin air.

I can tell you first hand: the fine folks who work professionally in the enterprise of illusion really work their asses off.  Say 'no' to downloading, kids.     

As we were being called to set I couldn't resist asking Adam about what part I was originally up for.

"Well, we hadn't nailed down anything specific.  We were going to pass your head shot along to the director for a possible feature role."

Feature role?  Feature role?!?  Man, I'd really screwed the pooch on this one.  My only hope was to try and do my best today, atone for this grievous oversight and hopefully make a positive impression. 

We were led into the rec centre's small gymnasium which was now draped with American flags, television lights and a slew of protest signs proclaiming Jason's innocence.  The set was dominated by small stage bearing a makeshift podium adorned with about eight or nine fake microphones.  Soon the room was positively congested with sign-wielding student protesters, professional-looking reporter types and ersatz cameramen and photographers.

*POOF!* just like that...instant U.S.-style media circus.        

Co-ordinating all of this fevered activity was veteran director Jay Dahl.  Jay is something of a local institution, having donned the producer's hat for Picnicface's feature film debut Roller Town (which I'd also worked on).  He was also the driving force behind a slew of creative indie films, including the genuinely unnerving Body Snatcher-esque horror feature There Are Monsters and the saucy comedic sci-fi short Sex! With Hot Robots.  He also scored a Best Director Award from the DGC for his debut film The Wedding Video back in 2001.

Although I've never watched an episode of Forensic Firsts (and can't, even if I wanted to), I imagine that the program probably employs a combination of documentary footage, dramatic recreation and voice-over work.  In addition to playing a character in costume, I'd soon be engaging in yet another first for me.

I'd actually be acting somewhat. 

Jay put Dale, Gordon and myself up on the stage to address the crowd of thirty or so extras.  Although we didn't have lines per se, we did mime being sad, outraged, frustrated and then resigned.
The first set-up had the camera locked down at the gym entrance, pointing at the stage through a veritable maze of protest signs.

Starting with Dale, all three of us gave an impassioned "speech" at the podium which required some creative ad-libbage.  The most challenging aspect of this was when Jay tasked us to deliver our "dialogue" in a halting, Bill Shatner style which I presume would be used to create some sort of slow-motion effect.

Once again, I'm endlessly thankful for my past experience doing training and public readings since one of the hardest things you can do is talk slowly in front of thirty people.  The natural tendency in a situation like that is to try and get everything out in a mad rush and then promptly flee the scene.  Fortunately, I didn't find this to be particularly difficult.  In fact, in some weird way, it was actually kinda fun.  

While Jay prompted her to gesture at a prop locket which had a picture of the kid playing Jason inside,
Dale launched into a genuinely heartfelt speech.  During this time, "Father" Gordon was asked to comfort her and I spent my time looking indignant, patting Dale reassuringly on the arm and gesturing at some of the loopier signs being carried by the protesters.

When I was asked to take the podium I just started blabbering on about whatever came to mind.

"I've know this boy since he was knee-high to a grasshopper!  There is NO WAY that Jason is capable of such a monstrous act!  The police are railroading this innocent teenager!  They're looking for an quick and easy scapegoat!"

As ridiculous as this may seem, try picture it being said by Kevin Pollack doing a bad Captain Kirk impersonation.

At the end of each line, Jay would direct the crowd to respond in some way.  Either with murmuring (with an intensity level ranging from one to ten), reporters firing makeshift questions at us, paparazzi firing off flashbulbs and the crowd going positively ape shit with a full-out roar of approval and signs held aloft.  It was a blast.

Jay was a master at fostering good karma on set.  Every time he needed something done, he'd refer to that department and include the suffix "friends".  For example, if he wanted more color on the back wall behind us, he'd say "Art Dec Friends, I was wondering if we could get a few more flags and signs on that back wall?"  If he needed us back lit he'd say "Lighting Friends, I was wondering if we could get another small flood back there behind Dale."  If he needed us to actually pay attention instead of babbling excitedly at one another like excited school kids he'd day "Actor Friends, how about we try this?"

He also employed a few really interesting stylistic techniques, including a "frozen tableau" which had all of us standing motionless for what felt like an eternity.  He also orchestrated an interesting fade-out which saw us slowly drifting off the set and out of frame, one at a time.  I imagine that it produced a pretty cool effect, helping to convey the impression that support for Jason was slowly fading away.

We had a brief break while the crew moved the camera onto the podium to get reverse coverage of our speech.  After Jay captured this and got plenty of reaction footage of the protesters we were informed that a basketball game was slated to repossess the gym so we quickly wrapped things up and hit the bricks.

Although it was only a five hour day, I still had an absolute blast.  I'd played an actual role, worn a real (if not slightly dweeby) costume, stood front and center on screen, and was actually asked to ad-lib and emote!

Although I was out of town this past weekend, I was certainly quick to check my email today.  Imagine my surprise when I read this:

Hey David!

I hope you're checking your email this week, because I want to cast you in a feature role for TOMORROW MAY 15 2012

We're still working out the call times, but it will probably be 9AM, and lasting all day. The location is the ___________.

Please get back to me ASAP, either by email or call me on our office phone, 902-***-****.

-Adam

But that's a story for another day...

EPIC   The amazing true story behind this episode of Forensic Firsts.

FAIL  What you don't want to have captured forever.

The Big "C"

Greetings, Fellow Carbon-Based Life Forms.

I hate to get all "Debbie Downer" on y'all, but The Big "C" has been on my mind recently.  And by recently, I mean all of my life, but increasingly so in the past week.

This past Friday Adam Yauch (a.k.a. M.C.A.), founding member of the hip-hop group The Beastie Boys, died.  He was only forty-seven years old.

I remember seeing the video for "(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party)" from Licensed to Ill back in 1986 but it didn't inspire me to pick up the album.  At the time I thought The Beastie Boys  were just a novelty act, plus I was heavily into THE METAL at the time.  Even though rap music was barely on my radar, I could still appreciate the rebellious nature of this fresh, fly, pimp jam.    

Then, when I was in university, I heard the album Paul's Boutique for the first time and I was instantly blown away.  I purchased every B-Boys album that followed and their music really sustained me during the mid-to-late 90's when music sucked Herculean amounts of ass.

In 2009 Adam was diagnosed with cancer of the salivary glands, a condition that he optimistically characterized as "very treatable".  He underwent surgery and radiation therapy prior to the release of the band's amazing eighth studio album Hot Sauce Committee Part Two.  Unfortunately Adam was too ill to appear in any music videos or tour in support of the new album.  He also couldn't make it when the Beastie Boys were inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame in December of 2011.

He passed away on May 4, 2012.


In my own circle, the Big C constantly seems to be rearing its ugly head.  Most of the time I feel like one of the more lily-livered characters in Harry Potter, with their inability to utter the name "Voldemort".  I feel that by saying "CANCER" out loud I'm empowering it somehow or courting its cruel regard.

My closest friend lost his Dad last year.  The disease claimed both parents of another close friend.  At least five of my wife's relatives have fought against it.  Personally speaking, I've lost two Grandparents and an Aunt.

Some people try and tell me that we've just come to a stage in our lives when we should expect to hear news like constantly.  Some people say that just as many people died of cancer back in pre-Victorian times as they do now; they just weren't diagnosed.

To that I unequivocally say: horseshit.

You mean to tell me that we can put people on the friggin' moon and arm everyone with palm-held personal computers, but for some reason, we can't even lower cancer rates?

I think there's been no progress on the elimination of cancer for the very same reason that there's been no elimination of modern warfare.  It's just too big of a business.

Worst still, I'm becoming increasingly convinced that there's a deliberate campaign to put carcinogenic additives in our environment, perhaps to fuel this grim industry.  Why else would the government allow such clearly harmful things to happen on their watch?

There's bad shit happening to our food:



Our air:



Our water:





Hells, even our friggin' containers ain't kosher :

(in an odd but fortuitous bit of synchronicity make sure to listen for "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys at the 31 second mark in the trailer below for Tapped)



Of course, I'm writing this with a bottle of Dasani sitting on my desk.  F#@ksticks.  

And then I'm hearing more and more stories about possible cancer cures that aren't getting developed simply because no company has a patent on it and, subsequently, there's no profit to be made.



And then there's this fascinating local story:



Who knew that the scariest Big "C" out there really stood for "corporatism"?

Although I can't confirm the validity of these cures, I can tell you one thing for sure.  There seems to be a helluva lot of money tied up in something that's making absolutely no discernible progress.

For me, cancer continues to hit increasingly close to home.  It's also denied the world any new Beastie Boys albums and tours. 


F#@k cancer.  F#@k it up its stupid ass.   


EPIC   No more inspired genius.  Like this...    




Or this...





Or this...



Or this...




Or this:




FAIL  Follow the money.

I Wish...

• ...that I was motivated by money.
• ...that I didn't possess a shred of creativity.
• ...that I liked making co-workers look bad so that I could look good.
• ...that I was devoid of imagination. 
• ...that I was terrified of what people thought of me.
• ...that I wanted an iPhone.
• ...that I could work for an unethical company without losing sleep. 
• ...that I could be content watching network television all the time.
• ...that I'd never travelled anywhere.
• ...that I only ever watched mainstream news.
• ...that I didn't like to read.
• ...that I liked processed food.
• ...that I enjoyed f#@king people over for a percentage.
• ...that I had absolute, unwavering faith in my own beliefs, regardless of conflicting evidence. 
• ...that I could spawn a litter of kids without thinking about it.
• ...that I liked Nicki Minaj, Rascal Flatts and Bruno Mars.
• ...that I was 100% right about everything all the time and everyone else was wrong.
• ...that I defined success by how much stuff I owned.  
• ...that I didn't follow politics.
• ...that I was a fan of movies that all have the same ending.
• ...that I liked to text.
• ...that I had fashion sense and liked spending money on clothes.
• ...that I cared about Kardashians, Bachelors, Divas, Dancing, Home Renovation and Orange-Colored Idiots.    
• ...that I was convinced that things can never change or get any better.  
• ...that I was obsessed with sports to the detriment of everything else.
• ...that I could be happy while being house poor.  
• ...that I could drive an SUV in good conscience. 
• ...that I thought there was no-one else on the planet except myself.
• ...that I didn't think about where shit goes after I throw it out.  
• ...that I had an interest in personal finance.  
• ...that I could blissfully fritter away large chunks of my life making money for people who don't know that I exist. 
• ...that I felt obligated to force my faith and morality on other people.
• ...that I could feel a sense of righteous indignation whenever someone less fortunate then me gets some much-needed help.   

I wish for all of these things because I think it would make life a lot simpler.  

EPIC:  Be warned, if you click on this you run the risk of complicating yourself.  

EPIC SHIRT:

EPIC DAD  Mike's back and he's droppin' science, yo.

FAIL:  Terrific, we now live in a era in which politicians equate mind-expansion with snobbery.  I wonder why?   

ECD Radio is On The Air!

Hey, Fellow Babies!

As a kid I didn't actively listen to the radio very often but whenever it was on in the background, it always seemed to proffer some sort of auditory revelation.  For example, I distinctly remember half-hearing the Peter Gabriel tune "Games Without Frontiers" on the radio back in 1980 and promptly becoming obsessed with it.

Ironically, it was television that really piqued my childhood interest in radio.  Even as a ten year old kid I had an inexplicable fascination for the following show:

  

Cripes, even people who were adults in the 70's probably don't remember that particular nugget of pop culture flotsam.

Hello, Larry was a sitcom that aired for two inexplicable seasons on NBC, back when the station's call letters stood for "No Body's Choice".  It centered around the life of Larry Alder (penitent M.A.S.H. deserter McLean Stevenson), a divorced radio talk show host who leaves L.A. for the greener pastures of Portland, Oregon (?).

Right from the start, Hello, Larry embodied every lame sitcom cliche: bland characters, contrived plots and broad attempts at "humor".  Whenever I'd ask my parents if I could watch it they'd scoff and respond with "Why?  That stupid show is too foolish to talk about!"  Late night czar Johnny Carson took frequent and merciless pot-shots at the beleaguered sitcom during his Tonight Show monologues.  Despite the critical drubbing and virtually non-existent ratings, NBC actually renewed it for a second season (which really says a lot about the sad state of the network at the time).

In a vain effort to staunch the hemorrhaging exodus of viewers, the producers shifted their focus away from Larry's time at the radio station to his mundane home life.  As a discriminating critic, I positively despised these changes and immediately stopped watching.  In losing their one and only dedicated supporter, Hello, Larry also lost its raison d'être and it was cancelled not long after.  

But, man, I loved that first season, which mainly featured Larry attempting to deal with his insane co-workers at the radio station, all the while heaping abuse upon the weirdos calling into his talk show.  So enamored was I of this concept that I promptly co-opted my Dad's tape recorder and invented my own radio station, appropriately named C.R.A.P.

I took the high-concept core of Hello, Larry and cross-pollinated it with sketch comedy shows like S.C.T.V. and Newfoundland's very own Wonderful Grand Band.  To ensure that my own good name would never be linked to such lunacy, I invented an on-air persona named Larry Lovebug.  Okay, so I wasn't the most creative kid in the world.

Originally a parody of the classically smarmy "RADIO VOICE", my Larry eventually morphed into an über-hostile version of the McLean Stevenson character.  He became a narcissistic, abusive jack-hole who held the other shows in open contempt and constantly bitched about the overall sorry state of the station.

There were several regularly scheduled programs on C.R.A.P., including a parody of Phil Donahue's talk show called The Phil Interview Show.  There was a darkly humorous (?) recurring skit about an old woman who experiences incessant bouts of cardiac arrest and the eternally on-call medical team tasked to aid her.  I staged elaborate radio plays featuring my Star Wars, Buck Rogers and superhero action figures.  I had an ongoing horror series about explorers raiding the tomb of a restless undead mummy which spawned no less then four sequels!

Only my closest friends or my poor long-suffering parental units would ever be witness to this lunacy.  If we went on a road trip, I'd take my tape recorder along, much to the delight of my Mom and Dad.  Occasionally I have re-enforcements in the form of my equally loopy cousins Debbie and Donna.   Together we'd invent all sorts of zany characters and ridiculous shows, half of which seemed to be populated or hosted by stuffed animals.

Stephenville's own home-brew radio station / comedy gold mine C.F.S.X. was a frequent target for my sophmoronic wit.  I mercilessly spoofed the station's community events calendar via What's Goin' On? (hosted by the eternally enraged Suzie Seasick), poked fun at the Day & Ross Road Report (read by the barely-conscious Merry Dowdie), and parodied their daily radio market place show Teleshop (which I wittily re-christened as Teleslop, har de har-har).

As great as all of this high-brow humor was, the concept really took off when I first laid eyes on this classic show back in 1981:



Being only eleven or so at the time, I didn't quite get all of the subtle humor and innuendo on W.K.R.P., but I certainly fell in love with the characters and the music Johnny and Venus played.  This new data had a direct impact on my own enterprise.  Larry's last name became the infinitely more respectable "Drake", the format was switched from talk to modern pop and the station's call-letters changed from C.R.A.P. to C.F.A.P.  Which, in modern parlance, really isn't an improvement.

In order to facilitate the playing of music, I acquired a second tape player.  Whenever I wanted to introduce a song (usually from a K-Tel tape like "Right On", "Hit Express", or my own personal favorite "Star Tracks") I'd cue it up on the second player and then un-pause it when I was ready to roll.  This allowed me to blabber inane bullshit right up to the point when the lyrics began, just like a real D.J.!

Honestly, when you're twelve year old kid and figure this shit out, you feel like a friggin' savant!

I hit a metal phase in 1982, prompting a change in the music format.  Larry became a minor character and full-time foil for a new, hip D.J. named "David" (okay, imagination really wasn't my strong suit).  Although I'd sneak in the odd "retro" comedy bit or original radio play amongst all of the Ozzy Osbourne, Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, all I really wanted to do was play pretend D.J. for music that I would never hear on the radio.  By the time I turned thirteen, I'd outgrown my fictional radio station and C.F.A.P. promptly went out of business.

It's a pity that some teacher or authority figure didn't discover my crazy secret broadcasting career.  If only I'd had the chance to funnel some of this unrefined yet manic energy into something productive like a High School drama class.  Oh, wait, our lame-ass High School didn't have a friggin' drama class...scratch that.

Nearly a decade later, the following movie rekindled my interest in radio:



Since we only got a half-way decent radio station here in Halifax just last year (in the blessed form of Live 105), the idea of starting up a pirate radio station has always been kind of attractive to me.  Although I have no desire to wax philosophical on the air like Mark Hunter in Pump up The Volume or Chris Stevens on Northern Exposure,  I would certainly liked to have heard The Pixies, Sonic Youth and Soundgarden on the local radio over the past twenty years.  

So, for the first time in almost three decades (*Yikes!*), I'm hosting a radio show courtesy of modern techmology and the Internetz.  Ive long since traded in my dual tape players for a single digital audio recorder.  My old, now-distorted analog magnetic tapes have been replaced by a massive CD collection rendered through my iPod.  And thanks to the magic of Audacity and Internet Archive, I can finally have listeners beyond the poor bastards within earshot of me.

Pleeze lissun if you wantz:






EPIC  Thank God, Vishnu, Crom, Zeus, Odin and Lemmy for internet radio.

FAIL  This show was a friggin' abomination.  And I liked Hello, Larry, fer Chrissakes!

 

"Resurrection" Redux

Hello, Persistent Purveyor of Proselytizing Prose.  

Just over two years ago I started writing my first blog.  It's been a tremendous boon since it put me on a self-enforced writing schedule.  At first I had such a backlog of pre-written stuff that I could easily do five posts a week but eventually I had to drop it down to three a week and then just weekly in order to finish editing my first book.  

In the interim I started to work more and more in the realm of video.  I also launched two spin-off blogs: one entertainment/review related and the other tabletop game related.  Right now, juggling all of these things pretty much occupies every moment of my waking life.  

For the two year anniversary of my Emblogifcation Capture Device I wanted to go back to that premier  entry for two reasons: 

1. To Pull A Lucas and spruce it up a bit.  Now I'm not gonna render the post in 3-D or add in a ton of pointless links, photos, video and racist references.  I just wanted to show people that, yes, I know how to embed a f#@king link now.  
2. To Pull A Coppola and do a running commentary about that first entry.  Y'know, just to give folks some insight into my headspace, my creative decisions, how I've progressed as a writer and where I stand on the blog's future.

Which is on its neck, as it turns out...  

In doing so, I'm predicting an absolutely riveting experience not just for myself, but for readers as well.  Oh and a word about the formatting: the original post text is in bold with my commentary in italicized quotes.

Alright...ready?  Here goes!   

Greetings, Gentle Reader.

"It's beaten into my head that you should always have some sort of greeting when addressing readers.  Steven King did it religiously in non-fiction books like Danse Macabre or On Writing.  I kinda dig it; it acknowledges that someone's actually taking the time to read what you wrote and it re-enforces the relationship going forward.  Reading other blogs I'm surprised by just how many of them don't have a greeting of any sort.  It's like 'Okay, no foreplay, huh?  Just up with the skirt and we're at it?'  Yeeesh."      

Welcome to my Emblogification Capture Device!

"I originally wanted to call my blog 'You Can't Get There From Here' since I always wanted to be a professional writer but the call centers I worked in to pay the bills seemed totally removed from this dream.  Every morning on the way to work I'd make all of these grand plans to write when I got home, but it never seemed to work out.  After spending an eight-and-a-half hour day sitting in front of a computer screen and doing something that I totally despised, the only thing I wanted to do when I got home was to get vaguely drunk and play video games.

"Unfortunately some jack-hole had already taken http://youcantgettherefromhere.blogspot.ca/ so I had to think up a second choice.  I was watching Weezer's Video Capture Device and a whole lungful of Whedonized T.V. at the time (Buffy, Angel, Firefly...et all) so it's quite likely that these two geeky influences synthesized into my consolation prize title.  

"As it turns out this was a blessing in disguise since 'Emblogification Capture Device' is a lot more unique and it's the first thing that pops up in a Google search."

Before I go any further I'd like to give a shout-out to Michael Chiasson, who's considerably less frivolous blog "Daddy's Home" (http://brodiedaddy.blogspot.com/) gave me endless inspiration. Not necessarily to reproduce, but just, y'know the idea to...*ahem* blog about something. Trust me, I just spent Easter weekend with my wife's sister's kids and I'm seriously considering a procedure. Just kidding, gals, I love ya!

"I really do have Mike to thank (or blame) for this two-year obsession.  At the time the blog was a way for me to justify walking away from a lucrative job that, ultimately, was damaging my health and stifling my dreams.    

"Now I look back and marvel at how naive I was.  I actually thought if  I put my writing out there that some mysterious, unquantifiable and omnipotent force would stumble upon my work, validate my abilities and give me a paying gig to keep doing what I so obviously loved to do.  Alas, this hasn't happened yet but I continue to remain somewhat optimistic.  

"Despite the fact that blogging doesn't really generate any revenue for me still I can't kick the habit.  I still feel a little rush of endorphins whenever I publish something new, a sensation that I never once experienced in my old call center jobs.  On the flip-side, if I'm late with a new post, I feel as if I'm failing myself or that one reader out there who actually gives a shit.  

"A couple of side notes: (1) Mike stopped blogging back in February which gives me a sad, especially considering that he received a 100% bonus in the daddy department recently.  Hopefully he'll be able to eke out enough time to come back to it some day.  (2)  Yes, I know how to embed a friggin' link now!  Piss off!!!  (3)  I just spent yet another Easter Weekend with my wife's sister's kids and that 'procedure' is still on the table.  But I'm beginning to waver slightly as they slowly transform into interesting creatures who can hold their own in a conversation and not succumb to the constant impulse to torture and/or assault each other.  

On April 1'st 2010 I decided to honor April Fools Day by leaving a job I've been doing for the past ten years. In a time of fragile economic recovery you may think me mad, and trust me, you'd have ample evidence (just don't believe what that clown at "The Source" in Halifax Shopping center says about me, if I'd just had a smidge more plutonium last time my idea would have gone off without a hitch, I guarantee). Regardless of how crazy it seems I still cling to one thing my parents always taught me which was that "The only jobs worth doing are the ones you can have a personal impact on." Well, actually, I don't think they ever told me that verbatim, but, hey, I still think it sounds cool.

"Unlike my days at Sears I've yet to talk about my last job at any length, making me believe that this blog's best days are still ahead.  One of these days, after sufficient time and perspective has gone by, I'll feel comfortable talking about it.  After all, it took me ten years to broach the subject of Sears, fer Chrissakes.  

"But I do believe, at this point in time, that a slight reveal is in order.  So here goes:

"Six years ago I was very content in my job.  I was well-paid, I had benefits, I didn't work weekends and I was free to do things based on experience and reasonably-good level of intelligence.  In fact, at the time we were described as 'managers of our own virtual retail stores'.

"But as my department expanded, management's trust in us evaporated.  Our calls became intensely monitored, completely regimented and scored like a Spanish Inquisition tic sheet.  The results negatively impacted our commission and frequently became the fodder for what was often and ominously referred to as 'Progressive Discipline'.  

"Worst still, we were given some tremendously stressful production goals.  We had to contact a certain amount of people in a day otherwise our efforts were considered to be a complete and total failure.  If we didn't meet the unreasonable average our compensation was docked and once again the 'Progressive Discipline' bogeyman would get trotted out.  

"We were also given increasingly aggressive sales goals which were virtually impossible to meet.  And, hey, guess what?  This also kicked us in the paycheck and fueled the threat of 'Progressive Discipline'.  

"As an industrious, hard-working drone, I managed to keep my head above water but the stress eventually took a toll on me.  In the Fall of 2009 I was diagnosed with temporomandibular joint disorder a stress-related condition that results in chronic pain, dizziness and hearing loss because of nocturnal teeth grinding.  When I casually mentioned this to a fellow co-worker three other people stood up in the aisle and told me that they also wore bite plates to bed every night.  Notwithstanding the devastating impact this has on your sex life, such appliances are also a clear indicator that you work in a completely toxic environment.    

"The draconian changes foisted on our department caused turnover to skyrocket from 6% to over 30%.  I spoke to supervisors, site managers and division overlords in an effort to bring about positive change in the work environment.  Every single one of them seemed to sympathize with me and promised to make improvements at the start of the next fiscal year.  

"But instead of it getting better it got worse.  Under the new structure our commission rates dropped sharply.  I watched my paycheck get neutered for three months before I had enough and announced my resignation.   

"Exactly one year later I was talking to someone who still works in that division and she thanked me profusely.  She went on to explain that 'After you and a bunch of other high-profile people did their protest quit in 2010 upper management made everything better.  They cut back on the punitive monitoring, the crazy sales goals and the insane production numbers.  It's back to the way it used to be!'

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm delighted that my actions may have resulted in positive change there.  But I'm also pissed beyond belief  that it took a slew of people upsetting their lives before this unconscionable company finally decided to do something about it.  Real classy, guys.  

"P.S. In retrospect, the whole 'plutonium' / 'The Source' joke is kinda weak sauce."  

Regardless of how I cooked up that little chestnut I believe in it firmly. This was my first day not being a cog in a corporate engine. All I did today was reorganize my storage closet, write a movie review for my "Facebook" profile (http://apps.facebook.com/flixster/review?r=783763172_770813651&lsrc=nfmrv_actn&ref=nf), make mexican soup, vacuum, sweep my patio and watch an episode of "Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution" (see EPIC/FAIL below) yet I feel I've done more sensible and productive things today than I did at work for the past three months. Sad but true.

"I really meant it when I said that I did more productive things in one day at home then I did in three months at work.  Which is why I believe that so many of us live lives of quiet desperation.  Quick quiz: if you've ever arrived at work and were soundly disappointed that the HOUSE OF PAIN hasn't been spirited away by aliens overnight, you really need to consider a career change.  Especially if you don't care that your fellow co-workers are currently having the crap probed out of them.

"Since I don't trust Facebook much anymore, my movie reviews now appear right here.   I did that just to prove that I can now embed a link, BTW.  

"Also, in an interesting twist, Jamie Oliver was two years ahead of the mainstream media when it came to revealing the horrors of pink slime.  How sad is that?"    

One thing I learned working in call centers for the past fifteen years ("Fifteen years?!! Sweet Jesus, he's gotta be ready for the booby-hatch by now!") is that people really love reality shows like "Dancing with the Stars", "The Bachelor", or "Who Wants To Be Groped By a Bill Lynch Fair Employee?". Personally, I hate the &$!@@!* things (since I maintain that you are your own reality show), but I understand why folks watch 'em. Since most of them are the equivalent of watching a slow-motion bus-wreck, many people believe they cater to the lowest common denominator of humanity: the fan of Schadenfreude or those that take pleasure from the misfortunes of others.

"For all of you schadenfreuders at home keeping score: I'm removing the 'Updated Weekly!' blurb from the masthead.  Why?  Because regardless of how happy it makes me, I'm not making enough money as a writer and my savings are bleeding out like a noob in Call of Duty.   Going forward I have to make finding a 'real' job a full-time priority.  Hopefully one that I'm good at, have a vested interest in, has a social conscience and won't make me physically sick.    

"Oh, that 'Who Wants To Be Groped By a Bill Lynch Fair Employee?' gag is still money, BTW.  Heh, heh."

I like to retain a bit more hope in the human race, however, and maintain that as much as people like to watch others fail they also get a rush out of witnessing when someone succeeds at dream fulfillment. And although I've finally figured out what it means to be "long in the tooth" now (seriously, why do your front teeth start to look like cuttle bones after a certain age?) , I still have this dream to make a living in some sort of creative venture.

"This statement, co-incidentally, won the 'Most Naively Sanguine Paragraph In A Blog Post Award' for 2010.  The writer has since received a diploma of idiocy, a handful of mud and a kick in the head. 

"P.S. the cuttlebone gag is a bit of a wash."

So, Gentle Reader, take my hand and come with me as we wind on down a road of high adventure. I'd appreciate any good karma you can afford but you'd be forgiven if mean ole' schadenfreude takes hold sometimes and you feel like laughing and pointing when I mess up royally.

To all you schadenfreuders out there: you may now start laughing you collective asses off.  Shouts of 'I told you so!' will also be deemed appropriate.  

Stay tuned, folks, next I'm hoping to get into some juicy back story which hopefully will get you all up to speed. I'm sure you'll find it amusing. Or utterly sad, I'm not sure which.

Looking back I have to say that the ratio was about 30% from column 'A' and 70% from column 'B'.  

Until next time (whenever that might be) check out today's brand spankin' new EPIC/FAIL links (now with fancy new imbedded video!)

EPIC   Honestly, my boy was way ahead of the game...

EPIC IDIOCY  I should have signed up for this course instead of IT.  I'd love to provide a vital psycho-social service for my community!  :o(

FAILSPECTATIONS  A damned fine question, Globe n' Mail..

The First of Many Martyrs

Greetings, Fellow Inmates of Planet Arkham.

Every time I sit down to write about something light-hearted and goofy, I hear a news report that makes my intentions seem vapid and irresponsible in comparison.  Kinda like watching the Pauly D Project while The Cove is on another channel.

On the morning of Wednesday April 4'th a seventy-seven year old retired Greek pharmacist named Dimitris Christoulas got up, locked his apartment door, calmly walked down to the Syntagma square in front of the Parliament building in Athens, shouted "I'm leaving because I don't want to pass on my debts!", took a gun out of his pocket and shot himself in the head.  

Why would "a gentleman" described as "decent" and "dignified" take such extreme and desperate measures?

The answer came in the form of a hand-written suicide note:

"The Tsolakoglou government has annihilated all traces for my survival, which was based on a very dignified pension that I alone paid for 35 years with no help from the state.  And since my advanced age does not allow me a way of dynamically reacting (although if a fellow Greek were to grab a Kalashnikov, I would be right behind him), I see no other solution than this dignified end to my life, so I don’t find myself fishing through garbage cans for my sustenance.  I believe that young people with no future, will one day take up arms and hang the traitors of this country at Syntagma square, just like the Italians did to Mussolini in 1945"


Translation: "Insanity is a sane response to an insane world."

Back in July of last year, I talked about how governments all over the world let profit-drunk banks and financial institutions off of their collective leashes by doing away with regulations.

"Government intervention has curtailed free enterprise for too long!" they cried.  "When we do away with all of these draconian laws the global economy will experience a Utopian level of economic confidence and prosperity like we've never seen before!"

Yeah, too bad this didn't account for the following two truisms:

1. The owners of these organizations are human beings.  
2. Sometimes human beings can be greedy, evil mother-f#@%ers who, like vampires, regard the average human being as a mobile blood bank.

If you and I both know that the two points listed above are self-evident then I can only assume that the government did as well.  In order words, as more and more protective regulations were stripped away, there must have been some elements within the government that could see the writing on the wall.

Ron Paul sure as hell knew it back in 2003...

And here's economist Peter Schiff in 2006:



So, exactly how much of a schmuck does Art Laffer feel like now?

I think its safe to assume that at least some elements within the government knew exactly what they were doing when they put the foxes in charge of the chicken coop.

This is why a responsible government, fearful of the masses, has to serve as the higher authority here.  Someone has to act as the conscience for big banks, big corporations and bog finance because, clearly, if we set them loose in a climate of laissez-faire they can't be trusted to behave ethically or responsibly.  

Yet we still have these blowhard Conservative/Republican douchebag assholes prattling on about how government has no right interfering in the business sector and how regulations are borderline "socialist".  At this stage in the game, the only people I can possibly see arguing this point are either (A) the monumentally stupid or (B) creeps who are still looking to profit directly or indirectly from deregulation.

Honestly, arguing for fewer regulations after the 2008 economic crisis would be like buying your kid a puppy after they've let a half dozen goldfish starve to death.

I don't know a whole lot about finance but if someone had explained to me what was going on in the housing market just prior to 2008 even I could have predicted that it was all going to end in much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Which leads to me to believe that there were elements in the global governance who knew that the world-wide economy was being systemically dismantled.

This also goes to great lengths to explain why no-one's ever been prosecuted for the sort of gross negligence that resulted in things going completely shit-house.  Hell, some of them even got promotions.  I don't know about your workplace, but in my experience, this sort of gross incompetence usually ensures that the guilty party never works in this hemisphere again.



Now, I can hear a few of you out there asking: "C'mon, Dave.  Why would anyone willingly let this happen?"

Because I firmly believe that there's a cabal of powerful, influential and cruel people on this planet who really want to lord over a population of desperate, indebted, dispirited serfs.

And I think that Dimitris Christoulas believed that as well.   

EPIC  "Greek suicide seen as an act of fortitude as much as one of despair..."

FAIL  We need to see this 24-7.