Skool Daze Part I

Academically my first year at St. Mary's was aided tremendously by "insider knowledge".  Here's some sage advice for all you freshmen students out there: make sure you know someone who's already been through a university's first year program who can tell you how best to navigate the minefield of insane professors.

'Cuz, trust me, there's a lot of them.  Your research will mean the difference between dealing with a Philosophy prof who wants you to break down a line of reasoning using a quadratic formula or just map out the flow of an argument from a Monty Python skit.

Thanks to my BMOC (Big Mole on Campus), here's how my intro course load broke down in that magical first year:

Philosophy Hey, we didn't just cover episodes from "Flying Circus", y'know.  We also looked at the  classic "Witch Trial" scene from "Holy Grail".  So, all told, a pretty comprehensive course.  I finished with an "A". 

Sociology.  This class was presided over by a prof who knit her own vests, cut her hair using a modest-sized mixing bowl and had a clear penchant for Birkenstocks.  Not a big fan of the dudes, if you know what I'm saying.  Now, back in the day I was a lot more conservative in my stance on issues.  In fact, I'm ashamed to admit this now but I voted for Brian Mulroney because the backwater teachers in our High School brainwashed us into believing that Free Trade was a good thing.  But over the years, as I began to do independent research, educate myself and grew passably intelligent, a liberal sanity eventually dawned on me.  Now I make Tim Robbins look like Glenn Beck.  But way back then I was a still stupid, hick kid and I saw this sociology class as being trapped in the front row with season tickets to the "Oprah Winfrey" show.

Now don't get me wrong: this wasn't a difficult class.  In fact, regardless of what issue we were exploring, as long as you had a reasonable grasp on it and took a liberal perspective on how to address it ("Don't club baby seals!" "All races can live together in perfect harmony!" "Gay rights now!"), you were money.

Now, I don't want to make it seem that the class was completely vacant.  For example, I remember the professor doing an eye-opening lecture about the objectification of women in advertising and the media that started me on the path from borderline conservative redneck to liberal renaissance man.  It was great to see someone make a left-wing claim and then back it up, not with a bleeding heart but with concrete evidence to support her claims. 

Anyway, I racked up one "A" after another by following this strategy until the time came to do a term-busting group presentation in front of the entire class.

Now as a super-shy, conservative kid, this was nothing short of a nightmare.   I'd specifically avoided classes with public speaking, so why this one?  Nothing in the course description mentioned anything about being judged by a bunch of complete strangers!  Regardless, it was the academic hurdle laid out before me and I was resolved to try my best to clear it.

So, anyway, Ellen DeGeneres wrote ten popular causes on the blackboards around the room and then prompted us to to go and sit next to the topic that interested us the most.  At the the time, the only one I really felt comfortable representing in public was "THE ENVIRONMENT" so I wandered over to where two granola munchers had already taken up residence.

Just before I sat down I overheard the following exchange:

HIPPIE CHICK: (best read in the voice of "Janice" from "The Muppet Show")  "Y'know I was watching the 'Nature of Things' the other day and they were..like...talking about the Black Forests in Germany and how ...like...polution is killing the pine and fir trees there.  It was like...really, really sad..."

HIPPIE DUDE: (best read in the voice of  Jeff Spicoli from "Fast Times At Ridgemont High)  "Hey, did you know that David Suzuki is..like...a major drug user?"

I stopped, turned on my heel and walked out of the room.

Despite not doing the group presentation I still managed to score a "C" in the class.

Psychology  A three-hour epic on Wednesday nights from 5 pm  to 8 pm, occasionally visited by a young, cute, female prof who'd recently graduated from Dalhousie University.  Often the class would be canceled because she didn't bother to show up.  Since a prof is likely to get behind in their curriculum when routinely missing three-hour classes, the few times we saw her she's just give us the answers to the next test and call it a night.  The only thing I can remember about her lectures is a story she told about being in Tijuana on Spring Break, eating a tequila worm, passing out and waking up the next morning in a ditch.   Ah, student loan money well-spent.  I got an "A" in this, as did everyone else in the class who was capable of velcroing their own shoes to their feet.  

20'th Century History  One of my fav subjects in High School, so I thought I'd kill this one.  I didn't have any lead in about the prof and he busted our collective balls quite a bit.  I still ended up with a solid "B".

English  Now I'd always gotten straight "A"'s in High School for book reports, compositions, and creative writing so I went into my University-level Intro English class with considerable swagger.

I'd also managed to score a "computer-assisted" English class, which I know sounds completely archaic to a young reader, but in 1989 we were all like the chips at the beginning of "2001: A Space Odyssey" regarding computer stuff.  "So, lemme get this straight, I'm not gonna hand-write my paper?  I don't even need to do it on a typewriter?  I can type this into the computer and this magical "WORD PROCESSOR" will process the, uh, words for me?  'Tis sorcery!"

Regardless of this new-fangled technology, I still clung to my old ways and  composed my first submission on an ancient Smith Corona typewriter which I'd dubbed "Old Clackey".  With considerably pride I submitted that paper and anxiously awaited the results.

Well, color me confused when this first magnum opus was handed back to me without a mark on it.  I went back to the prof after the class was over and confronted him.

"Er, excuse me, Sir, but you didn't mark my paper."

The diminutive prof looked down his nose at me briefly, then continued to pack up his things.

"I'll mark it when it's presentable," he huffed.   
 
"Pre...what do you mean by 'presentable'?  Are you telling me that this paper that I slaved over for hours isn't presentable?  I worked my butt off on this..."

The professor heaved a world-weary sigh.

"It's not the content," he said.  "It's the formatting.  Did you graduate from High School?"

I resisted the temptation to slug him, thinking that an assault charge would make for a less-than-auspicious debut to my university career.

"Of course I graduated from High School!" I returned, clearly rankled.

"Then why don't you have any concept whatsoever of formatting?  Why are there barely any margins?  Why is it nearly whitewashed in liquid paper?  Why are there no spaces between sentence breaks?  This thing is a mess!"

I flipped through the paper and looked at it intently.  It was identical to any other paper I'd submitted in High School that had snagged me an "A" before.  What was this clown's problem?

"Look," he said, clearly seeing that I'd been stung. "Don't worry about it.  Just go over to the bookstore, ask for a copy of the 'Guide to Proper Pagination' document.  Read it.  Know it.  Then re-submit the paper.  And for the love of God, you're in a computer-assisted class now, use the resources at your disposal and stop using a typewriter!"

I shot him a dirty look then made my way over to the bookstore in the Student Union Building.  I found the document in question and began to  read it.  While during this I began to feel a creeping red rage building up within me.  Not towards the professor but towards my High School teachers for not giving me any basic syntax, grammar or pagination skills whatsoever.

I was angry and humiliated.  It was yet another glaring example of the anti-arts, pro-math/science bias that my school system had subjected me to.  Oh yes, there had been ample talk in Advanced Math about preparing us for Calculus but not one teacher of mine cared to instruct us on the civilized way to submit a properly documented, scholarly report.      

The year I'd spent at home after graduation I'd written a short story and submitted it to a contest through the CBC.  It was rejected outright and now I know that likely it wasn't even looked at.  I still have the submission.  I'm looking at it right now.  It's effin' embarrassing, folks.  Although it's devoid of spelling errors, the margins are out of whack, there are no spaces between commas and sentences and the friggin' apostrophes are hand-written in! 

This is the point I'm trying to make: I was a nineteen year old High School graduate who didn't have faintest clue about grammar, punctuation and formatting.  I'm still bitter to this day that the school system and my teachers failed us so badly.

When I re-submitted the paper I scored and "A" on this and most of my subsequent works.  But the lesson was hard learned and the implication wasn't lost on me. 

I'd successfully navigated my first year of university.  I felt flushed with academic success but everyone I spoke to warned me that your first year was a joke.  The sophomore year often separated the wheat from the chaff.  Was I going to be up to the challenge?

EPIC: Painless Grammar (Painless Series)

FAIL: http://jobmob.co.il/blog/funniest-resume-mistakes/ 

Asparagus @ Midnight - Part IV

As the main phalanx of civilians were dispatched back towards the "shoutin' wall" a clutch of about nine to twelve of us were kept behind the perimeter of lights strategically arrayed about the set.  Initially we had no clue if this was going to be a good thing or not since huge swaths of wall dwellers were also being diverted to the weapons cart and walking away with prop rifles, shotguns and pistols!

"Damn, I wanted a gun," I sulked out loud, drawing chuckles and mutters of agreement all around.

As if he'd heard me, the weapons expert appeared again from out of nowhere.  Keep in mind the dude is still dressed up like this as he approached us:

He stepped forward, produced a genuine-looking stock .45 automatic and handed it to a dude standing to the left of me who resembled a considerably less-scrawny version of Rivers Cuomo.  Before he could celebrate his good fortune, the weapons specialist dragged him and two other similarly armed extras aside, lined them up in a row and took a quick digital photo of them with the guns held aloft.

"Alright!  At the end of this if any of these weapons go missing, this is the photo that goes directly to the police!"

Aptly warned, our newly promoted peer examined the fake handgun in more detail, taking extra steps to avoid any action vaguely resembling "horseplay".  What the hell is horseplay anyway?  Would he have caught s#!* only if he started galloping around the set, whinnying and threatening the girls in the craft services truck for oats and a salt lick?

The gun was a solid piece of plastic with no moving parts, but the finish, grip and weight all looked kosher.  I can certainly see why one of these things going missing would cause so much consternation since there'd be no way whatsoever for bank staff to tell the difference between this movie prop and a real gun.

After a segment of our population was ensconced back on their perches a thrill ran through the crowd as we heard the A.D. shout:

"Alright, bring in the cars!"

From out of nowhere, four or five movie-style (read American-looking) police cruisers rolled into position.  The set became awash with shotgun and pistol-packing cops in flack vests and a handful of ersatz S.W.A.T. team members, all armed to the teeth with M16's and MP5 submachine guns.  As a peaceful Canadian with a healthy fear of firearms I hadn't felt that uneasy since I visited the "Bullet Trap" indoor shooting range in Dallas and was given my choice of two possible targets to shoot at: the standard or a portrait of Osama Bin Ladin.

Sadly I didn't make that last part up.

The magic makers on set began to co-ordinate a veritable arena rock show filled with smoke, flashing lights, bullhorns and insane action.  Initially hidden from the cameras around the corner we watched in awe as a bakers dozen of cops poured out of their cars and holding areas and moved into the square with convincing precision.

We couldn't see the action too well but it looked as if the police were intent on dispersing the crowd of human flotsam and jetsam. Us civilians in other words.  Our hypothesis was put to the test when the A.D. reappeared, now dressed as a cop in assault gear.

"Alright, guys!  This is what I need you to do.  We're gonna move in as the cops into the square.  Hold back until you hear Jennifer here give you you're signal.  You're gonna rush in behind us, threaten us with your weapons, look real pissed and some of us will react to this by turning to point our guns at you.  Got it?"

"Where should we stop?"  asked someone with more presence of mind than myself.

He led us deeper onto the set and pointed between the open door of a police cruiser and the side of the "Road Warrior" truck.

"Hold up right there.  I'm gonna be a bit further in, maybe just behind that other cop car right in the middle of the square.  Basically, we're gonna be within point blank range of each other."

I could scarcely believe it!  We were gonna be right in the middle of the s#!&!  As the A.D. brought us back to our marks, he stopped our lucky handgun-toting lottery winner.

"You got the pistol so I need you to be right up front with that.  Point it right at us."

Following behind him were me, Andrew and Lauren.  I couldn't believe our good fortune as "quiet on the set" was called, sound started rolling and we tensed up for our big moment.

Right on cue the cops flung open the doors of their cruisers and jumped out.  More police in riot gear and bullet proof vests appeared, took their assigned places under cover and others racked their shotguns for dramatic effect.   Finally the S.W.A.T. guys moved in to take up prime real estate in the center of the armed standoff.

Background action was called and we all rushed in, hell bent for blood.  The scene was tricky since we had to run over a rain-slicked slippery metal plate, between the open door of the police cruiser and stop on a dime, all the while armed with the sort of crap that made the scissors Mr.Dressup used to warn us about look like wiffle ball bats.  In fact I seem to recall that Lauren got Andrew's shovel to the mush at one point.

Once we hit our marks we glared at the hated police, brandishing our weapons while our default leader pointed his .45 about in a threatening manner.  I spied at least two cameras close by capturing all the action. 

From here I could see a bit more, including all the extras on the walls and a big-ass black limo amidst the action.  There was a V.I.P. inside who could barely be seen but he was clearly ordering the cops to exterminate us.  Was this previously unseen menace the real big bad of the piece?  Only the finished film will tell...

We reset this scene several more times and on one occasion we lost one of our numbers as he tripped and fell.  Medics were there in a flash and we ran through the scene four or five more times before moving to the next set up.

With each new take something new was incorporated.   In a few shots the cops began to mime firing their weapons at us and our lone protector, not having received any direction to the contrary, pretended to fire back.  Anybody armed with melee weapons had no idea if we were supposed to react to the imaginary lead flying in the air and fall down so we stayed firmly in place and weathered the pretend storm of bullets.

Which brings me to a funny point.  I just couldn't believe how quickly this was reducing me to a kid again.  All of a sudden I was amidst a group of supposed adults that were orchestrating what amounted to a pretend game of cops and robbers.  The surreal nature of it struck me all at once.  It was as if the film itself was just an elaborate edifice; an excuse for a bunch of arrested development yahoos to play with the best toy guns and coolest props money could buy.  It was a dream come true.

Andrew didn't make the next cut as about six or seven of us were asked to provide a scene of rushing past the camera.  We did our best to hit our marks and received no indication that anything was amiss.  After about for or five takes of this we were sent back to rejoin the main group just around the corner.

We stood there in our little elite crew discussing just how lucky we'd been to get into the extra shots.  Just as we were lost in conversation I noticed out of my peripheral vision that Rutger Hauer had made his way back onto set and was approaching us with a bemused look on his face.

We, his "honor guard", snapped to attention as he walked by, appraising us with a look of approval.  He drifted back off the set and was soon replaced by Molly Dunsworth, who was now bearing more than a passing resemblance to Sissy Spacek in the last reel of "Carrie".  She approached us with a handful of something and shouted:

"BLOOD?!  YOU GUYS WANT SOME BLOOD!!?"

We turned and Molly was thoughtfully handing out some mini chocolate bars to keep up our energy levels.  I thanked her for the petite Hershey bar and chuckled at the state she was in.  It was around 3 pm in the morning by this time and I'd been up for about twenty hours now.  But wasn't tired, restless or bored.  I felt more wide awake and alive than I'd felt in years. I was in complete nirvana.  Or was that nerdvana?      

We watched from a distance as our brethren on the walls got their chance to shine and throw the cops for a loop.  Anticipating more scenes coming up, we were kept in place and watched the distant takes with reverential silence.

At one point the background performers manning the walls were given subs to snack on.  When the A.D. happened by still dressed as a tactical assault cop, one of our group stopped him and said:

"Hey, man., I don't mean to be a DICK but those guys up there got subs and we didn't get anything."

I almost dropped dead on the spot and thought 'Dude!  What the eff are you doing?  Did you not just eat a porkchop the size of a friggin' hubcap only about three hours ago?  Who do you think you are, Jennifer Lopez?'   He may have been in the right but, c'mon man.  Don't jeopardize our chances here.

The A.D. let us raid a nearby hot dog cart as compensation.  Food was the last thing on my mind in lieu of a hypothetical next scene.  Well, color me disappointed as another production assistance came by a bit later and gave us our official wrap notice.

Although I did think it odd that we were kept on the fringes of the set for another forty five minutes without being used again I walked away in silence as some others around me grumbled about it.  Sick bastards. 

I gathered my crap up, thanked the production assistant and walked down the hill with Lauren and Andrew to our cars, speculating about what we might be able to do to increase our chances of this ever happening again.  Down at the lot we exchanged goodbyes and vowed to meet again if the film was premiered at Jason's "Thrillema" in Dartmouth as he's publicly promised.

I drove home tired, cold but on cloud nine.  Words fail me as I try and describe my frame of mind at that moment.  I was elated.  I'm sure some people will read this and think that standing around in the damp cold for eight hours overnight would be hellish but I'd much rather have done this then sat tied to a chair for eight and a half hours saying the same uninspired scripted crap over and over again.

Now I don't have a pie in the sky attitude to what this all means.  I know that the footage I appeared in might never see the light of day on film.  Every one of my scenes  could easily end up on the cutting room floor.  But that wasn't the point for me.  The point was that I finally found myself surrounded by an entire horde of like-minded, creative people, all with a shared interest in good, daring film craft versus the sort of crappy television reality show dreck that keeps the average slack-jawed troglodyte amused.  It was nothing short of life affirming.

The only wistful pangs I felt while driving home was wondering if this was just a one-shot stroke of good fortune or a genuine sign of what the future may hold.

Above all I felt that my decision to leave work was reconfirmed since now there was, at the very the least, some hope, possibility and promise in what may come.    

EPIC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhA1VRXnYeM  CBC's behind the scenes report for "HWAS"

FAIL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhHhXukovMU The funniest thing I've seen since funny was invented.  You'll never be the same again...

Asparagus @ Midnight - Part III

We tramped through the muck between a line of Port-A- Potties and equipment trucks like a pack of white bread migrant workers.  The sight that awaited us just ahead and around the corner was startling.

The distant background was blocked by a mountain of debris.  It looked as if someone had dynamited a modest sized shanty town and then bulldozed the remnants into a small ridge to obscure the horizon.  As we rounded the corner I spied several items in quick succession: a prop phone booth, a series of colored lights designed the give the set a garish cast, an industrious crew wrestling with a myriad of logistics, and a truck with a unique hood ornament that looked as if it had been illegally parked there by The Humongous.  But what caused my jaw to hit the pavement was the scale and condition of the elaborate set laid out before me.

To my left a ominous-looking, run down building crested by a smokestack.  We tramped across a flat, metal plate into an area that resembled a prison common yard.  To our immediate left: a long alleyway set-decorated with evocative props, like a forlorn-looking child's tricycle and an eerie empty stroller.  Anarchic, profane and anti-Hobo graffiti lined every  free space on the walls.

We took care to keep out of the way of Jason and company as they diligently worked away trying to puzzle out the next series of shots.  The A.D. lagged a bit and instructed us to climb the steps to the second level of the main building directly ahead.  Instantly I recognized what look they were going for: we were to line the exterior walkway on the side of this building for a scene reminiscent of the "Thunderdome" sequence in "Mad Max 3".

Which is a point I'd like to address right now.  Before I'd been visited by the costume dude I overheard him asking people if they had anything "funky" to wear.  Nowhere in email sent to me did it mention anything crazier than punk clothing, so color me surprised when I saw people dressed in borderline post-apocalyptic haute fashion.  There were people there in worn leather, fur, chains, feathers, hockey pads, and even chainmail. I saw metallic welder masks and something that resembled Kurgan's serpent skull helmet from "Highlander".  It's a pity I didn't know such things were kosher since I would have brought my old-skool road hockey mark and other crazy stuff.

Having said that, it would sorta suck to have a chance to appear on camera and your face is obscured by a mask.  There!  See how quickly show biz goes to your head?  I was already thinking like Tobey McGuire...

Between the dilapidated set and the very convincing background players milling about, the illusion was complete for me.  Now I know in some humble way what actors mean when they make the claim that, if immersed in convincing surroundings, they don't really have to "act", just lose themselves in the milieux.

Frankly I think Jason's choice RE: the setting is pretty brilliant since he doesn't have to obey the laws of reality, can get really nutty with the visuals and create his own unique tableau.

Me, Lauren and Andrew lucked out.  We took our spots a little under mid-way on the third floor balcony and positioned ourselves by the railing.  The A.D. promptly got us to squeeze further into the frame, improving our chances to be in the shot.  People continued to file in to the walkway above us and a few beetled their way onto the roof.

We had little time to be bored as several of the principal actors made their entrances.  Lauren in particular was keen to spy the Hobo himself and when Rutger Hauer appeared in character we all fell into a respectful hush.  He was set up for a few closeups involving a cool deathtrap gimmick that would make Ernst Stavro Bloefeld turn green with envy.  Also the props department came through with a a unique multi-purpose weapon that could only have been dreamed up by a brain fertilized by years of watching "Evil Dead"-style horror films.   

I'd like to take this moment to re-iterate my motto: people that deal in spoilers are lower forms of life than the cast of "Jersey Shore".

After Rutger's close-ups he retired briefly to his trailer, leaving a very convincing body double to haunt the fringes of the set in his stead.  Even when he wasn't in a scene, he'd check back periodically to lend an encouraging word to his fellow cast mates and the crew and stand back to observe developments just like any other curious onlooker.   

In came another face I recognized right away, Newfoundland-born actor Brian Downey whom you might recognize from the sci-fi series "Lexx" which was filmed right here in Haliwood a few years back.  Resplendent in a pristine white suit, "for display purposes only" slicked back hair and a silver .45, Brian cut an appropriate air of badassery.  Despite his threatening appearance, Brian constantly broke from character to crack up his captive audience with well-timed quips and asides.

Seventeen year old, up-and-coming actress Molly Dunsworth also wandered on set, dressed street-urchin style as "Abby" and ready for mayhem.  And let me tell ya, folks, she was up to the challenge.  The girl's got a real presence and great intensity and if she gets the right bounces she may be our next Ellen Page

We watched in awe as the film-makers prepared for a complicated set up where Brian's villainous Drake captures Molly's character and subjects her to some "Better Homes and Garden's"-style torture.  During this scene, we as background performers were tasked to mime blood-frenzied screams as the dialogue of the principal actors was picked up live.

We ran through our paces as Brian dragged Molly over to his modus operandi torture device de jour, spouting hard-boiled lines of dialogue that Frank Miller would be proud of whilst Molly screamed bloody murder, Fay-Wray style.          
  
Remarkably quick, Jason had his shot and moved on to the next set up.  As the mini video village made it's pilgrimage, we killed the time talking about things on the set that evoked our favorite films and video games.  We also worked up the courage to peek into one of the rooms of the old, abandoned sanitarium, peering through the high-gauge metal security wire bolted to the windows, presumably to keep it's former tenants  inside.  The room was uber-creepy and everyone acknowledged my spot-on reference to "Silent Hill".  The space was tiny, with a warped and debris-strewn floor, peeling paint and a lone spectral-looking desk right in the middle of the room.

It's a damn good sight I had lots of company because if I'd been left alone in that creepy place at that hour I would have pulled a "Scoob n' Shaggy"  in zero to ten seconds flat.

By the time we turned our attentions back to the action, the crew had built a little platform by the "Road Warrior" truck so the camera could get a low angle shot behind the unconventional torture device.  It was quickly surrounded with safety mats.  Sensing that we were about to witness an on set, real time, practical effects effects shot the background horde collectively leaned forward to take it all in.

The gorehounds in attendance were not to leave disappointed.  The splatter effect was first tested in rehearsal on a crew member dressed in a rain suit, so you can just imagine how much stage blood was used for this.  After the effect was triggered the crazed masses roared their approval and began to shout "STAND UP, LET US SEE YOUR FACE!" to our anonymous fall guy. 

The triumphant guinea pig , blood-soaked from head to toe, stood up, turned slowly around, raised his hands high above his head and basked in the adulation of the crowd, now crazed like Roman spectators at the Coliseum.       

We were in for more bloody treats.  Brian and Molly returned to the set and Jason ran them through the next nerve-shattering scene in rehearsal several times to get the blocking, actions, and dialogue all in order.  I noticed with a twinge of nausea that one of the actors now sported a pretty realistic looking wound appliance, quite obviously incurred as a result of the next scene.

After multiple run-through's, the cameras started cranking and Brian repeated the action of dragging Molly over to the carnage zone while the background mob screamed our approval.  The effect was triggered and the tables between the combatants were suddenly turned in a very original twist.

As a dude that's seen a million horror flicks over the years, the way this scene plays out is stomach-turningly original and I really hope it makes it to final edit.

Again I'd like to mention: people who like to pimp spoilers should be shot and the survivors shot again. 

Despite all the preparations and the borderline "one-take-is-all-we're-gonna-get" nature of the scene, Jason requested several re-sets to make sure he got everything he needed.  In one instance Brian seemed surprised by his co-stars unexpected level of genuine rage and reflexively threw away his prop gun.  This led to a bit of consternation from the prop girl who spent several anxious moments between takes, buffing the .45 with wet wipes and towels to make sure it didn't compromise continuity.  After Brian begged forgiveness for his oversight they ran through the scene again. 

This wasn't a problem since our exaggerated background pantomime was keeping us all collectively warm.  It was about 11 pm by now and only seven degrees and it didn't take long for the cold damp to settle into our bones when the action became idle.

Jason requested some nuances in the action, so the takes began to add up.  He asked that Molly add a quick elbow to the skirmish.  He suggested Brian hop back a bit from her initial attack.  He prompted one of his actors to really make sure the makeup appliance was shown to good effect.

All of this was repeated as the camera crew caught the action from another angle as one of the characters got the upper hand.  Keep in mind that Molly is howling like a banshee all the while covered in stage blood from head to toe and by now and Brian's formally blizzard-white suit is bloody beyond all redemption.  It's complete bedlam.

"Don't worry, folks," Brian joked with us between takes, wiping a finger on his face and then popping it in his mouth.  "It's only molasses!  Look...mmmmm, yummy!"

Like a pack of grossed-out grade-school kids a  chorus of "Eeeeeeews!" took to the air and Brian chuckled, clearly amused by his own devilry. A Newfoundlander addicted to molasses, who'd-a thunk it? 

As if oblivious to the gross-out, catering suddenly came by loaded down with fresh sandwiches.  I wolfed  down a smoked meat special and quizzed my new local acquaintances  about the location.

"So, this was...what?  Like a mental institution or something?"

"Yep."

"When did it close down?"

"Oh, a long time ago.  Definitely not during our lifetimes.  Probably sometime in the early Eighties..."

Rather than dwell on just how depressing this was, I quickly added:

"This place is amazing.  I wonder if they're shooting any interiors here?"

"Oh, I imagine," Lauren replied.  "It'd be a waste if they didn't."

"Though I heard that the place was full of asbestos," Andrew added helpfully.

Hmmmm, interesting.  All the while during shooting, I've been leaning out from the parapet getting beaned in the head with drips from above.  For the first time I notice curious-looking mini-stalactites (mites?) hanging from the concrete ledge overhead.  I recall that one drop from this even beaned me in the eyeball.

Before I can ponder the health effects of water-borne asbestos drops to the peepers, we're called back to the action.

In a götterdämmerung orgy of blood, f-bombs and flying bodies (as well as a cool perspective scene inspired by Pter Jackson's "Dead/Alive"), Jason captured everything he needed and we wrapped temporarily.  The A.D. called us down from the walls, gave us a big thumbs up and sent us off to the lunch truck.

Still digesting the brick-burger from earlier I opted for an all-veggie midnight snack of herbed asparagus, smashed baby white potatoes and long grain wild rice pilaf.  Despite the fact that people are stealing away with succulent looking haddock and pork chops I'm still content with something lighter given the late hour.

To my surprise Stanley H. Tweedle himself politely excuses himself as he walks by me and nearly collides with the lowered tail gate of a pick up truck nearby.  He mutters something about "whoa, sorry, I didn't know that was so..." and then trails off.  He approaches the gals in the craft services truck, negotiates a tweak in his meal then promptly vanishes.

I go back to the tent to get warm and I'm amazed by yet another series of tables fully stocked with rolls, noodles, salad, and beverages.  I help myself to a stout cup of coffee, remembering the old adage:

"It doesn't matter how much abuse you put you cast and crew through, it you feed 'em right, they'll stay loyal to the end."

The funny thing is, even if all they offered me was a bit of peanut butter smeared on a playing card, I'd still be in pig heaven.  I'm pleased to note that I'm the happiest I've ever been in my adult life right now despite being half-frozen, unnaturally caffeinated, dressed like a bum and gnawing on a piece of asparagus the size of a redwood at the midnight hour with no end to my day in sight.  All I can think is: "How can I possibly do this for the rest of my natural life?" 

After we've been given ample time to rest, load up on carbs and thaw out by the space heater, me, Andrew and Lauren snap to attention when the A.D. prompts us to get ready to go out.  We're towards the front of the line again and he seems to pick up on our eagerness.  As the masses close in around us he gestures for us to stand aside while the main group is dispatched back to wall duty.

We've been picked for something!  Would it be something special?  I could scarcely contain myself as my imagination ran amok.

Join me next time, Kind Reader, for the final installment as the following things happen in dizzy succession:

*  We face off versus the hated cops.  FIGHT THE POWER!
*  We experience our first casualty.
*  Someone is granted some major firepower.
*  The Hobo inspects his honor guard!

All this and more in the next installment of "You Can't Get There From Here"...

EPIC:  http://www.rutgerhauer.org/ 

BONUS EPIC: http://www.briandowney.biz/

BONUS EPIC: http://www.hs.facebook.com/pages/Molly-Dunsworth/119135304773513?ref=ss

FAIL: http://www.cinematical.com/2009/10/22/quick-list-celebrities-with-the-worst-reputations/

Asparagus @ Midnight - Part II

Learning that I would be on the set of "Hobo With A Shotgun" within a few short hours sent me into a tizzy.  I was like a debutante that had just learned her coming out party had been moved from spring to 8 pm.  Did I have the right "drab" clothes on hand?  An appropriate "garden tool?" (insert obligatory "Garden Weasel" crack here)  Would the car be back in time to make a run for supper, pick up anything I needed and find a location I'd never been to in my life?

I settled upon an old faded blue sweatshirt, worn paint-splattered jeans, and a gray flannel shirt from my grunge/salad days.  In other words, something I would have worn on any day of the week  For a coat I brought along a cheap dark blue raincoat which I normally wear for outdoor concerts and an ancient brown leather pilot jacket.  I completed the look with a pair of worn brown boots that looked on the verge of collapse.  But what to do for a "garden tool"? (insert compulsory "Weed Whacker" joke here)

After grabbing a quick burger I kicked around the idea of making a "Canadian Tire" run for a rake or pick-axe (insert prerequisite "hoe" reference here).  Then I remembered the collapsible camping shovel in the trunk of my car:

Cool!  Just mean, portable and funky-looking enough to say that, well, at least I brought something.

I checked Google maps and navigated the Ninjamobile to the location in Cole Harbor.  My concerns over recognizing the site were groundless as my car approached what looked like an abandoned mental institution perched atop a barren hill.  I felt a flutter of excitement.  The bleak abandoned structure looked absolutely perfect.  One quick glance evoked overwhelming feelings of dread, desperation and unholy menace.  It was already milling with people trying to find parking spaces and negotiate security checkpoints.  Film trucks and police vehicles were arrayed all around.

I'd gotten there around seven; way ahead of schedule.  To kill thirty minutes I did my patriotic duty and back-tracked to the nearest "Tims" to guzzle a quick tea and review my instructions.  

Good set etiquette suggests that you be on site thirty minutes before your call time so I rolled up to the location around 7:30 and coaxed the Ninjamobile up the steep hill.  A security guard stopped me, wearing an incongruous smile and a sunny disposition that seemed in direct opposition to the grim weather.

"Are you background for the shoot?" she beamed, obviously just as stoked as I was.

After I'd confirmed this she directed me to a lot at the top of the hill which resembled a more chaotic than average demolition derby.  She approached my window and suggested I turn around and park on the shoulder of the road half way down the hill.

I maneuvered the Ninjamobile around, approximating the golf cart scene in "Austin Powers", and pulled over in a free spot.  Just before I shut the engine down one of the crew stopped me.

"Hey, listen, we're gonna have some heavy trucks coming up and down this narrow road, so your best bet might be to park down there..." he said, pointing to a lot on the opposite side of the road. 

" I know it kinda sucks but it's probably your best bet."

Obediently, I drove down to the lot, undeterred by the wind, rain and the nagging thoughts of having to strike base camp half way up the summit before making the final approach mere minutes before my call time.  I hopped out of the car, hefted my stuffed-to-capacity murse and struck off.

Just as I approached the front of a parked van, it's horn blasted to life, scaring the bejesus out of me.  I flashed a look of irritation, remembering that instructions implicitly said my clothes on set had to be clean!  It was then that I glimpsed someone behind the wheel beckoning for me to come closer. Cautiously I beetled my way around the puddles to the side of the van, thinking that being abducted as grist for a local human trafficking cartel mere yards away from gaining legitimate access to a movie set was just about par for the course with my luck.

Mercifully it turned out to be a shuttle service, ferrying extras from the lower lot to the set up on the hill.  En route I chatted briefly with a couple of stellar kids named Lauren and Andrew who were also there as volunteer background people.  They proved to be reliable and stalwart company during the next eight hours and I'd love to send a shout out to them for being so cordial to a complete stranger.  Then again, it quickly became clear to me that everyone I spoke to seemed possessed  of an encyclopedic knowledge of movies and a unflagging passion to contribute in some minuscule way to the project so we all had a lot in common. 

"Go into that tent right there and someone'll take care of you," gestured our driver as we disembarked.

We passed through a makeshift corridor of white film-set trucks towards the tent in question, taking note of some very real-looking foreign cop cars parked nearby.  I had little time to marvel as a group of similarly attired matching police suddenly appeared from out of nowhere.  We plunged into the tent.

It was warm inside and packed with a motley assortment of what appeared to be transient folks, freaks and people that looked as if they wandered off the set of "Mad Max", all armed with implements of bloodletting.   After coping with the sensory overload I made my way to a central table where a production assistant was doling out standard issue waiver forms.

I skimmed it briefly ("You, the undersigned, do authorize the use of the cameras on site to capture and claim your mortal soul for all eternity"...blah, blah, blah..."You no longer posses any legal claim to your own image ad infinitum..."...blah, blah, blah, "After termination of filming the shuttle bus will expedite your delivery to awaiting Moroccan slavers"...yada, yada, yada), promptly signed it and then sought out the P.A. to get my "garden tool" approved.

Okay, you can stop giggling now.  For your information, the nice P.A. girl told me it had nothing to do with size but how effectively you threatened people with it, so there!  After this I grabbed a seat wherever I could.  I wasn't idle for five minutes before a woman in a bright yellow rain slicker who looked like she'd been gutting rabbits demanded:

"BLOOD!!!   DID YOU GET ANY BLOOD YET!!?"

"Um, ah, no?"  I peeped.

I was promptly dragged over to a lineup where a veritable rogues gallery were having their implements of...uh, gardening anointed with buckets of stage blood.  When I made it to the front of the line, the nice lady slathered the camping shovel pictured above with gore, smearing it where hypothetically it may have punctured through flesh and then gripping the handle with a bloody hand to show where I'd been handling it.

Since my shovel wasn't very, *ahem*, long she also grabbed my hand a few times ("Jeeze, lady!  At least buy me lunch or something!") to show where the hypothetical splash back may have occurred.

Instantly my senses were struck by the unmistakable smell of molasses.  It appears that, for local independent horror film makers, fake blood of choice is molasses mixed with food coloring.  What can I say, it's a nice, regional spin on the traditional Karo syrup recipe.  

Now, finally a man, she sent me on my merry way and I stumbled around for a bit, unable to shake the impression that I'd just experienced the most surreal yet coolest moment of my life.

I chatted with Andrew and Lauren for awhile and we all bitched a bit, feeling shortchanged in the garden tool department as extras walked by carrying bloody goalie sticks (!), scythes (!!) and chainsaws (!!!).  I didn't have very long to ponder the psyche profiles of my background co-stars before the costume coordinator happened by to appraise my outfit.

Now, I was feeling a bit paranoid about this since he'd just had a tete-a-tete with a woman standing nearby who looked so well dressed that I could easily see her shopping for shoes with Samantha, Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda at Mic Mac Mall.  He let her slide a bit when the jacket was opened but I still felt pressure to impress.

Having said that, the dude's primary concern was the warmth and comfort of the extras.  He was a real gent and more more than willing to compromise a bit in the appearance category if it insured that the performer was warm and comfortable.

"What do you have for me?" he asked upon approach.

"Well, right now I'm wearing these faded jeans, worn boots and flannel shirt.  I've also got these ripped pants but they may be too dark..."

"Oooooo!  What's this?" he asked, eyes alight.

It was an old green shirt I'd cut up for a Halloween costume last year and brought along just as a lark.  Obviously I'd struck a nerve.

"Wear that!" he enthused.

"Inside or outside of the flannel?" I asked.

"Inside's okay, as long as you see a fringe of it underneath,"  he offered helpfully.

"And what about the jacket?" I quizzed.  "The leather looks cooler but the rain coat's a bit more practical if it rains."

"Go with the raincoat.  It'll be warmer," he confirmed.  "Do you have a hat?"

"Just a hood on the coat."

"Perfect!" he declared, then moved on.

I was ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille.

After the A.D.'s showed up to give us a crash course in taking direction, continuity, set etiquette and the background to our pivotal scene, an actor/weapons consultant dressed in full S.W.A.T gear addressed the gathered about on-set firearms.  As if the special effects/blood lesson wasn't cool enough I listened in stunned silence as the dude broke the news that some of us would soon be handling prop firearms ("SQUEEE!!!!").

"If I hand these out to anyone and I see any indication of horseplay I'm taking 'em back and you'll be asked to leave.  If any of these things go missing, you'll see that I have ways to prevent that. Any questions?"

We murmured a collective acknowledgment, not willing to cross someone who looked like he was carrying frag grenades.

"ANY QUESTIONS!?" he yelled in a way that would make R. Lee Ermey wilt.

"SIR, YES, SIR!!!" we thundered.

"ALRIGHT THEN!  LET'S GET OUT THERE AND KICK SOME ASS!!!"

We had a brief pause to debate exactly where this last moment fell on the Awesometer before the A.D. reappeared at the opposite end of the tent.  Quick as bunnies (drifter-type, homicidal, not to be trifled with bunnies, mind you), the three of us rushed up towards the front of the line.

"OKAY, LISTEN UP!  WE'RE GOING ON SET NOW!  IF YOU HAVEN'T YET, PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO GO TO THE BATHROOM.  I JUST HAD A GROUP THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OUT THERE FOR HOURS AND WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES SOMEONE HAD TO PISS!  FRANKLY I THINK THAT'S BULLSHIT!  SO, DOES ANYONE NEED TO GO TO THE  BATHROOM?"

Appropriately warned, a few skittish souls scrambled off to the port-a-potties as the rest of us were led away to our cinematic destinies... 

Tune in tomorrow for the next thrilling episode of "You Can't Get There From Here" featuring the following::

*  A cordial and very funny star of television and film (who hails from my province of origin) has a hard time holding on to a valuable prop, ruins a beautiful white suit in a moment of bloodlust and just can't decide between halibut and pork chops.

*  A terrific young local actress does her best Fay Wray impression and hands out chocolate to the frozen plebes, all the while looking like Ash in "Evil Dead". 

*  Your humble narrator fears he's about to be undone by his own walnut-sized bladder. 

*  THE HOBO WALKS AMONG US!

EPIC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHbBzi4NjsQ  Teaser trailer for "Hobo" feature, not for the faint of heart!

FAIL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6C0Fsp_g14  Bruno, not the best background extra...

Asparagus @ Midnight - Part I

It's not often that someone gets to check off three life-time goals in one night.

On Thursday May 6'th (and stretching into the infancy of Friday May 7'th) I accomplished the following:

(1) Gained legitimate access to a major motion picture being shot in our backyard without resorting to knocking out the key grip, stuffing his unconscious body in a "Port-A Potty" and stealing his hipster outfit to sneak onto the set.

(2) Potentially appear in a film as a background extra.

(3) Eat Lunch from a craft services truck.

After checking three of these biggies off the "Bucket List" I can say with all honesty that if I wasn't convinced before of what I was supposed to have been doing with the past fifteen years of my life, I certainly know now.

First, Gentle Reader, some back story.

If you don't know who Jason Eisener is, it's time you got educated. Here's link to a promotional website for his wildly successful short film "Treevenge" and you'll find a brief bio there: http://www.treevenge.com/.

After reading this I have to conclude that Jason is basically me if I'd been born in a place like Halifax and about ten years later. Growing up in small towns in Cape Breton and Newfoundland in the Seventies and Eighties if I'd told people I wanted to make movies for a living I'd likely have gotten more encouragement and direction if I'd expressed an interest in becoming a Sorcerer.

Anyway, it's quite clear that he and I share a lot of the inspirations that drove Jason to start actually making films. He's cited "The Thing", "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre", "The Road Warrior", "Aliens", "Halloween", and the "Evil Dead" trilogy all as major influences and frankly I'm right there with him.

Likely around the same age I expressed a desire to make a "Star Wars"-inspired movie on a cost-prohibitive, technologically crippled Super 8 camera, Jason gained access to a video camera and was off to the races. When the time came to pick a career path he had a feasible and attractive option: the labor-intensive but conveniently located Screen Arts program at the Nova Scotia Community College.  During and after he completed this he promptly began producing some stellar short films.

Things went into the stratosphere for him in 2007 when his fake trailer for “Hobo With a Shotgun” won the South By South West Trailer Competition. It gained the attention of indie cinema luminaries Robert Rodriquez and Quentin Tarantino and was attached to the release of their film "Grindhouse" in Canadian theaters that same year.

The mock trailer was so successful that Jason wisely opted to spin it off into a very real full-length film. When it was announced that lensing would begin in Dartmouth on April 19'th with cinema icon Rutger Hauer as the titular Hobo, I sent the following sad email to Jason via "Facebook":

"Hey, Jason.

Congrats on starting production on "HWAS".

I know this is likely a long shot, but hey, nothing ventured...

Are there any opportunities available to volunteer time and effort on your current production?
If so, can you let me know what channels I would need to follow in order to assist in any capacity.

Thanks in advance and all the best."

Not surprisingly, I didn't hear back. The dude's making a feature film, for f#@&'s sake and is likely busier than Obama. Also we live in a bizarre age where social networking has really skewed the tradition definition of what I'd consider to be a friend. The only time I'd ever met the dude is when he hosted the screening of "Pontypool" at the Oxford a year or so ago.

Now I didn't expect a personal response but I was hoping my offer might down to someone in the crew. "Hobo With A Shotgun" though a pretty major production, was still modestly budgeted and I'd hoped that the concept of free help is attractive to anyone.

I didn't hear back but I continued to remain vigilant for opportunities.

Anyway, on Wednesday I'd completed a blog entry mid-day, posted it to "Facebook" and then logged off to clean up my place and get dinner in order. Just minutes before company arrived at 7 pm for my weekly board game session I made the mistake of logging into "Facebook" and read the following alert posted at 3 pm, just a few hours after I'd left the site:

"Call for Extras is for tomorrow night asap:
Want to be an EXTRA in HOBO WITH A SHOTGUN?
We need volunteer extras for the big finale tomorrow (thursday) night
in Dartmouth (an all-night shoot). If you're down and want to lose your
mind on-camera please call ***-****, or email ****@*******.ca"

I followed the thread to the inevitable end and read in horror that all the slots had already been filled.

Desperate, I sent an email anyway, hoping against hope. Sure enough, after my guests had left at around 11 pm that night the following reply in my inbox was heart-crushingly certain: "Sorry, they've all been filled!"

Despondent, I went to bed, stunned that my unknown window of opportunity had passed by so quickly.

Well, next morning while working on this week's comic, I heard my email chime and went to have a look, expecting just a smack-talk filled post-game analysis for my mentally absent showing in last night's "Age of Mythology" match. Instead I sat blinking at this:

"Hi David,
If you'd like to come out tonight to volunteer, I can email you the info. Are you still interested?"

A fuse burnt out in my brain. How was this possible? What kind of moron would volunteer for this and then cancel?

But then I realized that most normal people (present company excluded) would probably find the following two truisms to be rather daunting:

(1) The shoot would be overnight, likely lasting between 6 or 7pm until 6 am I the morning. Remember that blog entry I did before about being awake during unnatural times of our twenty-four hour clock that I thought shouldn't even exist?  That's what I'm talkin' about.  
(2) It was an exterior shoot and the overnight forecast was rain and cold temps.

Trying to appear vaguely even-keeled I typed back a conservative "Very much so. Thanks!" and eagerly awaited my reply. Ten minutes later, this note came back. Bear with me, I've edited this considerably since I consider people who traffic in spoilers to suck harder than the average "Dyson":

"Great!

Below is the information needed, standby for your calltime:

I have you booked to do volunteer background work tomorrow night (Thursday, May 6th) on the film Hobo With a Shotgun. All of the information below is very important, please read it through carefully.

Your Calltime is TO BE DETERMINED. I will be sending out an email around 11am telling you what time to be on set. Please be sure to check your email and reply to confirm.

THIS IS A NIGHT SHOOT, YOU WILL LIKELY BE ON SET FROM AROUND 6 or 7pm UNTIL AROUND 6 am.

Please Report to: ******************(Directions to follow)
There will be a tent on site where you should sign in, please follow yellow signs that say "Extras Holding".

Your Character: A civilian or homeless person in a corrupt town. You are in GROUP B which means that you are a volunteer.

The scene: The dramatic end of the film: ***********************.

WARDROBE:
Please dress in drab clothing. Everybody in this town is somewhat poor and down on their luck- don't try to look nice. Feel free to bring options of clothing that are worn, stained, or ripped. We love the look of old jean and leather. Please be aware that there will be fake blood on set- this is likely to get on your clothing- so wear clothes that you don't care very much about. If you are somebody with punk gear please go all out with that look.

This scene is Exterior: Please bring options of coats, hats, gloves and scarves in drab colours. If it rains, please bring an umbrella and rain gear. Dress for night in NS-we all know how cold it can get.

Colours we like: earth tones: grey, brown, charcoal, dark blue, dark green, tan, washed out & faded colours
Colours to avoid: anything bright, solid black, solid white, red, patterns, logos

Please make sure that all clothing is clean.

PROPS: Please bring garden tools if you have them. (There is a good & fun reason for this.) The props department would love to see: shovels, rakes, hoes, pruning shears, etc. Please be sure to label your tools so that they don't get mixed up with other people's. If you can, please bring one tool for yourself and an extra one just in case somebody else needs one.

HAIR: Men: Please do not shave.
Women: Please don't try to look nice. Arrive with a base coat of foundation if you usually wear it, but don't wear much make-up other than that. We want everybody to look kind of rugged.

PARKING: There will be parking at this location.

THINGS TO BRING: The wardrobe and props outlined above; SNACKS and DRINKS, a small lunch will be provided, but please be prepared with your own food and drinks, you'll be happier if you do; Warm gear: it gets cold in NS in the night; Books, cards, games, anything that will keep you entertained and happy without being disruptive.

THINGS TO REMEMBER:
- Please DO NOT take photos on set.
-Please DO NOT talk to the cast, they are there to do a job, please don't bug them.
-Please DO NOT ask "when will we be finished?", the crew doesn't know either.
-Please DO turn off your cellphone. If it must be on, turn it to silent.
-Please DO NOT leave any valuables in Extras Holding. There are going to be a lot of people on set, so although the area is secure, I would not take any risks. The Production company is not responsible for lost or stolen property.

What you are committing to:
-Being on set on time, and guaranteeing your presence there until they finish filming (probably a 12 hour night). Please do not confirm if you can't commit to being there for the full 12 hours.
-Maintaining a Professional Attitude throughout the shoot- No drinking, drugs, or disruptive behavior.
-Being on set around graphic content: swearing, violence, prop guns, lots of fake blood

If you are unable to make the shoot, please reply to this email with the subject line "CANCEL" immediately. Otherwise, please keep a close watch on your email tomorrow morning so that you can confirm promptly.

Thank you"


By noon I'd received an 8 pm call time and sent confirmation that I'd be there. In fact, nothing short of a friggin' zombie apocalypse would have kept from going. Apart from worrying if I had the proper wardrobe, if I'd get the car back in time for my wife to get to work the next morning and whether or not I'd actually find the location, I was in!

It had taken thirty-nine years, but I was finally going to realize a dream come true.

CONTINUED IN PART II

Here's this week's "Dave's World" comic, which I started before all this foolishness came up. Strangely, it turned out to be kinda relevant, as you'll see in Part II on Monday.

Today's  "WARNING: Exploit-Sensational Adult content" EPIC/FAILS...

EPIC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LlazPgxKrA  Original "Hobo" trailer. 


BONUS EPIC: http://www.hobowithashotgun.com/   Official site for the full-length film.

BONUS, BONUS EPIC: http://twitchfilm.net/news/2009/09/beware-the-furious-foliage-its-jason-eiseners-treevenge.php  Jason's bloody and brilliant "Treevenge" short

FAIL: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KCct4RwLNM    And what Exploitation Films look like on the south side of  "FAIL"...    

Oedipus Wrecks

My Dad ruined me.

Wow, I could actually hear a noticeable creak of the wing back chairs as all the amateur psychologists leaned forward at once.

Well before your salacious hand-wringing gets too noticeable, put down your Rorschach tests and phrenology charts right now. My Dad never boxed my ears, forced me to eat breakfast out of a shoebox in the basement of touched me in what that other not-to-be-forgotten Stuart of "Mad TV" fame would often refer to as my "danger zone."

In fact, I can say in all confidence that my Dad is my hero. I wouldn't be a semblance of a decent person if it wasn't for both of my parents.

Having said that, the dude still inadvertently messed me up a tad.

When I first began my working career he gave me the following advice:

* "Never refuse a job!" Well, I think if I haven't disproved this one by now in previous entries, I'll officially pack it in. There are certainly jobs you should refuse to do. My advice: even though you're in economic hostage to an employer do not get complacent. Don't be afraid to transition from one employer to another until you find one that gives some portion of a rat's ass about you.

* "Be loyal to your employer and they'll be loyal to you." For about six years I really believed this one. I was a Kool-Aid swillin' fool for Sears until I laid off along with eight-hundred other people, not because we weren't profitable or we weren't doing a good job but because Ontario outbid Nova Scotia for a better incentive package in grant money and tax breaks. Oooo-kay, scratch that one off...

* "Always accept a promotion!" You know my rant on that one already: often accepting a promotion means your hours and responsibilities double and by the time you factor in overtime, you aren't making much more money. A friend of mine who used to have a nice, normal nine to five job they loved, accepted a promotion and the next thing I know I'm getting emails from them like this:
"My work schedule just got blown out of the water, so I’m out for this week. I don’t (know) when I’ll be home tomorrow, Thursday, Friday or Saturday. Sorry guys." See, now this is horse-s#!&! If you take a vacation or get sick and come back to work and promptly want to gnaw on a cyanide capsule because no one is trained to take care of things while you were gone and now you have five times the amount of crap to do and regret not fleeing to Aruba to sell towels on the beach, well then, I hate to break it to you. The company you work for sucks.

* "Work hard and your efforts will be rewarded." Really? Well, it's been my experience over the past twelve years toiling away in thankless office/call center environments that nothing can me further from the truth. A friend of mine who has impeccable performance reviews, is universally well liked by his staff and peers and has been wildly successfully at everything he's been tasked to do was asked by his employer what alternate role they might like to take in a future department shakeup. Craving some modicum of stability, he politely declined any such transition, told them that he liked where he was and really enjoyed the relationship he was cultivating with his staff over the course of the last few months. Well, he just found out a few days ago that - wishes be damned - he's proven to be "just so darned competent" that he's being forced to manage another group of new hires that common knowledge around the office has already branded as a pack of "problem children". Lesson learned here: don't work too hard, distinguish yourself too much or be perceived as notably competent otherwise you could be taking a big ole' inadvertent bite out of a poo sandwich.

* "Always obey your bosses." What I've learned: many employers that claim to have all the answers to the universe and make directives with 100% certainty are usually concealing gross deficiencies in practical experience, insight, cognitive skills, knowledge and (perish forbid) common sense. Try this little experiment. If your sales or marketing boss asks you right away to start doing something for or with your customers that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever (because you know your customers far better than your bosses), don't start doing it right away. I'm willing to wager nine times out of ten no one notices that you're not doing it, soon realizes just how stupid the idea was and will never mention it again and *presto* you've just avoided looking like a total schmuck to your client. Now, if they ask to do it a second time...get on that s#!*.

Now, I can't blame by Dad for giving me this advice. Maybe working conditions in the Fifties, Sixties and Seventies actually supported these principals. After all, I always get a chuckle when my Mom keeps doggedly asking every year what kind of Christmas bonus I'm going to get from whatever employer I've had over the past twelve years. I keep telling her just as doggedly that the kind of companies that used to do that for their employees now seem painfully few and far between.

After thinking it over for a bit I have to admit that if I were put in the same position I'd likely do the exact same thing my Dad did. In fact if I were ever to have a kid (unlikely if the procedure took like my Doctor promised) than I'd likely give him or her similar advice. Why? Because I'd hate to have an interaction like this with my kid:

Bart Simpson: "I am through with working! Working is for chumps!"
Homer: "Son, I'm proud of you! I was twice your age when I figured that out."

I want to give my hypothetical child an illusion about the importance of being earnest. I want L'il Dave (or Davette) to give potential employers the benefit of the doubt. I don't want them to be completely jaded even before they've worked a day in their life.

I just wish that employers would give me a bit more material to work with so I could speak to this with a bit more authority.

The other thing that messed me up is the fact that ever since I remember my Dad has made a respectable living from being a visual artist. I grew up watching him paint these tremendous landscapes, seascapes and a host of other photo realistic vistas. He did this and still managed to support a wife, a kid, a mortgage and car payments. I grew up in a household where I'd often be asked to slap jesso on a canvas and frame a painting just as readily as helping with the dishes or mowing a lawn. I grew up attending art exhibits, shows and sales witnessing first-hand that a diligent artist can be praised and rewarded.

I grew up thinking that any job you do in the short and precious span of time allocated to you in life must allow you to apply some personal stamp, some creative signature on it otherwise it's just a waste of time. Any organ donor can do that!

This can be just as simple as having the trust and authority to send an email to your staff that puts an important request in fictional story form, giving people goofy nicknames on tags for an informal team meeting or dressing like a cowboy and singing trail songs as an elementary school teacher.

But if you find yourself in a work environment where every aspect is controlled and every creative impulse has been beaten out of you, it's time to get the F#@&; out of Dodge. RIGHT NOW!

So, thanks Dad, not for the glass half empty but the glass half full. I'm considerably more jaded now but at least I can point to a time when I felt as if the world was my oyster.

Plus you've made me a pretty die-hard eternal optimist.

EPIC: http://www.lloydprettystudio.ca/main.html A link to my Dad's/Idol's Website

BONUS EPIC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3A3xV7uIz8 STUART NEEDS A COMEBACK!

FAIL: http://www.reallybadparentingadvice.com/ I know, it could have been a whole lot worse!

The Man on the Flying Trapeze

Hello, Gentle Reader.

Please forgive the following ego indulgence.

Back in April of 1994 I wrote the following which I suppose was my idea of "poetry" at the time. Be gentle:

*************************************************************

The Man on the Flying Trapeze

There is a certain isolation when you are surrounded.
When safety nets fray and the dive is inevitable.
To rely on strangers.
To meet in tribunal.
To pass a secret motion,
and grant you a future.

*************************************************************

I think the way we apply for jobs in this day and age is hilarious. Basically the applicant is a stranger to the prospective company and the prospective candidate is a complete stranger to the company. It's completely absurd.

I was in "Uncommon Grounds" the other day ("Fog Burner": best coffee in the city, respec'!)reading "Pillars of the Earth". I like reading in coffee shops since most of the inane babble around me functions as so much white noise and I'm able to focus on whatever I'm reading, regardless of how dry it is. Now Ken Follett's masterpiece is nothing but dull, but just as he's going into a particularly Machiavellian sidebar about the death of a monarch, likely successors and what potential pretenders of the throne may offer contest, I'm actually distracted by a conversation at a nearby table.

Sitting there is a smartly attired dude about my age who is joined by either a long- time confidant or a retained consultant I'm not sure which. They greet each other like old friends and start to chat.

Smart-Attired Dude: "So, thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. I appreciate it."

Confultant: "No worries, man, my pleasure. So how've you been?"

Smart-Attired Dude: "Alright I guess. I guess I'm still in shock."

Confultant: "Yeah, that's natural."

Smart-Attired Dude: "I still can't believe that(insert name of notoriously greedy regional grocery store conglomerate here)fired me after eight years."

Confultant: "Hey! Don't look at it as being fired, okay. Cripes, I've been fired more times than I've had hot meals. Things is, with me, most times the company didn't let me go but just shuffled me into some other crappy position."

Smart-Attired Dude: "Yeah, well, I guess that just wasn't an option for me."

Confultant: "So how's the job search going?"

Smart-Attired Dude: "Terrible. I had an interview with a shipping company in Liverpool which I really thought would be perfect for me. I'm originally from down around there, so y'know, I figured I'd have a bit of an 'inside track'. Anyway the job ad said that they were looking for a Shipping/Receiving guy, which is exactly what my resume shows..."

Confultant: "Right."

Smart-Attired Dude: "So the interview's going well but all of a sudden the guy starts asking me if I have any experience with box manufacturing."

Confultant: "Uh...huh, okay. So,what did you tell him?"

Smart-Attired Dude: "Well, the truth, unfortunately. I've never worked in a place that actually makes packaging but I told him, c'mon, it's just a BOX. Who cares?"

Confultant: "Jesus..."

Smart-Attired Dude: "Yeah, well, I guess it was important to them. They called me a few days later told me I didn't get the job. I asked for some feedback and they told me I didn't have any experience with box manufacturing. I just had to laugh because if the guy they hired has no experience with day to day shipping and receiving logistics, it's just gonna be a disaster."

Confultant: "Frankly I wouldn't worry too much about it. I think it's good you didn't get the job with an outfit like that."

Smart-Attired Dude: "Yeah, probably."

Confultant: "Look, let me tell you something right now: the whole concept of hiring people based on a resume and an interview is completely pointless."

Smart-Attired Dude: "What do you mean?"

Confultant: "Just think about it. What does a resume tell a potential employer about really important things?"

Smart-Attired Dude: "Like what?"

Confultant: "Like what kind of work ethic does this person have? What type of management style does he best react to? How adaptable is this person? How good are they with multitasking?"

Smart-Attired Dude: "Man, that's so true. Usually I just fire a resume out as kind of a generic thing..."

Confultant: "Exactly! It's like throwing darts blindfolded. And don't even get me started on interviews. These behavioral things now are a friggin' farce. All you have to do now in an interview is memorize some pat answers and hope yours reek less of bulls#!^ than the next guy's..."

Smart-Attired Dude: "Well, what's the alternative?"

Confultant: "The company I'm with right now is doing something brilliant. They don't even ask for a resume or do an interview at first. There's an informal questionnaire that you fill out right on our website that's designed to profile all those things I mentioned before we even call you."

And that's where I had to take my leave, regretting that I would never get to hear the name of the innovative company in question.

I put this in here because I can only rant about the state of the union from a potential employee's position and this dimly-lit street is definitely a two-wayer. I once knew a very capable person who interviewed for a dream job with a non-profit organization. This person went into the interview knowing they were going to have to do a lot of road trips, accept a lower-tier health package and take a pay cut but they hated their current job and wanted to do something more karmic-ally rewarding.

So get this now, after making this poor applicant jump through hoops of fire, in the final stage interview the company representative tells our hero:



Has this ever happened to you before? Have you ever gone through an interview process so complicated you'd think you were applying to CSIS, gotten your hopes up, ready to accept an offer and make a positive change in your life? Then some person who doesn't know you at all decides that either they didn't like your box-assembly-deficient-resume or decides to trowel on a couple of hitherto unmentioned crap duties to see if you'll still bite as if the "sucker" sign on your back is crooked?

I don't know about you but I'm sick of surprise and disappointment. Employers, please consider adopting something similar to what the previously mentioned phantom company has set in place. From the perspective of smart, diligent and honest employees we need to pledge the following completely reasonable vows:

* I will not blindly apply for jobs through temp agencies acting for a front for companies with reputations so poor that you would never have applied for them in the first place.

* I will tell any potential employer to "cram it with walnuts" if they mention in the 11'th hour of an interview that you will be paid not in cash after all but with bits of wool, twigs and dead budgerigars.

* I will also tell any potential employer to "go pound sand" if, during the moment they shake hands with you after accepting the job, they suddenly produce a laundry hamper filled with the v.p.'s sweat socks which they promptly describe as "your first action item".

* I will no longer toil away for people markedly stupider than I am. And trust me, this is a modest proposal since I'm not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.

* I will not slave away at a McJob where process and procedure is so homogenized that either you or a syphilitic brain-damaged rhesus monkey could do with equal proficiency.

* I will not pimp my priceless time to a company that, instead of hiring more staff to replace attrition losses, just trowel their extra duties on top of some other economically ransomed, borderline-suicidal serf.

* I will never sell my soul to an employer who's idea of training and investing in their employees is a thumb absently jabbed in the direction of your battleship gray cubicle prison.

* I will not pledge my allegiance to an employer that regards it's staff's merely as asses warming seats.

Even as I look at this through the eyes of a potential employer all I see are ways to make their lives easier as well. After all it's gotta be expensive, frustrating and a poor reflection on your operation if it's hemorrhaging veteran staff and new hires alike. Especially if they try and act surprised when they can't find suitable candidates to interview.

So, what say you, fellow Trapeze Artists? Let me hear from you! If we have solidarity here, I promise we'll spark a revolution that Jamie Oliver would be proud of.

EPIC: The Pillars of the Earth

FAIL: http://www.bcjobs.ca/re/hr-resources/human-resource-advice/recruitment-and-retention/employee-turnover--how-much-is-it-costing-you