Fly-posting is not for pussies
Ok so we have four days till this thing jumps off. Four motherfuckin’ days till I know just how much of an ass I have made out of myself…am I worried… fuck no! I have a secret weapon.. and her name is Yoda (Yoda is the publicist with the superpowers).
Ok.. so since we last spoke…I picked up the postcards and posters from the printer…and the color is wrong, wrong, wrong….Jesus fucking Christ is this wrong. Now you’d think for $1000 and so-so customer service… that you could at least get the fuckin’ color right, but noooooo my one sheet is now a reddish brown instead of saturated yellow….see this is why directors yell a lot….motherfuckers be fuckin’ shit up!
But I do not have them time to go in there and tell Skippy and the rest of his slow-motion staff what color I was referring to when I said “a hot yellow”…but that’s my fault for assuming that I will be taken seriously with a short film. Lesson number 3,642…unless it’s a feature…they could care fuckin’ less. But that’s ok, because when I am rich and powerful there will be no coke & hookers for them….let them eat cake…well rice cakes, this is Los Angeles.
Ok so.. the posters were smaller than I was expecting. I mean these things are 11X17. Not the 1 million X 1 Million that I had specifically asked for…but whatever. So when I inquire about the size, Yoda tells me “oh.. these are perfect for the fly-posting”.
Now if you don’t know what fly-posting is, I will explain. It’s the posters that you see pasted on wooden paneling around construction sites and shit…a hand-bill is probably a more accurate description. Now Yoda is tickled pink that we are going to fly post tonight. I mean she has this giddy laugh like she just cut a motherfucker off on the 10. I know that I should be concerned…but a certain woman I know told me that I need to be humble and trust people more….so I am going with it.
Fly-posting is like mad-illegal. And consequently you have to do it in the middle of the night…Yoda calls them bombing runs. As Yoda explains it “…well you do it at night because you don’t want to get knicked by the Bobbies”. Knicked by the Bobbies…yeah ok Yoda.. how about getting shot by LAPD, because that’s what we are really talkin’ about here. So Yoda makes a crack about me be a pussy, and asks me “just how badly do I want to direct features?” See the kind of motivation you get when you run an ad on Craigslist.. but whatever.
Ok so it’s now 12:30am on Saturday night. Me and my boy Ice (yes I know someone named Ice and yes he has been know to cut a motherfucker…so what?) are chillin’ in my spot, smokin’ a fattie and trying to get our heads around this act of vandalism that we are about to participate in.
The phone rings, and it’s Yoda. “Be outside in five minutes..and for fucksake wear something dark”…and she hangs up. Yes, I am starting to get concerned. So me and Ice are standing out front when Yoda zooms up the street in her roommates car. Now that right there is a big bread crumb clue that rude shit is about to go down.. She stops the car abruptly and we hop in, she chirps off in an instant. So we are blowing up my street at a rather fast speed as Yoda barks instructions at us. I realize now how it feels when one of my friends (who’s in the army) jumps out of airplanes; you are given limited instructions; there are people speaking to you who obviously know more shit than they are letting on. But I continue undeterred. We are traveling north on Robertson, approaching Pico. Yoda gets in the left turn and a wave of fear floats over Ice an myself. I inform Yoda that west of us is only Pico/Beverweil which isn’t exactly homeboy or flypost friendly; after that there is Century City where there is no public parking (dude it’s like $18.50 an hr to park in the garages…it’s motherfucking Attorneyville and if you ain’t an attorney…you need to stay the fuck outta there) oh yeah and then there’s Westwood.. and we all know how I feel about Westwood.
Cooprdog
Ok.. so since we last spoke…I picked up the postcards and posters from the printer…and the color is wrong, wrong, wrong….Jesus fucking Christ is this wrong. Now you’d think for $1000 and so-so customer service… that you could at least get the fuckin’ color right, but noooooo my one sheet is now a reddish brown instead of saturated yellow….see this is why directors yell a lot….motherfuckers be fuckin’ shit up!
But I do not have them time to go in there and tell Skippy and the rest of his slow-motion staff what color I was referring to when I said “a hot yellow”…but that’s my fault for assuming that I will be taken seriously with a short film. Lesson number 3,642…unless it’s a feature…they could care fuckin’ less. But that’s ok, because when I am rich and powerful there will be no coke & hookers for them….let them eat cake…well rice cakes, this is Los Angeles.
Ok so.. the posters were smaller than I was expecting. I mean these things are 11X17. Not the 1 million X 1 Million that I had specifically asked for…but whatever. So when I inquire about the size, Yoda tells me “oh.. these are perfect for the fly-posting”.
Now if you don’t know what fly-posting is, I will explain. It’s the posters that you see pasted on wooden paneling around construction sites and shit…a hand-bill is probably a more accurate description. Now Yoda is tickled pink that we are going to fly post tonight. I mean she has this giddy laugh like she just cut a motherfucker off on the 10. I know that I should be concerned…but a certain woman I know told me that I need to be humble and trust people more….so I am going with it.
Fly-posting is like mad-illegal. And consequently you have to do it in the middle of the night…Yoda calls them bombing runs. As Yoda explains it “…well you do it at night because you don’t want to get knicked by the Bobbies”. Knicked by the Bobbies…yeah ok Yoda.. how about getting shot by LAPD, because that’s what we are really talkin’ about here. So Yoda makes a crack about me be a pussy, and asks me “just how badly do I want to direct features?” See the kind of motivation you get when you run an ad on Craigslist.. but whatever.
Ok so it’s now 12:30am on Saturday night. Me and my boy Ice (yes I know someone named Ice and yes he has been know to cut a motherfucker…so what?) are chillin’ in my spot, smokin’ a fattie and trying to get our heads around this act of vandalism that we are about to participate in.
The phone rings, and it’s Yoda. “Be outside in five minutes..and for fucksake wear something dark”…and she hangs up. Yes, I am starting to get concerned. So me and Ice are standing out front when Yoda zooms up the street in her roommates car. Now that right there is a big bread crumb clue that rude shit is about to go down.. She stops the car abruptly and we hop in, she chirps off in an instant. So we are blowing up my street at a rather fast speed as Yoda barks instructions at us. I realize now how it feels when one of my friends (who’s in the army) jumps out of airplanes; you are given limited instructions; there are people speaking to you who obviously know more shit than they are letting on. But I continue undeterred. We are traveling north on Robertson, approaching Pico. Yoda gets in the left turn and a wave of fear floats over Ice an myself. I inform Yoda that west of us is only Pico/Beverweil which isn’t exactly homeboy or flypost friendly; after that there is Century City where there is no public parking (dude it’s like $18.50 an hr to park in the garages…it’s motherfucking Attorneyville and if you ain’t an attorney…you need to stay the fuck outta there) oh yeah and then there’s Westwood.. and we all know how I feel about Westwood.
Cooprdog
posted by Cooprdog at 9:44 AM
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