Friday, November 10, 2006

"The Situation"

Ok I am not going to lie, I am not going to pretend like I wanted to go to another festival. I mean when you are applying and shit, when you’re on withoutaclue.. I mean withoutanoption or as I like to call it… withoutanalternativewaytosubmitthatdoesntcompletelyfuckingsuck …it’s all peachy. I mean you’re overdosing on gummy colas and ripping bowls and your like “yeah!...yeah motherfucker! I am going to sweep the entire northeast. And when I am done with their punk asses I’ll take every short film award west of Texas! And then we are going to the UK to show the Brit’s how we get down – motherfucker!…Cooprdog is in the motherfuckin’ building!”…you’re thinking that you have found the secret combination of festival acceptance (yes Voodoo will seem hella viable 6 months into your festival tour). Anyway, so when you do this kind of shit, you’ll apply to festivals that run head to tails (that means one ends right as another begins – all you non filmmaking people…see I didn’t curse – now get off my fuckin’ case). All of which seems like a great fuckin’ idea till you actually get accepted to a few heads-to-tails scenarios and have to play nice for weeks at a time (you’ll don a permanent smile that’s some where between The Joker and all the aging plastic blondes that haunt LA like zombies in a Romero flick). That is what I am dealing with and why I am holed-up at Swingers diner (come for the menu…stay for the uniforms) sucking the life out of a vanilla milkshake. I think I will hold all of my press conferences here. When they compare me to Tarantino (Quentin who?).. I’ll field the questions from this booth. When I publicly humiliate my agent by getting him taken off the VIP list and getting my new agents name on the VIP list at the “must appear” award show...I’ll run here as the paparazzi give chase. After my porno star/centerfold girlfriend is found dead in my loft amid 6 pounds of coke, a dog collar around her neck and my best friends phone number in her celli …I’ll refuse to answer question as I sink my teeth into a Swingers burger with bacon and cheese (…oh like I’d be living in LA if I was concerned with my health). Man is the future gonna be fuckin’ schweet!

My blackcherry vibrates on the table, I answer it and it’s Yoda…and let’s just say she’s not trying to win the Miss Congeniality award. Apparently I am getting on a plane in 15 hours…a plane to Atlanta, Georgia. What? When the fuck did I agree to this? Wait I second.. I already went to Georgia… Yoda is definitely developing a drug problem…


YODA (nasty British accent)
“Let’s get this straight – right! You agreed to play this festival if you got accepted when you screened at their industry night the last time you were there, ok! So don’t go barkin’ at me cause you are out of weed and you left all your PSP games on the fucking plane that is now inbound to Dallas Ft. Worth!…‘Cause I don’t fucking need it ok! You’ve been nothin’ but a fuckin’ liability since the bloody website went live and I just ‘bout fuckin’ had it! Now you’re gonna get on the goddamn plane, and your gonna do the whole “I’m just a man with a story to tell” – bit with warm eyes and a soothing voice and your gonna hand out every fucking screener you got or I’m gonna twist your arm off and beat you with it so many times that your boys will think you went 4 rounds with Ken Shamrock! Do you hear me Cooprdog?!! …and I know where you fucking live and who you buy your fucking weed from…so go ahead and try to be cheeky and see if I don’t haunt you like underage pussy that smells funny!”

COOPRDOG
“Christ! Do you have to yell…I mean all you had to do was..”

YODA
“Oh don’t get all fuckin’ sensitive on me, right....I’ve seen it all before Coop-dizzle. Now you need to be a leader here...that means you can’t be high all the time.”

COOPRDOG
“I am not high all the time. That’s a gross mischaracterization of my extra-curricular activities….I mean you’ve got to remember how heavy handed the media is with the metaphors”

YODA
“Why don’t you save that load of shit - for your Filmmaker Magazine interview, right! Now you do realize that you and your buddy Det. Budd need to keep your noses clean seeing as you will have a reporter in tow.”

COOPRDOG
“A who?... in what? What the fuck are you talkin’ about Yoda”

YODA
“Oh for fuck’s sake, can you lay of the blunts long enough to read your fuckin’ email!”

COOPRDOG
“I still have no idea what the fuck it is you are talking about”

YODA
“Listen to me Cooprdog. This was your idea ok. You wanted the publicity, and you wanted to go on a world tour..”

COOPRDOG
“Yeah…..When I said world tour I was talking about Western Europe”

YODA
“Yeah well last I checked Atlanta was part of the world so why don’t you shut the fuck up and just be a good director.”

COOPRDOG
“..hey directing is hard”

YODA
“So is scrabble if you graduated from L.A.U.S.D. (Los Angeles Unified School District – it’s an LA joke...shut the fuck up and continue reading)

COOPRDOG
“ok what does any of that shit have to do with me”

YODA
“Listen Mr. I-have-a-thesis-grounded-in film-theory-and-semiotics how the fuck do you expect me to get knowledge of it, or any portion of it, introduced to the rest of the English speaking world if we don’t get a reporter to write about it and you and your fondness for making friends on the road”

COOPRDOG
“So this is a press junket then.”

YODA
“Oh I swear I am going to fuckin’ strangle you if we don’t get the money for the feature! This is a real festival Cooprdog, ok! We are in competition. That means posters and post cards and T-shirts and smiles…lots of fucking smiles! You cannot come off as some fuckin’ stoner-wanna-be-hippy-West-LA-cat… that would not be good.”

COOPRDOG
“You always told me to be myself”

YODA
“yeah well that was before I knew that you spent most of your time eating gummy cola’s and filling your hard drive with pornography”

COOPRDOG
“Hey, that’s vital research! I am studying the images”

YODA
“Yeah.. well here’s an image you can study. Actually it’s a film…it’s called “Cooprdog doesn’t get his feature financed” …and has to get a real job…. …oh you’re not to eager to read that one huh?

COOPRDOG
“Alright, alright.. I’ll fucking be good and shit and I do the fuckin’ “ pick-me, pick me” dance and all that bullshit”

YODA
“See, that’s what I wanted to hear. Have a good trip and call me if anything happens.”

Well that’s just fuckin’ great. I mean who is this reporter? Is she a reporter?...is he a reporter. Oh if this is some geeky dude who doesn’t drink… man, that better not be the case. And what happened to treating me with kid gloves? Did she take a tough love seminar? What happened to nurturing the artist and making him feel secure?…what happened to everyone saying yes to me? I think I liked it better when I was completely unknown (yeah cause I get mobbed every time I leave my fuckin’ house). .Ok so I pay my tab and flirt with a waitress who has no intention of giving me her phone number…and I understand this…but how about just playing along and letting me maintain this illusion of celebrity. Is it really necessary to let me know that I have no shot. I know I have no shot… I live in LA and I don’t own a phat house or a Ferrari…Jesus what’s the matter with you…we all need a little love (and financing, lot’s of fucking financing)...this is wait-staff love…the oldest game in the book. I come in here a few times a week. I pay ridiculous prices for marginal food on dirty plates… I make small talk, you laugh at my jokes…and in my head…we have this great relationship that I have yet to fuck up (..’cause I eventually fuck them all up)…just play along…please? Fuck!...it’s so much easier on the set when I am paying people to be my friends (yeah… like people got paid).

Ok so I’m back in my house, attempting to wash all my clothes and organize myself before this flight. As it turns out, I have been flirting with this reporter. Well she’s really not a journalist…she’s a doctoral candidate and I have been doing less discussion of my project and more discussing of if she’s single. Yes I know that you aren’t supposed to mix business with pleasure (unless you are in the pleasure business…then you get to fuck everybody) but I like to make my own rules.

See, this is why you can’t smoke weed, and lie to your friend with benefits (“No, I didn’t get home till yesterday but I am leaving tomm so now is not a good time to come over”) and download porn and chat all at the same time…because you will inadvertently agree to things that may have wanted to meditate on. Ok that’s not fair. I have wanted to have someone with a writing ability embedded with us so that we can get an objective report on what this project is all about. And you can rest assured that I did not use my wit and charm (and sexy ass…cause I am a sexy motherfucker) to influence any of the thoughts or opinions of this individual that shall forever been know as Dr. M ( and if you are from her doctoral program I gave her that moniker so chill the fuck out – she’s not misrepresenting herself). Anyway, I have yet to put my hands on anyone that I have worked with (but Jesus fuckin’ Christ have I wanted to) so this should be no big deal. I mean I would have liked to save this type of thing for a huge ass festival with press coverage (ha..ha.. a festival with press coverage…that’s really funny) but hey.. beggars can’t be choosers (unless they live in Santa Monica). I decide to call Det. Budd to see if he’s ok with this.

As my blackcherry connects I hear the sound of a bong being ripped. Det. Budd has already begun the pre-party

Det. Budd
“I’m sorry… she’s coming with us?”

COOPRDOG
“Yes”

DET. BUDD
“and who’s idea was this?”

COOPRDOG
“uh.. mine…kind of..”

DET. BUDD
“Hey dude.. I don’t care.. but if she pukes she’s your responsibility”

COOPRDOG
“I don’t get the feeling she gets down like that”

DET. BUDD
“Yeah…whatever. Just remember what I said. The only body I am carrying is yours…cause I need you to get that feature money!”

COOPRDOG
“Well there’s a pleasant thought”

DET. BUDD
Ripping another bowl: “It’s just business baby…don’t get mad!”


Great so Det, Budd’s already on a bender and I have to play tour guide. See I am not the one to worry about. Budd is the fuckin’ manic, just you wait….just you wait.

Anyway, we are going to have our first face to face meeting in the airport (hopefully I won’t be getting arrested by the TSA when that happens)…so that’s something to look forward to…I guess.

Det. Budd is flying shotgun on this one and that means that unlike my last trip, this one will be full of high speed maneuvers in rental cars and out-of-bounds statements said over fresh pints of Guinness. This is going to be good.

COOPRDOG

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