Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Please allow me to introduce myself

The seemingly unending delirium of not shooting a film is taking a toll on me. Though I have just had a seriously decadent birthday party (of which I remember nothing) that did little other than empty my bank account of a few thousand dollars and ruin my reputation with a score of 24 yr old models (like I really need to be fucking 24 yr olds… I mean I love the way they moan…it’s just the talking to them afterwards part that creates the difficulty) my life seems empty (assuming you ignore the ever increasing amount of tickets and court appearances) and the depression. It is times like these that I’d normally buy enough weed to forget my mother’s name (Mom, it’s a joke…I’m a writer, you have to relax) but it appears that I’m on Sookie’s shit list cause he seems to not want to sell to me (I have needs Homie!) so I’ve turned to my number two passion, porno. Only the porno is not what it used to be. I mean how depressing is it when porn doesn’t’ even do it for you anymore? Is the world really coming to an end? Is this really what it’s going to be like when it’s all over, boring porn and the inability to find a decent pint? (F.Y.I. The Room is Santa Monica still sucks big sweaty balls…but I digress) Is this the point where I sell my Z and turn to religion? (ha…ha… yeah, sure it is!)
Speaking of Z cars, for those of you that don’t know me (I believe that number is around 250 million or so) I drive a 1977 Datsun 280Z, with a really nice exhaust. The other day I was on my way to autocross (it’s what I do when I’m not banging the shit out of my ex-girlfriend) @ about 5:30AM (racing happens early) one of my neighbors stuck his head out of his window and yelled at me about “revving my motor” in the middle of the night. After a very short conversation where I explained to him that 5:30am is not the middle of the night, I have to physically be inside the car to rev the motor and that I have perfected the fine art of cussing while discussing his mother’s anatomy he decided to shut his window (imagine that). Several days later I received a complaint letter from my landlord: whom we’ll call Mr. Frank. He wrote me a 1 page letter telling me that he’s received a number of complaints (…uh, one person calling repeatedly about the same thing does not constitute “a number” in generally accepted customer service jargon) about my car and told me that I was disturbing the peace and that I should consider getting a better exhaust. My response was a 3-page letter delivered on the same day as my complaint letter was received that went something like this…fuck you!; I have a lease; Fuck You!; there are people who live here that are way louder than me; Fuck you! We live downtown where the homeless, 1-legged hookers and scofflaws congregrate…and uh, Fuck you! I pay big money to make this kind of noise. I was really hoping that some sort of parking lot brawl would ensue so I could go over the top of the pile with a clothesline and yell out things like “…tell ya momma who did it to ya!” Needless to say, there was no formal response to my letter which could only mean one thing (Frank is a pussy).
But the whole thing got me thinking, what the fuck is going on? Why is everyone treating me like I can’t find the I-10? (it’s the one where the cars aren’t moving and a few are on fire)? I guess it’s been a while since I impaled a festival director with a rolled-up poster or told a guerilla filmmaker (all you need is desire) which way to go and how to get there. I think this is a common phenomenon in our industry. We tend to let them forget what it is we do and what it is we are capable of. Now, since I can’t flash my pussy (if I had a pussy, I’d put a picture of that motherfucker on a billboard with the slogan “you know you want this” under it), “accidentally” overdose on a bottle of prescription medication or get caught fucking on a night vision camera (you might want to bring the wide angle lens) my ability to keep my company and my likeness in the minds of the motherfuckers who matter is a bit difficult.
So how do we do it? How do we make sure that we are remembered? How do we ensure our names will get tossed around when it really matters?


1) Get a reputation for something your mother would not be proud of. Look, I know this is hard cause if your Momma is still alive, there’s a very good chance you’ll have a very uncomfortable conversation about this behavior that will more than likely have a detrimental effect on your present receiving opportunities (who doesn’t love gifts from mom?) Ok so, here’s what you do: You have to get a reputation for something that is not readily verifiable…like fighting so many tickets that the LA Superior Court refers to you as Four Amendment Mary. I know this is difficult but you don’t want your fantasy producer reputation to be destroyed by a simple Google search (and flipping the circuit breaker before the dinner party is a great way to prevent this). My point is, make sure your reputation proceeds you.


2) Be better than at least one other peer in your part of the industry. Look, I’ll be completely honest here. Nothing gets you out of the hot seat faster than a statement like … “look, I may have choked a few strippers but I never urinated on anyone that was attending a drive-in movie so back up off me”. That’s funny and is nice visual imagery (think convertible parked next to a dually Super Duty pick-up truck). And regardless of what you have just been accused of, everyone is going to go home and try to figure out what the fuck you are talking about.


3) Have a story to tell. Yes, it’s that simple…and it’s really good if the story includes a shark, a bear or the disarming of a bomb. Did you read the story about the chick in Florida that was walking her dog when an 8ft Alligator jumped out of the grass (dude, that’s what I read…don’t be a dick) and grabbed her by the ankle and tried to drag her into the lake? (no really, this shit actually happened) She gouged him in the eye with her thumb to get away (what is she an MMA fighter?) But my point is when she’s at the dinner party the story sounds way different ….”so here I am in 3 feet of water, whippin this Aligator’s ass when animal control shows up. Talk about lucky, I was about to have the flyest shoes and matching luggage in all of Florida if them bitches hadn’t have shown up when they did”. It’s true that it’s all in the delivery, but my point is valid – have something to say.


4) Have a favorite drink. Nothing says “I’m less fun than a traffic stop in Beverly hills” than a Budweiser drinker. Oh, and no fruity drinks if you’re male. It’s really hard to take a dude seriously when the inside of his glass looks like it belongs on Jimmy Buffet’s shirt (c’mon… that’s a good joke). I drink Guinness, tequila straight is apparently getting very popular (and if you meet a woman that like to drink patron straight up…she’ll fuck you 6 ways to Sunday if you can get her home…believe dat!) Just find a drink, and stay away from whiskey unless you’re Irish or can fight…I’m so not kidding on that one.


5) It’s really hard to look uninteresting when you have someone to talk to. And if you get fucked up you can both put in your earpieces , put on your sunglass and talk into your cuffs and watch the real felons make a run for the door (FYI this is really not funny when the President is near)
Ok…here’s your plan to filmmaking success. And yes, I do use it…but I also have a big cock (please email me for pics) so it’s easy for me to make friends so don’t take it personal if I’m better than you (I am better than you )

Laters

COOPRDOG

1 Comments:

Blogger Holly said...

You are a trip!

7:36 AM  

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