Cheaper than a roller coaster |1:01 AM|
Wow, I walked out of Cass's place thinking "I need to go to Europe", among other ideas on how to make life more interesting. Less than 5 minutes later I was surfing on a thin layer of water, doing my damnedest to avoid disaster.
I've been bitching at Portland for a while about a lack of certainty in my life. Some kind of good, pure direction. Few things can focus me like rocketing down the road with only the most tenuous of control over my vehicle.
I was tooling along, doing 10 under the speed limit to be safe*.
Up ahead, at the intersection marked below, the light turned red. This is downhill, bad road conditions, I knew I had a damned good chance of losing control of the vehicle, and that's exactly what happened the moment I applied the brakes. The car was swerving, wildly. At this point I was trying to bring it under control and stop before the intersection. Then I changed priorities to just staying in the right lane. As I shot forward, still fish tailing, I abandoned those ideas and just concentrated on staying in the center lane and not hitting anything. I honked twice as I passed under the now very red stoplights.
I noticed there weren't any cars around, and I had plenty of road to work this out. That's when it became fun.
Don't get me wrong, this was scary shit, my car was skidding almost completely out of my control, but I was absolutely certain of my ability to bring it back. Applying the brakes did dick for stabilizing, so I had to turn into the slides, and then swing back around the moment I felt some minor bit of control. My car weighs very little for its size, so all I had to do was make sure the weight of the engine was travelling where I wanted it to go, and I could take care of the fishtailing rear of the car later.
The map below probably doesn't show enough of the direction changes I made, length of my "detour" but I definitely remember the edge of the green area, it's about where I'd stop.
After I stopped, I rolled down the window to pump my fist and cheer loudly. I was half tempted to swing back around and do it again. This grin is going to be plastered to my face the rest of the day.
The typical snowball incident |8:04 AM|
If I already told you the microphone story you can just skip this one, nothing new to add. It's just an edited version of the email.
Typically, when faced with a, hmmm, not the right way to start it. When attempting to solve a particular issue, very often my solutions carry certain risks or have the possibility of creating their own complications. This incident this past evening [note: this happened several days ago] is a perfect example. ?
I own that snowball mic, and it comes in very handy for several folks, (The film folks, a friend of mine recording However, there is only one. This past week, there have been 2 very time dependent projects, a movie, and a friend of mine's singing audition. The movie folks needed the snowball, and so did the wanna-be front [wo]man. I did try to figure out a proper schedule with the movie crew, but no dice. Fine, I thought. I'll go use some of the bonus money, buy another Snowball, return it in 6 days, tell no one, and none of people involved will be the wiser. To assuage my guilt at essentially renting the mic, I decided to grab something that will be useful to me, a mic stand, as well.
While I'm standing there, and being sold the $140 mic for $100, I happen to notice the return policy, a 15% restocking fee for open items. "Okay, not so bad. " But under the non-returnable items, like software and music, I notice "Recording hardware, tapes, microphones...etc" *
Shit.
I put the mic stand back, and contemplate the situation. "Hell I'll just Craigslist it. I paid $100 for the $150 mic, I can probably turn it around for $100, maybe $80, not so bad."
While working on the blood effects for the movie, Scott and I learned the hard way DO NOT pull on the gaffe tape once it has been applied. If you mess up the taping job, just put down another bit of tape, DO NOT READJUST IT.
Last night this one crew member, a source of drama on the set, begins screwing around with one of the squibs. I tell her to put it down, it'll go off. (By go off I mean less "Explode" then "Pop the condom") She says "I didn't hear 'please'." I was tempted to just let it go off at that point, but we've got a limited number. "Pretty please, put it down." She complies.
A minute or so later, (So far as I can tell) she picks up another one, and starts to fucks around with it. I turn around a bit after that to see her getting up, covered in fake blood.
I chuckle, and ask a friend "Is this a 'Told you so' situation?". She does a piss poor job cleaning it up, so I'm touching up a few areas of the floor, still chuckling. I'm cleaning up her mess, because if Joe's wife comes home and finds spilled fake blood, we're going to have a "situation". That's when I find that the blood has, to a certain extent, splattered the box of the snowball box, staining it. It does not wipe off. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There goes the return option.
And that is the typical flow of events for when something goes wrong on my troubleshooting workflow. I think I can still pull this off, shouldn't be too tough, if I can find the original snowball's box.
*I realized when I opened the mic that it had been previously opened, so I don't think I'd actually have much problem returning it.
The hottest fucking sauce |11:36 PM|
Before you watch the movie I posted below, you should understand that nowadays, (as in, the last 9 years) I'm a total sissy when it comes to spicy food. Which is often annoying, but I deal with it. The stuff I taste here, the "Hottest Fucking Sauce" is made out of some weird pepper that grows in Scotland. Its label is all warnings berating you for being stupid enough to taste it. It did in fact, kick my sorry ass. You can tell that I'm pretty tired, because I'm repeating myself more than usual at the beginning.
Everytime I tried to stop drinking milk and then speak, it would start burning again. Notice how I didn't get all of the hot sauce off the first time, so I had to re-lick my finger.
Adventures of a high entropy person in a high entropy land |12:32 AM|
Last night I took a glass of water that Portal had left at my desk, and put it on the ground next to one of the legs. I was in the middle of a game, so I didn't take it to the kitchen, but I was worried enough about it spilling onto equipment to move it. Around 1am or so, Portal called to let me know she'd gotten home to Denton alright, but I wasn't awake to pick up the phone. The phone was set to ring, as well as vibrate. The vibrations of the phone marched it along the desk, and over the edge. I woke up to the chiming of my phone, which mid chime got a lot more quiet for some reason. Stumbling around in the darkness, I found a vibrating phone submerged in a cup on the floor. Of all the places it could have fallen from, it found the worst possible point, and managed to hit that cup with Olympic diver accuracy. "I REGRET NOTHING!" I'm sure it yelled, and suddenly I had a $200 issue. Just because I'd put the water next to the desk, to avoid damaging equipment. Is this irony? I'm not sure.
I resigned myself to the cost of the phone replacement, and went back to bed. Later in the workday, I went out to an onsite call, came back, and as I was going back into the office realized I'd left my pen/paperwork in the car. When I went back and unlocked the door, the alarm went off. My car alarm is just the horn BLARING without pause, for at least 1 minute. Oh, and it locks the doors and kills the ignition. Fuck. It's loud, I don't have the remotes (which should be the only things that can arm it) and trying to start the car has no effect. I wait for the alarm to time out, and it does, for five seconds. Then it starts up again. Double fuck. This thing is LOOOOUD and I can't stop it. I get some earplugs, pop the hood, and manage to yank the battery leads. Attempts to reset the computer are fruitless. The alarm's fuse is not marked in the manual. The best I can do is yank the horn fuse so at least I can work on it in peace. My phone is dead, my car is immobile, I might as well not fucking exist in this town. Oh, and I have to be at an important goddamn film thing at 6:30 sharp. GAH A coworker of mine, Ed, had this to say: "Man, did you run over a box of puppies or something?" I get my hands on a phone from a coworker, he got tired of Sprint and quit paying. Now I've got this $200 phone for free, all I need is a battery and activation. I find a place selling the battery for about $30, I spend lunch getting it, and then finding out that since the phone is on another account, one that owes money, it cannot be reassigned.
Me: "The phone can't be transferred?"
Outsourced tech support: "You cannot activate that phone it's on another account."
Me: "What if we cancel that other account, then can we move the phone?"
Outsourced tech support: "You cannot activate that phone it's on another account."
Me: "Forever? We can't use this phone ever?"
Outsourced tech support: "You cannot activate that phone, it's on another account."
Me: "What if we took it to a store, and cancelled the first guy's account, could the phone be reactivated?"
Outsourced tech support: "You cannot activate that phone it's on another account."
Christ sorry to step outside the box on this one, lady. As always I was very polite with the phone support people, but ultimately frustrated.
Additionally, later, I was inside looking up information on my car, and someone stole my fucking clock. I had put it on the ground when I was unloading shit, and someone just waltzed off with it. It was shiny, they took it. Fucking monkeys.
Ed: "Oh, I see, one of the puppies in the box you ran over must have been the re-incarnation of the Dalai Lama"
I continued to fight the car, pulling the horn fuse, and then other fuses, resetting the different controls, etc. I gave up, got a ride, re-assembled what I could of one of the remotes, went back, and miracle of miracles it worked.
Oh, and I have a new goddamn phone, but its phonebook is empty. Whooopty shit.
The day was crap, and expensive at that, but exciting and interesting. I tend to do my best when it all goes to hell. At least, I think I do.
High Entropy Living |7:47 PM|
I ran out of gas today. I've done this only twice before in my life. Once was because I had run out of money and was "kiting" bills, food, and gas. You can't "kite" the juice that runs your car. I ran out just as I reached the parking lot at work.
The second time was because I was rushing around town, pressing my luck, trying to get as many things ready for a movie as possible. I ran out of luck and fuel, luckily very close to a gas station.
This time I was late getting out the door, and I skipped getting gas so I could get to work earlier than my start time. Too bad I ran out of gas 2 blocks before reaching the gas station. The bum asking for change at the intersection helpfully walked away and sat down in the median on the other side from my car. True, had he offered his help pushing my car I would have waved him away, but it's the thought that counts, you leach on soceity. Anyhow, despite my best efforts pushing the car down the hill I did not build up enough momentum to get UP the following hill, and into the gas station. Which brings me to the high entropy part of this story. I was using a small gas can to fill my tank, when the cap began leaking. I pulled the gas can away from the car, and the nozzle popped out of the fuel door with enough spring to launch gasoline all over my hands and hair. None on my clothing. All in my hair. Goddammit. A shirt I could take off, I wasn't about to shave my head. Oh, and thanks to my run down the hill pushing a car, I was breathing hard, and the fumes started irritating my lungs. Coughing gas fumes just blows.
Hacking, wheezing, and reeking of petrol, I drove home and showered until I stopped smelling like a refinery.
That's when I got the call to help my folks load up my sisters stuff in her car, as she was going back to school. My father and I struggled for some time to buckle the TV set into the back of my sister's two door civic.
Me: "Are you using the right buckle?" Dad: "Yes." Me: "So you're not using the middle buckle? Because it won't work with the side seatbelt. " Dad: *fumbling* "No. Neither work." Me: "May I see?"
I took the seatbelt and began futzing with it. Truly, it would not "click". At one point it snapped out of my hand, and retracted into the frame of the car. "Funny." I thought. "That seatbelt is mounted awfully far forward. OH WELL."
After a few more moments, my dad points out that we've been using the front seatbelts. The forehead slapping could have powered warships.
My sister commented that almost every situation that involves me gets so much more complicated. Hey, at least I solve all the problems that I caused from solving the intial problem. Eventually.
Incredibly Stupid |2:36 AM|
My toilet stopped filling up properly today. A couple months ago, my girlfriend had similar issues with her own toilet. I had worked on hers a bit, and hit a certain point that made me realize this was beyond my normally impressive amateur plumbing skill. The plumber apparently had to do quite a bit to fix hers, there was nothing I could have done. The work had also been somewhat expensive. Naturally, I was worried that my own toilet had the same problem, and I wanted to know as soon as possible. I checked the main water valve on the wall, and actually turned it up a bit. I pulled off the tank cover, and started poking around.
This one inlet I recognized, and started dis-assembling it. It was the valve controlled by the tank float, and had been part of the issue on Portal's porcelain throne. Now, on her toilet, this particular valve cap had posed no actual risk, because at the time, her toilet had very little incoming water, due to a bad something-or-other. I'm fiddling around, and realize this one component is really tough to take off, at least, in the way I'm doing it. Examining it, I realize from its shape that it comes off in a very special way. It needs to be turned at a certain angle, and only possible with the mechanical advantage given by the tank float's mooring handle. This was a way of making it highly secure, able to withstand a great amount of pressure, I later realized. I grabbed the mooring handle, lined up the tabs, twisted gently, and was instantly blinded by Niagara Fucking Falls.
There comes a point when performing home repair, painting projects, pyrotechnics and other pastimes, that notions of safety, completing the project, and cost effectiveness fall away, leaving only the thought of "OH SHIT HOW CAN I HIDE WHAT I JUST DID" When the top valve control blew off and a solid column of water erupted directly into my face, the first thing that shot into my mind was "Oh hell I hope my downstairs neighbor doesn't notice the water". This was immediately followed by an old Calvin and Hobbes strip, the important part of which was "IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD" I was jamming my fingers into the torrent akin to Spock at the end of "The Wrath of Khan" while blindly fumbling around for the shut off valve at the bottom of the toilet. Luckily it worked, bringing me, soaked, to the computer to tell you, the reader, all about it.
Update: Huzzah, I have fixed the problem. No, the first issue, as well as the problems I caused.
Terrible Ideas, evolution of a solution. |12:22 AM|
Proper Growing Conditions:
It was getting very late at our foley booth, which conisited of a bath tub I'd lined with blankets. I was trying to make convincing moans and groans for a person who had just been very badly burnt. Unfortunately, for every proper sound noise I managed to weeze out, I also made noises like an obscene phone call.
I debated with my crew about trying to think of the worst "hit" I'd taken, or something along those lines.
Genesis of the bad idea: "Hmmm... I need to somehow make the same breathless weezes I only make when I'm in pain, but I can't use memories to do it. If only I could some how simulate intense pain. I suppose I could somehow hurt myself, in a minor way...nah that'd be dumb. "
The bad idea evolved a bit, and as I became more tired, impulse control started to fade. That's about when I punched the tile wall with a bit of force.
FUCK.
After the intial burst of curse words, I was able to produce pain noises that the director called "Well, chilling."
So though I spent most of the rest of the night with an ice pack on my fist, it worked. And it was a nearly free solution.
As an update, due to damage to the tape containing these sounds, I had to get back into that tub, and do it again. Instead of punching the wall, though, I requested matches. Over the headphones, Captain Fantastic could hear the woosh of a match, the hiss as I put it out in my hand, the gasp, and the pain noises we needed.
Him: "Are you doing what I think you're doing?" Me: "Shut up and tape this shit!"
Also, when trying to record the sound of a whoosh of a pack of matches being lit, Captain Fantastic managed to set the microphone on fire. Good work.
Unexpected, Involuntary car modifications. |11:22 PM|
Ah, my glorious 2002 Celica GT.
It was suddenly modified the other day.
I was driving down the road, and I take a turn off of a ramp, I was hemmed in on one side by a car and a wall on the other. This is important to note, because I couldn't swerve. Just ahead, I see a black object in the road, lined up perfectly with one of my wheels. It looked like half of a plastic license plate holder, so I wasn't too worried about my inability to miss it. But when my tire hit it I heard a distinctly metallic CLANK CLANK GRIND
"FUCK!"
I think. "There goes something on my undercarriage"
I continue driving for a minute or two, and nothing seems to be wrong with the car. Steering, suspension, ok, I also performed the highly scientific "look behind the car to check if anything seems to be leaking out onto the road". Looks good. I continue on my merry way to my girlfriend's place. Near my destination, I hit a bit of a dip in the road and hear a similar GRIND GRIND GRIND.
"FUCK. One of my shocks is fucked!"
I park, get out, and begin a visual inspection of all 4 tires. Nothing. I look under the car on the driver's side. Nothing. I look under the car on the passen...what the FUCK is THAT?
That, that is a crowbar. Lodged in my car.
I managed to pull it out, with some effort. It had lodged itself in the rubber/plastic seal at the bottom of the door. I suppose I'm damn lucky it didn't veer in its flight path and hit, oh, I dunno, the oil pan, or the self-destruct button I put in last week.
Anyone else get things lodged in their car? It doesn't count if it was a homeless guy you left to die in your garage.
By request |2:26 PM|
Sinclair mentioned the nacho cheese in the eyes incident. For clarification, I was not struck in the eyes, but it did cover a large portion of my face. As far as I can tell, I haven't mentioned this incident in the past.
While I was working at the movie theater, I would often be the one responsible for cleaning dishes, among these were the nacho cheese bowls. These sons of bitches were kept at well over 150 degrees to keep the nacho cheese molten, and so posed a certain safety hazard when it was time to wash out the thick crust of burned cheese from the bowel itself. Since our oven mitts kept vanishing, the only way to transport the bowels was by wrapping your hands in paper towels, which would only provide protection for a few seconds. Normally the bowl was emptied of extra nacho cheese, but in this incident it was about half full. No problem, I thought, just as long as I could get the nacho cheese to the sink before I started burning. With mittens of paper towels, I began a race against the devil to the glorious sink.
Reaching the sink I tossed the container into the sink, at which point the cheese sloshed around in the bowl, created a large bubble that popped, hurling nacho cheese into the air....directly onto to my face, arm, and torso. There's a point of pain at which your body just stops taking normal commands, and screaming really wasn't an issue. I was frozen in a mid defensive gesture, arms extended, eyes wide in shock, legs barely moving. I had lost the trust of my body. I walked very slowly towards the concession stand, and made a quiet whimpering noise through a mouth that would not otherwise work.
Luckily, a friend of mine was able to get me paper towels and get the goddamn cheese off of me.
As an addendum to the previous posts:
I have also had a staple driven through my thumb, had the price tag gun fire its razor tip into my hand (which isn't as bad as it sounds) and at one point a bad fishing cast by a friend buried a fishhook underneath my fingernail. "No, don't worry, I can handle this. Go get the guy with the pliars."
The world was my wheelchair |1:46 PM|
I went windsurfing with PortalStar this past saturday. It was quite amusing, and far harder than it looks. The speedboats throwing up chop did not help things, either. I was given the basic rundown on what to do, and I proceeded to get thrown from the board repeatedly. At one point, I was catapulted over the board, and the sail, by a sudden gust of wind. PortalStar and her father agreed that they had never seen anything quite like it before. I kept falling into the water, and hitting rocks, and at one point I went around the wrong side of the sail, only to have it stike my face quite hard. Reeling from the hit, I couldn't balance anymore and was pushed into the water immediately. Floating upside down, I realized I had to get back up to the surface or Portal's dad was going to think I was dead.
One thing about a windsurfing board, is that if the sail falls on you, it can be easy to panic if you try to come up underneath it. When I was much younger, I had been trapped under a raft while swimming, unable to surface. Because I had already felt that kind of panic at a young age, I'm much more comfortable when stuck like that. Sure, it's not fun, but you've got every other direction to go to free yourself.
My windsurfing came to an end, suddenly, when the board tipped up and I slid straight down into the water, hitting a rock with one foot, but not the other. All of my weight twisted my ankle violently, and I was thrown into the location know by its scientific name "Hurt Locker". Dragging myself back to the board (Once my brain had stopped vacationing in "White hot pain land" I gripped the board and relaxed for a bit. Signalling to Portal and her father, I let them know I was out of commision. I spent as much time in the water as possible, as it support my leg. I floated back around to the area of the beach where we were sitting, and told Portal to continue surfing without me. The whole lake was supporting me, and my leg. The world was my wheelchair, and it was comforting, despite the pain.
After the beach, we went to Walgreens and rented crutches. Once again, I'm riding gimp sticks. Luckily, my legs were not needed for eating Sushi:
