They're Gonna Put Me In The Movies, and All I Gotta Do...

Who among us hasn't secretly believed that we could have been the next (insert movie star's name here), if only we had not gotten married, got a job, overslept or any of a thousand other rationalizations that keeps us from the real reason, which is that we have all the acting talent God gave gravel. I know whereof I speak.

As a result of my recent addiction to Craig's List, which I still contend is the most dangerous site on the Web, I found myself upping my humiliation quotient to new highs by voluteering as an "extra" in a locally produced independent film. The ad requested bald people for a quirky comedic film to be entered in film festivals around the world. Bald, eh? Since that is one thing I am pretty good at, I volunteered. "What can it hurt? Who's gonna know?" I thought. This midlife crisis is getting out of hand. The name of the flick? "The Head of the Company."

My "role" consisted of showing up for several hours on Saturday and Monday at the offices of the Cleveland Plain Dealer (motto, "On a clear day, you can hear our toilets flush in Afghanistan.") and participating in the main pastime of actors everywhere, waiting. I am guessing that real actors movies are a lot like being a soldier at war. 99% of the time is consumed by sheer boredom, followed by short periods of intense fear, insecurity and other generally pleasant emotions.

I did however learn several cinematic "secrets" which I will reveal unless the film's producer/director/cameraman/writer/hall monitor..., who shall remain anonymous, (although his real name is Butch Maier) sends me much cash in small unmarked bills. Since I know that Butch was working on a budget that consisted of nearly $0, I will continue.
The first and most obvious thing I noticed about movie makers is that they have created one of the world's greatest lies. It ranks right up there with "I did not have sex with that woman", "Saddam has WMD" and "We here at Congress are committed to lobbying reform". That lie is uttered by the director after each segment of filming in which they say "Let's do that ONE MORE TIME!" "One more time" in movie parlance, evidently means "ad nauseum." The consequence of this phrase became painfully ingrained when we filmed the "office" scene on Monday evening. More on that later. Butch would shoot a half nanosecond of film followed by "One more time!" so often that some scenes seemed to take as long as extended space travel.

On this first day of shooting in the Plain Dealer's meeting room, I actually got a "line" to speak in the movie. This caused a bit of consternation on my part as I thought I was just going to be sitting or walking around in the background. I can do that. However, I can no more memorize a line and act it out on a second's notice than I could convince Nancy Grace that she is creepier than a bucketful of Dennis Rodmans. Anyway, the line was about 10 words, but it seemed that it was the Gettysburg Address. So I stumbled on the line a tad.

On Monday evening, the main scene of the movie was to be filmed and Butch, who operates on the premise that "Anyone can make a movie if they have actual money," needed to create the illusion that about 15 bald guys were actually about 150 bald guys. This clever bit of Hollywood magic is acheived by having those 15 guys sprint around the camera, while changing jackets, sweaters or shirts running maniacally around the moving camera to get into the next part of the camera shot in about as much time as it takes a congressman to accept a bribe. So, Butch was pushed along a corridor of cubicles with his camera taking a "tracking" shot while 15 crazed bald guys essentially perform what used to be called a "Chinese Firedrill" behind the camera. Jackets flying, people bouncing off walls and stumbling over discarded garments, huffing and puffing to get into the next cubicle these bald guys, several of them a tad past their prime, anxious for the 15 minutes of fame, executed the shot flawlessly. If you ask me, Butch should have filmed us as we flailed around the cubicles trying to get to our places and act casual for the shot, because that was really funny. We executed the scene flawlessly about 20 times. As Butch had the phrase "One more time" recorded and played over the loudspeaker system. By the time we had finished the scene, the combined weight loss of this group of actors could be measured in gross tonnage.

So that's it. My foray into the wonderful and magical world of movies. I guess I'm really excited, despite it all, as I am sure that my line in the film is destined for the same cinematic immortality as "Frankly Scarlet...", "E.T. phone home," and "I'll have what she's having." OK, maybe not. What was my line you ask? If you are asking that question, you have way too much time on your hands but I'll tell you...


"THESE PRETZELS ARE MAKING ME THIRSTY!"

Love
Dad

I AM DANNIELYNN'S FATHER!

OK, it's fess up time. I know Sandy will be hurt, but I have to come clean (in a nice way, I mean) because this has been eating away at me for several seconds now. I know you may find this hard to believe, even shocking, but I swear every word is true. I'll even take a polygraph. I'm not sure what I'd do with it, but I would take one. It happened, well, about nine months before little Dannie pooh shuffled on to this mortal coil.
I wouldn't have brought it up, but seeing as how everyone else on the planet is making the claim, even some women, I figured "hey, why not, we live in the same hemisphere." That gives me as much a shot as being the father as any of the other morons lining up for DNA testing.
Anyway, as I said, it happened, as is the usual case within the gestation period of the normal human being. As I recall, we were at Hef's mansion, I often am invited there for parties and I hate to say it, the ladies just can't keep their hands off me. Anyway, she approached me and we chatted, as I recall, about the latest nuclear physics theory making the scientific rounds. We gabbed for hours over the bubbly and the next thing I know, Anna was having her way with me. I tried to tell her I wasn't that kind of guy, but her ardor knew no bounds. Thus, we made love madly and passionately for seconds.
I know for a fact that my incredible virility had worked its magic, as the onset of her morning sickness occurred in record time. She was hugging the porcelein idol before I got my zipper up. So there you have it. Me and Anna. Who'da thunk it? So now, I have to raise little Dannielynn on my own. Not to mention her inheritance. Oh, the trevails of the single parent, but I will get through it, and Sandy and I will be a better, stronger couple because of it. At least once I get her foot out of a place that was not anatomically designed, at least technically, as a receptacle.
OK, OK you all know I've been fibbing. As Sandy reminds me, several centuries ago, I had an operation that put me in, what my friend Mike calls "the X'd out club." So I guess it would be a little far fetched to actually be little Dannie's actual father. But, I only said it out of concern for the poor little child now faced with a life of uncertainty and what to do with millions of dollars.
I also never expected for a minute the national news media, (motto: what does journalistic integrity, decorum and respect have to do with selling ads?) might pick up the story and spend as much time on a lurid tragic story as they would on something as mundane as 9/11.
So I guess I won't have the opportunity to become a media star this time. Wait a minute, I forgot, I am announcing my candidacy for president in the year 2016. Yeah, that's the ticket. Better to announce early and often as Dennis Kucinich would say. So, ok all you news wires, here is your scoop. AP, UPI, Reuters? Hello? Is there anybody out there? Hello?
OK, how about this? I have decided to pass a resolution saying that I disagree with the escalation (AKA "surge") of the journalistic blathering and slaveishness to tripe that is currently the standard for all television "news" casts. It will, of course, be non binding. That'll show em.

Love
Dad

The most dangerous site on the Web!

I blame this one on the kids. They turned me on to this website a couple of years ago, and recently, over the holidays, I rediscovered it and now it takes up all my time. Is it gambling? Nah. Porno? Nope. Donations to the Republican Party? Wrong again. The dastardly site of which I speak is Craig's List. For those of you that don't know it, Craig's List is a site of free classified ads that are local to any city you choose. I have always liked to peruse classifieds for some reason. Jobs, cars, discussion groups of all kinds, music, just about everything. There's the problem I can see who is selling a car for what price in say, Hong Kong! Why would I want to waste my time doing that? Because I am an idiot.
But why is it so dangerous? Well, for starters, it seems, based on my perusal of the classifieds, that I truly wasted my life with a law degree and education in financial management. Because, I found out that I could have been making billions of dollars an hour just by doing marketing surveys online! Is that depressing or what? What a sap I've been all these years. What's more, I could have done just as well stuffing envelopes, returning phone calls or processing payments for some Nigerian prince who, poor fella, seems to have fallen on political troubles. All he needed for me to make a ton of money was my banking info.
In the last two months I have purchased a used drum set to continue my quest at age 55 of learning how to become the next Ginger Baker. Without lessons. Sandy is thrilled as hell! Especially these past few days with the outside temperature hovering around "absolute zero". What else you gonna do? Seems like there was something else Sandy and I did when we were locked up alone in the house... anyway "Inna Godda Da Vida, baby...." I picked up the drumset on the way home from picking Dustin up at the airport when he was home for Christmas. Dustin grudgingly helped me as we had engaged in the typical parent child blow up within nano seconds of his arrival. You parents of children over the age of 5 know what I'm talking about.
Dustin comes through the airport and greets us with a hug and the conversation goes something like this:
Me: "Hi son, good to see you, how was your flight?"
Dustin: "WHADDYA MEAN I NEED A HAIRCUT!!"
Maybe it's not what you say but how you say it. Oh well. I digress.
After the drums I found an ad looking for a writer for a start up newspaper in New York. Someone who can write sarcasm. So I applied knowing I rate pretty low on the Jon Stewart Sarcasm Scale (those of you who now me can back me up on that), but I sent in some samples from this blog, and the next thing I know, Oscar, the owner calls me and says he wants me to do more. It sounded like he was calling from a heroin addict convention, but hey, its a gig, right?
And finally the coup de grace. It looks like I'm going to be a movie star. Well, not a star, but an extra in an independent film entitled "The Bald Truth". The ad said the director wanted several "bald men" to be in a scene in an office where every one is bald. So I said to myself "Self, you might be able to do this". Sure enough, I got a reply from the director after I sent him my "head shot" (this is evidently movie jargon for a picture of, well, your head) he contacted me and said I'm in. Brando, Gable, Redford ... LaForce? (for you youngsters I guess I should have said Pitt, Di Caprio, Depp) So, I've now got that going for me. Don't be jealous Dustin, I know you'll want me for your next production, so have your people give my people a call and we'll do lunch.
So you can see that I know what I'm talking about when I say Craig's List is the most dangerous site on the Web. Do yourself and your friends and relatives a favor and advise them to keep away from that site at all costs! You can probably humiliate yourself a lot quicker with a quart of Jack Daniels and a good lamp shade.
Well, I've taken enough of your time, those of you that are still awake and reading, but I have to get going it seems I can make obscene amounts of money selling travel packages. All I have to do is send them $1,000 and I can't miss. OH BOY, am I gonna get in on this or what? Also, my caller ID says some guy named Spielberg is calling.

Love,
Dad