Jeopardy's early, early pre-production stages has already surpassed the early stages of 'Meter' by over a mile in the tolerablebility race. The pre-production stages of any film can be pain stakingly, slow. In the case of my films... Deathly slow. Meter was agonizing and the 'conceptual art' or 'art department' was utilized by the count of big goose egg. Jeopardy... A whole different bird. I won't say it has been agonizing though. Sure, I want all the red tape to be done so I can begin really planning the shoot but I know I have props and sets to build on this one so I've tried to keep myself a little more grounded. The schmetics of the newspaper stand are complete and building has begun. (Even if it just be nail a day... HA! HA!) On my week off from the "norm job," I managed to storyboard the first 2 pages of the script and even cooler, really began to spend time on one of the more timely jobs of prepping the film, the Art Direction/Set Design.
In the original story the "Serial Killer Threat," was told through third person narration. For the film, the Narration was not going to work so a 'Backstory Catalyst" had to be inserted. From the first draft until the final draft we had the same idea on what that catalyst would be. In the big cities I've lived in, I was always a frequenter of the street vendor newsstand. You could get any magazine, newspaper, tabloid in any language at most of those vendors. If you wanted a Playboy in Cantonese at midnight on a Sunday.... No fear... The corner of Ventura and Coldwater's LA Times Stand had you covered. I thought, what could be more fitting than to use the street newsstand as the narrator for this fast paced, light dialogue driven film. I knew going in that committing to this would mean building an actual stand.... Or fly to a metropolitan area to find one and get them to let us shoot in front of it with little control over one of the key scenes in the film. I chose the first option. I was not worried about building the stand. It was filling the stand with periodicals that I semi worried about. Building the stand would mean I would inherit the task of making at least 2 newspapers and five magazines of my own to cover the racks of the stands. When I say making, I mean creating my OWN funny papers. I may even have to create more than than that. We will have to see. (If I were to use Time Magazine, Baltimore Sun etc... My budget would quadruple times another quadruple.) So like Quentin, who created 'Kahuna Burger,' and 'Red Apple Cigarettes'
and Kevin who gave us 'Mooby Fast Food' and 'Nails' Cigarettes,
Garrick gets to create his own brands and world. Of course, there are no cigarettes or fast food needed, but like LA Confidential, you can assure there will be some cool tabloid titles like "Hush Hush" Magazine in there.
The actual story is based in Baltimore, but we may leave it ambigious so we can make our own world with our own rules. Here is the traditional newspaper conceptual drawing, 'Metro Post.'
There will also be a more New York Post style paper. (My personal preference over the NY Times.) There is the 'THE METRO MAGAZINE', (the logo will stay like that, but the cover will change to a more autumn feel, since the story takes place on October 18th.)
Then there is the Reader's Digest slash New Yorker magazine, "THE CITY STORY." The sketched belt and blood will be a real photograph for the final print. Stuff like this is extremely fun.
You got any good ideas for magazine or newspaper names. Let me know. I'll be happy to use them and give you credit for them as well.
I will be honest, the merging venture of mine with Borderline Films to make a couple of films has become quite stale. There have been no set plans that have been set in stone for over a year now. In filmmaking unless you have assistants and other collaborative people who have assistants working for them, working with you, then your plan has to be suttle and simple. There is no such thing as 'six projects on the table' at once when you are not making any money to do this. It's not mentally or physically possible. It is one project and one project only. With this venture, one day it has been one thing, the other day, something completely different. Before we knew it, a year had passed by and we really, (with the exception of a meeting with important well established filmmakers,) were not or are not any closer than we were. I will not say I am not part to blame in the situation. My lack of extra time made it very hard to consistently pump out progress on scheduling, trailers, websites etc… But then again, I only re-scheduled, re-budgeted, and broke down that script four times or more, because it kept changing. Maybe that was my fault too. I could have intervened and made sure we had a ready to shoot script that was locked and loaded. I will continue to be a part of Borderline and do anything needed to be done to further advance our progress, but my visions, projects and ideas have taken a backseat to a list of projects that are no where near ready for pre-production which means if I waited for my spot since apparently there is no room for it, I would be 50. Everybody at this point in time seems to be doing their own thing anyway.
Either way, with the future of The Tag Along feature undetermined, I figured I'd go off on my own until further notice. Many people will say that another short film at this point in my life would be a waste of time. I don't think so. I think my plan is going quite well, even with the extended period of stand still I just experienced. Shorts are easier to put together and more importantly, are huge for securing the right people to help you take a huge step in the right direction career wise. (That is of course if your film is any good.) I'm not taking any chances in that particular department.
For the past year, Richard Deal aka "Demus" and I have tried to put a short film together based off of one of his short stories. He is a brilliant writer and I am not, but I can adapt a story for the screen and shoot it pretty well, so putting our heads together may make for a great team. I have read five of his past stories. Two of them would be too much to take on with a shoestring budget. Two would be borderline pushing our luck, but may be able to be pulled off and one is a simple one to two day shoot in a hotel room entitled 'Two Wrongs.' We had planned on shooting 'Wrongs' when I completed 'Meter', but something happened on the way to the forum. I studied this script and even had adapted it almost word for word. It was again a dialogue driven piece. I as I thought about it, began to realize another film in a confined area with 75% of it being dialogue would be almost repeating myself considering 12 minutes of the 15 minutes of Meter is dialogue in a cab. I was stuck again. Then Rick wrote yet another brilliant short story that actually won a contest on The Mystery Author's Site. It was and still is amazing. I read it six times in one sitting and started to think: This one would make a fantastic short. This is the one with Meter in tow would be all the calling card we'd need. It would involve money. Not too much, but way over Meter's budget including constructing a couple of minor sets and finding a little access to a green screen studio. (I think I have that handled.) I also started to think or maybe it was more like assume with a nicely produced recent film under my belt, I may be able to find a couple of investors to float us a couple grand to make the film because these days in fact, short film investors tend to make their money back if the investment didn't exceed the $15,000 mark. If it is done right, I am confident it would put both Rick and I on the map for possible future jobs or maybe even one of the features I have planned for my 35th birthday. For now, I am designing story boards, gathering lumber, working on a business package and most importantly, going back to work for myself again. Step 1: Finish my Wedding Video Step 2: Make Jeopardy. If you want to keep up with pre-production,(like Meter's Corner of my site,) Click Here.It will be more of an in depth look. To read Rick's brilliant award winning story. Click Here *Disclaimer: This story's rights have been secured and copyrighted. Any replication or material taking directly from this story is eligible for prosecution under the law in Section 106 of the 1976 Copyright Act. Here are some of my boards I am using as part of the business package.
Three years ago, I was given a golden Labrador retriever by a friend of mine. He was beautiful, cute and irresistible. I got him at exactly six weeks. Even though I had experiences with Labs and knew the first year was a very difficult and frustrating time, I didn't care. I was traveling back and forth from Asheville to Hickory quite a bit so I figured he would get out quite a bit and stretch his legs, maybe muffling the Lab Angst everybody talks about. I named him 'Vinyard.' (**After Ed Norton's character in American History X.)
Vinyard was a hell cat. He chewed his way through my life. Legs off chairs, killed two mattresses and boxsprings, jumped out a second story window and that was all in his first six months on earth. As the year went on, he began to get better only on occasion eating my computer keyboards, DVD's and couch cushions. When Mandi and I moved to Florida, he really shaped up… Probably not so much shaped up but was just too miserable to find the energy to tear anything up. He hated it there. He was stuffed in a small apartment. It was hot as hell and we lived in a neighborhood that was a 'mandatory leash area for dogs.' Ironically enough, we ended up in that apartment because 75% of the apartments and houses either did not allow dogs over a certain weight, (Vinyard usually surpassed the limit by at least 50 pounds,) or pit bulls were forbidden. I had gotten used to it. Due to my job in Asheville, I had lived in three different apartments in a year and every one of them was decided by the acceptance of my dog. (The places were also usually shit holes.) But in Orlando, we were able on a weekly basis to take the "kids" to this huge dog park where Vinyard felt right at home. He swam, chased bitches, and fetched for two to three hours at a time. The more I took him, the more I came to grips with who Vinyard really was. He was a lab. He needed space with a little containment. He needed to get dirty. I had been forced to keep him shut in his whole life. Upon returning to North Carolina, it only got worse. We had to get a cheap place because one, Mandi was pregnant. Two, we had spent all of our savings moving home. We ended up in a basement, "bachelor pad," place that had a bathroom, living room and bedroom. (The kitchen was a hot plate on the bathroom counter. … No kidding.) To boot, the front yard was host to the busiest highway in Alexander County. We managed to acquire a fenced lot to put out in the yard. We would put them in it on nice days when we were gone. This new environment would be the first sign that I had created a monster in Vinyard.
This fenced lot was no small container. Hell, it may have been as big as the apartment we were in, minus a pregnant woman and a quickly gaining sympathy weighted man. Yet Vinyard never left his stoop at the gate door. If I was gone for three hours, he waited there, watching, barking and digging. I didn't mind the digging, for as big as he was, it would have taken him two pregnancies of Mandi's to dig a hole big enough for his big ass to get under the fence. I worried about his behavior, but didn't think there was that much of a problem because when I was around, they were inside. We moved to a bigger place on a farm and Vinny seemed a little calmer. Of course now, he was two and a half. He was able to be left out without a leash a lot of the time. Vinny was good about sticking around, but there was an issue where, if I wasn't with him, it was 'Bark Fest 2007' on the front porch. If I went inside and left him out he would sit at the front door, barking to come in. Again, whether it be 10 minutes or two hours, Vinny's bark was constant, loud and annoying. If we were both inside and I even so much as moved a finger towards the front door, I was mauled as he scurried to get out. He wanted in if we were out, he wanted out if we were in. It began to anger me, because it was getting to the point where, because of his size, I would literally have to trick him to get out of the house or worse, slam his nose in the door trying to get out with out him blasting out behind me. He wanted to play. He wanted to be around me. I loved the dog but there was like anybody only so much attention I could give. Then Payton came and uncontrollably due to Mandi and I's opposite schedules, I played full time Dad on almost all my free time, which made it harder on Vin. I got to throw the ball, play in the yard, and take trips a lot less than before. He was big and clumsy and would run into a crawling Payton quite a bit when I included him on inside activities, so we tried the full time outside thing after Deja was killed. It didn't work.
He barked hours on end at first. He slowly got used to it, but I still would have to con him with hot dogs to get him into the lot. He had a plush dog house, lots of shade and lots of room and it wasn't enough. I couldn't let him run free because when I would try to leave for work he would blockade himself in front of the car or chase me down the road. I couldn't leave him in the cage too long, because the dog was so clean that he wouldn't piss or crap in it. My whole lunch break and time after work was devoted to getting to the babysitter, scooping up Payton and getting home to let Vinny out. One day, I commenced to give him tough love and left him in the lot for 11 hours. Not because I wanted to neglect him, but I was hoping he would have to pee and maybe realize after he did, that it was OK every once and a while. It didn't work. When I let him out he peed for at least five minutes.
I dreamed of having my own home with a big yard and electrical fence and screened in porch. It would be the perfect situation. When we moved into our new home, my mom kept him for about a month which was the wrong thing to do on my part. She is the Pet Spoiler Champion. We had to get settled in and I had to save up a little extra money to get the electrical fence. I brought him out before the electrical fence was in place just to let him get a feel of the new surroundings. He never left my side. I couldn't go in the bathroom without having to move him. He would circle my every step when he was inside, which usually meant he would walk on Payton, because Payton too after she started walking never left my side either. The problem worsened as Vinny would not be contained or let me contain him without a fight. He snapped two tie offs, broke two barriers, and fended off a high powered bark collar with resilience. I was forced to park my car outside the garage, bring his dog house into it and close him in the whole time. And 75% of the time he was in there, he barked. When I was there and when I wasn't, Vinny was stuck in the garage, because I simply could not get him to cool down, relax and be independent. The electrical fence after all the wait and hoping for better was installed and didn't work. He barreled through the barrier like it was a thin rubber band. He may have been big and clumsy, but he was smart too. He knew it would only sting for a moment and then he would be free if it stung him at all. I was out of options, but out of selfishness, kept him in the garage for another week, trying to figure out the next move. The end came on a Saturday afternoon when the barking persisted for two and a half hours in the morning. I decided I would open the garage and see if he would roam the yard and street but stick around. Wrongo- He was gone in a blink of an eye. Twice, I was carrying Payton around the neighborhood looking for him, finding him in neighbors' yard eating flowers, bushes, whatever. I threw the ball to him for a while but that ended when he mauled Payton, sending her flying though the air on a thrown ball that was no where close to the vicinity where Payton was. What really pissed me off, is he saw her. He had plenty of time to move and he didn't. He put his head down like a Running Back barreling into the endzone, and wailed her. The day came to a head about mid afternoon. I didn't have a key to the front door therefore could not leave through it because I was not able to lock the dead bolt back, meaning I had to leave through what was now known as 'The Dreaded Garage.' I literally had to push the garage door button, constrain Vinny until it closed, then open a window, put Payton, the diaper bag, and me through it and escape to the car… Just to go to the grocery store. All that just to get out of the house for an hour? By 10pm, the barking had become high pitched howls. A neighbor, not knowing my phone number beat on my door to tell me to shut the dog up.
This routine went on Sunday as well. By eight o' clock Sunday night, I finally succumbed to the thought of what really had to be done. It killed me. Mandi's family had offered a friend who lived on a farm. It immediately threw up a red flag. I knew what this dog needed. A farm if was as big as Africa would not be what Vinny needed.
Vinny has bad separation anxiety. If we take 'Me' out of the equation with this dog, he may be better, BUT, you can't just throw him on a farm with no containment and no attention and expect him to stay there. It was that simple. The offerers let my words go in one ear and out the other. With no other offeres, I was down to two decisions: 1) Board him for four days and find him the perfect home or listen to my mom, who was the President of the Humane Society for six years and have him put down. It sounds terrible, but her thoughts on it were simple: This dog was so attached to me. He was stubborn, resilient, had ear problems, and a list of other things that only I knew how to handle to keep him safe from himself. Another owner if not perfect would not due.
My father who is the most down to earth guy I know put it simply: This dog is a huge pain in the ass. If you give this dog to somebody even with credentials that you have even a slight doubt about, you are going to worry about that dog for years. It may be selfish of you, you may be torn up about it for awhile, but you would never have to worry about the dog again. You won't have to worry if he is being treated right, has what he needs…. You will not have to worry again period.
I was so against that idea until he told me that. So I boarded him, giving me a week to make a decision I felt was unfair for me to ever have to make. Sandy at the vets asked, "if I can find him a home with one of our top clients would you let him go?" I said yes. (We had been taking our pets to this vet for years. I trusted her judgment over anybody else.)
Two days went by with nothing… I had checked into rescues and was refused because he wasn't coming from an "endangered environment." I asked every friend I have. They all knew Vinny. That was a dead end. Then Sandy called and said she may have a prospect. She began to tell me the living arrangement: Big fenced in back yard, doggie door to an enclosed patio and when the family was home the patio slide door was opened to the house. Their record for shots etc, was better than my mother's. I said that home would be perfect. She said she would call me back.
Twenty four hours went by, nothing. It was down to the wire. Friday, I asked Dad to go get him from the vet and I would take him back on Saturday to do the deal. Dad called me back twenty minutes later and said, that him and Mom would take Vinny for the time being. Maybe keep him until we could get a fence and maybe some professional training… Whatever. As much as my father said he hated my dog, I knew the truth. He liked the little goofy fucker. The weight had lifted. Dad said he would go up there and get him.
Seconds later, I called Sandy to tell her our plan.
She interrupted me: "Good news. That couple is going to take Vinny. We're bathing him now. They will be here in fifteen minutes to get him…"
My heart sunk. I could not stop it now. I had given them the permission in writing. It was over. Vinny was gone.
I said, "Well, can I get their contact info?" Sandy said no. She said in cases like this where the dog is going from a good home to a good home, they give the new owner the discretion to contact the old. Meaning, if they didn't call me to give me updates on Vinny or trade emails and pictures, I would never see him again.
Three days later, the couple called Sandy to tell her that Vinny was settling in quite well with the other dogs and new surroundings. Sandy called my mother. My mother told me. As upset as I was, I couldn't have made a better decision. I didn't stall too long to have to settle on a decision and I didn't impulsively make a hasty one either. For one time, every decision I made throughout the ordeal was right. Miss the hell out of the kid already. It's only been four weeks. I know his new home is giving him everything I couldn't and I'm sure he's already king of the house. I sometimes feel I failed…. Or failed him. We had spent 3 years together. There was a lot of thick and thin. Kind of humbling…
What does this say about my character? I have a 'child' for three years and just can't no matter what I do get the kid to behave so I pawn him off on somebody else?
Although, I know the situation benefits all involved and my fear of worrying about how he's being treated and if he is OK is gone. There is still no and will never be any resolution… Vinyard, I miss you. I wish you could read this and understand why I had to do what I had to do.
I would love to see you. I would love to bring you a big bone every Sunday and throw the ball to you, but apparently things don't work that way.
So now… I wait and hope that one day, our roads will cross again. Look for me. I'll be the guy with a deflated soccer ball and mangled black collar in my hands…
On Nov. 4th, 2006, Mark, Freddy, Phil, Mandi and I went out into the coldest night of the year and filmed Meter. At 5:11am the camera was so cold it stopped working. As I drove home, I worried what I really had captured. It wasn't until February that I realized that we had done a damn good job and something small turned into something huge. Within the nine months that Meter has been in circulation. We have been excepted to 6 film festivals, placed a close second in two, capturing a mediocre sixth overall prize, with three that have not even taken place yet, (and this is all in North Carolina.) Meter will hopefully be making it to Boston Theatres as it just entered the Boston Film Festival and New England Underground Fest. With the exciting journey of "the little film that could," my buddies who assist me in some of this marketing stuff advised me that I should change the box cover art of the DVD and utilize some of the good review quotes and add the 'official selection' logos given along the way. So over the weekend I did just that. I stripped down all the beveled yellows and pointless 'snaz' making it more basic black as this film is: No Frills. No Snazz. Just Dark.
Let me know what you think.
(Two Official Selections have been blurred out because the festivals have not yet released the finalists to the public, only to the filmmakers and I was told not to spill the beans.
I about plunged into the world in the floor board of my father's car back in 1974. It was the first year they were letting dad's back to watch the birth. They wheeled in my mom and by the time my father had put on his gloves and scrubs, BADA BING, I was out. Having little boys in the Lane family would not be so easy after that faithful night, for the Bambino Curse began. Italians are usually good at producing 'little bambinos,' aka, baby boys. It comes natural.
Not in the Lane Family. I was the last boy produced in several attempts with various family members. Estrogen bomb, after estrogen bomb, the little BambinAS arrived.
Upon turning, 21, my grandfather began pressing the issue of how important it was for me to, stay alive long enough to have a son. (I honestly think that may be the only thing he has said to me in 12 years.) "You are the last Lane. You must carry on the Lane name," is what my father and he always say. When Mandi and I decided to have a baby out of wed lock, my family, I was sure was going to disown me, until I realized, "wait a minute... They need me as much as I need them." If I was to have a son, the other technicalities would be overlooked. Well, I guess it is not hard to figure out that in fact, I not only had a baby out of wedlock, (and had not planned to have a shotgun wedding,) but well, I had a girl. "Boy" was I in the shit house. My cousin, (Jennifer,) had no problems producing a boy. My sister at 38 years old had no problem, (will have no problem in December anyway,) in popping out a boy. Imagine that... THEY WEREN'T LANES anymore! Meanwhile, in my wife's family, they were having the same problem. Girl after girl after girl were being produced. They had not had a boy of any sorts for nearly 8 years and there had been a lot of offsprings since. Even in the extended families they were coming up short in the 'little pecker department.'
We were doomed. The odds were stacked against us. Mandi and I reluctantly knew that if we to have another girl we would have to try a third time. We had been real careful and decided on reading "the book" to assure we would get a XY mix the second time around. Then suddenly, we were a cliche' as we got pregnant on our honeymoon. It wasn't quite what we had in mind. The days and weeks pressed on. Mandi and I were both sweating bullets because she wanted a boy as well to be the first for her family and thank God pitied me. She knew my mission would somehow have to be accomplished. "If it is a boy, we're done. If it is another girl, well, we'll wait three to four years and try one more time.... But that's it!! You get two more chances," Mandi professed. Shit, I didn't want two more times. I was barely making it through the first. The days closed in. Mandi and I both had come to grips with the fact that we were having another girl. 'Preston Velna' would be her name. It was destined. Karma, would come back and beat my ass.
YOU PAY FOR EVERYTHING YOU DO.
Tuesday we went for the sonogram. They made us wait twenty minutes. Within four seconds of the little thingy being pressed on Mandi's belly we knew.
It was over.....................................................................................................................
IT WAS A BOY! I damn near fell out. Anxiety rushed over me as she showed me his little winky. I had never been so relieved in my life. We had done it. I if a failure in everything else I did had produced a little Lane Bambino. We were going to keep it a secret until Thanksgiving. Mandi lasted about 10 minutes out of the doctor's office. Me.. Maybe 15. My grandfather will not know until about 2pm on Thursday afternoon. It may bring the morale up at the Lane Family Thanksgiving. (They had been getting quite bland.)
The curse had lifted. The Lane name will continue on for I am happy to announce that sometime in mid April, Boston Winslow Lane will explode into the world. The reason for his name.... One I love the name and have been waiting years to name him that name, (get past the city, and think about it,) and two, I find it fitting because I had called the drout of testosterone in the families, 'The Curse of the Bambino,' for the last eight years. It was fate that his name would be this. When he asks,why we named him this, I'll give him this exact story and say... "If this doesn't explain it, touch up on your Red Sox history, son." There really is no other name that will suit….
Anybody I have ever talked to says that horror film screenplays follow a completely different set of rules and formats. I had always taken a non shalant attitude towards them in general. My theory was, "A bunch of kids somehow congregate in somewhere in some woods or something. Some crazy circus animal shows up in a mask wielding a metal sharp thing of some sorts and well.... The rest is history." The characters in these "slasher/supernatural" films are one dimensional and are basically props for our demented appeitite for blood and destruction. There are exceptions to the rule. See List below:
1. The Shining 2. Rosemary's Baby 3. The Exorcist 4. Psycho 5. Cannibal Holocaust
I had always wanted to write a good Slasher flick. My slasher flick was to be handled a little differently. I wanted to keep all the great qualities of the '80's style horror flick such as, old style effects in gore, cheesy Whitesnake big hair music, mystery machine vans, pot smoking hippies... You know the rest. The difference would be, the kids that normally posed as slabs of meat waiting to be selected by the meat cutter, would actually have stories. The atmosphere would have a story as well. For example and I hate to use this because it kind of blows my cover on a little of the story I stole off of to tell mine, but in 'Delieverance,' the film/book wasn't about four old koots taking off in their canoes down a river just to end up getting caught by a couple of imbred bumpkins who well treat them to a taste of backwood hospitality. It's about riding the river one last time before it disappears due to growth in industry around it. It's about getting out in the wilderness at the ages they are. It's about four friends who have all let life change them in different ways and how they try to get back to the good things during the weekend. Around all that, comes the horror of what happens after the boats hit the river.
All the drama and set up makes the horror way more harder to stomach after you meet these guys. That is what I am going to try and do. I want the audience to like these kids and yes, even though they know the inevitable outcome, they almost fear the moment the nightmare begins because they like these guys so much.
In typing the first 25 pages, I realize I have plot holes and will have to do some reverse engineering to make it perfect, but it is a start.
I use to crank these things out in weeks flat, but then would spend three months to a year rewriting. I found, writing ten to fifteen pages at a sitting, then taking time off, bouncing the ideas around in my head and then going at it again, gets me closer the first time around. One of the most exciting elements of this venture, is that it will be the first feature screenplay, I will have written in almost six years. I wrote two shorts, ghost writed four of my friends', and written 30 pages of an incompleted one since-- But this one, will be the first feature I complete.
I kind of walked away from it, because let's be honest. If you don't have the means to make the film or don't have some kind of clout or know somebody that can get you in a literary agency somewhere, you are really just doing it to make yourself feel good. I have LSD, cocaine and tequila to do that with.
A quick inked sketch of one of my Demented Circus Animals I drew on a 2 hour ferry ride to Ocracoke Island.
Anybody who lives in Hickory, pick up today's newspaper and check out the article on our latest film venture, Tag Along. We've had about four or five other articles written about us since Meter began pre-production and I've always tried to kind of let them fly under the radar. This article I am proud of. Mrs. Robinson, the writer, touched on the things I had always really wanted the others to touch on. She wrote of where all the content of our stories were so heavy we were not and were very light hearted. Finally, after so many, somebody quoted me about how bringing big business films to this area would start rejuvenating the stunted economy around here. I had inputted this theory with a heavy hand in all before and somehow not seen a glimpse of it make it on paper. This time was different.
Mrs. Robinson "got in and got out" like we were always taught in Film School. Hit the point. Hit the door. The only thing I am weary of is a quote she used of mine. To me and anybody that knows me, it won't come across badly. To anybody that doesn't know me, it may sound as if I would rather film movies than take care of my daughter. This is not true. She was shocked to find out that I was doing all this and had a forty hour a week job. I stated that this film thing isn't making steady enough money to do full time and my wife was a full time student so I didn't have the luxury of quitting my job to PURSUE this. "I have a kid I have to keep and a full time job, I gotta' keep too," was the quote used. Right before the quote she used this sentence: 'What Lane wants to do is contrary to what he needs to do.' So if you think about it… Could come off as sounding bad? I hope my wife doesn't raise hell. Check it out anyway. It's a good article about us and Kevin Richmond, another filmmaker in town.
**They didn't put a picture of my ugly mug in it for the first time too... Seacrest--Out!
By the way, Hickory, NC is rated one of the worst places for jobs on MSN. They were pitted next to The Bay Area, New Orleans, and Sacramento. This article was out yesterday.
OK, so right when you think all the hard work and frustration never pays off and the years of eating shit have made you a sour, haggard pissed off casualty, somebody comes and throws you in a wheelbarrel and carries you a couple more miles, (or until, you wake up from your drunken stupor and realize, that you are too old to change professions.) The wheelbarrel came to me in the form of a review this time around. Another film festival down…. Another set of steak knives… But maybe a win worth more than the Grand Prize cash. As my lack of sleep from not having enough time to get pre production done on TA and JEP, made me a basket case and again, put me at the point of saying, "Eff it," and finding a new career, I receive a review from a small paper publication in Wilmington. It read like this:
In the words of Al Pacino, "I try to get out and they KEEP PULLLINNNGGG MMMEEE BACCCCKKKK IIIINNNNN!" – Without the heart attack of course.
If I had to compare my life to a sports teams success and unsuccess, I would be right at home with choosing my very own team, the Buffalo Bills. In my 26 years of being a fan, I have seen them at their best and seen them at their worst. Just like a life like most people. There are ups and downs, but where theirs varies from normal life, is all of the 'almosts.' If the Bills were a Horseshoes or a Projectile Vomiting Team, they would be the frickin' longest running champs that had ever graced our planet. Unfortunately, in football, 1 point will beat you every time… Again, and again. The reason I say the Bills mirror my life is simple… I have had more disappointments in my life than I have successes, BUT when I had or have successes, they are huge, BUT those successes will always fall short of GREAT. They are GOOD, but not great. This situation is usually due to some late monkey wrench or munson that I carelessly miss or just some act of the Gods that comes out of nowhere to ruin the moment. (I'm not being a drama queen here. I take part responsibility for many of my ALMOSTS in my life.)
With that said, I sat down for Monday Night Football last night as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. For the first time in 13 years the freakin' Buffalo Bills were hosting MNF!!!! And who against, the most hated team of mine and most Bill fans: The Dallas Cowgirls. This was the team that basically wiped their ass with us two years in a row in the biggest most watched football game in the world—The Super Bowl.
Note 1 – Success, but Not Good Enough Example 132: The year after losing the 2nd Super Bowl to them, the Bills played them in the first game of the season. The Bills won it. I believe it was 28-14. The season after that…. Won again, but apparently we just couldn't beat them in the big game.
So, the Bills… Well they've sucked for a very long time. In fact, they have sucked ass well since another one of their ALMOST MOMENTS that again goes down in Infamy as one of their 7 games that made NFL history of BIGGEST CHOKE: The Music City Miracle. For anyone that doesn't know: The Bills were playing the Titans in the Wild Card Game. Doug Flutie drove down with seconds left of the game to score and put the Bills ahead. It looked as if they were going to advance to the Semis. It should have been a sure thing and what happens: On the ensuing kickoff, the Titans with an erray of backward laterals went all the way down the field with no time left, scored and won. The Titans went on to lose the Super Bowl by 1 yard.
OK, the Bills suck ass. I was expecting a massacre against the undefeated Cowgirls, but I would watch it being a loyal fan. Over the years, I had become numb to the many Bill losses, what was another? Then something happened. Tony Romo threw 5 picks and fumbled one for a whopping 6 turnovers. The Bills scored two TD's from the interceptions. They then ran a kick off back and held Dallas in a defensive bombardment and I am sitting there with 9 minutes left in the game, saying, this win may change the momentum of the Bills' season and would be huge for Buffalo fans all over the country. It may have been as big a win since the greatest Bills game ever played when they came back from being twenty eight down to the Oilers in the playoffs the year they went on to face the Redskins and LOSE.
Then…. The Buffalo Bill Munson began to take its evil shape. The echo of the Scott Norwood wide right field goal that would have given the Bills one ring of the four consecutive Super Bowls we went to, began to take its evil shape as well. The kick that had it gone through, may have given the Bills the confidence in the big game to win the 3 after.
Tony Romo, who had not done a damn thing for almost 53 minutes of the game, managed to put together a 9 out of 11 with no interception drive to score off of an Edwards interception. Then minutes later go on a rampage again only to score with 20 seconds left in the game. The Cowboys had no timeouts left and had to score a two point conversion to tie the game. Terrell Owens then was stripped of the ball and the two point conversion failed, leaving the Bills ahead. ALL THEY HAD TO DO WAS RECOVER THE INEVITABLE ONSIDE KICK and the game would be over. The Bills biggest win in years would again go down as one of the most exciting games in MNF history.
The Special Teams, who had not made a mistake all night, would screw the world on that play.
The Cowboys got the onside kick. Then Romo threw an incomplete putting the clock down to thirteen seconds. Right after that on that play, a five yarder. Then WHAT!!!! Another almost ten yarder. A 52 yard field goal would be the fate of the Bills win with 1 second left. The kicker's longest was 47 yards. He split the uprights, but WAIT!!!! Jauron, Buffalo's coach, called a timeout at the last second. The Cowgirls would have to kick it again…. Unlike Scott Norwood--- He split the uprights again. Game Over. I cut the TV off mid air on that game winning field goal. It was an easy prediction being a Bills fan. It may have been the most upset I've been since that Norwood kick. I have never cried over a football game but that one time. I almost did again on this occasion. I lied in bed for an hour thinking about yet another 'classic Bills performance.' I wondered how they could have been in so much control for most of the game only to somehow lose?
Then I thought of the many opportunities I made the wrong decision on and how many great things I was on my way to doing only to have the slightest hang up change the course of my life. Then it all of sudden was easy to understand…. The Bills and I were the poster boys for the famous Marlon Brando saying in 'On the Waterfront', "We could have been a contender." It is a fuckin' travesty.
