Making $65 bucks a day – The hard way.

So, I was in a movie, yesterday.

Not something you get to lead with, very often.

A guy I was kids with, really hooked me up. His friend’s in charge of all the casting for extras, on some major films. My buddy tends to help him out, when he can. This one’s filming in Chicago, my friend said “Hey, you wanna be an extra?” and then made it super easy and hassle-free for me to do so.

I was in a scene that was supposed to be taking place in a bitterly cold Minneapolis neighborhood.

I jotted down notes throughout the process, which gave me something to do.

Something to do on a day where I spent huge amounts of time with… nothing to do.

6:50 – arrived.
7:10 – stood in line for pay voucher
7:50 – done with wardrobe. My red hat and scarf were, and I quote “Iffy”. So I had to exchange my pay voucher for a darker hat and scarf
8:00 – discovered that the food trailer has a self serve spigot for coffee, sticking out the side of the trailer. I need to get me one of those…
8:05 - Coffee interrupted, for hair and makeup. I’m bald, and am wearing a blue stocking cap. My hair, as it turns out, is fine. My face is apparently ok without makeup as well, since I’ll be walking down a street…

Sat around for awhile, eating a little breakfast and listening to three other people talk about “the business” whilst helping them with a crossword.

8:45 – sitting in a bar on the north end of the set, with all the other extras, awaiting assignment. If I had decided to wear a suit and tie, I might have got a better extra gig. Who knew? Three different sports channels and GMA on TV. No idea if or when I’ll be called to set.

Watched them spraying “snow” in the yards on the van ride over. Bitterly cold Minneapolis, but still lots of green leaves on the trees.

Awkward.

9:30 - Sitting in the bar with a bunch of increasingly crabby people. I’m hanging out with two people that had answered last minute desperate phone calls for “Café Worker” roles. They’re not “Pedestrians”, nor “bus riders”. Cool chick predicts she will be forgotten about, and will be riding that bar stool all day.

11:40 – back in the bar with my friends the café workers.
I’ve spent the last two hours, walking up and down a street. Southbound on the West side, Northbound on the East side, and vice versa. When I was walking southbound on the West side, I was told that I was to be, and I quote:
“A fast walker. You’re not angry, you’re not running, you just happen to walk faster than everyone else.”

But when I got switched to the east side of the street, someone else informed me that I was… walking too fast.
My goal in life became to time my walk so that I’d be as close to where the bus was stopping (all the action was on the bus) as possible.
And I was nailing it. Take after take.
Until YET another person took me aside and said:

“We really don’t want you directly in front of the bus when it stops. So if you get to the corner by the bus stop, before we cut, you’ll need to turn the corner and keep walking.”

I watch another extra walking with a pronounced limp on the first few takes. All the sudden, on the next take, he was walking normal. The assistants to the asst. director apparently healed him of his "affliction". Puh-raaaaiiiise Geez-Hus!

I become friends with the two women smoking outside the diner at the corner by the bus stop. I stop for a second and say hi to them as I walk by, and then we critique each other’s performances after each take.
“How was my corner turn this time?”
“I dunno, it really didn’t seem like you were feeeeeeeeeeling it.”
“Well, you totally OWNED the ‘good morning!’ and cigarette drag this take. “


12:45: We’re done. And my new friend the café worker’s prediction came true. She was the only one that did absolutely nothing all morning. Her partner in crime got to play an EMT, and share a scene with Kate Winslet. HIS day turned out pretty okey dokey.
And there are no vans to drive us back to the tent area, because crew’s on break. So we hump the 6 blocks back to the command center, arriving 15 minutes or so later.
I turn in my hat and scarf for my pay voucher.
I turn in my pay voucher.
Food smells great. But we’re told we’re not allowed to eat yet. We’ll need to wait a half hour for the crew to finish up and vacate the tent. And there’s no shuttles back to the parking lot until after they’ve eaten, either. I see no reason to stick around, and my near-to-tears café worker buddy has expressed strong desire to go as well (uh, to say the least...). I get a picture in my head as to where the parking lot is in relation to where we were, and we take off. I’m in my car 20 minutes later.

Guess I’m glad I did it. My effort in obtaining the gig was minimal, thanks to my friend.
It WAS an interesting experience. I’ll certainly be more selective about the type of extra work I do, should the opportunity arise again.

For instance, I won’t sign on to walk up and down the same block by myself for two hours, in 45 degree temps…….

Whoo Hoo, the McRib's back!!!!

The McRib's back!

Yes!!!!!!

actually, I couldn't care less.

But it's impending return to the McDonalds menu is actually being reported as news today.

And frankly, I'm sick of reading about politics.


Not sure the point of bring it back for a limited time, every few years.

It just says to me that it didn't move enough units when they initially brought it out, so they ditched it.

If it was really popular, it never would have gone away.

I have this horrifying mental picture of some guy cleaning out the freezer at their central distribution center, located not too far from here, and coming across a pallet of mcRib patties with "use by 1999" stamped on 'em, and going...

"Oh, shit."

They apparently only found a month or so worth of them, as it's only back for four weeks.

And they're even having a "Legend of the McRib" promotion, where you can submit ridiculous stories involving the McRib, in hopes of winning a trip to Germany.


An idea that they apparently stole from the Wolf /Moon T-shirt folks on Amazon.

"Why Germany?" you ask.

What, you got something against Germany?

It's because Germany's the ONE country in the world that has McRib on the menu, ALL the time.
ALL the time? it's like a beautiful, barbeque dream come true!

If they REALLY want to impress me, they'll create a mcRib sandwich that uses two MORE mcrib patties as a bun.

Not something I'd want to eat while driving, or...well not something I'd ever want to eat, ever, but they'd get points for pure disregard for the health and safety of their customers.

Like they need more points for THAT...

The day my wind chimes attacked me

Every fall, the colors change, the air gets that smell – you know the one. The sun shines and the world around us is resplendent.
Every footstep is a minor symphony, and every intake of breath is a small treasure.

I enjoy it so much I base fishing decisions not on where I have the best chance of catching fish, but on the prettiest scenery in which to maybe, just maybe, catch fish.

And every fall, this lasts right up until that one day, that one day that's suddenly upon you, when winds and rain whip through stripping the trees of their remaining leaves, turning crisp into sodden, a slap upside your head reminding you that fall is fleeting, and winter’s warming up on deck.

And he’s swinging big lumber…

Today is the meteorological slap in the head, I fear. Only this year, it’s a sock full of nickels, as opposed to an open palm.

And in case I was really,really dense, some metal pipes.
More on that in a moment.


I know it’s going to happen, and expect it, but C’mon!!!!
60MPH winds and lightning storms and power outages and tornado warnings????

Kinda overkilling it, dontcha think?

Hey, I like sharing my leaves, trash cans, tricycles, and patio furniture with the folks up the street as much as the next guy.
Like good fences, this kind of sharing can make good neighbors; folks we only see during the rest of the year, when our mail carrier forgets her numbers, or gets confused…

I do have to state for the record, however, that having my wind chimes attack me first thing this morning, when I was trying to remove them for their own safety, was over the top.
The mighty wind shifted as I was stretching , tippy-toed, to try to unhook them from the back porch this morning, resulting in foot long metal pipes chiming musically as they smacked me in the face.

OK!!! I get it already!!! Enough!

Hey, I’ve shat in the woods.

Thought I’d start this entry with that statement, in hopes that it would grab your attention.

This was just one of the many thoughts that raced through my head this morning, as I was parked on the interstate.

(Ironically, right next to the sign that let us know that we were leaving the construction zone, and could resume regular speed.)

I noticed the MSU Spartan Logo on the back window of the Ford Explorer parked next to me, as I came upon it. MI license plate (pretty!), expensive bike on roof rack. Upon closer inspection (Hey, I had time…) I noted two pair of ski’s on roof rack next to expensive bike.

I almost laughed aloud when I got all the way up next to the Explorer, and saw the two guys inside. They were almost comically rugged, wearing plaid flannel shirts and perfectly shaped 5-day growths of beard.

“Look at us, we’re soooooo amazingly rugged and outdoorsy!!!“

It’s early Friday morning; they’re headed north out of Chicago with a bunch of gear on their roof; and have amazingly rugged facial hair. They are obviously starting out on a big adventure.

Or maybe they were just headed to an audition for a Brawny paper towel commercial.

I gave them the benefit of the doubt, and assumed “adventure”.

And I was jealous.

Not of the expensive bike, or the skis (Really? Skis? it’s warm and sunny and winter in this part of the country’s another 2 months away), or the fact that their manly facial hair was dark, whereas mine is alarmingly silver and white when I let it grow out.

It was the adventure part.

The road trip, the getting there (Wherever “There” might be) and the “Christmas morning” feeling when you’re finally at your destination.
The crap unpacked-toes in the sand-line in the water- beer-in-the-hand feeling.

“I’ve been waiting months for this, and here it finally is and it’s just like I hoped…”

My god, but I love that feeling.
And I DO get to experience that feeling on occasion, but not nearly often enough.

I love “The Adventure”.

The planning, the anticipation, the actual adventure…

I’ve watched families of moose slip silently out of dense brush into a N. Minnesota lake.
I’ve caught trout in small farm creeks in upstate NY.
I’ve awoke to find deer foraging right outside my tent.
I’ve slept (or not slept) where bear hang out.
I’ve climbed trees, mountains.
I’ve swam under waterfalls
I’ve gotten up with the sun countless times, fishing pole in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.
I’ve, indeed, shat in the woods.

But this morning I was headed to the office, no perfectly shaped, silver and gray flecked five day growth of whiskers on my cheek, no kayak strapped to my roof, no fishing gear rattling around in the back of my 15 year old Subaru. No cool adventurous wife sitting next to me, playing DJ.
No “I’m so excited!” or “ Are we there?” or “I have to go potty!” from the backseat.

And I thought about the endless potential of “The Adventure”.
Not like I had anything better to do at that moment...

My daughter’s juuuuuust about old enough now, perhaps by next spring we can ramp it up a bit…

Poop is Hee-larious!

Driving home from apple picking in MI on Saturday, Fiona said something too quiet to hear, and then busted out laughing.

“What’d you say, darlin’?”

“I smell Billy poop!”
And then she giggled again.

What in the…???

“Billy poop?”

She laughed even louder when I said it.

Then she repeated it, but with some kind of southern twang that comes out of her mouth sometimes, for which we’ve not figured out the origin.

“Bil-EE poo-yoop” followed by more laughter.

“What’s ‘billy poop’?”

“Goat poop.” Chortle, chortle.

“Goat POOP!” she tries again, with slightly bigger emphasis on “poop” in her delivery. And laughs some more…

Awesome!

Correctly combining “poop” with one of the funnier farm animal names, and nailing the delivery.

That’s my baby!

Tip your waitresses, she’s here all week.

Horse poop, cow poop- not as funny.
Chicken poop - too many syllables, really.

Oh, wait, I wasn’t supposed to laugh? This only encourages her???
Huh. Gotta work on that…

Yep, poop became funny to her, all the sudden, in the car on Saturday.

Funny? Hell it’s the most hee-larious word EVER.

And apparently she’s not the only one, as I find out by talking to the mother of a three year old boy while we awaited our kid’s turns on the pony ride yesterday.
She said that “poop” had just made a big splash at her house as well…

Just what ARE they learning at pre-school?

I’m now officially nervous to pick her up from school, fully expecting her teacher to greet me with pursed lips and a slight shake of her head this afternoon, as she hands me a note….

Just bust a move.

Found an “Eighties and beyond” radio station the other day (100.3 on your FM dial), liked what I heard, programmed it into my radio.

Was parked on the northbound Tristate, surfing my pre-sets with little satisfaction this morning, when I heard it.

Young MC’s Bust a Move.

I derived far more pleasure from it than I would have expected.

You want it? You got it! You want it, baby you got it! (just bust a move)

Pure poetry.

I’ll rate it an 87, Dick. It’s got a great beat, and you can car dance to it.

Since I was sitting in traffic with nothing better to do, I drifted back to late winter /early spring of 1990.

We had just let the word out that we were planning a big house party, I believe our last one in the old, haunted (yep), house four of us rented in Lansing.

I was talking to friends, Chris and Verna. They complained that house parties thrown at guys houses never had good dance music. They said they wanted to shake it, basically, and put me on notice, musically speaking.

Hmm…. Girls wanted to dance a lot, at my house.
Yeah, I could work on making that happen.

But what did guys know about dancing? We were all about standing in circles, playing air guitar, throwing our fists in the air above our heads.

You gotta fight. For your right. To Paaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrtee!

Kick it.

And while I WAS working for the college radio station, and my tastes were more eclectic than many guys, I realized I didn’t have “Shake it “ music lying around the house.

Apparently, while awesome party songs in their own right, I wanna Be Sedated by the Ramones, So Alive by Love and Rockets, and Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode did not exactly meet the required criteria.

So, I brought in a pro, a ringer, demographically speaking.

I hooked up with a female friend of mine, Tracy, and explained the problem. We got a hold of various acquaintances, did a lot of borrowing, and viola!

Approximately 80 people jammed in my house, with Joy and Pain by Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock, the aforementioned Bust a Move, and other music to “shake it” by, blasting through my roommate’s speakers on a cold Saturday night.

I still have the mix tape, in a cupboard in my basement. I no longer have any equipment I’d feel confident playing it on, but it’s still there.
As I recall, there’s a cigarette burn on the case, and the ink’s faded a bit.

Back to the present, traffic was starting to move, albeit very slowly. Bust A Move faded out, replaced by a news and traffic update.
Seems traffic was heavy on the toll roads.

The hell you say!

Calmly walking Lucy...

Lucy, our dog, has heart worms.
We found this out, ironically, when we took her in to get her started on heart worm preventatives.

The vet thinks that she probably had very early stages of them, when we adopted her last Thanksgiving.

Given how far along her case was, it’s either this, or she was bitten by the VERY FIRST mosquito of the year, who coincidentally had whatever it is they have that can spread heart worms.

Anyhow –

The treatment for heart worms is pretty simple, really.
Here’s some poison, hopefully enough to kill the worms without harming the dog.
See you in four weeks or so for another dose, keep your dog from getting excited until then.

The last part’s very important. As the worms die off, you want to make sure that the dog doesn’t get too excited, too often, and run increased risk of worms entering blood stream, causing major problems.

Not only is it very important, it’s damn near impossible to achieve.

She’s a puppy. Puppies are pretty excitable….

She’s a big fan of squirrels, rabbits, other dogs, my neighbor, and the world’s full of these things.

It’s become a joke with us, upon returning from her short walks, short CALM walks, to talk about the walk in terms of the distractions and such that awaited us.

How was the walk?

Rabbit in the alley, and the guy was out in his yard with the beagle again.
Or
Two squirrels, and a cat in a picture window.

You get it.

The walk to beat, the one WAY out in front of all other walks, consisted of :

A rabbit
Two different dogs
A feral cat
And my neighbor, one of Lucy’s favorite humans, stopping in the middle of the road to chat with me as she drove past.

All within a block of our house.

It became so ridiculous that I had to laugh.

I honestly didn’t think that this walk could be beaten, in terms of stuff that can excite my dog to an unhealthy level. I mean, c’mon!!!

Until last night.

Until we stepped outside, and saw the guy roller-blading with THREE BIG FREAKIN’ DOGS ON LEASHES, running in front of him.
IS HE INSANE?
He stops at the corner, opposite us, and is catching his breath, petting the dogs, etc.
Lucy’s going nuts.
I drag her around the corner, and keep her walking, while turning around repeatedly to see what direction this guy’s going to go.

Duh. Of COURSE he chose to cross the street, and have the dogs run right down the middle of the road, past us. And OF COURSE they see Lucy, and start to pull him toward us, before he could correct them.
And OF COURSE Lucy’s lunging and straining at her leash, and barking, and whining.

Lucy, of course, is fine. No harm befell her from this outburst.
And the bar has been raised, possibly to a point that is truly impossible to beat.