With no huge time-consuming project or production on the docket for this Summer, I decided recently to invest in a 1.5 TB harddrive and begin the arduous (but nostalgic) task of digitally archiving everything to do with what Mister Films Productions has created over the past decade. I already have a closet full of various containers designated for past projects, but VHS tapes are starting to show their age and I don’t trust CD’s (would you also believe that some of the original materials are on floppy discs?).
Anyways, one of the most packed container houses all materials related to FLIPSIDE- our first feature length project which was shot literally over the entirety of the year 2000 and was completed that December. It was a near-catastrophe most of the time as there was usually no script, plan or know-how involved in the filming. I was usually at odds with someone on the cast or crew and spent the majority of the movie being an arrogant asshole. But it had it’s moments of fun- I think. And it stands as the most ambitious project we have ever tackled.
The plot centers on a trio of college freshmen who discover that their toilet is, in fact, a magical gateway to a parallel universe in which they find a disillusioned teen bent on wiping both worlds out of existence as revenge on God …and HILARITY ENSUES! The movie ended up screening at a film festival in New York that, to this day, we’re pretty sure was an elaborate scam as well as a legit festival geared towards teen filmmakers in Toronto, Canada.
But the real reason we’re here today is because I came across the original, hand-written screenplay for the movie which I scrawled on 80 pages of notebook paper (both sides) sometime in 1999. And in the interest of reminiscing, I’ve decided to share some of the wonderful singular bits of dialogue from what it essentially the first thing I ever wrote. Made all the more entertaining by the total lack of context. Enjoy…
***
THOMAS: (picks up the phone) You won’t be saying that tomorrow when you wake up in Mexico.
THOMAS: (sighs heavily and tosses the chicken aside) Man, this is a freakin’ chicken! Do I have to give you the magic carpet speech too?
MR. BLACKSUIT: Six billion years it has taken for this moment and the best opening line you have is “AHHHHHH!”?
NICK: (smiling slyly) And I’ll have a 10% longer life!
DANA: When I first met you, I thought you were some kind of psycho. (She turns around to find him holding a knife over his head, poised to stab her)
NICK: We’ve got less than a day. 24 hours, at most.
NICK: Does this mean I just wet my bed?
DREW: (looking ill) Hey, when you were talking about the brain melting… was there something else you didn’t tell me?
MR. WHITESUIT: Wait, hold on, were you guys talking or thinking about root beer?
LANDLORD: Yes, that’s a large pepperoni and breadsticks. And please hurry because the universe is about to be sucked inside out.
LANDLORD: Well, I might as well level with y’all… I’m Lucifer.
THOMAS: You son of a bitch! You killed our friend! And us! … sort of.
BLACKSUIT: Thirty minutes may seem long, but I’ll need time to escape the massive explosion.
NICK: (turns around) All right, no more jacking around… time to save the universe.
***
Ah, memories. Check out this clip from the finished 70 minute movie…
Ok, so first off, consider this my pledge to attempt to actually utilize this blog. Various factors over the last year- chief among them being school, work, internships, family-related medical crisis and the production of The Andrew and Matt Show- have prevented me from broadcasting the everyday sludge of life. But rest assured, legion of loyal readers, this shall not be the norm.
Anyways, last night I saw My Bloody Valentine live in concert. This is a band I only vaguely knew anything about and I went in with an open mind mostly because my significant other was elated upon finding out that they were playing the US (something they rarely do… oh and they’ve been broken up for some time so this was a reunion “we need some cash” type deal).
Upon further research, I discovered the band falls into that “we made one album way back when and we’re legends” category. It’s a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me. And you wouldn’t- you’d ask The Fugees.
The music was decent, if repetitive and meandering (I’m told that’s the point) but the band was lifeless. Oh and there was 20 (count them, 20) minutes of feedback in place of a bridge for the final song. The building shook as if coming apart at the seems and, if not for earplugs, I’d be signing this blog. So yeah, a big chunk of noise closed the show.
Though I suppose with only one album under your belt, you gotta fill time with something.
Under normal circumstances, this would be a longer post. And would have arrived much more promptly seeing as it’s a “best albums of 2008″ list and here we are already a month into 2009.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to disappoint this blog’s legion of dedicated readers, nor could I stomach the idea of breaking my steady stream of content by say, going over 4 months without an update.
Plus, I just like ranking things for no reason.
***
8. Lil’ Wayne- Tha Carter III
Welcome to essentially the biggest ruse in new millenium hip hop. Lil’ Wayne goes from generic gangsta bullshit rapper to post modern, mind boggling word maestro in the span of about 3 years. And along the way convinces the world that he is a bonafide pop star. Not that he shouldn’t be, but listen to album cuts like “LaLa”, “Let the Beat Build” and “A Milli” that are less songs than they are stream of conciousness meanderings. Then there’s “Phone Home” in which he plays the part of rap extraterrestrial here to conquer us puny humans or “Dr. Carter” where Wayne scrubs up to play doctor on some lame MC’s who are dying as a result of a lack of originality and respect for hip hop.
The album drifts back and forth between high concept and virtual incoherence. But Wayne carries it effortlessly on the strength of his over the top personality.
Sounds like a pop star to me.
7. The Secret Machines – The Secret Machines
It’s fitting that this third album from the New York/Dallas based trio should be self-titled. Not only is it a new beginning in that they lost and replaced a founding member since 2006’s Ten Silver Drops, but the sounds of this darker and heavier third outing are distinctly different. The vaguely psychedelic atmosphere remains, as do the bridges that tend to spiral past the 7 minute mark.
But there’s new ground covered as well. For starters, there are startling moments of precision. “Atomic Heels” is the most concise song they’ve ever written. And it still manages to pack the feel of a Pink Floyd sized epic into 3 and a half minutes. Then there’s behemoths like “The Fire is Waiting” and “The Walls are Starting to Crack”- the latter being the most aptly titled track on the record. Mid-way through it abruptly veers into a bridge of noise and ambience before the ground literally comes out from under the song and it explodes into a massive, Earth shattering breakdown. “Last Believer, Drop Dead”, the album’s best track, at once recalls both Led Zeppelin and Rush while still sounding unmistakably present day. But then again, retro without cliche has always been The Secret Machines’ strong suit.
6. Atmosphere- Strictly Leakage
This is not technically a 2008 release but dropped so close to the end of 2007, I hadn’t had the time to dive in and thus omitted it from my best of ‘07 list. When I finally did give it a spin, I found one of the most entertaining, clever and just plain fun hip hop records in a long while. Ironic considering it’s a product of Atmosphere, reigning champions of cry-me-a-river rap music.
Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Atmosphere. Seven’s Travels and You Can’t Imagine How Much Fun We’re Having are great records. And let’s not forget their near endless stream of additional material (b-sides, ep’s etc.). But this internet only/100% free LP is a much needed breath of fresh air. Endlessly silly, authentically old school and completely unpretentious- this album even trumps (in my opinion) Atmosphere’s 2008 LP When Life Gives You Lemons… which marked a return of the “tales of when life sucks” motif.
If these guys could find a happy medium in there somewhere, they’d really be on to something.
5. The Roots- Rising Down
On the pulsating lead single “Get Busy”, Dice Raw raps “I’m kinda like W.E.B. duBois / Meets Heavy D and The Boys”. Interestingly enough, that’s a pretty accurate assessment of the Roots career. Politically minded hip hop has recently become an oxy moron, which leaves them somewhere in the middle of cult following and mainstream radio… of rocking the block party and the vote.
However, as time goes on, each album brings them closer to the dark side. With the exception of the funk driven “I Will Not Aplogize” and the closing “Rising Up”- this is some serious shit. Rapper Black Thought opens his first verse on the album by stating quite simply that “The Earth is spinning off it’s axis”. Interestingly enough, this album predates the global economic meltdown by 6 or so months, making it’s precognitive nature that much more captivating. Then again, maybe things just suck that much.
4. Beck- Modern Guilt
There are seemingly no better artist/producer pair-ups out there than Beck and Danger Mouse. The key word here is “seemingly”. That is because I initially heard the news of their collaboration and expected the most outrageous funk/hip-hop/soul/rock supernova. I expected this album to put Midnite Vultures to shame in the “overproduced” department. Instead, we were given what is basically the most restrained Beck record since 2002’s Sea Change. Not that this is a bad thing. Because with Beck there’s always sub-text, there’s always nuance- both musically and lyrically.
This album finds Beck in a new disguise- introspection. He is, for the first time, looking back at his oddball career. And the music itself matches the throwback concept. “Gamma Ray” and “Chemtrails” recall 60s psychedelia while “Youthless” is some kind of funk/soul/hip-hop hybrid. But make no mistake, you’re seeing it all through a Beck lense- where everything tends to look and sound better (and weirder).
3. TV on the Radio- Dear Science
It’s been fascinating to watch this band hone its sound over 3 LPs. Even more amazing is how they’ve managed to veer closer to pop sensibilites while keeping their core experimental side intact. “Golden Age” comes off like the victory lap of that accomplishment. A Prince-esque funk jam that is a dance party unto itself.
2006’s Return to Cookie Mountain is a masterpiece and would have been on that year’s list had I not waited until 2007 to purchase it. In many ways, Dear Science is the happy version of that record. Almost like “TV on the Radio: Dance Remix Edition”. In some kind of wacky, backwards universe, “Golden Age” and the equally danceable, equally soul infused “Shout Me Out” could be radio hits.
Not that that’s what TV on the Radio is after. But Dear Science leads you to believe that maybe they are, and beyond that- maybe it’s not such an implausible notion.
2. The Raconteurs- Consolers of the Lonely
This supergroup’s 2006 debut was a fantastic, rockin’ adventure. And this follow up makes it sound like a demo tape. It also brings the band closer to forming it’s own identitiy in between the Jack White swagger fest and the Brendan Benson alt-country/alt-rock-a-thon. The band needed to be more than a sum of its parts- and this excellent sophomore effort accomplished that, ironically, by letting them both just do their thing.
On Broken Boy Soldiers, songs flip flopped between being fronted by alternately Jack White or Brendan Benson. On this record, they’re doing that *inside* songs. The title cut literally shifts tempo back and forth between the two front men and on numerous other tracks, they trade lyrical and vocal duties to the point where it becomes almost impossible to tell their voices apart. Almost.
Luckily, they continue to avoid the supergroup trap of each song just sounding like a re-hash of one of the parent bands (though “Hold Up” comes close to White Stripes territory). But with the bluegrass tinged “Old Enough” and “Top Yourself”, they’re carving a stylistic niche all their own.
Stay the course, guys.
1. Kanye West- 808s & Heartbreak
First things first, this is not the “best” album of the year. In fact, it’s nowhere near as good as any of the other records on this list. Why, then, is it #1? Well, let’s call it my favorite of 2008, for one simple reason…
Kanye West has some balls on him for putting this album out. After back to back to back hip hop successes of his own and countless producer credits on a myriad of hits, he essentially pulled a 180 on par with Radiohead following OK Computer with Kid A. It may not match either of those albums’ quality- but it far exceeds the bravery.
The album, in a lot of ways, feels rushed and unfinished. But the “off-the-cuff” nature is part of the charm. “Amazing” could’ve used just a few more words in the chorus and “Welcome to Heartbreak” could’ve benefitted from a once over of the lyrics as a whole. But it’s these very blemishes that lend credibility to the album. It’s about love and hurt. Heartbreak and loss. So rather than agonize over what to say and how to say it- Kanye West just says it. It’s a snapshot of a time and place that we’ve all been emotionally at some point. “Heartless” is a near perfect portrait of the “on-again-off-again” game (it also boasts the most infectious groove on the album) and “Love Lockdown” builds to the boiling point using only the simplest of 808 beats, a minimal paino loop and a barrage of drums when the chorus hits.
Then there’s “Robocop”- a song that, by all conventional knowledge, should not work. But with it’s big strings and skittering electro beat it reveals itself to be the highlight of the album. It’s an accurate representation of the album as a whole: elements put together than shouldn’t be. Superstar rapper decides to to sing with the aide of crappy Auto-Tune software over near vacant production. Shouldn’t work. But does.
But it seems Mr. West likes the challenge. And more artists out there should be pushing their own envelopes in the same way. This style probably won’t stick and it will be mostly because Kanye likes to keep us guessing. As he says himself on “Amazing”…
“I’m a problem that will never ever be solved.”
I can’t recall ever going by “Matthew”. Sure, close family most likely identified me by it when I was very young but I pretty quickly abbreviated. It’s always just felt concise and to the point. Matt. Ryan. Check it.
For a long time, I looked forward to the idea of being the first famous Matt Ryan. When I was about 17 or 18, a quick search of imdb revealed numerous Matt Ryans already in the film industry, but they were mostly gaffers, best boys and various other jobs that are about one shade above being the janitor. I relished the notion that I’d be the first Matt Ryan to achieve massive, insurmountable international fame as a feature film director (this feat of course being a mere inevitability in my pre-adult mind).
Well, everything was going as planned until this OTHER Matt Ryan comes on the scene. A football player. For what team? I don’t know. I don’t care (see my previous post entitled “I don’t care about sports“). Apparently he’s a Heisman trophy winner. Whatever the hell that means.
Truthfully, I could care less. He’s not in my field. Nor is he in a field I give a shit about. But he is famous. And this is an annoyance that has recently reared it’s slack-jawed, sideways cap wearing head. People find out my name, be it off my debit card at Starbucks or my name badge at work, and they ask….
“Dude, what’s it like having your name?”
You should know I have not altered the wording at all. Right down to the “dude”, I’ve left it just the way it is usually delivered.
So, what exactly is the desired response?
“It’s beyond my wildest dreams.”
Maybe I’m overreacting. I just think the whole exchange is on par with asking a celebrity if they know another celebrity; which, ironically, is a question I look forward to being asked upon my arrival in the upper echelons of fame.
But the point here is that this whole situation is backwards. People should be asking this soccer guy how he feels about sharing a name with such a respected and sexually desired film director (me). They should be encouraging him to go downtown and attempt to score drinks off my name. He should be scamming women into one night stands with some fabricated tale of being my brother. I’m not saying I’ve done these things… they’re just helpful suggestions to him for when the time comes that his star has flamed out and mine is rocketing skywards.
A recent Google search of my name also revealed some Bruce Springsteen impersonator sharing my moniker. Here’s some poor bastard who, try as he might to start a career as a respected musician, can’t escape the fact that he looks and sounds like The Boss. So, he settles for a life of touring dive bars playing someone else’s songs.
I will not let this stand. The Matt Ryans of the world need, nay- deserve, a global representative that doesn’t make them want to blow their brains out. They deserve a leader with the courage and determination to become outrageously famous. More famous than the above mentioned lesser Matt Ryans. Even more famous than that Matt Ryan who actually makes his own original music. I’ve never heard any of it, but I’m sure it’s awful.
Although, he goes by Matthew. So maybe we’ll let it slide.
I have unraveled the singular important mystery in the universe. Man’s one seemingly impossible hurdle. In this blog I shall bring peace and balance to humanity with a simple proposition. So simple, in fact, that you egghead writers would have never thought of it.
It is my firm belief that every single person- right out of high school- should have to work in retail. For one year.
And when I say “retail”, I don’t mean some fancy pants posh bullshit upper class clothing boutique. I’m talking bottom of the barrel. Like fuckin’ Walmart, or Blockbuster Video. Actually, that’s it! Blockbuster Video! This idea works best in a field that hinges on subjectivity.
But first let’s dive into why this year long sentence in consumer hell should be mandatory for all. Fact is, there is no better way to encounter all that is evil and reprehensible about humanity. Well, I suppose you could work in a prison and cross paths with some real scum- but there’s a distinct type of life experience one garners by dealing with ordinary people who act like extraordinary assholes.
I’m sure you’re reading this and thinking “oh, this douche must have just had a bad day at work.”
Well, first- don’t call me a douche. And having worked in retail for most of my occupational lifespan, this genius idea stems from years of bad days at work- all at the expense of making sure you get your damn free video or that you walk away knowing why you can’t send an email without an email account (my current school funding device is FedEx Kinko’s which, while being a great company, still deals with something most people don’t comprehend- computers).
However, I’ve recently begun noticing that these jobs are slowly molding me into an apathetic, mellowed out robot, at least while on the job. I can switch on in the morning for school and switch off in the afternoon for work. I can do my job, take the verbal criticism, the condescending insults from middle aged business men (who own bluetooth phones but inexplicably can’t create a pdf file), and I can go home with my overall outlook on humanity unscathed.
It wasn’t always like this. There were times when a bad night at work would boil my blood something fierce. I’m also to the point where I can admit that the rage it would cause back then most likely cost me my relationship at the time, as I would usually dump the days worth of ranting on her. My apologies, girlfriend of the past.
But it really does astound me just how mean spirited, purposely humiliating and down right rude people can be… and to a perfect stranger! My personal favorite variety is the people who arrive with kids in tow. They’ll make it a point to remind the child to say ”please” and “thank you” and simultaneously scream their heads off at me behind the sales counter, being sure to include every expletive they can. Are they not trying to instill basic manners into their kids as well? Or is there some kind of footnote about being kind to people that states “except if they’re in any kind of service industry”?
And sure, I can see things from the other side. Maybe these fine people are having a bad day themselves. Maybe there’s all sorts of reasons to account for their demeanour when they show up in front of me. And I’m also not going to pretend that we in the retail world don’t occasionally falter in serving you. But it never ceases to amaze me the level of lack of understanding in these situations. Basically, everything should be perfect and if it’s not you should feel more than welcome to blame me right then and there, in any subsequent re-tellings to family and friends or my supervisors. In fact, when talking to management, be sure to dress the story up a little. After all, why should you have to deal with my bullshit when you’ve lived a flawlessly perfect existence?
Which brings us back to why everyone should have to be in these shoes.
For this to work, we’ll have to wait a few decades for the older, more particularly asshole-ish (and bigoted, racist) generation to die out but then it should be smooth sailing for a race of people who’re now at ease with how things work and accepting of their inability to change them. It’ll be Shrangri-fucking-La.
At the outset, there will be the matter of those who’ve already endured these types of jobs during high school years or even those who have/did/will not complete high school. But there will be some type of system in place to deal with this on a case by case basis. Don’t you worry about things like that.
For now, I’d just say that the next time you find yourself out and about in the world, consider the size of the universe. Because in the grand scheme of things, we all live in the same house. Hell, the same room. With the same singular rule.
Don’t be a dick.
I really should have viewed the film Juno right at the start of its theatrical run and not months after it had navigated what we shall refer to as the “rollercoaster of cool”. When the marketing campaign for the movie ramped up sometime last Fall, I noticed it and was intrigued enough. Though only off the strength of having director Jason Reitman’s name attached, due to his debut film Thank You For Smoking being highly enjoyable. And too a lesser extent, I was happy to see Jason Bateman and Michael Cera paired up in another project (though “paired up” turned out, to my surprise, to be foolish assumption on my part- as they never interact once in the film).
So then the film came out and the internet community (or at least the small section of it that I am involved with) lit up with raves. Adjectives from “amazing” to “wonderful” frequently cluttered message board threads associated with Juno. It was obvious to see that the movie was becoming 2007’s “indie darling”. Like Little Miss Sunshine before it. And it would follow a similar path- a slow build to a substantially impressive box office return and suddenly, a front runner for major awards. However, it’s about here that those two films paths diverged…
The backlash.
Not since everyone seemed to unanimously decide that Dane Cook is not funny has there been a reversal of opinion this large. Those same people who had previously praised Juno for its “delightful quirkiness” were now deriding it for “being so fucking stupid and quirky”.
So why was this? Is it some kind of hipster oath to dislike anything considered “mainstream” or were the people crowning it their “favorite movie, like, ever” just posing in the first place to be the first on the Juno bandwagon? Probably both. Or probably neither. Maybe it’s like the feeling people get when they champion something to help it get to the top and then, once there, that thing turns on the very people who got them there (ie Juno being to “personal” to be up for best picture of the year- wake up, the film doesn’t belong to you).
Kinda like in Mean Girls when Lohan becomes popular and starts stealing Rachel McAdams thunder. What a bitch, right?
Regardless, it was all these things compounded that made me avoid this little wacky pregnancy adventure until last weekend when I found myself out of school for the semester and browsing in Blockbuster video. And rather than rent the film to judge it on its own merits, I found myself more concerned with seeing just who was right and who was wrong in all those message board threads.
Well, it was basically everyone.
I enjoyed it far more than I expected to and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that a) I laughed out loud on several occasions while watching it alone and b) I put it on a second time the next day (though to be fair, I was cleaning and just wanted something playing in the background).
The movie is mostly funny, sometimes heartwarming and never drags. But it is simultaneously forgettable. And this is due to the fact that it is essentially “paint by numbers: indie film”.
Quirky, quick witted characters? Check
Cluttered, detail oriented production design? Check
Hand-drawn looking animation somehow integrated? Check
Profound life lessons for all? Check
Annoying as fuck soundtrack? Chiggity Check
Nearly the whole way through, I felt I’d seen it before. Hell, Wes Anderson has made a career out of exactly this kind of film. Though, his dialouge would never so blantantly date a film. In ten years, lines like “For shizz” or the one I chose to title this blog with will probably not have aged all too well. In fact, you can click here and wonder with me how this script got made seeing as most of the dialouge seems ridiculous on paper. Luckily, it’s the direction and performances that make it work (for the most part- the “no, this is Morgan Freeman, do you have any bones that need collecting?” type lines still strikes me as trying way too hard).
There’s also a number of plot lines that seem mishandled. Namely, Juno and baby daddy Michael Cera’s character. Aside from how laughable it is that his family never finds out that he is the father, I never felt the connection between these two people- even though the movie apparently really wanted me to (like seriously, listen to the words in the super annoying songs!). Sadly, this seems to have been sacrificed in favor of an oddly inappropriate connection between Juno and Jason Bateman.
But I’m doing that same bullshit I mentioned earlier and I’m nitpicking. Like I said, it was a nice little movie and I could, at this point, only dream of creating something that appears to have touched so many people.
So, on that note, I’d like to address a complaint I frequently heard during the movie’s run that’s simply note true… “All the characters are identical and talk the same”…
…not so much. Sure, Juno and her friends share the same kind of wit- but I’m wagering so do you and your circle of friends. The characters who stood out to me were Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner’s adoptive couple. Bateman did a pretty fantastic job of giving away his character’s apprehensiveness and although Garner’s character’s foaming-at-the-mouth want for a kid seems slightly overstated, there’s something about the scene where she handles the baby for the first time that killed me. Her encounter with Juno in the mall might also be the movie’s high point.
There’s obviously a degree of “who cares” at this point concerning my opinion on this movie seeing as how it’s moment is long gone and we can all now anxiously await this year’s version.
Speaking of, Michael Cera can next be seen in Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist… opening October 3rd.
If this is truly going to be a personal and intimate account of me and all the unimportant minutia that composes who I am, then there’s something very important to get out of the way first. And by putting this particular subject at the forefront right off the bat, I hope to avoid the digital equivalent to the awkward first conversations I’ve had with people concerning this very thing.
I don’t care about sports. At all.
It’s not that I hate sports, it’s that I don’t even feel the need to muster an opinion either way. It doesn’t interest me. So why is this front page news? Well, it isn’t. Don’t ask stupid questions. But this lack of alignment with either side of the sports constituency represents a hypocritical risk I inherently take.
To explain:
My problem with people who obsess over sports is that it tends to be all they can discuss in any situation, social or otherwise. However, the double standard here is that I am the same way about music and movies. I don’t really know anything else; at least not thoroughly enough to appear on Jeopardy. Sure, I can bullshit my way through a political debate with friends or deep philosophical discussion about my thoughts on our universe (as long as I’ve either watched CNN that day or had a few drinks, respectively), but I’m not committed enough to those things to read past the CliffsNotes. So, on this note, I empathize with those who, during conversation, can think of nothing beyond trivial and monotonous sports facts. Hell, I can tell you how much Titanic made its opening weekend. For every batting average and *insert other sports fact thing here* that you can spew, I can retaliate with gems like “Did you know that Keanu Reeves was the 4th choice to play Neo in The Matrix behind Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Will Smith?”
Chances are you didn’t know. Nor did you desire to.
Now, I’m not saying I ignore sports as a whole. The fact is I enjoy watching and playing Basketball (and living my life as a tall person has led to incessant inquiries from strangers about the sport since, apparently the only qualification is height). Though, admittedly, that’s where it ends. Most other games bore me to tears and I have a very special grudge stored in my soul for Football which probably stems from several things. Among them, being from Texas hasn’t exactly served to down-play the importance of the ‘ol pigskin. The football players are more popular, they get laid more frequently and they coast through school and into jobs that pay sticking-a-fork-into-a-light-socket-stupid money. Over time, these things lost there “grand scheme” importance but the stigma of how it seemed in high school remains forever.
But again, I am snacking on my foot.
I aspire to infiltrate the film industry. A business that tends to not be cited for its logical pay structure. There are people out there who appeared in a certain aforementioned ship movie that are still, to this day, earning royalites off the film. We’re talking stand-in-ankle-deep-water-and-then-stick-the-fork-into-the-socket-stupid money.
Bet you didn’t know that.
Luckily, I can co-exists with the sports folk. Many of my friends fall into the category. I’ve received many a call after such and such team has won the whatever championship of someplace and been able to feign excitement enough to survive another day without having to explain that I couldn’t tell you how football is played even with a gun to my head.
But I can wager you don’t know which movie has the highest box-office gross to budget ratio.
