I don't know if I mentioned the show I was working on last month, in Huntington Beach, aptly named "The Beach."
Anyhow, they called me to shoot all next week, so I just wanted to drop a blog on MySpace before, most likely, I disappear for seven days.
The show is a fake reality show a la Laguna Beach, about Huntington Beach life guards, except two of the six main characters are lifeguards the rest are actors. Hmmmm....
It's kind of silly, but honestly, it's not a bad idea and if it weren't so trite(and fake) it would be interesting. But in the end, it's not the show that makes me crazy, it's the nutballs that are running it.
We'll be entering probably week 7, for shooting a pilot? Um...something's a bit off. They've been shooting since March, off and on, and seriously- if you haven't gotten what you needed yet? Iiiiiitttttttt.....may not be coming.
However, if they are willing to pay me to fuck around on the beach dragging a wagon(see Sisyphus), then I'll gladly oblige as I'm running up quite a tab on my AmEx and unemployment isn't quite going to do it for my lifestyle.
Send sunblock. See you all soon.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Karaoke
Am i the last one on earth to see these?
..>
Holy shit. Get yourself to YouTube, search "Star Trek G4" and watch the rest of the spots for Star Trek 2.0.
And make sure you watch "Cribs - Director's Cut." It's off the chain.
..>
Holy shit. Get yourself to YouTube, search "Star Trek G4" and watch the rest of the spots for Star Trek 2.0.
And make sure you watch "Cribs - Director's Cut." It's off the chain.
Monday, June 26, 2006
The Absolute Pinnacle of my Nerdiness
I couldn't have possibly reached up to a higher apex of geekdom, than I did last week. The K2 of Klingon; the Everest of EverQuest; the Star Wars of Star Warses. What is this brilliant north star in my big dipper of nerding out?
Booxter.
What exactly is booxter? It's a software program for cataloguing, organizing, and managing personal or public libraries. Meaning, you sit at home for a week and type in the information for your books in your bookshelf. Is this so you can read your books anytime on your computer? No. In fact, you can't really do anything with the program besides have a record of what books you own or have read.
I mean, it's got a few more features than that; you can create genres in any way you want, you can keep records of whether or not your books are signed, lent out to friends, and keep detailed notes on them without writing in the book. You have the ability to keep track of the money spent on the books as well as their current cumulative worth.
The way it works is this- you can manually type in the information from the copyright page, or if you're connected to the internet, type in the ISBN number and Booxter will search the library of congress for you. Pretty sweet. But it doesn't have to stop there- if you've created a book, or have a bunch of magazines and literary journals, you can manually input all their information as well.
But what does this mean for my pocket protectin' computer programmin' dungeons and dragons playin' future as the nerdiest man alive? I'm not sure. It does say a lot for my book obsession, something that I have written about before at length.
On one hand, I'm spending this week cataloguing my books, if only so that I can tell people what books I have regardless of having my library at my finger tips. It's %50 like iTunes because I can organize my books in whatever way I feel like but I can't access my books on my computer. It's ALMOST useless, but that fact alone is the reason it is a nerdy endeavor.
Why? The answer is always "Why not?"
Why do you program a videogame about drug dealing to work on your monochromatic graphic calculator? Why do we care about what color or size or capacity our iPod has? Why do you a website allowing friends to interact over the computer without ever speaking over the phone or communicating in person?
Why do I want to program my books into my computer? It's the same reason we want to use computers to do everything? It further increases the usability of my computer, creating another layered task to accomplish and categorize. There's a program that does the same thing for DVDs and although I could surely be considered a movie geek, this clearly locks me into my role (model) as a book nerd.
Booxter gives me the kind of reassurance that I can sit at home and inventory, categorize, and appraise the value of my personal library, all while someone sits at home developing the software for me to do so.
And it's just going to get better and better and better and SkyNet. I, Jeff Crocker, will welcome our robot overlords and bow before their cold, emotionless, tyrannical rule. Besides, they're going to need nerds to teach them Klingon.
Booxter.
What exactly is booxter? It's a software program for cataloguing, organizing, and managing personal or public libraries. Meaning, you sit at home for a week and type in the information for your books in your bookshelf. Is this so you can read your books anytime on your computer? No. In fact, you can't really do anything with the program besides have a record of what books you own or have read.
I mean, it's got a few more features than that; you can create genres in any way you want, you can keep records of whether or not your books are signed, lent out to friends, and keep detailed notes on them without writing in the book. You have the ability to keep track of the money spent on the books as well as their current cumulative worth.
The way it works is this- you can manually type in the information from the copyright page, or if you're connected to the internet, type in the ISBN number and Booxter will search the library of congress for you. Pretty sweet. But it doesn't have to stop there- if you've created a book, or have a bunch of magazines and literary journals, you can manually input all their information as well.
But what does this mean for my pocket protectin' computer programmin' dungeons and dragons playin' future as the nerdiest man alive? I'm not sure. It does say a lot for my book obsession, something that I have written about before at length.
On one hand, I'm spending this week cataloguing my books, if only so that I can tell people what books I have regardless of having my library at my finger tips. It's %50 like iTunes because I can organize my books in whatever way I feel like but I can't access my books on my computer. It's ALMOST useless, but that fact alone is the reason it is a nerdy endeavor.
Why? The answer is always "Why not?"
Why do you program a videogame about drug dealing to work on your monochromatic graphic calculator? Why do we care about what color or size or capacity our iPod has? Why do you a website allowing friends to interact over the computer without ever speaking over the phone or communicating in person?
Why do I want to program my books into my computer? It's the same reason we want to use computers to do everything? It further increases the usability of my computer, creating another layered task to accomplish and categorize. There's a program that does the same thing for DVDs and although I could surely be considered a movie geek, this clearly locks me into my role (model) as a book nerd.
Booxter gives me the kind of reassurance that I can sit at home and inventory, categorize, and appraise the value of my personal library, all while someone sits at home developing the software for me to do so.
And it's just going to get better and better and better and SkyNet. I, Jeff Crocker, will welcome our robot overlords and bow before their cold, emotionless, tyrannical rule. Besides, they're going to need nerds to teach them Klingon.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
The Chair
Do people still have "chairs" anymore? You know, like how people say, "I remember a long time ago when Grandad used to sit in His Chair and watch Dan Rather talk about the world." Or "My Dad would come home and sit in His Chair with the evening paper."
I always thought the chair was an odd icon of a bygone era- no one I know or their father's have big, leather easy chairs where they think about the plight of man. You hear about armchair critics and so on, but have true armchair experts gone the way of the dodo? What are men doing nowadays instead of coming home, slipping off their Florsheims and settling into their Chair to involve themselves with the rest of the planet Earth. Is it an age? Do you have to reach a certain age to get a Chair?
But is the Chair there because of the man, or is the man there because of the Chair? Which came first? What is the history of "The Chair?" What does it mean? Where did it come from and where is it going? To answer these questions perhaps we need to look back into our domestic past. Let's start when people had "sitting rooms."
Here are the facts that I have gleaned from various sources:*
Sitting rooms replaced the Parlour, and I imagine the sitting room's inception came with the advent of our modern consumer stereo equipment. People would cease to need the antiquated 'Parlour' to entertain guests and began exhibiting the new technology of the time, possibly as a sign of status. The Sitting Room would probably remain as we moved from gramaphones to radios and more traditional record players. I'm guessing this is all circa early 20th century, the 20s and 30s. Around the beginning of the 40s, while America went to war(as did the rest of the world), the radio and the sitting room became increasingly important. Thusly, when the war ended and we zoomed toward the middle of the century in our convertibles and coupes, we were beginning to raise families, and television was rapidly being introduced to the average joe. Technology takes over again and the sitting room experienced higher evolution, going through mitosis and gave way to the "family room" and "living room." Both were reminiscent of ye olde sitting room, but as the living room became more formal, the family room became a place for the television and the children, as well as advancement in furniture technology resulted in cheaper and more durable sofas, where a family could spend time together. It was this fact** that I think caused men to seek refuge in a Chair.
But sometimes a man didn't want to be seen as a family man and he needed to lock himself in an emotional "tower" and sit on his "throne," governing and dispensing "advice(loud)" and punishment(loud).
I sort of have a chair at my girlfriend's house, but it could be considered a quiet rebellion of her relentless hatred of style for such a comfortable chair. Still, I don't engage in Chair-like activities in this chair besides television viewing. I think the closest thing I do to a Chair activity is take off my shoes after walking in. I don't read the paper, smoke my pipe(or any pipe for that matter), or read anthropology books.
Even though this chair is very comfortable, it's certainly not the style of a Chair. You know what I mean- huge and imposing; large backed and soft leather; probably a brown or burgandy in color and is probably handmade. The chair I sit in actually is dark red, but it's got a weird, wannabe argyle pattern on it, has a small back, is definitely not leather, not imposing, and was probably made by an Indonesian woman with bound feet. My girlfriend refers to it as "the gay harlequin chair."
I suppose that I'm not meant to have a chair at this point in my life. I'm too young and I haven't been overseas in any war; I don't have a family of two and a half children, nor do I own a house and work in an office building.
Perhaps a Chair is a badge, a medal, a source of pride and accomplishment. It's something that you have worked so hard to get to, something that is worth more than any other possession, but just less than your house and family and job, yet deep down you know that should anything happen- you've always got your Chair. It's the place to hide in plain sight, thinking about the rest of your life ahead of you; wondering what happened to everything innocent in the world. Rebellion against everything you know is wrong and harmful, from a place of serenity and safety. From here you can grumble and murmur to deaf ears, blind eyes, and turned backs. Firmly, comfortably planted in the one place you will command forever.
A Throne for a king- except you don't have a country or servants or much power.
So, maybe you're just a guy in a chair, reading the paper in a sweater vest.
*[data not found; sources non-existant]
**not an actual fact
(Here's another question- do women ever take ownership of a chair? Or is it not as important to them? "Grandma used to come home and sit in her chair with her pipe."
Follow up question: Did (do?) women ever smoke pipes? Or are males humanity's pipesmokers?)
I always thought the chair was an odd icon of a bygone era- no one I know or their father's have big, leather easy chairs where they think about the plight of man. You hear about armchair critics and so on, but have true armchair experts gone the way of the dodo? What are men doing nowadays instead of coming home, slipping off their Florsheims and settling into their Chair to involve themselves with the rest of the planet Earth. Is it an age? Do you have to reach a certain age to get a Chair?
But is the Chair there because of the man, or is the man there because of the Chair? Which came first? What is the history of "The Chair?" What does it mean? Where did it come from and where is it going? To answer these questions perhaps we need to look back into our domestic past. Let's start when people had "sitting rooms."
Here are the facts that I have gleaned from various sources:*
Sitting rooms replaced the Parlour, and I imagine the sitting room's inception came with the advent of our modern consumer stereo equipment. People would cease to need the antiquated 'Parlour' to entertain guests and began exhibiting the new technology of the time, possibly as a sign of status. The Sitting Room would probably remain as we moved from gramaphones to radios and more traditional record players. I'm guessing this is all circa early 20th century, the 20s and 30s. Around the beginning of the 40s, while America went to war(as did the rest of the world), the radio and the sitting room became increasingly important. Thusly, when the war ended and we zoomed toward the middle of the century in our convertibles and coupes, we were beginning to raise families, and television was rapidly being introduced to the average joe. Technology takes over again and the sitting room experienced higher evolution, going through mitosis and gave way to the "family room" and "living room." Both were reminiscent of ye olde sitting room, but as the living room became more formal, the family room became a place for the television and the children, as well as advancement in furniture technology resulted in cheaper and more durable sofas, where a family could spend time together. It was this fact** that I think caused men to seek refuge in a Chair.
But sometimes a man didn't want to be seen as a family man and he needed to lock himself in an emotional "tower" and sit on his "throne," governing and dispensing "advice(loud)" and punishment(loud).
I sort of have a chair at my girlfriend's house, but it could be considered a quiet rebellion of her relentless hatred of style for such a comfortable chair. Still, I don't engage in Chair-like activities in this chair besides television viewing. I think the closest thing I do to a Chair activity is take off my shoes after walking in. I don't read the paper, smoke my pipe(or any pipe for that matter), or read anthropology books.
Even though this chair is very comfortable, it's certainly not the style of a Chair. You know what I mean- huge and imposing; large backed and soft leather; probably a brown or burgandy in color and is probably handmade. The chair I sit in actually is dark red, but it's got a weird, wannabe argyle pattern on it, has a small back, is definitely not leather, not imposing, and was probably made by an Indonesian woman with bound feet. My girlfriend refers to it as "the gay harlequin chair."
I suppose that I'm not meant to have a chair at this point in my life. I'm too young and I haven't been overseas in any war; I don't have a family of two and a half children, nor do I own a house and work in an office building.
Perhaps a Chair is a badge, a medal, a source of pride and accomplishment. It's something that you have worked so hard to get to, something that is worth more than any other possession, but just less than your house and family and job, yet deep down you know that should anything happen- you've always got your Chair. It's the place to hide in plain sight, thinking about the rest of your life ahead of you; wondering what happened to everything innocent in the world. Rebellion against everything you know is wrong and harmful, from a place of serenity and safety. From here you can grumble and murmur to deaf ears, blind eyes, and turned backs. Firmly, comfortably planted in the one place you will command forever.
A Throne for a king- except you don't have a country or servants or much power.
So, maybe you're just a guy in a chair, reading the paper in a sweater vest.
*[data not found; sources non-existant]
**not an actual fact
(Here's another question- do women ever take ownership of a chair? Or is it not as important to them? "Grandma used to come home and sit in her chair with her pipe."
Follow up question: Did (do?) women ever smoke pipes? Or are males humanity's pipesmokers?)
Friday, June 23, 2006
Is it Mid-June Already?
I always know when it's the middle of June, because my neighborhood becomes filled with the sounds of the Fourth of July. Bottle rockets streak into the air, roman candles ignite the alleys, and the gunfire blends into the celebration like a metaphor I can't put my finger on.
It is most illegal to have fireworks in Los Angeles county, but hooooooooooooooooooooooooooly shit does that not stop anyone. A couple years ago, I was hanging out with my friend Alex on the fourth and we got on top of his roof to watch the fireworks go up all over San Pedro. His house was situated on top of a large hill we call Palos Verdes, and it's possible to see all across the harbor. You could easily see the fireworks shoot up and blossom in their pyrotechnic grandeur, while barely making out the tiny sirens racing across the city trying to shut down this illegal display of patriotic celebration.
In my neighborhood, the celebration of Independence Day goes on for about 40 days and 40 nights. I don't think I was in Long Beach the last two years, but I can only imagine the chaos and anarchy that colorfully explodes across the sky all night, because if every other night in the summer is any indication, it's that these people are goddamn proud of their independence.
Do we even celebrate our independence anymore? Or do our internet-surfing, latte-swilling, Tivo-ing, iPod-shuffling asses take it for granted? Maybe we don't take the independence for granted, but does anyone plan a Fourth of July party asking themselves, "How can we celebrate Adams, Jefferson, Washington, and ol' man Ben Franklin on this day?" NO! Generally, we are found asking, "Is Sharleen a fucking vegan?"
Don't get me wrong- I'm not trying to persuade you to reconsider your freedoms while swilling Pabst this year. I plan on getting plowed on Dutch import beer and grilling Korean ribs, that I'll get from the Russian supermarket I drive to in my Japanese car. So not only am I not caring about the founders of our country but I'm spitting on their graves at the same time(as if it hasn't been done before).
Remember this thought as you fire up your gas/charcoal grill- those brave souls that die for this country to keep us free and Tivo-ong, will be remembered in an alcoholic-fueled, gun-powder soaked, meat-feast hundreds of years later, which is the highest achievement one can receive in this country.
It is most illegal to have fireworks in Los Angeles county, but hooooooooooooooooooooooooooly shit does that not stop anyone. A couple years ago, I was hanging out with my friend Alex on the fourth and we got on top of his roof to watch the fireworks go up all over San Pedro. His house was situated on top of a large hill we call Palos Verdes, and it's possible to see all across the harbor. You could easily see the fireworks shoot up and blossom in their pyrotechnic grandeur, while barely making out the tiny sirens racing across the city trying to shut down this illegal display of patriotic celebration.
In my neighborhood, the celebration of Independence Day goes on for about 40 days and 40 nights. I don't think I was in Long Beach the last two years, but I can only imagine the chaos and anarchy that colorfully explodes across the sky all night, because if every other night in the summer is any indication, it's that these people are goddamn proud of their independence.
Do we even celebrate our independence anymore? Or do our internet-surfing, latte-swilling, Tivo-ing, iPod-shuffling asses take it for granted? Maybe we don't take the independence for granted, but does anyone plan a Fourth of July party asking themselves, "How can we celebrate Adams, Jefferson, Washington, and ol' man Ben Franklin on this day?" NO! Generally, we are found asking, "Is Sharleen a fucking vegan?"
Don't get me wrong- I'm not trying to persuade you to reconsider your freedoms while swilling Pabst this year. I plan on getting plowed on Dutch import beer and grilling Korean ribs, that I'll get from the Russian supermarket I drive to in my Japanese car. So not only am I not caring about the founders of our country but I'm spitting on their graves at the same time(as if it hasn't been done before).
Remember this thought as you fire up your gas/charcoal grill- those brave souls that die for this country to keep us free and Tivo-ong, will be remembered in an alcoholic-fueled, gun-powder soaked, meat-feast hundreds of years later, which is the highest achievement one can receive in this country.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Ten Things I'm Not Getting My Dad for Father's Day
A book by Chevy Chase
The Best of 'Cirque Du Solieil' DVD boxed set
Absinthe
Cargo pants
Spiderman bed sheets
Tickets to ICP* @ the Wiltern
a Gambling addiction
a glass eye signed by Rob Schneider
monogrammed coffee table
A book by Dr. Bill Cosby
*Insane Clown Posse
The Best of 'Cirque Du Solieil' DVD boxed set
Absinthe
Cargo pants
Spiderman bed sheets
Tickets to ICP* @ the Wiltern
a Gambling addiction
a glass eye signed by Rob Schneider
monogrammed coffee table
A book by Dr. Bill Cosby
*Insane Clown Posse
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Take That, Independent Cinema!
I just erased a movie.
It took less than 30 seconds, but I just erased an entire movie from existence. There were three hard drives here with the movie that I helped shoot last December. Litigation ensued(no pun entended) and when the editors sent back the hard drives they sat and collected dust for a few months.
Today, the last day of my job at this office I have worked at for the last 16 months, I wiped those hard drives and deleted the movie from our precious gigabytian space.
It is a certain level of discomfort I feel that the first feature I worked production on met with such an untimely demise, though i have to admit, I'm certainly glad that it was me that pressed the big red button. The lessons I learned throughout this stressful encounter with cinematic anxiety are enough to last me a long time and definitely things I hope that I never run into again.
On a related but unrelated note, one of the other hard drives snapped and crashed it's aluminum/silicone truck packed with data-fertilizer into the Oklahoma City Federal Tower that is our editorial computer. The Timothy McVeigh of hard drive manufacturers, LaCie, will receive the death penalty from me as I never will buy any of their products again.
On a completely unrelated note- now is the best chance to subscribe to my blog. since i'll be unemployed i'll be able to fill the void that is MySpace with deliberate and neurotic prose, or other awkward domestic terrorism related metaphors. Doesn't that sound like a picnic?
It took less than 30 seconds, but I just erased an entire movie from existence. There were three hard drives here with the movie that I helped shoot last December. Litigation ensued(no pun entended) and when the editors sent back the hard drives they sat and collected dust for a few months.
Today, the last day of my job at this office I have worked at for the last 16 months, I wiped those hard drives and deleted the movie from our precious gigabytian space.
It is a certain level of discomfort I feel that the first feature I worked production on met with such an untimely demise, though i have to admit, I'm certainly glad that it was me that pressed the big red button. The lessons I learned throughout this stressful encounter with cinematic anxiety are enough to last me a long time and definitely things I hope that I never run into again.
On a related but unrelated note, one of the other hard drives snapped and crashed it's aluminum/silicone truck packed with data-fertilizer into the Oklahoma City Federal Tower that is our editorial computer. The Timothy McVeigh of hard drive manufacturers, LaCie, will receive the death penalty from me as I never will buy any of their products again.
On a completely unrelated note- now is the best chance to subscribe to my blog. since i'll be unemployed i'll be able to fill the void that is MySpace with deliberate and neurotic prose, or other awkward domestic terrorism related metaphors. Doesn't that sound like a picnic?
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