6 Announcements and Movie Making

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Stay with me, I have several announcements before I get to the story.

My last entry before I take my two week vacation, come back refreshed and ready to finish up the year or story-telling. But fret not, my faithful fans. Once again redefining the personal blog, I am bringing guest writers on board to fill in for me for the next two weeks. You will be seeing stories from 10 people including Joshua Hale Fialkov, Guam, my mom, Chris Fabulous and more. It’ll be good, my friends. It’ll be damn good (my mom’s story is wicked cute, by the way).

I will be at San Diego Comic-Con. Stop by the Hoarse & Buggy booth (1833). We will have:
1) Signers: Phil Hester, Ryan Ottley, Tom Mandrake, Stuart Moore, Juan Ferreyra, Dan Wickline, Tone Rodriguez, Marco Magallanes, Greg Thompson, Benjamin & Marlena Hall, Raven Gregory, David Hopkins and Saul Colt.
2) Western Tales of Terror 1-5 and Elk’s Run 1-3.
3) Information about our new deal with Speakeasy.
4) Previews for our new properties.

My new Here’s the Thing… is up. It’s all about spinning, go check it out.

Sometime early next month I’ll be appearing in a collaborative column over at Buzzscope talking about kids and comics. I’ll be sure to plug it when I get back but look for it anyway, Buzzscope is a rockin’ site.

CHUD.com is giving away 15 copies of Elk’s Run #1. Go look.

And finally, I finished my first cartoon page for the Washington Spark. It features cartoons from Matt Dembicki, Chris Piers, Paul Maybury, Jamie Dee Galey and this little gem that Jacob Warrenfeltz and I collaborated on:


I’ll share the page after it gets approved. Ok, story time.

_________________________

I got a video camera for Christmas my sophomore year in college. It was a VHS-C little guy, nothing ultra fancy but it was functional. Like any 20 year old kid with a video camera I think the first thing I used it for was to tape me and my lady having sex. That’s standard; it was even in the instruction manual as part of the set-up routine. It was fun taping it, awkward watching it back. I don’t know why. We didn’t really do it again.

I would take the camera around with me wherever I went, trying to capture “precious memories” but it wasn’t until that summer that I actually decided to have some structured fun with it. That fun was Moose the Movie, staring RJ, Luis and myself. We set out with one goal in mind – to make the worst movie we possibly can while making it as entertaining as possible.

The whole Moose the Movie thing was a derivative of “The Moose in the Closet” which, before this blog, was some pseudonym I freestyled under for laughs with a “backup band” that consisted of a karaoke machine, drum machine and guitar. The whole Moose thing was always associated with B, Jeromeo and other cats that I really didn’t talk to anymore after the whole Mike getting shot incident and the strip poker with B’s ex-girl thing. So I think the movie was the Moose’s first solo-attempt, because there was absolutely no correlation to anything we’ve done in the past.

The plot of the movie was: Luis gets kidnapped and RJ and I need to save him. The opening shot was Luis walking down a dark street and getting lured into a car by a jelly doughnut. RJ and I then decide to break Luis out, formulating plans to the Wallflowers’ cover of “We Could Be Heroes”.

Turns out Luis is on the roof, tied up and RJ and I have to fight each other to free him. We pick up some swords and film the worst fight sequence ever made thanks to horrible cuts and lame attempts at special effects. And this is where the movie gets weird.

We had this whole plot where we were supposed to find three pieces of a map that were to lead us to the sacred dogfood. The three places were these remote parts of the world that we made sure to film in front of obvious New York landmarks. We only got to actually film one quest and that was RJ’s. He was supposed to go to Paris, we filmed it on the Red Hook pier with the twin towers in the background.

RJ, for some reason, knew these dudes with wet suits that agreed to let us kick the shit out of them and throw them into the east river. It was this surreal moment, RJ and I sitting on his fire-escape, having a smoke, and I turn to him and said, “The wetsuit guys said they’ll be here at one, right?”

RJ looks down the street and here comes five guys in full frog gear. “Here they come.”

We go down to the pier, one kid plays the main bad guy and RJ throws down with the ninjas in the wet suits, throwing them into the filthy, disgusting east river. As to why ninjas were wearing wets suits we never bothered explaining. They didn’t come out of the water. It was as if these ninjas were prepared to get their asses handed to them and thrown into the east river.

What’s funny was, as we were filming the movie we kept fucking up lines and what not which would prompt one of us to say, “We’ll fix it in editing.” We had this dinky, shitty quality VHS-C camera and a VCR and we were going to edit this bitch with just that set-up. Thank god we never finished the movie; it would have been a let down when I gave up on “editing” it two hours in.

But, we had fun for a few days, and it kept my mind off R who was out in Europe still and that was good. And the footage, looking at it now, was pretty friggin funny.

Our second attempt at a movie was Max, G, Ciro and I fucking around while drinking a couple of four-liter jugs of Carlos Rosi Red Sangria. Typically, you drink enough of that Rosi Red and the movie you film is one you don’t wind up talking about. These type of stories always end with, “And next thing I know I had a dick in my ass!”

But not this time.

We decided to fuck around and film an improv detective story. It lasted about ten minutes until I rammed someone’s head into a table too hard during an interrogation scene. Improv for me always had a little too much violence, I’ll admit to that. When I was doing it in college I would be the one slapping asses, faces and throwing people against walls. It got to the point where the only person that could really work well with me was my boy Guam and only because he is highly skilled at taking pain and rolling with the punches. I can’t be so rough with him anymore, however, cause the bastard had to go and get a pacemaker that I occasionally punch by accident.

Anyway, our improv movie was killed on account of my fucking people up.

That trend, however, did not stop the production of Mr. Sandman in college. A movie so glorious that the director, Pete the Bastard, demanded we actually hit each other to make the pain look real.

But that, as I love to say, is a story for after my two week vacation. See you bitches on the 18th.

Unless my plane crashes.

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