thought o' the day...

[Rachel Peters]

Bonjour. Ou est la fromage? La fromage est dans la sal de bain!

Hey -- You know how in, like, Ontario you know it's a real fancy place when they use words like, "chalet" and "chez" and "a la"? Well, I don't think it's like that in Montreal... the M-Dot.
It's just like, "house" and "of the".
...I don't know what "chez" means.
...Because I was raised in Ontario. Anglos in the house!! WORD!
I'm so ignorant.

-rp

[Rachel Peters]

I've just realized that one of my favourite pairs of jeans is wearing out in the butt. They're not old pants. ...And I don't mean there's a little spot in the butt that's wearing out, or a little fray... the entire buttox area is wearing down. It's not like my studio chair is made of sandpaper. And I don't scooch around outside on the cement. ...well, not anymore. That was a horrible act.
I must sit a whole heck of a lot.
On a related not, I'm basking in my job right now. I came to Montreal to make a short independent film with the National Film Board of Canada, and it's going well. I have only 12 weeks to make it, and the length of my film is a little ambitious. It runs at about 1min, 15sec. But I'm sure I can pull it off.
It's about.... um... well, it's a little weird to describe, but it's sort of like the Noah's Ark of gravity. What happens when only one man and his two pet goldfish prepare for the earth's gravity giving out. ...I wanted it to be a single trout, taped ot his chest, but that was a little too vague... and you can't repopulate aquatic life with only one trout. ...unless the GUY and the trout repopulate the earth... but my film isn't sick.
RIght now being here is still very surreal. NFB is a huge deal for me -- A long time goal. I'm having to drag myself away from my pen at night to go to bed, and reminding myself that I can come back tomorrow and do it all again! (big change from my last job where I had to drag myself OUT of bed, and remind myself that "this too shall pass".)
I now know -thanks to some comic acquaintances- exactly which comedy clubs do open-mic nights, and now it's just a matter of my leaving this studio and a matter of my guts... or lack-thereof.
I have my fire eating kit sitting beside my desk, ready to be dragged out to some far corner of the parking lot to play. ...but right now it's so cold here, I'm afraid my appendages would freeze and snap off.
Aaaaaaaaaaand, now I'll go draw stuff.
(when this film is done, it'll be on the NFB site, along with the others on this mentorship project, and a behind-the-scenes video of us, by a docu guy. ...You'll likely see a lot of my crap juggling to fill dull moments in the studio. I'll pass on the link in three months, or whenever it's up.)

-rp

[Rachel Peters]

what are the odds? ...like, 1 in 2??

I just had my foley sound effects session for my little weiner of a cartoon.
The sound studio is amazing. Trap doors open up into sand pits and gravel pits and there are rooms full of all sorts of crazy crap to make any noise imaginable.
Our foley artist, Karla, is amazing, and I'm going to have the greatest sounding fish bowl that any cartoon has ever had. ...wait. Maybe second greatest. There's a film called "Strings" that has fish swimming around in a water cooler. It sounds pretty sweet too. Karla probably did that sound too.
So, there's a point in another piece of animation that requires the sound of blowing flames. Karla pulls out a set of torches -- bbq skewer torches-- and some fuel.... ... ... .. .. .. . .
The sound technician makes a comment that she can put them out in the fish bowl water, and she replies, "No way! I'll just eat it." ...and so she does. Turns out she's a performer in NY (not sure where exactly) -- a magic and fire act under the name "cartoon", I believe. Has anybody here seen her?
She's small and blonde.
It was a great conversation starter.
She's a very good sound effects artist. ...It probably sounds like no big deal on this forum, but in my world --within animation studios-- I don't accidentally bump into fire performers much. The occassional stand-up or sketch comedy act, yes. Because animators are nuts, and voice actors are often comedians. But not much in the way of variety acts. So it was exciting for me.
And now I'm going home to sleep.
It was a good day.

[Rachel Peters]

Canda Day and JFL

On Canada's Birthday (and my own 27th) I lept into a car with some friends and headed to the only province that doesn't give a crap!
Montreal is a great place to be right now. Jazz and comedy.
Montreal knows how to party.
They always overlap their festivals for maximum audience and variety of things to do. They bring out a sense of community in a large city full of tourists.

I went to check out what Amy Saunders was up to in "La Clique -- A Sideshow Burlesque". It was a great show. Beautifully done. Artistic. Both racey and classy. Intimate. And something for everyone.

They have an Irish singer who was wonderful and acted a hilarious drunk. (I'm pretty sure she was acting.)
They have a New Zealand contortionist who's comic timing and slapstick was impeccably tight and choreographed. ...and his contorting tricks were a notch above the regular tennis racquet stuff too.
They have Amy Saunders in a vinyl dress, sprinkled throughout the show like magical pixy dust through a fairy tale.
They have a German, male, aerial, bath tub act who... well... maybe I just have a thing for Germans.
They have a very confident woman who did a slight-of-hand hanky trick which I shall never forget. ...no matter how much I may try.

It was my first time officially meeting Amy, through all my hopeful docu-mation hubbub that's been going on for close to a year, and the first words out of my mouth after the show: "......I'm so proud of you."


And you know, I think this shall be remembered as the summer of my being cured of my prudish innocence. All that's left is for some strange busker to try to cheek-kiss gag french me, and I'll be fully healed.

It was a well needed excursion, and I feel re-inspired.

[Rachel Peters]

always a flaming bride's maid. never a flaming bride.

[Rachel Peters]

Is there a support group for people who get repeatedly rejected at the border?
I never thought it would be so traumatic.

[Butterfly Man]

Border Line Support

I once smuggled Gazzo across the Canadian border back into the US.

A few years back, when Windsor was still getting it’s feet wet, Gazzo snuck up into Canada to work one last time for Halifax producer Kim Kelly. On the very first day of the fest, Gazzo depants’d a little boy. Unbeknownst to Gazzo, the lad was not wearing any underwear. It got a laugh that could be heard for miles. Shortly after the show, some prudish busybody complained to the authorities and a young rookie cop showed up to investigate.

A local TV station was covering the opening of the event and when their reporter saw the cop asking Gazzo questions they started to film. When queried by the police officer as to why he did it to the kid, Gazzo uttered his infamous line, “He fuckin’ deserved it!”

Just as this was all coming down, Kim rushed up to see what was going on. The reporter turned the microphone to her and asked what she was going to do. Even though she obviously knew nothing about what had just happened, she, like the totally self-centered bitch that she is, told Gazzo he was fired.

The next morning, back in his hotel room, a forlorn Gazzo related his story to me. I knew much of it already.

Living in the US illegally for over ten years, he was now married to an American. Just before this festival, he had finally applied for his green card. For those of you unfamiliar with getting a green card, upon applying, you are not allowed to leave the US for a period of 6 months. Yet, here was this bone-headed Cellini clone, up in Canada workin’ for tips … what a fuckin’ idiot!

Gazzo, sad sack wanker that he is, sat on the edge of his unmade bed in the Quality Inn, mumbling, more to himself than to me really,

“Wot m’ I gonna do, Ruhbut … wot ‘m I gonna do?”

I knew it was all up to me … Gazzo was obviously too stupid to think up something on his own.

I saw two Calvin Cline baseball caps in Gazzo’s room (he must have stolen them) …I got an idea and made a plan!

I told him to wear one hat and give me the other. I had heard earlier that day the “Tigers were playing over in Detroit”. I figured we could pretend to be going over for “the game”. Truthfully, I had no idea if I was pretending to be a football or a baseball fan but it really didn’t matter, it would be difficult enough to pretend to be Gazzo’s friend.

Next, I told Gazzo to pack up all his shit … anything that had his name on it had to be thrown away … no business cards, no publicity materials, nothing.

Then off we went off to find Jonathan Park, The Funny Waiter. I knew that Jonathan had recently moved to Ann Arbor and had driven his car over for the festival. Master Lee, the Kung Fu comic, was with him when we found them. They agreed help us and packed all of Gazzo’s gear in Jonathan’s car. Together they’d drive it over the border and meet us at the Omni Hotel, which is right on the other side of the border. Magnanimously, Gazzo offered to buy breakfast … if we made it across.

Next, I took Gazzo to the “Tunnel Bus”. This bus shuttled people back and forth from Windsor to Detroit several times daily. I knew the ropes already because I had taken it the day before to visit my wife at the Omni.

During those two border crossings, I had noticed that all the officer checked was to see if you had a US driver’s license (pre 9-11 obviously). I also knew Gazzo had a Las Vegas license (expired, of course); he had told me he used it to get cheap car insurance.

As I passed the border, either way, all I had to do is hold up my license and answer their one and only question:

From Canada to the US, they had asked “Citizenship?"

I had answered “US” …and got waved through.

Back from the US into Canada was similar:

“Reason for visiting Canada?”

“Casino”, seemed to be the magic word. I heard the same thing so many times in front of me; I decided to try it myself. It worked, they waved me through.

I figured we could do it too … it’d be easy. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Gazzo’d be put in jail or deported … that wouldn’t be so bad.

I explained all of this to Gazzo while we were waiting for the bus; he didn’t appear to hear a word of it.

I add that I was pretty sure the border guards were gonna change the question … so let me go first … it’d give him a chance to follow my lead. Gazzo gave me that null and void look.

On the bus, with only his hat and a camera around his neck, Gazzo started making up stories.

“I know wot I’ll tell ‘em Ruhbut … I’ll tell ‘em I’ve got me green card but just before I left for the airport, I set it on the stove … and it melted … then me cat got a hold of it and it stuck to her fur and when I was taken her to the vet, the neighbors dog chased her and she got hit by a mail truck then …”

“No, no, Gazzo listen!” I interrupted. “I go first … you listen to the question they ask … then follow my lead … it’ll be something simple, I’m sure.”


Gazzo, never looking at me, keeps rambling, “I got it … I know … I’ll tell ‘em the post office went on strike … yeah, the post office … and me new green card didn’t get there until my cat died so my wife …”

“No Gazzo, NO! Listen, I’ve got to go first … then you’ll have time to figure out what to say, you dumb fuckin moron!”… (I left the last part out).


No, Ruhbut, no… You’re gonna leave me … you’re gonna leave me!”

While making a futile attempt to explain that I wouldn’t be doing this if I was gonna leave his limey ass, we pulled up to the border. Gazzo immediately jumps out of his seat and bolts for the front door … he’s first off the bus, pushing an old handicapped, black woman to the side while she was fumbling for her bag.

I do the same; luckily, she was small and somewhat crippled.

As Gazzo is going through the door the INS officer is approaching his desk with a whole bunch of stuff in his hands. Not looking up, he starts to arrange everything on his podium … then, head down, in a monotone voice he barks,

“Where were you born?”

Gazzo says nothing. The silence gets louder and louder… still nothing …Gazzo appears frozen. People finished lining up behind me, he remains mute. Seconds pass.

Luckily, the officer is still opening pamphlets and putting ink pads and pens down … at least 5 seconds go by… my heartbeat becomes audible. I stare at the back of Gazzo’s head and wonder if it’ll explode. You could smell smoldering brain tissue in the air … more seconds pass … it’s a fuckin’ eternity. Gazzo is immobile, completely comatose. I panic, internally. The officer puts the last of his stuff away and looks up quickly and queerly, he senses something.

Before he locks onto Gazzo’s eyes, he sees his Calvin Cline hat and then immediately looks over at the one on my head. Instead of looking back at Gazzo, the officer’s eyes look piercingly into mine. My pupils are engorged; I feel the sweat dripping down the crack of my ass.

Just then … in a voice way too loud and way too British, Gazzo says,

“MAAAASACHEWSITS!”

I must have looked terrified because the officer never stopped looking at me … my mind started racing for explanations … I figured it was over … Gazzo was surely fucked!

But then, the INS officer, never taking his eyes off mine, raises up his arm and waves Gazzo through. It was all happening in front of me, but I still couldn’t believe it. My mind started spinning. Whirling through the elation/horror vortex I hear,

“Where were you born?”

I hear the words but I still can’t believe it …Jesus, he’s through! … he fuckin’ made it …we did it!

I was shocked but I said nothing … I just stood there, just like the imbecile that went before me. I stared back at the officer while watching Gazzo walk away out of the corner of my eye.

From petrified and meek I turned cocky and confident. I start to count … one second ... two seconds … three. I try to look as stupid as Gazzo did (not an easy task). The officer’s eyebrows start to rise but quickly I reach into my pocket and pull out my US passport, fumble with it for another second or two. Then just before I know he’s going to say something, I, way too loudly, blurt out, in a pitiful, semi-British twang.

MAAARYLAAND!

He gives me an incredulous look but my eyes are confident … he waves me through.
I’m blissfully stunned. Everything is moving in slow motion now. I’m walking through; Gazzo is like 10 feet ahead of me. Bewildered but euphoric, our eyes meet … yet we say nothing. I’m ecstatically delirious. We’re both about to gush with joy as we walk towards the two glass exit doors on our left, when, all of a sudden, a booming voice yells,

“WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING!!!”

I lost some urine and Gazzo’s asshole slammed shut.

We both turn to see a big black INS officer who must have been 7 feet tall. He had all sorts of shiny badges and patches all over him. With an immense hand he points to the exits.

“YOU GO OUT THAT DOOR TO GET BACK ON THE BUS … NOT THAT ONE!”

Jesus! What a fuckin’ emotional rollercoaster ride! I was on the bi-polar express.

We were through the exit now but still both emotionally numb. Climbing back on the bus, still unsure of whether to feel joy or fear, we sit across from one another and just stare. I take the opportunity to grab his camera and snap a picture of him that no one will ever see … no film.

Everyone re-boarded and we spend the next 7 seconds together driving the last 20 feet into America. As we disembark we look across the street and there is Jonathan and Master Lee pulling up to the Omni Hotel.

Gazzo speaks for the first time in America,

“Ya know, Ruhbut, what I meant to say was that … I’ll buy YOU breakfast … not everyone.”

[jesus]

Honest to God, Robert.
I could read the stuff you right all day.
FUNNY!

PS. I miss the Noir writtings.

[Rachel Peters]

beautiful story. ...beautiful. painful and beautiful.

I think I'm just so innocent that I'm suspicious.

I've got to scar myself up a bit and maybe poke out an eye.

I just can't seem to win.

Nothing I do seems to be the normal way.

meh. life.

[Rachel Peters]

...

pardon my technical difficulties...

[Rachel Peters]

cont...

CRAP!! I can't attach a picture... weird.

sorry for the pointless posts. Do forgive me. I'm too sick to try to figure out my problems.

Another day.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Like the time passing before Gazzo finally speaks up. You nailed it. Breakfast line also one in a mill. Keep 'em coming, Buggsy.

[Rachel Peters]

A Rose By Any Other Name Would Still Give Me Itchy Eyes.

I just met a guy who's name is "Bubenass" (boob-and-ass).

Mr. T&A is fully aware of the humour of his name. He had to come to terms with it very early on in life.

I figure with a name like Boob-n-ass, you've GOT to go into entertainment. Your fate is pretty much chosen for you, at that point.

[theballoonman]

dada on dating

single performers....
sometimes it seems that dating women is a never ending job interview....for a job your not quite sure you want, but you need the money....i mean Really need the money. I mean, like, you havent had any money in months...and your tired of moneying alone on the couch...watching porn...

[theballoonman]

dada on daffodils

daffodills....


I'm for them.