Having been there myself i can say it’s often like living in a the kind of dream you get when you’ve gone to bed with the heater turned up too high – and i’m not being dramatic. I once ate at a restaurant there where a giant head swung down from the ceiling and shot ping pong balls out it’s mouth – i remember testicles were involved too, and another animatronic figure that just blew on his soup. I was also scolded frequently for sitting on the ground – BUT THERES NO FUCKING BENCHES IN ALL OF TOKYO. They really have a thing about how FILTHY FILTHY! the concrete apparently is. And this is Japan, so u can be sure every inch of it is steam cleaned every night. Even the homeless people won’t sit on it, and use cardboard instead (then make little signs indicating “no pictures.” And if you’re going to watch the parade at Tokyo Disneyland then you MUST bring or buy a small parade viewing blanket to put between your jeans and the gross disgusting sidewalk. Another dreamlike thing: in a shop around the corner from where i was staying I found the exact same zoo animals curtains that were hanging in my bedroom when i was 4 in Fargo – which I have never seen since – but here they were, IN A TINY JUNK SHOP IN TOKYO! I would have bought them BUT THEY WERE $90! It’s a city filled with WTF – in fact that should be the airport code.
Seriously – U MUST look through the whole set. My jaw is in pain its been hanging open so long.
This woman’s whole photo set is shocking really – I guess this is what “normal” people do – make sandwiches from what they have left in the fridge. Then photograph it. And list the ingredients – with estimated calories!
At an amusement industry convention last week in Vegas i test rode the worlds teeniest mechanical bull. Picture some dad watching his little girl on this and you’ll know why this is the wrongest thing ever.
So at EPCOT now there’s these Kim Possible missions you can go on where u get a special cell phone that gives you the clues u need to solve various capers. Â I was tickled to get a mission set in the Norway pavilion – being I’m Norwegian and all – but oh, it got WAY better…
Ah was i gagging! Fur thefts! “Back to school” viking fashion! A drag queen shape-shifter named Camille Leon!?! Then I have to find a stolen painting she plans to turn into a handbag. Art thieves? Viking fashion? Could it get any better? YES. Then I’m supposed to infiltrate the runway show by posing as a model (every Norwegian’s true calling no?)…
Then I have to find a certain person and say “The viking look is all the rage this season.” And then the give you the designers card with the code you need to get into the show.
I won’t tell u how it ends but I can tell you it involved viking ghosts attacking runway models!?!! I mean really, it was like someone took everything i could have wanted and wrapped it into a little adventure for me. Art world, Fashion world, models, secret agent action, a photoshoot, viking ghosts!!!! And I didn’t mention theres booze at EPCOT. So there i am getting boozy and running around EPCOT by myself, taking orders from cartoons on a cell phone – a vacation activity i highly recommend!
A few years ago after being laid off from Disney I worked as a production designer on a few micro-budget films and music videos. There was always the promise of it leading to bigger better higher paying jobs but the reality was each job paid less and less than the previous. (When people find out you’ll work for free you become very popular!) I’d just finished designing the pilot for “Noah’s Arc” – the gay black “Sex and the City” (more on that another time) when I was asked to design a film called “Flip the Script” – another all black production starring Robin Givens. Although my title was production designer I was really a one man art dept. (Although I did get one assistant this time!) Very little design happened with these jobs. I was really a cleaning crew, moving company, and gofer when i wasn’t designing fake $1,000,000 checks or locating a tacky wedding ring for Robin’s character. For this i got $100 for each 18-hour day.
So we’re filming in some rich black people’s house in the valley and the night before we start shooting i have to go make sure it’s ok. Because this was a CHEAP CHEAP production we were using most of the family’s furnishings just the way they were. I think the entire art dept budget was $1000. I’d been given a key to the house and when i showed up no one was home. So i let myself in and saw that the family hadn’t bothered to do ANYTHING to prepare for a movie crew to fill their house for the next 2 weeks. That’s when i realized there was no location manager and I could add that to my job description. The first shots the next day are in the bathroom, and it’s supposed to be a guys bathroom, so i remove all the fake flowers and put all the women’s products in drawers, and the wife of the house has her panties all strung up drying over the tub so i take those down and put them somewhere as i say “i can’t fucking believe this” for the first of many times on this show.
So we start filming. In the kitchen there’s a pan filled with grease that the flies love. I ignore it and hope the owners will do their dishes before we get to filming in the kitchen. I’ve repeatedly asked for a moving truck and storage space for all the furniture we’re not using. The producer’s solution is to tell me to go to Home Depot and buy some tarps to spread out on the back yard and just put it all there. I do this. I notice the backyard is lumpy with years of dog poop that i’m not even going to start removing so i put the tarps down on top of it – someone can deal with the surprise later. As i’m wrapping the chairs and couches one of the producers asks me if i cleaned up all the dog poop first. I gave her a look that said “You have GOT to be kidding me” but she read it as “Of course I did,” so that worked out.
Then the production started to run out of money. I went to use the restroom in the trailers but they were locked because they quit paying to have them emptied. So i went into the next door and was considering using the toilet in this dressing room when i realized i was standing in Robin Given’s trailer, and then of course she walked in and i’m standing there for what appears to be no good reason.
Then the Assistant Director, who is a good friend, comes to me and asks me for the luggage. I say what luggage? He shows me the scene and says the director wants them to be carrying luggage. I say there’s no mention of luggage in the script, implied or otherwise. He looks it over and agrees and goes back to the director but the director has decided last minute to add luggage to the scene – designer luggage no less. That’s when i remember seeing some in the closet when i was there to prep the house before shooting. I go get it and bring it to one of the producers and tell her these belong to the owners and could they call then and ask if we could use them. This causes some bizarre freakout with the other producers (there were 11 of them) so i put the luggage back. Later that day i pass one of the producers as she’s looking through a bible and says to another “Corinthians actually has many verses that apply to filmaking if you really read them…” And I go HOLEESHIT and can’t wait to tell my goth-ish assistant what i just heard.
The next morning i show up early because there’s a big party scene in the living room to prepare for – the scene when it’s revealed that so-and-so didn’t really die, and this has all been part of a reality show, and this urn (a spray painted doggie treat jar) doesn’t contain his ashes but instead a check for $1.000,000. A new crew member joins us and i introduce myself and she says she’s here to help with the art dept. I say great because it’s going to be a busy day and we could use the help.
Then the producers show up and the one fond of quoting scripture approaches me with what looks like her black lesbian bodyguard and asks if she can speak to me out back. That’s where she fires me. I guess the dyke actually was there as a bodygaurd – as if. The producer explains to me how my having gone into the owners closet was unacceptable. I don’t tell her about folding the owners panties and putting them away. I was just speechless.
I went back inside and discreetly told the DP that i would no longer be on the production. He’d shot “9 to 5″ so of course i liked him and was sad I wouldn’t be working with him anymore. He was shocked and exclaimed “But you were the only one doing your job!” and was about to go fight for me to stay but i said it was fine. I told my assistant and said she doesn’t have to leave just because I got canned but she said fuck it and packed up with me. I told the AD and the 2nd AD (who were both friends) and they said fuck it too and told the producers it was their last day too.
I explained what had been established (what set decor had been filmed) and where all the rental props were to the new girl who wasn’t just “helping the art dept. but was replacing me. I gave her my card and told her to call if she had any questions.
While i was loading up my car with props i’d loaned the production from my own apartment the producer that had hired me came running up and apologized for not having told me earlier. “Justin, you don’t realise what happened. They thought you’d been stealing things from the house. I told them you wouldn’t do that, that that was crazy. But Justin. Last night they held a prayer circle in the back yard for your soul.” I could see she was reconsidering her involvement in the production herself. “We held hands in a circle and prayed that you wouldn’t burn in hell.” And with that i went and had and OMFG breakfast with my assistant.
Within the week I got a call from Paramount and was designing a SpongeBob SquarePants ride.
Anyway, here’s the preview for the movie. I’ve never seen it.
This happened months ago but I’ve been to busy to bitch blog about it ’til now.
So I’m at this big publishing convention, Book Expo America, here in LA when I see Tashen’s Big Penis Book, a title that excites me very much, but I can’t buy it ’cause it’s just an industry show.
So I look on the Taschen website and see there’ll be a little launch party for the title in a few weeks and of course I have to go. I figure I’ll bring a few copies of my book to give to the editor Dian Hansen and Chad Hunt who’ll both be there signing.
The party is at 7 on a Thursday night in West Hollywood which means driving through Hollywood during rush hour to get to a part of town with no parking. What I’m saying is: this effort better be worth it.
I find the small shop where the event is happening and there’s a couple people in line. I park and hike back to the shop and the line is gone and I’m the only one there.
I ask the door twink if Dian is here signing but he doesn’t know who she is or if she’s here. (Hint: this party is for her book.) He asks my name and I tell him and he says I’m not on the list.
“Yeah it wouldn’t be, I didn’t RSVP.”
“I can’t let you in if you’re not on the list.”
“But the Taschen site didn’t say anything about a list or even RSVPing. It didn’t say it was a private party.” I looked down at the black envelope I was holding with my books in it. “So…that’s it?”
“Sorry.”
“Ah oooookaaaaay. I…guess…I’ll…just…go…then?” And I turned and hiked back to my car in shame shame shame. When I got home (late that night after going to a bar, bitching about said event, going home with this nice artist guy I’m now good friends with, blah blah blah) I re-checked the Taschen website to verify that there was, in fact, no mention of the Big Penis Book party being a private event. It was even promoted on some local blogs as a fun thing to do that night. I emailed Taschen about the issue and never received a response, so that was a nice, second “fuck you.”
Now, I had planned on blogging favorably about this penis book party, it had potential for great wackiness as there are very few parties celebrating volumes about large genitalia. But no. Instead I will blog about something I found a week later when I bought a Taschen book about Jujol, a designer who worked with Gaudi.
A single blurb on the back of the book printed at almost headline point size read: “TASCHEN has design all figured out. They know what’s good, has value, lasts, engages, indulges, uplifts, and is new…”
And who is credited with this glowing bit of verse? In microscopic type: “-Reader’s comment, amazon.com” Seriously? Crediting your (own) praise to an anonymous, unverifiable amazon shopper? Oh how I’ve been expecting more from you Taschen.
These top three signs were hand made by friends who have an online business creating custom tiki bar signs (PariArts.com). But ohh look, a lazy designer for the JoAnn Fabrics stores decided to turn them in as his or her own, and now they’re selling them in stores. Bad. Legal action to follow…
Here’s a three-part micro-documentary by Vice about Northern Colombians and their unique relationship with donkeys. Audio is SO NOT WORK SAFE.
And, yes, the kid above is taking about what you think he is.
I know Vice magazine gets a lot of crap, maybe deserved, but I think they do a great job addressing real things real people deal with that are either too sexy, or not sexy enough, for mainstream media. Now Vice has an online TV channel, webchannel, whatever, called VBS.TV and I watch it almost every day during lunch. Their series on heavy metal in Baghdad is probably the most accurate representation of what life is now like in Iraq, which is to say I almost crapped myself just watching it. There’s way more, so I’ll post my favorites here over the next weeks.
Unrelated: I’m eating Parrano cheese, it’s between Gouda and parmesan, and having a glass of Coppola’s Rosso Shiraz, which may or may not be a good pairing, but I don’t know any better.
I found these affixed to the wall over the sinks on a recent trip to the park. In small print at the bottom it reads “Hand washing tips provided by Brawny.” But these aren’t “tips” at all, they’re instructions on how to wash your hands, which, if you’re old enough to read, you’d already know. I didn’t use a stall to see if Charmin offered tips on how to wipe.
Here’s video from a Hamas Television program where a blatant Mickey Mouse knock-off, Farfur, rallies Muslim children against America and Israel. Is no one at Hamas TV seeing the hypocrisy of using an American cultural icon to teach children to hate the country that created it?
My friend GJ has a one-hit-wonder step-dad, Frank, who he started filming a couple years ago because Frank uses coffee cans for a toilet and is generally a drunk. GJ’s Mother, Cindy, likes pills, functions as the thorn in Frank’s side, and wishes he’d record another hit. The resulting documentary, Frank and Cindy, is a hoot. (But I may be biased because I designed the poster.)
