The Final Cut - part 2

Continued from last week...

"Holy shit Bob, I thought you were dead!"
"I'd like to be dead after the crap they've been feeding me."
"What have they been feeding you?"
"Golden Boy pizza"
"Sweet! When do we eat?" I asked.
"I always loved those slices. But after you've been eating it for as long as I have, it starts to taste like a cardboard square with tomato paste on it." Bob gagged.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the stage as two silhouettes approached. It was blinding to try to see them past the lights aimed in our direction, but it appeared to be Lisa and a tall thin man. The man clapped his hands in mock appreciation. "Congratulations Mister Garner. You are the second editor to survive the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death."
I tried to make out the voice, but no luck. He was still just a silhouette. "Thanks. And it's GarDner, mister...?"
The man let out an evil laugh. "My apologies Mister Gardner. And I assumed that you would surely recognize my voice by all my lectures you've attended and by my award-winning DVD collection 'In the Blink of an Eye.'"
The man walked out from the shadows, but it was already apparent to me who he was.
"My name is Murch, Walter Murch."
Bob puked right next to where we were sitting. It smelled like rotten pepperoni.
"Well, I guess I'm never eating at Golden Boy again. Damn!" I gagged.
Murch explained the reason for our capture: "You see Mister Garner, the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death has always been unattainable by even the likes of me. I lost many a colleague by its hands. I believe the only thing that protected me was my award-winning Standing While Editing™ technique, which I will receive the patent for later this year."
I gagged again. "You can't patent standing, you megalomaniac."
Murch laughed again and walked closer. "Oh you silly computerized-editing boy, you lack the true knowledge of this business, don't you? I will not only receive the patent, but I will produce the Murch Console™ which will only permit standing while editing. Legions of editors, especially that of your era which have never even cut a strip of film, will buy the method and console in hopes that it will make them stronger editors. But you can't buy the skill of editing, you must learn the craft."
"That's funny, coming from somebody that had to abduct two editors who did the work for you in solving the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death." I turned my head towards Bob's and whispered "Back me up here, dude."
Bob lifted his head and said "Yeah" and then he vomited again.
"Oh Jeez Bob, the pizza's not THAT bad"
Bob finished puking and said "It's not the pizza, it's his pompousness."
"Right."
Murch continued on. "That was the one thing I could never understand about the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death until Mister Malloy figured it out. The missing link is not a link at all, but a pen. And not a pen, but a stylus. You see Mister Garner, there really aren't many editors using a tablet as their input device, and even fewer who will attempt the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. But with my newly forged alliance with Apple Computer and Final Cut Pro, we are in negotiations to purchase Wacom technology. Wacom will cease to exist and their tablets will be renamed iTablet, in coordinance with the Apple naming system. In 2006, I will be introduced as the face of Final Cut Pro 6 and with iTablet in hand, Steve Jobs and I will travel across the world hosting seminars unveiling the mystery of the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. The effect will be sold as a plugin ONLY AVAILABLE through Final Cut Pro 6."
Bob finally perked up and said, "The Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death was completed on an Avid, Murch."
Walter Murch began to turn red. He turned to Lisa and screamed "Avid? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Kind of like the newly minted Darth Vader in Episode III, but without the cool James Earl Jones voice. Lisa plugged her ears and doubled over as Murch's head began to shake violently. Lisa screamed "OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA BLOW!!!!!!" Murch's head exploded with such a force that it blew Lisa's head off too. Bob puked again, and the smell of rotten pepperoni was a blessing compared to the smell of Murch head on my shirt.
I remembered that I had put my Wacom stylus in my pocket, so we used it to pierce and rip the tape binding our hands to get free.
After we found our way out of the stage, Bob and I walked to Columbus Cafe for 2 for 1 drinks at happy hour. We laughed as we picked off pieces of Murch from various places on our clothing.
Bob pondered the state of editors and the standoff between Avid and Final Cut Pro. "I went to a lecture once where Murch was talking about cutting Cold Mountain on Final Cut Pro and he constantly slammed Avid like he would never use it again. We have to keep our options open and use the best tool for the job."
"Yeah" I replied, "Some people refuse to learn the new tools and they become dinosaurs. Murch became one by refusing to keep his options open."
We decided to go our separate ways. Bob told me he was moving to New Zealand. I told him I was going to Golden Boy to get a slice of pepperoni. Bob puked in the alley. Never seen anybody puke in North Beach before.

The Final Cut

Many of you know him and some of you do not. His name is Bob Malloy, and he's an editor. He does the strangest shit like putting his mouse on the left side of the keyboard even though he's right handed. He turns his keyboard upside down and types with his palms underneath. Sometimes he turns his whole console toward his clients so that he can get some perspective on where they're coming from with their requests. Either that or he's paranoid that they're making faces at him when they ask him to change something.

Well, I hadn't heard from Bob in a while. I got a little worried about him when 3 months went by and I hadn't seen him at the FCPUG at Brainwash (Final Cut Pro Users Group for you non-editors). Bob's producer Lisa called me looking for an editor to cut a results reel for Genetech. A results reel is a compilation of taped news broadcasts from around the country showing where they put a "story" on a typical Health and Science segment of the nightly news. It's advertising parading as information which causes the drug investors and day traders to get their boxer shorts in a bunch. The finishing touches hadn't been put on the cut Bob had been working on.

Lisa, the producer who I once thought was the hottest chick on earth but who was now looking somewhat haggard but beer-googleable (if you're not married like me), called me asking if I could finish out the job. I was still working on Dean Martin with no end in sight, so I had to turn her down. She said we should go out for a drink to figure out how she could finish this piece (of crap) without Bob, and I obliged her with no arm twisting at all. We met at Lucky 13, and she bought Newcastles all night. She told me that Bob was dead. Dead after attempting the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. I immediately called bullshit on her bullshit. No way. Any editor in his right mind would never attempt the Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. She laughed and started to cry at the same time. I wiped her tears with my soggy beermat. She went to kiss me, but I pushed my wedding ring into her lips. "Nice try" I muttered as I took a swig of my 5th Newcastle of the evening. I walked out into the cold summer night.

The next day, as I was looking at footage of Dean Martin and Ann-Margaret shaking their asses while singing "I Take a Lot of Pride in What I Am", my senses came to me. I decided to help out Lisa. She knew I would call, and she had already rented a suite at Beyond Pix to attempt that which had killed Bob. I left work five minutes early (4:55 pm) so I could get down there and get started.

When I arrived, Jen, the operations manager was leaving for the day along with everybody else. "Half-day?" I asked. She smiled slightly and said "Never heard that one before. No, just going out for beers. It's Thursday, ya know." I looked at my wrist where a watch would be, but there was only my bracelet. "Oh yeah. Where is it? I never get those e-mails anymore." One of her work buddies said "I can get you back on the list if you want. Just send me your e-mail address. It's at Eagle Drift-in Lounge tonight. Not to be confused with The Eagle." I walked into the suite and turned back to them, "Thanks. Hopefully I'll be getting out of here soon and I can have a pint with you guys." Jen burst into laughter "Yeah right! You'll be lucky if you get out of here at all!"

I sat down at the console where there was a note on a post-it from Lisa. It read: "The latest sequence is called "Rev 27". It only needs that last transition completed and you're done. Call me when you're finished. Thanks!"
Yeah, only that last transition. Only the dreaded Nested keyframe zoom chroma key sawtooth wipe of death. I sat down in the chair that wasn't an Aeron chair. The last chair Bob Malloy ever sat in, the last suite Bob ever edited in. I got right to work.

Hours passed. AC drunk dialed me to ask when I was gonna finish up. I paced the room back and forth at least 100 times. I took my shoes off. I did headstands. I channeled Bob as best I could. I put my mouse on the other side. I turned the keyboard upside down. I remembered what the famed editor Walter Murch said at a lecture: "I stand when I edit. It makes one impatient with the footage." I stood. Nothing. I stood on one leg. Nothing. Suddenly I remembered that I had my Wacom tablet in my bag and forgot to plug it in. I removed the mouse, inserted the plug and grabbed the stylus. Success! "Holy FUCKING SHIT!!!! I DID IT!!!" I pinched my arm to make sure I wasn't asleep on the sofa dreaming. And to make sure I was still alive. I was. I raised my arms in victory and let out a sigh of relief. "I did it." I looked at the clock and it was 4:20 am. Then I heard the sound of one person clapping slowly from behind me. It scared the shit out of me. I turned around and it was Lisa. "You did it. You're finished." She sprayed something in my face that knocked me out cold.

I awoke groggy and with a massive headache. I was in a shooting stage with bright lights shining directly at me. My hands and feet were tied with gaffers tape. I tried to wriggle my hands free, but it was no use. I was tied to another person. He said "Dude, will you stop moving around? I'm trying to sleep." I remembered that voice. It was Bob Malloy.

To be continued...

Phood

I've been working a longer-term project in the last couple of months. The food here is amazing. There's a chef at this place, and he's not cooking spaghetti with meat sauce everyday. It's like eating at a restaurant you could pay serious bucks for. Not only lunch, but breakfast too! I may have told readers 1 & 4 about the food at one point or another, but now the truth can be shown to ALL readers: 1,2,3 AND 4!

A sampling of the bountiful bounty:

Breakfast -


Ham n' cheese croissant with fruit salad



French toast with maple syrup and ham, with fruit salad.


Lunch -


Steak with onions, polenta, heirloom tomatoes, spinach with chanterelle mushrooms, salad.
You can see a bit of the Mackie mixer in the corner of this pic, which proves I'm taking these pictures at work. I would never eat next to a Mackie mixer at home. Or bring one to a restaurant for that matter.



Paella - That's not all for me. Calvin, the chef was so stoked about my picture diary that he wanted me to take a picture of the whole pan.



Grilled cheese and tomato bisque for dipping, pork roast with mustard sauce, peaches, salad


Dessert -


Strawberries with Marscapone cheese


I'm gonna stay here as long as I can until they drag me out kicking and screaming. Now if they would just get an espresso machine...

Take that

You may have heard about the recent lightning strike which touched a plane operated by AirFrance and subsequently crashed at the Toronto airport. Well, that was all me. I will take full responsibility for the lightning strike, and the authorities may begin an investigation into my involvement. Nobody died, nobody was seriously injured. And there will probably be no financial repercussions to AirFrance because it wasn't like it was operator error which caused lightning to strike the plane. It was me.

You probably don't think it's funny. I don't either. But after I heard the news, I had that little grin on my face like Megan from The Exorcist did after she kills the elder priest. You see, AirFrance did me wrong. Last year on one of their flights I was smacked in the back of the head (on purpose) by a Frenchman sitting behind me. The man had been jamming his knees into the back of Lily's seat the entire flight, and when we asked him to move his knees elsewhere, he said something to the effect of, "How do you say... fuck you?" Homeboy actually said his legs were long and there was nothing he could do about it. Later I passed him on the way to the bathroom and he wasn't much taller than me. Legroom Lee they call me on the planes. Yeah.

After a while Lily and I switched seats so we could both share in the joy. When we were about an hour from home, the Frenchman's knees pushed into my seat so hard it snapped the seat out of its locked position and into a position further forward than normal. I responded by trying to get my seat back to its regular position, and then more pushing from the dude, and then the smack on the head.

I immediately got up from my seat and was about to grab the guy when my inner Phil Jackson told me to take a timeout. I went to the flight attendants and told them what happened. They proceeded to go the headsmacker and ask him what happened. He told them, in his native tongue - something I have a very slim knowledge of - and the flight crew were laughing with him about his story. Great. Suddenly I had a hankerin' for some freedom fries.

AirFrance did nothing about it. Well, they did have the courtesy to send me a letter stating that they weren't going to do anything about it. Oui oui.

So I expect to be receiving another letter from AirFrance soon expressing their full apologies and giving me and Lily free flights to anywhere AirFrance flies for a year. Don't make me pull out the lightning finger again. Cuz I WILL burn you. C'est la vie.

3 o'clock

Not long ago in a galaxy not far away, the people who write the articles on the website you're parked at right now all worked at the same company. Western Images at 300W Townsend street San Francisco, CA. When I began working there, I didn't drink coffee. I don't know if Tama did either because coffee didn't seem to involve so much of her daily existence as it did the others. Alan constantly had a coffee mug at his desk, and Josh constantly carried one with him wherever he went.

I drank orange juice in the morning. The bike ride down Potrero ave at 8:30 am complete with cars racing by within 6 inches of my bike was enough to wake my ass up. But then the afternoon would arrive and asses would start dragging. I began to notice that Josh and Alan were hanging around the kitchen at 3 o'clock every day drinking coffee. I'd get my regular - Coke in a plastic cup with ice. Coke poured before the ice was put in so as not to flatten the Coke. I hate it when fast food joints do it the wrong way. Anyway, one time at 3 o'clock Josh asked if he could buy me a cup o' joe. Figuratively speaking, of course. It sounded like fun, and away we went. The energy level after 3 o'clock coffee definitely trumps what a Coke will do. Enough caffeine-induced energy to get through the end of the work day.

I joined the tradition of congregating in the kitchen with the other coffee aficionados at 3. And even though Western Images is gone, the tradition remains. For me at least. Or maybe it's called caffeine addiction now that it's less of a social thing. In any case, another tradition that IS social is wearing a tie on Thursday if you're gonna tie one on at Thursday Night Social Club. And then there's the tradition of AC buying you drinks if you're wearing a tie. Or even if you're not wearing a tie. What could be better than that?

Howdy Neighbor

Neighbors suck. Well, they don't ALL suck. But for the most part I think I can safely say that my neighbors, in general, suck.

I live in a house which includes seven rental units. In this day and age, if you even see your neighbors a couple times a month it's a rarity. Some neighbors I see far less than that. Included in San Francisco neighbor-dom are the people who live on either side of the house that's standing next to yours. So I have a neighbor on one side who's an opera singer, and one on the other side who's redoing his backyard. There was a time about two years ago when I would hear the opera singer belt one out, and I thought it was beautiful. Now I think she's showing off. And as for the guy with the backyard, he needs to get it done before the wind blows all his dirt away. The opera singer's friends routinely park in our driveway, despite the NO PARKING IN DRIVEWAY sign. And I routinely tell them, "Hey, it would be super cool if you guys could just put a note on your car saying which apartment to ring. K?" Why I oughta...

Those are small gripes compared to the ones I have toward the people living in the same building as me. They collectively do the absolute minimum it takes to keep the building in order. One of my neighbors (who I don't mind so much, but Lily does because he's nosy) called last week to gripe about the lack of participation by the rest of our building in taking the trash bins out for Thursday morning and taking them in that night. Nobody in my building takes out the trash bins nearly as often as I do. So obviously I was ready to hear him out.

He wanted us to leave the trash bins out after the collection and have somebody take them in, other than the three of us who regularly do it. Not a big deal, seeing as how I take them out when they're full (i.e. Heavy as hell), so taking them in when they're empty shouldn't be too difficult. But no, the bins sat there on the curb for days. Days after all our neighbors on the block had taken theirs in. After a while I began to feel childish about it, and that we were becoming the neighbors who suck by leaving them out there. I was just about to break and roll them inside when my neighbor who started this test told me that he saw Bob taking them in at about midnight the night before. Bob's one of the newest residents in the building. Bob had a little accident
when he moved in. When he was moving in at 3am a bunch of guys beat him up, and now his shoulder is messed up. He's probably pissed off at the people who left the bins out there for a man with a bum shoulder to take in. I better wrap this up. I forgot to take the trash bins out. Neighbors suck.

Minutes

A very hearty "welcome" to my newly found 4th reader. Enjoy!

Thursday July 7th -
9 am - Work on Dean Martin
6 pm - Work on Barbershop

Friday July 8th
9 am - Work on Dean Martin
6 pm - Meet Brian, Joe and JC at Hi-Dive. Margaritas.
7 pm - The four of us go to Red's Java House. We grab a beer before entering SBC Park which sells half the beer for double the price.

7:20 pm - Enter SBC Park to see Giants v. Cardinals.
10 pm - Giants lose 3-1. I am hoarse.
11 pm - The four of us go to Noe's. More margaritas.

Saturday July 9th
1 am - We travel to El Farolito. Super quesadilla suiza - Al pastor. Chips. Corona.
2 am - I am dropped off and immediately pass out on the sofa.
6 am - Lily helps me find the bed.
9 am - Hangover begins
10 am - Lily gets me ibuprofen.
11 am - Lily returns from the corner store with Gatorade.
12 pm - I get out of bed and return to the sofa to space out for hours while Lily prepares and bakes a plum tart.
1 pm - Director of Barbershop calls to request revisions.
2 pm - Shower
2:30 pm - Drive to San Anselmo for BBQ with Kevin & Sheila and their two kids.
5 pm - Dinner - Poached salmon, flank steak, grilled zucchini and mushrooms, rice pilaf.
8 pm - Return home and work on revisions.

Sunday July 10th
12:30 am - Go to bed
9am - Wake up
9:15 am - Get e-mail and more revisions
10am - Edit revisions
11am - Prepare old computer for sale to new owner
12pm - Edit more revisions
6:30 pm - Post last revised cut of the day
7 pm - Drive to the law offices of George Rush to drop off old computer. Setup takes 10 minutes.
7:30 pm - Pick up Jesse and drive to Metreon. The newly paved Mission street between 5th and 11th streets is very smooth.
7:45 pm - Eat chicken curry and rice at Sanraku. Sapporo and sake to share with Jesse.
8:40 pm - Batman Begins
10:50 pm - Batman Ends

Monday July 11th
9:45 am - Doctor appointment
12 pm - Work on Dean Martin

Tuesday July 12th
9am - Work on Dean Martin
10:45 am - receive e-mail notification of approval of Barbershop title sequence
5:15 pm - ride to Washington Mutual new location in Potrero Center and deposit checks. Receive massive flirtation from teller. Remember wedding ring is in pocket and put on in front of said teller.
6 pm - Post clean version of Barbershop for titles to be animated elsewhere

Wednesday July 13th
9am - Work on Dean Martin
5:45 pm - Go to gym. Answer guy's questions about my Shure e2c earphones. Recommend said earphones. Wonder if he heard a word I said.
6:45 pm - receive call from Lily.
6:46 pm - remember that I forgot to pick up Lily
6:47 pm - drive downtown to pick up Lily. The newly paved Mission street between 5th and 11th streets is very smooth.

7:15 pm - calculate timings of titles for Barbershop and e-mail producer
11 pm - roll trash bins to curb

mp3 of Death

As you no doubt have heard in the press, there have been a rash of robberies in New York City lately for iPods. In fact, one 15-year old boy was killed for his iPod last week. I can just imagine the thugs who stole the iPod thinking "heall yeahz, I'm gonna fill this up with all my dope-ass tracks" only to find that they need a computer to actually put their dope-ass tracks on the stolen mp3 player. Doh!

Well I thought it was only the east-coast riff-raff that were capable of such dirty deeds, but the San Francisco riff-raff proved me wrong. As I rocked out to Slayer's "God Hates Us All", some punk kid in the lower Haight with a Rambo knife charged at me and yelled "Gimme the iPod!" Well, I actually don't know exactly what he said because I had my earphones in and... nevermind. The dead giveaway was wearing my old standard-issue white headphones because I forgot where I put my decidedly better sounding black Shures.

Not really wanting to get sliced in any way, I reached into my pocket and held out my first-generation 5GB iPod from 2001. I removed my earphones and the kid looked at me quizzically. "What the fuck is that?" he asked. "My iPod" I replied. "That ain't no muthafuckin iPod, bitch" he said, shaking his head. "Uh, yeah it is" I replied. He asked me how much storage it had and I told him. He just said "shit" and turned and walked away. I put the unwanted iPod back in my pocket and got back to Slayer. Well, at least it's still wanted by me.

Brain-rot

My apologies to the 3 regular readers of this column, but my brain has still not recovered from last weekend's festivities (my birthday + friend's bachelor party), and LLMB will resort to music review-age.

Shellac is coming to the Great American Music Hall for 2 nights in August. They don't tour much, and this may be your only chance to see them. Minimalist rock that's indie in nature - but now that indie has become synonymous with emo - it's not really indie other than the fact that it's not on a major label. Math rock at it's finest.

Buy TRS-80's "Shake Hands With Danger". It's kind of a hard listen - no vocals - and crazy electronic beats - but I've listened to it 20 times in the last 3 days, and that has to say something good about it.

Rock on.

Dinger

I don't know if many of you have heard of this, but there's a local dude named Barry Bonds who's chasing the home run record. Not currently though. Currently he's sitting on his ass counting his millions and blaming the media for his plight.

But there is another dude I've heard about from a friend of mine living in Chicago. He told me that he's heard from more than one co-worker that there's a serial killer in Pittsburgh who's chasing Barry's record in a different manner. He's mimicking Bonds' home run record in kills. Apparently the Pittsburgh Police Department have given him the nickname "Bury Blondes" because of his penchant for bludgeoning people with blonde hair (both male and female) to death with a baseball bat.

Now I don't have anything to worry about because my hair takes about 10 hours under a sunlamp to turn light brown, but maybe the blondes out here living in San Francisco should take notice. "Bury Blondes" has been operating in Pittsburgh for 6 years now, which is almost as long as Mr. Barry Bonds was hitting home runs in the steel city. Which means this could be his last year there and next year will be his first year in San Francisco, if the killer is indeed following the career of the slugger.

It's hard to debate the similarities between the home run record and serial killer's record. In 2004, Bury Blondes murdered 25. This year he's on pace for 34, which is exactly what Bonds homered in his final year in Pittsburgh.

Apparently the reason this serial killer isn't featured more heavily in the news is because of pressure from Major League Baseball to keep it quiet. They don't want this thing taking any of the excitement from the home run chase. God forbid something like steroids might do something like that.

Good Karma

I have no idea what's going on, but I've had a mini-run of good fortune lately. Not that you can call your computer dying on you good fortune, but the resulting free-repair-after-your-laptop-isn't-under-warranty-anymore would be moved to the "good" category.

My bike has been sitting in the garage for a while in the recent past because it's used mainly for transportation to and from work. And because you can't really ride a bike from San Francisco to Seattle very quickly or very easily, the work commute has left the bike next to the rake and the broom and the hoe. Huh huh. Hoe. Anyway, the bike has been called to action lately because I've been working close enough to pedal down 14th street and coast to this week's worksite. That's livin'.

The gears on the bike don't shift like they used to, and I didn't think it was much of a problem until I tried to do the slick biker maneuver of blasting through a red light, pedaling my ass off to avoid being run over by a Toyota Tacoma. Well the gears didn't shift like they used to and the gears kinda snapped into an unintended gear at an unintended moment and I didn't have the cranking speed I wanted. That, and my foot nearly slipped out of the pedal, and that could have been disastrous.

So I tried to do the bike tune-up by myself. I'm no bike mechanic, but how hard can it be? It looked like I fixed the gear shifting when testing the gears out with the bike upside-down in my garage, but the riding was a different matter. The problem was worse than before. I'd shift gears and nothing would happen. I couldn't pass those road rage bikers like I used to.

There's a little bike shop on 14th street and Guerrero called "Box Dog Bikes" that has a pit bull type dog that's old and very sweet and slowly comes out to greet you on the street when you pull up. I brought my bike there and a bike mechanic with worn black nail polish came out and asked me what the problem was. He said the rear derailleur cable was too tight. I said "I wonder how that happened?" and scratched my head. He brought out a wrench and did some quick adjustments and took it for a ride. He rode it back into the shop and said "I think I fixed it. Do you want to put some air in your tires?" I did and then I took it for a spin right out front. Fixed. I rode back in and asked him "how much?" No charge. Wow. That's 2 free repairs in 2 weeks. Since everything comes in 3s, I can't wait to see what's next.

Apple Store Adventures - part 3

My laptop computer died again last weekend. At this point, one would think that I might be giving up on the Macintosh experiment in favor of trying out a PC. Which points out the glaring fact that there aren't many alternatives in the way of computing out there. You can get a PC or a Mac. You can get a PC and put Linux on there, or some other operating system, but it's still a PC. The fact that there are dozens of PC makers out there doesn't count. It's still a PC. And based on the fact that you can't get Final Cut Pro on a PC, I will be buying Apple computers until the next great edit system comes along on a different platform.

Anyway, back to my busted laptop. As was the case last time this happened (about 4 months ago), the computer was doing nothing. It became slower and slower until I decided that it would be a good idea to try to back the thing up, and then the backup took about 2 hours. I tried to erase the drive, and no luck. Ruh roh.

I got online and put my name in line for the Genius Bar at the Apple Store downtown. It was about 10 am (which is when they open), so I was first in line. I rushed down there on Muni (which isn't really rushing at all based on the schedule of trains - future rant coming) and arrived about 10:30. My name was first in line, but on the monitors, it said "next Genius available at 11:55 am". Nice. A pair of Euro glam women were tired of waiting for the next Genius, so one of them raised a stink about how she didn't want to wait and she just wanted to drop off her computer for repairs (which is what I wanted to do), and the Genius who was moderating the line fell for her accent and glam look and let her go to the front of the line. Unfortunately I'm neither a woman or have a Euro accent or glam, so I continued to wait.
(The ironic part is that I finished my Genius session before the Euro ladies did.)

Finally my name came up and a guy named David was assigned my Genius. He immediately asked if the laptop was under warranty. Nope. Apple Care? Nope. He attached his Genius toolkit to the computer and came up with the fact that the drive was fried. I told him my story of how the last Genius I spoke with in February (when my laptop was still under warranty) diagnosed that the drive wasn't in danger of frying (not exactly what the Apple Hardware test CD diagnosed) and that I should just write zeroes to the disk and re-install and it would be just fine and dandy. David said he totally disagreed with the other Genius, and asked for his name, which I couldn't remember. In any case, David said they would repair my laptop FREE OF CHARGE. For all my griping about bad customer service at places like Travelocity - which I continue to advise against ever using, ever - this was a glimmer of hope that some people on the other end of the counter actually remember what it's like to be a customer. Thank God for Geniuses. The good ones anyway.

XXX

Mr. Steve Maggioncalda suggested this YEARS ago, but finally this Wednesday the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers approved the suffix "xxx" for pornographic website use. The hope is that it will protect children from online smut by allowing family filtering software to block access to sites ending in xxx. The major flaw in this plan is that registering domains under the new suffix will cost about 10 times as much as a dot-com name. And registering under the new suffix is optional. Hmm. So if I'm a porn website owner and I can keep my site and all the traffic associated with it as is at the same cost OR buy a new xxx site and redirect traffic there at 10 times the cost, what should I do? Nothing. God bless America.

Blah blah blog

I have no fucking idea why this is, but Blogger has put the "Blogs of Note" spotlight on a blog called Romseyredhead. I clicked on it hoping to see pictures of freckled fuckers but to no avail. What I found was possibly the most boring and incoherent pieces of shite on the web. It's a blog by a woman named Sandra Gidley in the UK, who is the Liberal Democrat MP for Romsey. I have no idea what that is, but just by reading the first couple of entries, I can see that she has nothing better to do than blather on about nothing worth reading. Which is probably what I'm doing as well.

Without copying too much text from her blog (you never know what the copyright police will come down on these days), here's a tasty tidbit:

My eye was caught by a new Labour female MP who was dozing off..... Dozing off during the budget is understandable (almost acceptable) but to see a newly elected MP dozing during what is supposedly the highlight of the parliamentary week... I am lost for words

What the fuck is that about? Why the hell does anybody want to read that? And more importantly, why in the hell does Blogger put the spotlight on shit like that? Okay, I may not be adding much more to the web than a chuckle for a few TNSCers over their morning coffee, but that Romseyreadhead blog is a total waste of time. At least she's not wasting paper.

Great expectations

I saw two movies in the last two days. Sin City on Tuesday, Revenge of the Sith on Wednesday night. Sin City I couldn't be more disappointed with, Star Wars III I couldn't be less disappointed with. One was filled with cliché after cliché, and the other had dumb line after dumb line. Oh wait, the other one had dumb line after dumb line too.

Sin City has been out for months now but it seemed like one of those "gotta see it on the big screen" flicks due to the neato-comic-book-style painting treatment visually. High expectations abounded. So I went to the AMC Van Ness 14 or 1000 or whatever it's called and checked out a matinee. About 6 people were in the theater and maybe that had something to do with it, but it felt as vapid and empty as the theater. How many times can you show the hero getting pounded and never dying? I can just hear Robert Rodriguez in his casting sessions: "Hey, we need a guy who can get beat up a lot and keeps living. Brad Pitt? Too expensive. I saw Bruce Willis do that in Die Hards 1, 2, 3, and 4. Get him, and cheap!" Dumb. Gratuitous violence and nudity, and thankfully none of Bruce Willis. Actually yes, there was too much of Bruce's naked flesh on the screen. Next.

Revenge of the Sith just opened to throngs of geeky viewers frothing at the mouth. Yes, I stood in line outside the AMC Van Ness 14 or 1000 or whatever it's called for about an hour (that's not super geeky, right?) in the drizzle to see it on opening night. We got flashed and mooned by a bunch of women in a hotel shuttle while we waited in line. After getting inside the theater, we were able to see the true geeky-ness of San Francisco Star Wars fans, which wasn't much. Yawn. Not a lot of people dressed up as Chewbacca or a Stormtrooper, but there were lots and lots of light sabers. A couple of guys went up to the front of the theater and staged a light saber battle in front of the screen. One guy was way too good with that thing for me not to believe he practices with it on a daily basis. The other guy got skewered and then some other kid came up and bum rushed his ass. The "bum-rusher" kid was way too agitated and we started to wonder when security would escort him out of there kicking and screaming. And crying for missing opening night of Star Wars.

The movie started and everybody cheered and you know the rest. I mean, how suspenseful can it be when you already know what's happening in the next three movies? Still, It was enjoyable to the point of not feeling like 2 1/2 hours had passed. And because my expectations were much lower than that of Sin City's, the movie was pretty great. After all the futuristic gadgets and flying machines on the screen, the crowd moped out to broken escalators all the way down. Use the force next time.

This is the end, beautiful friend

Well, this is the final installment of "Lee Lee the Musical Bee". I want to thank the TNSC robots for giving me a forum to blather on about anything I wanted to. And personal thanks to the probably three people who read "Lee Lee the Musical Bee" on a somewhat regular basis. I especially enjoyed it whenever somebody would e-mail or IM me and tell me that they almost peed their pants. Nothing is as magical as the ability to make somebody laugh so hard as to pee their pants. If that were a superpower, I think that's the one I would choose. And then the ability to magically make their pants clean again. Because people would get mad at me and not want to hang out with me as much. Anyways, I hope y'all have enjoyed at least one of my rants/blogs/whatevers.

One final quote from Henry Adams:

No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.

The show to end all shows, or at least part of the show...

Last weekend I went down south to Indio for the annual Coachella music festival. Me and a bunch of high school pals just kickin' it in the desert. I probably mentioned the festival in my previous rant about how nobody should ever use Travelocity, ever. I'm not gonna let that one rest until I have that "reimbursement" they promised.

Some of the headliners were Coldplay, Nine Inch Nails, Weezer, New Order and Chemical Brothers. The overriding theme seemed to be: "Yes, yes we know. The 80's are back and now we're going to have a festival show about it. Blah blah blah." Except they left the hair metal bands out of the lineup.

It seems that the decades off have reminded a few of the bands where they ventured off their courses and started to blow in a major way. Example: New Order stuck completely to either their early stuff or their brand new album. Their set list screamed "I know our disco period was shit!" They even played a couple of Joy Division songs to make up for their disco misdeeds. Example #2: Gang of Four stayed away from material on their last couple of albums. I guess they couldn't afford to bring along the backup singer ladies.

But the one band from the late 70's / early 80's that played material from their whole catalog was Bauhaus. They stole the show. It proved they were right in breaking up and leaving their legacy intact. Peter Murphy made his entrance hanging from a rope upside down. They began with "Bela Lugosi's Dead" then moved throughout their catalog without staying too heavily into one album or another. "Stigmata Martyr", "In the Flat Field", "God in an Alcove", "She's in Parties" to name a few more.

They blew me away so intensely that I'm swearing off concerts for the time being. I mean, who's gonna top Bauhaus? I think I've now seen every band I've ever wanted to see, except for Iron Maiden of course - but that would have only been for the Powerslave tour.

Some truths I've discovered this week

- As a novice filmmaker, never write a bank scene into your script.

- There are no differences between the silhouettes of Marge Simpson and Erykah Badu.

- A person wearing white earphones doesn't mean that person has an iPod.

- Don't underestimate a band you previously liked and later disliked from coming out with an album with will blow you away.

- You can only stuff 3 Twinkies in your mouth and successfully down them in one minute.

- Putting a new battery in your iPod gives you the exact same feeling as getting a new iPod.

- The Dukes of Hazzard isn't as fun as you remember.

- No matter how bad the Star Wars movies get, you will go see the next one.

- Stop-motion is good because it's difficult.

- If you don't get your paperwork done at the end of the day, it will come back to bite you in the ass.

NAB 2005 review

The Las Vegas Convention Center was hopping with all sorts of techie activity this week at the annual National Association of Broadcasters convention. It's still going on, but nobody should stay in Vegas for more than 3 days. Especially me.

Synopsis:

- Apple was the winner.
- Avid was the tired loser.
- HD is about to be shoved down everybody's throats.

I worked at Apple a couple of weeks ago, and Steve Jobs came into my edit "suite" with a group of large men wearing white jumpsuits with iPod shuffles dangling from their necks. Two of the men grabbed my arms while another laid down a sheet of paper with the words "NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT" on the top. A circular robot similar to the one in Star Wars that floated into Princess Leia's cell hovered into the room. It had a syringe attached to one of its robotic arms. I yanked my right arm away from one of the henchmen and quickly signed the form. The group of henchmen let out a collective "awwwwwwww" and slumped out of the room. Mr. Jobs just smiled and nodded his head as he rolled up the paper and handed it to the robot. They left and I got back to work. Anyway, because of that I can't really mention anything about Apple except for stuff that was announced at NAB.

Final Cut Pro 5 was announced. A whole Final Cut Studio which includes FCP, Motion, Soundtrack Pro, and DVD Studio Pro was also announced. Across the aisle, Avid was showing a demo with some 3D footage that looked like it was rendered in 1995 of a Mini Cooper. Avid played testosterone-driven rock through their soundsystem. It was sad. It just felt odd. Avid wasn't really introducing anything new other than the ability to do HD on all their systems, while FCP5 was closing the gap on functionality with multi-cam editing.

But basically everybody was touting their HD capabilities. Nobody seemed to care if your product could do SD. Even though the majority of consumers won't be upgrading their home TVs for at least another year, it felt like the collective NABers were over the hump as far as incorporating HD into their facilities. Even the small-time booths aiming for the chump-change folks like myself had HD gear to sell.

Autodesk changed Discreet's name to Autodesk, Quantel is fading from our memories. Adobe didn't have anything new to say. Sony is still the biggest fish in the pond, and Panasonic had the most forward-thinking product to release: removable disk-cards for shooting, which imports into editing systems at 4x realtime. No more kicking back and drinking way too much coffee while the tapes load. Yippee.

Shaggy

I got my haircut the other day. I didn't really need it, but rather than letting my hair go way longer than the standard 3 months I usually do, it seemed like a good idea. You know. Give the hairdresser something similar to go for, rather than the complete overhaul.

The last time I got my hair cut I was in Seattle. I decided to go to this reportedly hip place called Rudy's Barber Shop on Capitol Hill. The hairdresser at Rudy's was this 80's punker chick with jet black hair and a ring through her lip. She definitely didn't want to have anything more to do with me than chopping my hair and taking my money. She sang the words to the Gang of Four songs from "Entertainment" blaring through their sound system. She didn't talk to me. That was okay because I didn't have anything witty to say other than possibly, "Ya know I used to love these guys back in the 80's. Back before you were born." There was one other person in the joint, and he looked older than me. I began to wonder how hip this place could be if there were nothing but a bunch of old fogies there. She finished up and I paid 20 bucks, which included a decent tip. Good deal.

I hated it. I walked around for the next two weeks wondering why the hell I got my hair cut at a cheap barber shop instead of going to a stylist. The people I worked for looked at me like I was a victim. I felt like a victim. I decided not to get my haircut again for a while. But 3 weeks later it looked pretty good, so around then I was thinking it's too bad there's no Rudy's in San Francisco.

How quickly we forget. About 8 weeks into this haircut it was looking a little shaggy. Not long, mind you, but hair was extending beyond the tops of the ears, and when the wind blew (as it has a lot lately) it bugged the crap out of me.

I've been to almost every haircutting joint in my vicinity. I walk out of each and every one hating the cut. I'm beginning to think it's my weird little thing to go through life and never find a place where I get my regular old haircut. So the one place that I actually think the haircuts aren't that bad was the one I decided to go back to this time. Oxenrose in Hayes Valley.

Oxenrose is the most uber-hipster-styley mecca in San Francisco. I am not worthy of getting service there. The clientele is kids in their 20's with gear from Diesel, Urban Outfitters, and the used clothing stores that nobody knows about but them. These kids have every cool accessory, and ONLY cool accessories. My friends think I have some idea of what's hip, but I walk in there and I stick out like a sore thumb.

Assured that I would walk out of Oxenrose minimally-annoyed-but-nonethless-satisfied, I made an appointment. A day later I'm getting my haircut by a girl who's (I only call her a girl because of...) turning 21 in a couple weeks. 21. Couldn't they have told me this BEFORE she started cutting? I don't care how hip you look, you need to cut hair for about 3 years before you get to work in the most hip spot in town. She also told me this is the only place she's worked at. After telling me she's worked there for almost a year.

One should be allowed to get out of the chair and switch to another one at that point. But I'm way too nice to do that. So I let her finish, and I kept telling myself on the way home that I'd just shower and put some gunk in my hair and it would look stellar. Lily thinks I look like Frankenstein. So at this point, I think I'm going to either invest in some head-shaving gear or it's gonna be a grunge revival for yours truly.