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February 27, 2010

Truth In Advertising



Truth In Advertising by Avion Films

This gem comes from my pal Henry Birdseye,who has been through the shit for me and managed to make it pleasant. I'm preserving it here at VagabondGuru.com as a reminder to all of what once was and what could still be. I remember Henry once editing a spot for me that required some difficult 3-D moves and which had a number of other technical barricades to leap, while my client sat and sketched out ideas on paper and wondered if the background should be more blue. Henry and I looked at each other knowingly, I sent the client off to kern type and we finished the damn spot. Henry pulled a nifty "Spark", think plug-in, out of his ass, tricked it into thinking it was still a free trial deal and we put that puppy to bed!

We did our fucking jobs, while many around us sought for reasons to exist. It was an odd time in my life and it would have been a living hell without Henry by my side.

Here's to the weird old days!

Please take the time to read his philosophy on life...

It begins... "The simplest personal belief I can put to you is just to be nice to people, be altruistic. We are all brothers and sisters on this planet, regardless of our coloring on the outside. If, for some reason you can't do this, eat some shit. Then die."

I heartily agree.




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February 24, 2010

Safety Class or How To Pick Up A Box

By Mary Hannington

Anyone that has worked on a film or a music video has attended a mandatory safety meeting. Most of us shuffle our feet and look bored – we’ve heard the speech before. Some Assistant Directors give better speeches than others and I heard one once that was particularly heartfelt and it did hold my attention, but it is not the norm. As someone who has worked as a director and a department head I am responsible for the safety of my crew and I DO take that seriously. However, my recent experience with the CSATF (Contract Services Administrative Trust Fund) that handles safety classes for IATSE (International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees) in LA has me questioning the use of initials and the validity of safety classes.

Some of the guys on the Detroit crews here go back generations to gritty grandfathers who were longshoreman or stagehands in Detroit''s numerous theatres. The man that served my studio's lighting package needs for decades had a grandfather who helped dynamite the stage wall of a theatre during a late 1800's protest over wages. This little stunt is one of the reasons that IATSE Local 38 was formed in Detroit and I imagine his grandfather would have either stormed out of the room hurling epithets or pulled out a pint of bourbon and a cigar had he been forced to listen to the advice proffered in the CSATF safety video.

Imagine my suggesting to one of these guys that they wear anti-slip appliqués on their shoes while in the production office. They'd think I was a lunatic!

Yet this is one of the "helpful" safety tips I was given.

In order to be placed on the industry experience roster (giving me hiring preferrence over non-roster members) of Local 800 in Los Angeles I am required to do a number of things, one of them being the attending of safety classes. I have argued with the union about this. Since being a member allows me to work anywhere in the country shouldn’t the union be a little less LA-centric and allow its members to take these classes someplace other than Los Angeles?

Answer: NO.

I have to plop down $1000 for a hotel and airfare to fly out to Los Angeles, rent a car to drive into Burbank to take this class and the required color eye test.

After shuffling back and forth from the Safety Class window to the Contract Services window, filling out forms, signing in and then having my picture taken I'm called for my eye test.

You can take a color eye test here. or test for deficiencies here. I scored a 0% deficiency on the latter. Typically these tests consist of a circle filled with colored dots that have within them a different colored set of dots that make up a number. The closer in tone or the more disrupted with other colors the harder the number is to distinguish. There are two problems that I see (no pun intended) with this requirement. One, if I couldn't distinguish colors I probably would have had a pretty hard time getting work as a designer in the first place. Two, the test I was given was SO basic that you’d have to have the worst color vision in the world NOT to be able to pick out the orange circles and squares amongst the green dots I was shown.

So at this point I’m starting to get pissed off.

Yeah, yeah I suppose it is important to weed out color blind Art Directors, but how many can there really be?

Next, I'm ushered into a room with walls full of safety harnesses and asked to watch a half hour safety video. The happy young woman explains to the three of us that we get to keep our books! Yay! That the test will be an open book test, that the video has the same information, but doesn’t follow the same order as the book and that in the future we will be paid $15.00 dollars an hour for any classes we take.

Whoop! I'm moving to Los Angeles where I can make $120/day taking classes!

WTF?

I just travelled 1,981 miles to Los Angeles to take an open book test? You couldn't have just mailed me the book and the test and let me mail it back? WHAT? I'm gonna somehow cheat?

Halfway through this useless piece of crap video I had out my checkbook and was paying the bills I hadn't gotten to before I left. This is the motion picture industry and I'm just down the street from mega-studios and the fucking safety video is fucking words on a fucking screen? Oh, they eventually threw in a few pictures. One of some knee pads, in case we didn't know what they looked like, and (are you kidding me?) some examples of sturdy shoes.

AND another of a bloody hand to reinforce the fact that if someone gets injured we should seek help!

This is safety for morons!

And the only time I actually crack a smile is when the video suggests you should surveil the office you are working in for any dangers. It reminds me of a certain employer, who to my delight, kept stumbling over the little step outside my office no matter how much safety tape and warning signs we put up.

And when they suggest we should consider putting anti-slip material on our shoes when working in an office environment?

I burst out laughing!

Okay, maybe this benefits the costume department folk that sometimes wear fashionable high heels on the job, but I'm all about sturdy shoes on a film job and it is either steel toed boots or a good running shoe for me and the same goes for most of my peeps.

The test is true or false and I crack the book once to make sure what PPE stands for (Personal Protection Equipment). IIPP is on the book's cover and it stands for Injury and Illness Protection Plan, which all the major studios have. I'm thinking someone added the word "Illness" at the last minute to make the initials more "copacetic".

So, I now have that important knowledge down pat and the next time I'm at Warner Bros. I’ll be sure to stop by and check theirs out!

The rest?

True or False: You should you twist and turn your body when lifting an object. Uh? Are you fucking kidding me?

It’s okay to cut up Asbestos on the job. Oh for crying out loud!

I get ONE answer wrong.

True or False: You need to bring your Safety Passport to the worksite. Note: this is a little 3 x 2" blue notebook with gold lettering and your picture in it just like a REAL passport. You get little gold stickers in it when you pass a course , which reminds me of the gold stars my piano teacher put in my notebook when I was EIGHT. I answer “True” (what would be the point of the stupid thing) and the answer is false… of course.

I spent $8000 dollars to join this union and pay a considerable amount of my paycheck to them every time I work a film and I dutifully pay my union dues.

This is complete bullshit!

I know CPR, I know the Heimlich maneuver, I once put a piece of an employee's thumb on ice, wrapped and elevated his hand and had him rushed to emergency. And you guys are completely wasting my time by telling me that I need to ask for help when carrying an object that totally blocks my fucking vision!

Training is good! Worker SAFETY is a great thing. This kind of nonsense is bureaucratic crap.

In ten or twenty years I plan on jumping off a cliff. In this way I won't be a burden to society when I no longer have the energy to work. I'm not suggesting that other useless people follow my path just consider it will you? In the meantime, I'll impart my knowledge to my brothers and sisters in IATSE Local 38 and other unions nationwide and teach them things like the importance of sturdy shoes. For everyone in Hollywood this will come courtesy of the AMPTP (Alliance of Motion Picture & Television Producers), who run CSATTF (Contract Services Administration Training Trust Fund) and CSATF (Contract Services Administration Trust Fund).

It IS always the damn Producer's fault!


BTW, they do reimburse training expenses over at CSATF, but despite my numerous complaints about time and expenses not a soul there mentioned this. You can find this important knowledge on their website under "Other Information". Oh, and you have to request a reimbursement in advance. So it would be cool if one of the nice folk that work there would maybe have TOLD you that. I'll be back and I'm bringing my PPE!






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February 20, 2010

Playing the Building




Playing the Building by David Byrne

In 2008 David Byrne transformed the NYC Battery Maritime building into a musical instrument that could be played on an organ. The building, which had been closed since 1938, was open to the public where anyone could come in and have a chance to play. Even Mayor Bloomberg gave it a whirl.

Wires were run from the organ that tripped motors that vibrated against glass or fired hoses which pumped air into the building's pipes. Hammers struck the columns at various heights to produce different pitches and timbres.

Music, too, is becoming ubiquitous, and that fact provided some of the impetus to Mr. Byrne's sonic installations. He said that he wanted people to become more sensitive to the sounds around them and to change their relationship to music. "I don't want the public to be passive consumers of culture; you have to participate [at the building] to make sounds."

The other issue is authorship. Mr. Byrne is adamant that it's not his music that is being heard at the Battery Maritime Museum. "The person who plays the organ is the author of the music. I am not the author of what they play any more than Les Paul is the author of a million guitar solos."

- Wall Street Journal

Byrne has done a similar project in the UK and also an installation of 100 guitar pedals which produced a variety of sound when gallery goers walked over them.


David Byrne Art Projects




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February 19, 2010

The Drive

By Mary Hannington

Cement sprawl scarred by mega highways.

Mountains loom up.

Loom by.

Moving, scraping.

Suddenly dropping to foothills, I fall.

Flat valley.

Dwelling scattered.

Like strewn wreckage.

Rows of workers harvest the fields.

The smell of sea air…

Crashing ocean waves…

Let freedom reign.

I smile and scream BODY SURFING!.

Horses…

Curly bare oaks.

CYPRESS TREES!

A truckload of hay is spraying its load.

Green, green, green.

Spanish moss.

Oh, the colors.

America, this country! Beautiful.

Too fast.

So high.

The mountains move.

Opening up just for me to see.

Tears.

Such joy!

I wish you were here.

This highway is forever and ever.





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February 15, 2010

Perception Plunge

By Mary Hannington


It’s that moment when the plane starts to descend… a plunge. When the ground comes at you fast. I always think, I’m going end up as splatter or I’ll walk off this plane and into a sea of humanity.

When I’m someplace new or someplace I haven’t been in a long time…

Sometimes it’s the change of scenery...

Sometimes it is the feeling I always get on that landing plane.

I'm really living, I have survived.

Isn’t life grand? Aren’t the stars the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen?

The little boy says “ Look there is a T in the sky!” and two crossing trails of white have indeed made a T.

How cool.

The valet driver likes the sound of my name. “Ms. Hannington?” It rolls off his tongue with an Hispanic lilt, “Okay, Ms. Hannington, let’s get the bags in for you.”

“I’m Luis and if you need anything Ms Hannington, you just ask for me.”

It’s a short elevator ride, but he holds the door open for me while we chat. He knows where I live and what it is like and I know what he enjoys doing. I know he has a friend in Ann Arbor and he’d like to visit. He now knows my name is Mary, but he says “Okay, see you Ms. Hannington”

It makes me smile and he smiles too... a flash of shared joy.

My friend’s child asks me “Mary? How do you know my dad?”

The simple answer is “We worked together.”

Instead I say, “We once went into battle together.”

It’s the truer answer.

And I know that there are people in the world that wouldn’t let me drown. Human beings that are watching out for me…

Tiny dots in a sea…

Today I'll cross ground I've crossed before. Where loved one's and stranger's footsteps have tread. Some of them I'll never see again. Some of them I have yet to meet.

Life is a battle and if you plunge into it with all your heart and all your strength you'll always win. The prize may not be what you are looking for, you may often lose the ground gained, but I've got your backs and I know you have mine.

And oh, aren't the stars beautiful?

What a man does for pay is of little significance. What he is, as a sensitive instrument responsive to the world's beauty, is everything!"

- H. P. Lovecraft


This was written on a business trip to LA that reminded to stop and look, to open up instead of shut down. There I visited with an old, old friend, whom I haven't known very long, cinematographer Colin Watkinson and a little brother I didn't know I had, Taage Storey... thanks for being one of my dots.





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February 04, 2010

Things heard and seen in a hospital…

By Mary Hannington

Hospitals can be the source of a million tales and a doctor, who has been in the family for a long time, has fond memories of working the emergency shift in Detroit. She once removed, among other things too numerous to mention, a Prell bottle with a golf ball glued to it from up someone’s ass.

A nine for creativity...

Then there was the woman, who after an emergency C-section decided to name her baby Placenta because she thought it was a beautiful name.

Multiple tries from multiple Docs could not persuade her otherwise… somewhere in the world there is a woman named Placenta, but perhaps she has changed it by now.

These days everything in a hospital has a beeping alarm and I mean EVERYTHING. The bed, the chair… the last time I was here I sat in a chair and then couldn’t get out of it without causing an ear piercing bleep. Praise Buddha the nurse tech finally came in and allowed my escape from the chair of evil. The heart monitor beeps when it runs out of paper, or toner, or if one of the leads comes loose, any malfunction at all… BEEP BEEP. I watched three people go over the thing trying to figure out exactly which malfunction it is.

Desperate to squelsh the beep...

Ms. 91’s hands are always cold and this makes the blood oxygen reader beep, but these are just tiny little beeps – Wes the hot young tech is clearly frustrated - I offer to bring in some gloves.

I ask him if he gets used to the beeps.

“Arrgh!” he says “I hear them when I go home.”

The donging nurse calls are the worst he hears those in his sleep.

Then there is that damn IV drip beep, a loud two-beep deal that just drives you totally nuts. I was there for only four hours and I was ready to crawl into a corner and moan, "Make it stop... PLEASE make it stop." I watched Laurie the head nurse do a U-turn and come back into the room. Ms. 91 says defensively “I didn’t DO anything!”

Somewhere along the line the beeps have become accusatory.

Ms. 91 had been diligently holding her arm out straight because to bend it means beeps.

I tell the Doc she hates it when I have to change her or help her on the toilet. She’ll slap my hand away and say “Let me do it!” when she knows she needs help and I have to pretend like I'm not helping.

But when Wes comes in and wants to hold her up and yank down her drawers she’s perfectly happy about it.

He says “You haven’t seen Wes!” and I say, “Oh yes I have.”

With her it’s always open mike night and she has them rolling in the hospital corridors.

The doc called the other night and said, “I just walked into your mom’s room. She’s sitting on the pot talking on the phone to her sister and they’re trying to monitor her heart and it’s racing… Oh now, she’s smiling and waving at me.”

He says he’s not sure if the racing is because Wes just left and it’s like a party in her room or it’s A -Fib.

Today he asks her if she’s happy (He knows her “Why should I live any longer? I’m no good to anybody.” speech.) She says, “Okay I’ll live if I can walk.” He says, "Okay you can be sad until we get you walking."

He gets it.

Sometimes it sucks to be old, but we are NOT adding happy pills to the mix.

Doc looks in her the eyes and says "Okay beautiful."

91 just says, "Och!" and then shoves him for good measure.

She has now settled into a rehab center for a few weeks, one I pass on my morning walk everyday, a place where the Y ladies will visit and Judy will visit and her daughter will most certainly swing by.

Her doctors will visit too not just because they’re doctors, but because they love Ms. 91 too.






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February 02, 2010

Waxing Philosophic

By Mary Hannington

This is an old piece. That its meanderings apply to similar events in my life that took place exactly a year from when it was written amazes me. That the lessons in the dream still apply... I republish it here at VagabondGuru.com because that is where it belongs.


I dream in color.

I used to write down my dreams.

I used to try and control my dreams.

I once did control my dreams…

I don’t try anymore.

The other night I had a vivid dream. The planet Earth was overpopulated. Young tyrants had taken control believing they could make the overcrowded world a better place. They began by banishing the experienced, the wise and their animals to a distant planet. (This last bit I’m sure has to do with the fact that I recently concluded that any obsession with cyber-pets is stupid, it's impossible to really love them.)



I had just finished watching “Scream Bloody Murder” about the genocide in Rwanda and Darfur. The terrible scenes of what hatred had wrought. The dead, the mutilated and the raped… Then the man who was forgiven by a woman whose family he had killed.

The unspeakable horror of these events was itself like a dream.



It made the subject of my own dream understandable. This and at that time I had just met my own young and quite evil tyrant.

As a warrior in the world, Castaneda’s character, Don Juan would say that we must use the attributes of control, discipline, forbearance and timing to defeat the tyrant. Warriors, he teaches, never take themselves seriously. Tyrants take themselves deadly serious thereby distorting their view of reality. Tyrants like Ahmad Muhammad Harun in Sudan and Bagosora in Rwanda are difficult to defeat because they force their realities on entire populations. My tyrant has a similar sense of reality. A reality in which control or power is earned by rights of a perceived superiority.



Don Juan’s theories (fictional as they are) seem to keep cropping up in my life and they jibe with my love of eastern philosophies. He puts his tyrants into three classes. Petty tyrants, who inspire terror and are physically and emotionally abusive, little petty tyrants, who may deliberately cause problems, but do little real harm and the last, teensy-weensy petty tyrants, who are just plain irritating. He says it is the lucky warrior who stumbles across a “pinches tironos” because one can only expose this person, and so win, by losing one’s self-importance thus taking the higher ground. How can you be humiliated if you don't take yourself seriously? In doing so you move further down the path of “seeing”.

That’s of course if you survive!

Zen teaching goes one step further “What is a bad man, but a good man’s job”.



My tyrants show up when I’m at my best. I had spent a month putting together an art department on a small film – a labor of love, but heavy on the labor side. We did amazing things with the little we had. We worked sixteen, sometimes eighteen hours a day. The whole crew had become a family, but one of my own was already plotting against us. I saw it coming - we had only two days left to go.

It was bad.

The tyrant wormed her way onto the set, took advantage of a young affable director and treated all that were about her like peons, tossing out insults like candy wrappers. She became a one-man band who thought she could replace a whole department, it didn't work.

She would later find herself blocked from furthering her career.

Why? I let her be herself and advised others to do the same.

Hatha yoga teaches me that you must move beyond the self to become enlightened. A kind of “Let go, let God.” When you do this bullies and tyrants don't matter and are easily defeated.

I have had many “tiranos or tironitos” cross my path. Most have failed to harm me, but they don’t like me very much. One, a first rate pinches tiranos, almost destroyed a marriage, contributed to the death of her own mother and my friend. Not finished yet, she stole the woman's ashes and had her secretly buried. She destroyed herself by destroying her own reality and no longer has any sense of power. The tyrant on the film set, having lost one fight had moved on to wage a second and a third and years later has lost the fight.



I dreamed I was in the future. I had a petty tyrant in this dream, I have one now. A woman. Women are far crueler enemies to fight than men.

In my dream millions were preparing to leave. I was packing clothes and the things I would need; It appeared I was leaving too. You see, the woman in my dream (the tyrant) had explained that I could stay, but my dogs would be confiscated. There was no food for them in the new world they were creating. She knew this was the one thing that would make me leave and I was in her way.

I had asked her for some shoes. I had none to take and when she arrived with them, the shoes were a size nine. “Oh look!” she said, “They must have made a mistake, these aren’t 7 ½!” The shoes fit her perfectly. In my dream this woman was cruel, like my current nemesis, she delights in digging in the knife.

Everything about the woman in the dream was cold and mechanical. She whisked us away on an industrial steel flying skateboard. It looked like this…



Okay, so sometimes I still sketch the stuff in my dreams…

The woman explained that we would be transported off the planet in large black mattresses. These were not comfy Serta mattresses with their fake brocade patterns, but forbidding things, huge and made of stiff rubber. These were the only things that were known to aid survival on the trip and it was hoped that inside them so would we. In the dream I was playing along, knowing somehow that I would get through. That the woman thinking she had won would become so drunk with power she would go too far as my real tyrant had done.



You might call my dream a nightmare, but it ended with a vision of an earth populated with animals. All the animals I knew were there, my animals were there and I awoke with a broad smile. A world of cyber-pets defeated!

As I get closer to my dreams for life and I have been working diligently on them. I have realized that you are rarely handed anything for free. You must work hard for it. Not by cutting down others in your path like the petty tyrant, but by being the best you can be. Never by working alone or strong-arming others to follow you, but by having patience in bringing others to where you are in your knowledge. By admitting your own weaknesses and seeking out others whose skills complement yours. Insulting those that work with you or building an environment of fear only gets you sheep.

And never ever should anyone let a tyrant win.




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