Let's Book It!

Boy, August sure seems to be a bad month for blogging. Too hot, dreaming about Dragon*Con, not much going on... but then I had that "Let's Do Things!" list from a few days ago, how'd all that go?

Starting with the Greek naval battle re-enactment last Thursday, to put it simply, I didn't go.

But before the Laughing Cow can say "FAIL," let me explain! I booked something and had to shoot that instead. Whee, booking! And it was an... interesting experience, to put it nicely. Lot of Year of Yes moments in there, I guess.

It starts with a phone call from the casting director, always a source of excitement. Booked it, yes! Two-day shoot, hooray! Moneyz, that's the best part! But details of the shoot are non-existent - the production people will call me with all the info... but no one ever calls.

At around 8 p.m., I finally hear from someone in wardrobe. We talk about a few outfits I should bring (having to bring my own clothes = first warning sign that this ship might not sail so smoothly), but he doesn't know when or where the actual shoot will happen.

Slightly nervous, I talk with someone else who booked it and we share concerns that we haven't heard anything. We vow to tell each other that once we know what's going on, we'll share it with the other.

I never get a call or email from the production people, but luckily, my friend does, and he forwards everything to me.

However, I don't happen to see it until 7:30 a.m. on Wednesday, and find out I have to be there in an hour. Yikes!

Now I have two options: 1) Say, "Screw it, I'm in the right if I don't show up. No one told me anything!" But the trouble with this is that sure, I'm right, but I could end up losing the gig... and the moneyz. 2) Shag ass to get down there in time.

I choose the second option. Better safe than sorry. Finally, breathless, I arrive on the set, only to be told, "Nah, we don't need you til tomorrow. Go home." Suxor!

In the middle of the day I get a call from both the casting agency and the production company saying, you know, "Sorry for the mix-up. We only need you for tomorrow," but to quote Homer Simpson, "Sorry doesn't put thumbs on the hand."

DAY TWO. I show up on time. I hear from my friend that the previous day's shoot was, and I quote, "rough." 8:30 a.m. to 10:20 p.m.? Yeah, that's rough. So I know I might be in for a day of fun, fun, fun.

Shooting is a lot of "Hurry up and wait." I get my clothes pressed, my makeup on, and I sit down with the rest of the actors and watch Wayne's World. I do a bit of walking around in the background (at which point I wonder, "Wait, am I an extra?!"), then settle down to read my book.

About six hours later, I do my piece. It's assumed that I know what I'm doing and how I'm going to do it, but no one's told me what to do, they just started rolling film. Whoa! So in my soon-to-be-famous "caught looking at a guy's wiener" scene, I try several facial expressions: guilty, angry, shocked, psyched, scared, anything that I'd find amusing. The crew seemed to find them funny, and that's what's important, really.

Then a nice lunch, another few hours of waiting, and I get released.

And another crossroads comes up: We're told to invoice the company, (further evidence that this ship is in troubled waters). I have to face this chilling challenge: do I charge for one day or two?

I choose the second option, because 1) I was originally told it was a two-day shoot, so I kept my day clear (thus turning down any freelance work), did the detective work and shagged ass, and 2) If I don't stand up for myself, no one will, because I don't have an agent to handle this mess.

Advice from most people followed the "Book 'em for two days, but expect to get paid for one" route, so we'll see how it turns out.

Sucks that I missed that Greek naval battle, though.

Only in New York! (II)

So I'm coming home from an afternoon screening of Star Trek, and on the subway I'm thinking how wonderful it is to tell nice stories and to inspire people and have hope for the future and how if there was an actual Starfleet I might sign up, but how is that different from the US Army? And there are a number of reasons why, because Starfleet is about exploration and not about combat and it'd be nice to have mad skillz and then there's civic duty and also it's good to have a noble cause and then wouldn't you know it, some jerk comes on the train and ruins everything.

As I've said before, it's sometimes hard to tell if a person is homeless or crazy, and in my several years in the city, I've learned it's just best to keep your head down, turn your music up, feign sleep, and in worst case scenarios, switch cars.

But this guy didn't seem too crazy, he was just playing a beatbox very loudly. This is against subway rules, and it's clearly marked on the walls somewhere.

The rush hour commute is mostly accepting it, albeit grudgingly, until the lady next to me decides to take a stand. "Excuse me," she says, politely but firmly. "Can you please turn down your music? It's playing so hard I can't hear my own." [She was listening to an iPod, which is allowed under the rules because of the headphones.]

And everyone in the subway car leans forward imperceptibly, eager to find out if he'll turn off the boombox, or if he's crazy or an asshole.

Turns out he's a little bit of both. Eventually he does turn off the music, but then he confronts the lady. He asks questions that are irrational and don't make sense, but I think his point was, "Hey, I paid my fare. I got the right to listen to my music. I don't bother you about your music."

Except he's wrong, as the lady points out. Her music is inaudible to the rest of the car; his makes it impossible to think about Star Trek.

Now if I was heroic and strong and bulletproof or an undercover cop, I would have leaped to her defense and pointed out how he's terrible at debate, but sadly I'm an unemployed coward with scoliosis. And anyway, the lady was right and in no apparent physical danger.

"But you're the only one complaining!" says the guy. And that causes the tide to turn. The tipping point is reached, as Malcolm Gladwell might say, and other members on the train begin to argue with the guy. A foreign old lady, bald businessman, they all chime in, and I start to regret that my stop is next. In retrospect, I should've stayed on to find out how it all turns out.

Having been in similar situations, I'd imagine this to be the ending: The crazy guy refuses to listen to reason because he is, after all, a crazy, and then some guy who looks like a Dwarf/biker/Viking growls a threat and the perpetrator is cowed into silence. That happened on a bus once when a jerkass yuppie wouldn't give up his seat to a pregnant lady and it was pretty awesome.

So they're futilely arguing (you can never get a crazy person to listen to reason! When will people learn?!) and we're at my stop and I'm thinking how I wish I was Spiderman or something and the guy's boombox is right there on the floor AND his back is to it and I'm right by the door so as I walk out I take it (just like Swiper the Fox!) because when children are bad they get their toys taken away.

Now I'm not gonna steal a crazy guy's boombox, primarily because I'm afraid it would have bedbugs, but also because I don't need one. No, I'm just engaging in a tiny bit of civic disobedience since I can't arrest people for being jerks. And also, it'll really piss that guy off.

So in one fluid motion I pick it up, step off the subway and set it down on the floor. Now ideally, he won't notice until the train doors have closed and it's too late, but I hear someone say something (maybe the lady, who was being too nice for her own good) and I as melt into the throng [thinking strategically that the guy would have to be REALLY crazy to chase after me, lest he lose the train and maybe the boombox], he steps out and grabs the boombox. I descend the stairs to safety, and hear him threaten to break my punk-ass jaw. I don't make eye contact, and refrain from smiling until I'm out of his sight.

On the way home, I keep looking behind me to see if a Hawaiian-shirt clad crazy is coming for me. But mostly, I wonder how the guy and the rest of the subway car are reacting to my unexpected swipe. I'm still really curious if they continued arguing or if he just muttered to himself for the rest of the ride.

In hindsight, this was a pretty stupid thing to do. It's quite a bit more dangerous than making fun of a bunch of kids or smelling a subway car, but I had to do something. Sometimes I get impulsive and want to save the world, and since I'm Kirk the frail and meek, I have to be sneaky and passive-aggressive instead of direct and brave. What would you have done?

Yes, the guy could've had a knife or a gun. Or even just broken my punk-ass jaw. But sometimes we have to take the law into our own hands... Right?

Let's Katana!

Yesterday Matt DeCoster and I took a workshop on swordfighting with katanas from the very nice people of Byakokan Dojo. When I woke up this morning feeling sore in the strangest of places (left calf?!), it took me a second to remember this is the reason why.

I know more about swordfighting than the average person (because I'm a nerd who's acted in Renaissance Fairs and has taken Dungeons and Dragons TO THE EXTREME) and less about it than anyone who's studied it in a mature manner. And my knowledge of katana-related stuff mostly comes from the woefully inept Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I was psyched to learn some real skillz.

And it was pretty interesting! I didn't know what to expect, really. A class full of martial artists, stunt men and lunatics, taught by either a scary badass or a weird Renaissance Fair guy with a ponytail.

But it turned out to be a lot less disconcerting than that. The most intimidating student was Matt (who, truth be told, is very intimidating), and the sensei and his assistants (I'm sure there's a Japanese term for "assistants," but I didn't catch it. And that was one of the difficulties in this workshop, they'd refer to the different motions in Japanese, and since I speak that language as well as a two year old, I had trouble keeping up) were cool and mellow and my age. They were a lot like me, in fact, totally geeked out about their passion, though theirs was swordsmanship and mine happens to be playing with a cake puppet.

This wasn't about how to look awesome using a katana, and I'm glad. It was just about how to kill someone quickly and cleanly and safely. Usually in one hit. And don't think they were all, "Swords are awesome!" (though they are), they talked a lot about the history and how it's dangerous. Nobody goes around with a katana cutting people up. But it's still cool to learn.

And when they demonstrated, holy crap! Like, they cut up these tatami mats (which they said smelled bad, but either the smell is reminiscent from my half-Asian childhood or I was a martial artist in another life, because I thought they smelled nice) and that was pretty impressive, and then when they'd spar, they would attack with these terrifying, lion-like roars that one never hears in this day and age.

I wouldn't want to fight these guys. I would die. Also, if there was ever a zombie uprising, someone who is skilled with a katana would probably do pretty well. THIS IS GOOD TO KNOW.

Here's a video (of them cutting up mats, not fighting zombies):


So we were given these bokken (wooden swords) to use, and DeCoster and I ended up with these really heavy pieces of wood. Like, the guy told us when he handed them out, "These two are really heavy," and damn, they were. It was like holding a two-by-four over your head for about an hour. Midway through one of the instructors traded me this light, toy-like sword, and I was like, "Whoa, this is what everyone else has been using? Ridiculous!" I MUST BE SUPER STRONG.

Eventually we sparred. Simple moves, obviously, and it was all about getting the form down properly. I partner up with Matt, since we know each other, and I'm more comfortable attacking him than a total stranger. Also, I trust him completely. No one I know is more in control of their body than Matt. But still, it was pretty crazy. The instructors kept telling him to relax, not be so intense, because when Matt gets on his intense face... THINGS GET INTENSE.

They say that most of the fight is willpower and intimidation, and I felt more than a little intimidated seeing Matt DeCoster try and hit my skull with a wooden plank. I like to think even the instructors were intimidated.

Just imagine his eyes bugging out, features contorted into a combat face of deadly concentration, muscles flexed and rippling... and then there's Kirk, the small and the meek, who always leans forward too much and can't get his shoulders out of their concave position, having to deflect DeCoster's bokken before it hits him in the brainpan. And he has to do this 40 times.

Obviously, it went well. No injuries (note that I didn't say my skull was hurting this morning), and a good time was had by all. I wish there was a more exciting ending ("There was blood anywhere!" or "Ouch, my brains!"), but this blog is about the real world, not my fantasy life. It was just a three-hour workshop. And, like any martial art, it's all about discipline, so there wasn't any jackassery or running through Manhattan swinging swords at everyone.

But still, it really made me want to take some sort of exercise-y class. Fencing, maybe, since that's like Dungeons and Dragons. Or tai chi, since that's slow and is with old people and doesn't involve getting hit. I'm scared of pain.