September 14 - Grundler Bend Day Thirteen

Don Barge

Don Barge is the oldest crew member on Grundler Bend.

He's the sound mixer.

He mics the cast.

He sits on his own chair.

He announces take information for sound.

Don eats alone everyday in the sound van.

Don quotes Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck.

Don reads home-copied strategy pamphlets for recreational war games.

Don hates the human race.

Oddly, he is nice to me.

The female cast members have been complaining about Don's lavalier microphone application technique. It seems to involve hands and boobs.*

* his hands, their boobs

Lots of people think this is a violation.

I agree though with Rush and Glenn and Don.

Female women actresses are just asking for it by walking around being all pretty and acty.

And boobs.

After all, this is America.

Those are our boobs!

NOW is a four letter word.

Gloria Steinum is Hitler.

Billie Jean King should be vaginally castrated.

Me & Don & Rush & Glenn are building a net trap in the woods thats gonna catch all the hairy women out there & there going to clean up our terror compound & bake us dinner while we aim our wrath at all the Obama bin Bidens out there & TAKE OUT all the Demofags in the US of Gay!!

DON'T TREAD ON US!!!!

WE WILL ROCK YOU!!!!!

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!

BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY!!!!

Y.M.C.A.!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Y.M.I.A.P.A.

Tonight we filmed near the woods.

All the scenes were shot inside one of the director's family cars.

For the first half of the night Mikey, Chris and I rocked the stationary car to simulate driving.

It involved me hunched over the back fender thrusting.

Franklin filmed us for the behind-the-scenes material on the electronic press kit.

He laughed at me.

"It looks like you're fucking the car."

He played it for some others.

They agreed by laughing.

I found a new technique.

It involved wandering around the woods.

It's Not Me, It's You

When I emerged from the woods, Holli asked me to join her as a stand-in in the picture car.

We caught up.

She told me about the film.

I told her about the woods.

We noticed a cassette near the radio.

Petra - On Fire!

A Christian hair band album.

It had been sitting there without irony this whole time.

I studied the fold-out lyric sheet.

I feel the Church is stirring and it's all gonna keep occurring,

till we're all baptized in his Holy Fire

- from "All Fired Up"

Defector

You broke the chains away

Defector

A higher power you obey

But don't forget to read the signs

'Cuz you still live behind enemy lines

- from "Defector"

First Love, First Love

My soul longs after you

First Love, First Love

I want my heart to stay so true

Because You first loved me

Jesus You will always be

If I ever lack endurance

I remember Your assurance

If my heart begins to waiver

Woo me back, my loving Saviour

Woo me back till I return to my First Love

- from "First Love"

Ohhh.

So it's not me that's all fucked up and weird.

Thank God.

Verdict: Win

September 13 - Requiem For A Dweeb

I have no recollection of what I did today.

Recovering I suppose.

An email from today suggests that I bought The Beatles Anthology on DVD from half.com for $37.98.

My Facebook status for today reads:

one more week of overnights on Grundler Bend. Sleep dep is like being a functioning heroin addict without the perks of heroin.

For the record I've never tried heroin.

However, I got as close as you can without even trying.

It was a strange day in 1997 that I will tell you about.

That summer I worked as an order picker in a suburban warehouse that distributed indie rock LP's, CD's, cassettes and VHS tapes. I had just moved back from the desert and had been living in the suburbs with my parents for a few months.

One night I went to the city to hang out with some old desert friends that had moved to Chicago.

Steve and Meritxell.

They were a married couple that lived in a basement apartment in Ukrainian Village that they called their Laverne & Shirley apartment.

They were also recovering heroin addicts.

They had introduced me to screwdrivers and we would drink a lot of those.

I liked hanging out with them.

That night I drank too many screwdrivers so they let me crash on their couch.

In the morning I awoke with a throbbing headache.

It was 7am and I had to go to work.

Meritxell made me a delicious fried egg with bacon.

Steve offered me an aspirin.

"It's a Tylenol with codeine," he said.

Ooh, that sounded good.

"No, don't give him that," Meritxell protested.

Steve brushed it off.

"Don't worry," he assured.

I didn't need too much coaxing.

Codeine sounded a lot better than the swollen pulses of pain dizzying my young, dumb skull.

I took the tablet.

Meritxell shook her head.

I paid them adieu and began the long commute out to Hanover Park.

"Now I see why people call it Hangover Park," I muttered to my head.

It was the longest commute of my life.

The weight of my eyelids lost to the sticky rush hour grind.

My bobbly noggin nodded around like a Led Pumpkin.

The morning sun attacked from every direction.

A sheet of bright, hot, angry ice.

This Tylenol was really strong.

It took an hour but I made it to work.

My muscles had caramelized.

Each step through the warehouse was a spongey one.

I schlubbed a tub with US Maple CD's and LP's, new 7"s by Superchunk and Lambchop, the 764-HERO EP, and...

And then I walked to the loading dock and threw up.

Meritxell's delicious breakfast spilled over the weeds sprouting through the cracks in the industrial park.

It was time to go home.

I crashed hard on my parents' couch.

It was 9am.

I remember stretching a lot.

Like how a cat stretches.

Each time I stretched there would be a different TV show on in the background.

It moved from game shows to soap operas to talk shows and back to game shows again.

My mom woke me up.

"Someone's here to see you."

Whut?

I shooed the cobwebs off of my face and groggily stumbled to the door.

It was Vicki.

Vicki from work.

She was a picker too.

We had a conversation.

During the conversation, it occurred to me that it was after 5pm.

So I had slept the entire day away.

Wait.

How did Vicki know where I lived?

Also wait.

What were we talking about?

I think she was inviting me to do something.

I don't remember what I said.

Whatever words happened probably had a staggered, downward inflection.

I would later find out that Vicki had a thing for me.

But after our conversation she no longer had a thing for me.

So Vicki left.

And I went back to the couch.

The next morning I woke up.

I was still on the couch.

I felt refreshed.

I felt alive.

I felt like I had been given a fresh new set of muscles and skin and hair.

All I knew is that I wanted to do it again.

And that I couldn't do it again.

Because I would do it all the time.

Holy shit.

Tylenol with codeine.

Who knew?

Later that week I met up with Steve and Meritxell.

Steve was laughing.

He asked me how that day had gone.

During my story, Steve laughed and Meritxell shook her head.

At the end, he revealed a twist.

"That wasn't Tylenol. It was methadone."

Whoa.

Methadone.

Mertixell spent the rest of the night apologizing.

Steve patted my back and laughed.

Considering no one got hurt, I thought it was funny.

We drank screwdrivers all night.

For safety though, I drove home drunk this time.

I don't remember anything about today.

Other than I didn't get to enjoy any synthetic opiates.

Verdict: Loss

September 12 - Better Asshole

Last night they found a replacement for me while I performed original rock and rolls in the big city.

Holli asked if I would like to take today off, too.

I said okay with a parenthetical exclamation point.

Then I did an invisible cartwheel and lit off silent fireworks.

My replacement is a young hotshot who just worked on Transformers.

His name is Asshole or something.

I guess he's bossing everyone around.

Talking about Transformers a lot.

He sounds kind of like an asshole.

I'd feel threatened but Holli said they missed me.

I'm a better asshole.

Verdict: Win

September 11 - Leave The Money On The Soundman's Check

A few weeks ago I decided that my onstage persona could be more amiable.

More inviting.

Less guarded.

Less scowly.

I've had a tendency to hate my audiences in the past.

Sometimes good and funny things came from this.

Other times it made for uncomfortable shifting and general oddness.

So today at The Paper Machete, Thea and I played a couple of songs to promote our Nurse Novels show tonight at Schuba's.

I talked to the crowd friendly style, like an NPR pledge drive.

The results were better.

I didn't scowl.

People didn't gather their belongings.

We raised $19,000.

Later, we loaded in at Schuba's.

It was our first show at a venue with a quality sound system.

We greeted the soundman.

He was French.

We had had him before as a soundman with Sandwich Shop.

I remember him being rather rigid.

I set my drums up on stage.

Drummers are often relegated to the very back of the stage.

It's tradition I suppose.

What do you call someone who hangs around with musicians?

A drummer.

What does a drummer use for contraception?

His personality.

Hey, did you hear about the drummer who finished high school?

Me neither.

In The Nurse Novels, I sing and introduce songs.

So I placed my drums a bit downstage.

This way they wouldn't be behind a wall of guitarists.

I would be sharing the same plane as my bandmates.

"No, no, no!"

The frenchmen wouldn't have it.

It would make things more difficult for him to mix.

So I retreated toward the back wall.

How can you tell if the stage is level?

The drummer is drooling from both sides of his mouth.

While I schlepped it all back a few feet, Tom was getting his guitar sound.

It was at a stage volume level.

Between trebly blasts the soundman asked me questions.

"Is that your drum throne?"

"Is that your cymbal stand?"

His questions were annoying.

I had to scream over the guitar to answer him.

"Are you going to move the drums back?"

Clearly I was moving the drums back.

Tom stopped playing.

"YES, I'M MOVING THE DRUMS BACK!!!"

I just shouted at the soundman.

The soundman controls your evening.

If he doesn't like you, he will make you sound like shit.

The audience will think you sound like shit.

You will think you sound like shit.

You will sound like shit.

I had forgotten to be amiable toward the soundman.

Oops.

After soundcheck I tried out amiability.

I asked him where in France he was from.

"Paree."

I told him about my recent French travails.

I mean travels.

He seemed surprised that I had been to France.

He put out his cigarette and walked away.

What do you do if you accidentally run over a drummer?

Back up.

In my drum monitor the show sounded like shit.

It was a smear of noise.

I couldn't hear vocals.

But I didn't take it out on the audience or the band.

Instead, we had fun.

I talked briefly and amiably between songs.

We played a few new ones.

People clapped supportively.

We raised $68,000.

Afterward, Lauren said the sound was really good.

Well, I almost learned something today.

Verdict: Win

September 10 - Grundler Bend Day Ten

"You Suck" & "Fuck You"

Tonight we filmed on the actual Grundler Bend.

The same stretch of spooky road I drove down frequently as a teen.

For the occasion I wore a Danzig shirt I bought in 1991.

I had been looking forward to this night.

These days Grundler Bend is an oft-travelled strip in the town of Flatulett.

We closed the road without the presence of police.

The residents of Flatulett were assholes about it.

They let out a lot of hot air.

They were not silent.

Nor were they deadly.

But they stunk.

Like eggs.

I Hate Grundler Bend & You Hate Me

Tonight everyone hated each other.

The radios didn't work.

It was all just static and anger.

We aborted the concept of communication.

The film crew stayed down by the railroad tracks.

The production RV's stayed 3/4 of a mile away.

There was nothing to do.

Nothing of worth to do.

All Is Gas & Gaiters

Around 4am, Jerry had me fill up a gas can for the portable generator.

I took Holli's car to a gas station and filled up the battered plastic gas can.

While lifting it into Holli's backseat I noticed a hole in the cheap, battered, defective plastic gas can.

And then I watched it spit gas onto Holli's absorbent seats.

Then I yelled and swore.

I swore some more with the windows rolled down.

And then I left the windows rolled down.

Trains, Rain & Recreational Vehicles

"That's a wrap," someone said.

It began to rain down hard.

I drove the RV toward the railroad tracks.

Time to break down all the wet tents and wet chairs and wet shit.

The actors trooped through the rain like fresh, new vagrants.

Their soaking arms flagged me down.

Remnants of compassion made me stop for them.

They climbed in.

"Who's driving?" they asked through the furnie pad privacy drapes.

"It's Tony," I answered.

"Are you going back to the hotel?"

"No-" and they trudged out before I could tell them anything more.

It's just as well.

I didn't know anymore.

Other than they hated me.

Oh shit, Holli's windows...

All night the producers had insisted that the railroad tracks on Grundler Bend were never in use.

After all, they grew up around here.

So they would know.

I had seen a train once.

But that was in 1992.

Since then the tracks had been updated and refurbished.

This was done to accommodate the lack of trains.

The producers knew best and filmed on the tracks all night.

Around 6am a freight train chugged through while we wrapped in the rain.

It blew its mighty whistle at us.

It was loud.

This was because it was ten feet away.

We were fortunate that none of the cables or equipment or actors were still on the tracks.

Because then the producers would have been wrong.

I never once did participate with any of the filming done on the actual Grundler Bend.

Remember?

The reason I said yes to this job.

Verdict: Loss

September 9 - Grundler Bend Day Nine

Stuck Inside of Ft. Floyd With The Vampire Hours Again

Today was our big return to overnights.

Downtown Ft. Floyd.

Seven actors.

The four teenagers: Britt, Riley, Logan and Haddock.

The two cops: The older actor and the actor I once poked in the head with an umbrella.

And a waitress: A down to earth girl named Mallory.

I spent most of the night walking the actors to and from the set.

On our walk across the river, Britt asked me questions about bugs.

I made a Harvey Klinger reference.

She was very nice about not knowing what I was talking about.

Anyone else would have thought I was an all time, all-American, Grade A creep. On top of that, they'd say I was a jerk, a goof, and a double dingbat.

I'd be known as "Hare-brained Tony Mendoza".

Know When To Hold 'Em

We all worked well together tonight.

Things have gotten better with the crew.

Attitudes were left back at the resort.

The slate girl and I stood in for a shot inside a coffee shop.

"What would we be talking about?" I asked.

"Russian authors," she volleyed back.

I decided against making another 70's TV reference.

Instead I threw some words around the names "Dostoyevsky" and "Tolstoy".

Though a Starsky & Hutch reference could have been funnyish.

But she wouldn't have known what those are.

T-H-U-R-S-D-A-Y..Night!

The townies were out in full force.

While setting up tables and tents for lunch, a sun-leathered woman hung around the craft services table. It seemed her diet consisted of keg beer, cigarettes and dreamcatchers.

"What's your name?" flirted Doug.

"Trouble," she answered.

Then she showed him a tattoo on the back of her neck.

It read TROUBLE.

She cackled.

Doug kept his distance.

Meanwhile I hauled wooden tables and cumbersome tents around the parking lot.

"Smile!" she ordered.

Lock ups were interesting.

The drunks wandered into the shots from every direction.

Like Night of The Living Dead.

Like Berserk.

Some actually hiccuped like in the cartoons.

But I've gotten much better at telling people that they are not allowed to walk on a public sidewalk.

It felt like tonight we'd reached the peak of the filming process.

Sweet Home Ft. Floyd

Back at the hotel, a Home Depot regional managers' conference had taken over the resort.

They had decided it would be fun and learningful to have a Blues Brothers theme.

All the men wore suits and sunglasses.

All the women dressed as nuns.

It was stupid.

But I was a team player now.

So I put on a Nazi helmet and drove the RV through the lobby.

But nobody got the reference.

Verdict: Win

September 8 - Grundler Bend Day Eight

Goin' Up The Country

Our second and final daytime on Grundler Bend.

Today we filmed in the tiny farm town of Bundy.

Population: 765.

Ah, the country.

Where everything moves at a calmer, more convivial pace.

While driving the RV along a two lane country road, I rolled down my windows and breathed in the fresh, country air. After thirteen years in the city, I could get used to the country.

Maybe buy a country house.

Shop at the country store.

Make friends with the country people.

Like the country gentleman approaching in an SUV.

As he passed on the left, he leaned out the passenger window and flipped me off the entire time.

Ah, the country.

A guido rocker dude and his mammarily augmented wife somehow owned a farm house. They let us use their barn in exchange for a thank you in the credits. In the barn, some construction workers had built a 20-yard tunnel, and were also paid nothing.

The illegal immigrants in the next field over pointed and laughed.

They were getting 5¢ a day.

Noise Will Be Noise

It was idyllic.

The RV's overlooked an endless field of corn.

Real life chickens clucked in a dungeonous coop.

A basset hound entertained the crew, standing upright on its hind legs.

Holli was captivated by a goat.

Unfortunately, idyllic isn't a word associated with too many ghost thrillers.

The chickens kept ruining takes.

You can't have two cops searching an underground tunnel with chickens bawking all over it.

"Stay away from the chickens when we're rolling, please," was the best Holli could do.

Even the RV's were too loud.

We had to shut off their power during shooting.

Between takes the older actor snuck off set for a 10-1 (short for 10-100).

Shortly thereafter Holli had me find him.

I knocked on his trailer.

He seemed frazzled.

"How do you turn the power on?" he said.

We found the button.

"I don't want to leave a shit in there."

He went to set.

I flushed his poop.

While Holli reviewed paperwork in the RV, Dan took on the role of assistant director on set.

They began rolling.

"Hey can we cut the power on the RV's, please?" he crackled over the radio.

"10-4," I said and ran over to the actor's trailer.

The actor's trailer was already off.

I hoped there wasn't any more feces to flush.

"Can we PLEASE turn off the RV's!?" Dan insisted.

I started back to the RV I had just left.

"I'm working on it."

"It's not that hard. You just press the OFF button."

As I hugged the corner of the idling RV, Alex flew in out of nowhere and jumped into it.

He shut off the power quickly and raced back to set.

"Thank you, Alex," said Dan.

The executive producer walked up to me.

"Do you know how to turn these things off?"

"Yes," I said uselessly.

I walked into the dead RV and threw a notepad as hard as I could against its fucking dashboard.

"FUCK!"

The notepad flopped to the floor like I had wanted to.

Exciting Things!

Jerry introduced Dan and I to the rest of the teenage cast.

They would start working tomorrow.

Riley had just graced the cover of Maxim magazine, which I learned is still a magazine.

Logan grew up around here and had a Belushi vibe.

Haddock seemed mellow, distant and blond.

The six of us made brief pleasantries in the crammed moho.

Then I reviewed my errand list to Jerry.

"So batteries, dust masks, scripts, and chocolate covered strawberries."

Jerry smirked and nodded as I headed out.

Through the screen door I heard them talking about me.

"Yeah, he's really enthusiastic," they sarcastically laughed.

?.?.

Really?

For real?

What do these people want from me?

"I CANT WAIT! I CAN'T WAIT TO DO IT! I'M GONNA BUY A PACK OF AA BATTERIES!! THANK YOU GOD SO MUCH!!! I'M GONNA DOOOO IT!!"

Chocolate Covered Blunderberries

I bought the batteries and the dust masks.

It was okay.

I don't know why Jerry thought it would be so exciting.

But things were about to get really thrilling.

At the office, I was supposed to make 5 copies of the script.

I accidentally made 15.

That's 1,000 pages of extra billing for Jerry.

Then at the chocolatier, I ran into a problem.

The actor I had once poked in the face with an umbrella asked Alex to get him three boxes of chocolate covered strawberries.

Dan had transferred the task to me.

Unfortunately, the chocolatier was all out of strawberries.

I called Dan.

"Just get chocolate covered cherries."

I arrived on set with the gift boxes.

"Are those the chocolate covered strawberries?"

Apparently Dan hadn't broken the horrible news to anyone.

"I got chocolate covered cherries."

Alex short circuited and shook.

The actor was disappointed.

"No, it's okay."

He handed out the confections to the crew, making very sure not to have one.

Maybe he was allergic to not getting his way.

Too bad.

They were tasty.

I dumped the 15 scripts onto the RV with a thud.

Everyone laughed at me.

"Did you make enough copies?"

Jerry put his head in his hands.

I shrugged and finished my chocolate covered cherry.

I don't know if Jerry ever got a chance to have one.

But he paid for those, too.

Rollins Could Do Your Job In His Sleep

By the time I got back to the hotel, Lauren had taken the train back home.

She had to teach tonight.

Mike had been busy making an inspirational Henry Rollins poster.

It gave me the inspiration to get completely drunk.

A blurry night of nonsense was hosted by Dan and Alex in their room.

A case of beer joined Elaine the editor and a young photographer girl from Ft. Floyd.

We talked about music more than movies.

Around 3:30am we got loaded enough to hop the fence and invade the hot tub.

An annoyed security guard apathetically kicked us out.

I stumbled back to the room and passed out in a cold sweat.

Just like Hank.

Verdict: Win