Another client sold on me as his "spokesface," this guy couldn't seem to get enough of me: I was in four of his TV spots. I believe this one was the first, and was written, directed, and shot by my boss. The "It's right there on the screen" idea was mine, though. I crack me up!
"Detective" - Calhoun Street Motors • Bainbridge, Georgia, circa 1998
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Skeletons From My Closet, pt II
My debut went over so well among the account executives at my office that they began to offer my likeness as part of the production package. I protested, and put my foot down. I would not do it unless I got paid a talent fee on top of my regular hourly wage, thinking that would put the idea right out of their heads. The next client negotiated for $25. Note to self: when putting foot down, name a price!
I had very little input on this one. My boss produced, wrote, shot, directed, and edited.
This client loved me, and wanted me to be the advertising face of their company(?!), even talking, for a time, of a billboard campaign along I-75 throughout south Georgia. Can you imagine the wrecks that would have caused? I appeared in several more of their spots, and one infomercial. This is the best of them...by a long shot, believe me!
"Anything On Trade" - Premier Home Center of Valdosta, Georgia
I had very little input on this one. My boss produced, wrote, shot, directed, and edited.
This client loved me, and wanted me to be the advertising face of their company(?!), even talking, for a time, of a billboard campaign along I-75 throughout south Georgia. Can you imagine the wrecks that would have caused? I appeared in several more of their spots, and one infomercial. This is the best of them...by a long shot, believe me!
"Anything On Trade" - Premier Home Center of Valdosta, Georgia
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Skeletons From My Closet, pt I
When I lived in Albany, Georgia, working at TCI Cable, I was also heavily involved in community theatre. I wrote a TV commercial, as it was part of my job, with a mind to give some of the actors in the theatre group some exposure in a local ad. However, as I read the idea — in a voice I considered appropriate to the main character I had created — to my boss and the account executive for whose client I wrote the spot, they looked at each other and determined that I should portray the character. I protested. I wanted to direct it; I wanted to shoot it; I wanted to edit it. I scored a partial victory... I got to edit it.
So here I am in my television acting debut, circa 1997, for Rick Davis Motors of Americus, Georgia.
So here I am in my television acting debut, circa 1997, for Rick Davis Motors of Americus, Georgia.
I Got It, But I Don't Get It
Maggie over at Do These Shoes... passed the above award on to me, as is her privilege, I guess, as a recipient of the award herself.
I am tremendously honored that someone felt I deserve to be so bestowed with such an award... but... I don't know what the award stands for. Maggie wrote that she honored me for "always being an honest blogger" that makes her laugh. She didn't clarify if that laughter came as a result of my attempts at humor, or just as a reaction to the poor quality usually on display here.
I would love to pass it on to someone else, but I don't know for which qualities I should honor any of my favorite bloggers. They all possess distinguishing qualities... except for Schprock; I just like his Boston accent ...and I should like to give this to each of them, but that just smacks of cowardice. For now I shall just selfishly cling to the award, and bask in the vainglorious glow of my übercoolness.
Get your own damn award.
Examiner Examiner
Both of the regular readers of Farrago may be wondering why I haven't been writing, lately. The answer, frankly, is that I've been writing.
In addition to my EventChaser gig, which seems to happen about once every other month, I just signed on for a "paid" writing gig with Examiner.com.
I enclosed the word in quotations because the pay is minimal, and is based on several factors, to include readership, advertising clicks, and how often I send hot, loose women to my manager's office. It certainly won't pay any bills, but think of the exposure! I've been writing naked all week!
I viewed an ad in Craig's List for Examiner.com, and I read their story. It seemed legit and potentially doable, so I responded with which of their topics listed in their ad I might wish to write about. Among the three I chose was the topic of hypermiling. As with EventChaser.com, I was asked to jump through a few hoops, provide a writing sample, and then offer some ideas I might entertain for my column.
Despite telling me that it could take up to two weeks for my approval, I was writing that very evening, as once they approve you, they want to see your first article within 3 business days! Also, despite telling me that my first article would not post immediately, pending scrutiny from my manager/editor, it went up immediately after I posted it.
So now I am the Chicago Hypermiling Examiner at Examiner.com. I might even be National; as far as I know, I'm the only person writing specifically about hypermiling.
And I don't know how long I can keep that up!
So, please do check out my column, click on a couple of ads, and return often. By the end of next month, thanks to your patronage, I could be buying a cup of coffee. At Starbucks!
In addition to my EventChaser gig, which seems to happen about once every other month, I just signed on for a "paid" writing gig with Examiner.com.
I enclosed the word in quotations because the pay is minimal, and is based on several factors, to include readership, advertising clicks, and how often I send hot, loose women to my manager's office. It certainly won't pay any bills, but think of the exposure! I've been writing naked all week!
I viewed an ad in Craig's List for Examiner.com, and I read their story. It seemed legit and potentially doable, so I responded with which of their topics listed in their ad I might wish to write about. Among the three I chose was the topic of hypermiling. As with EventChaser.com, I was asked to jump through a few hoops, provide a writing sample, and then offer some ideas I might entertain for my column.
Despite telling me that it could take up to two weeks for my approval, I was writing that very evening, as once they approve you, they want to see your first article within 3 business days! Also, despite telling me that my first article would not post immediately, pending scrutiny from my manager/editor, it went up immediately after I posted it.
So now I am the Chicago Hypermiling Examiner at Examiner.com. I might even be National; as far as I know, I'm the only person writing specifically about hypermiling.
And I don't know how long I can keep that up!
So, please do check out my column, click on a couple of ads, and return often. By the end of next month, thanks to your patronage, I could be buying a cup of coffee. At Starbucks!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Dream Machine
Monday night I watched the next Netflix selection in my queue, Two Weeks Notice, starring Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock.
Yeah, I watched a chick-flick. Alone. You got a problem widdat?
It was sweet, funny, sexy, formulaic and predictable. I doubt the Roger Eberts, Leonard Maltins, and the A.O. Scotts of the nation gave this 2002 film very high marks, but the movie knows where your buttons are and when to push them.
As it finished I realized that this was the same romantic comedy I had ever seen starring either of the two stars. Grant played the same charming, womanizing, wealthy cad he seems to always play, who — somewhere in the middle of the film — realizes that he's in love with the same clumsy, intelligent, understatedly-pretty-until-the-"a-ha!"-moment, opinionated-but-lonely, pain-in-the-ass woman, that Sandra Bullock seems to always play.
I've always been one to scoff at people who won't go see a movie because they don't like a particular actor. What difference does it make, I've argued, he/she is portraying a character, not him/herself! And, at some levels I know I'm right. Most film actors must be able to get out of that wet paper bag if they're going to carry that 70-million-dollar picture.
But Sunday evening — very briefly — I saw the world more as it is than as I think it should be. Maybe it was too much V8 and chocolate, I don't know. But as I felt my buttons being pushed in the right order at the right time, it occurred to me that these two stars didn't have to break out of anything in this movie. Most of the English-speaking, movie-going world like Hugh Grant — certainly the women, anyway — and they want him to be the sexy, naughty boy who gets hooked by the klutzy, plain girl. They like Sandra Bullock as that klutz who wins the guy over without even trying, and who is filmed with softer and softer focus throughout the film to accentuate the beauty that her leading man is supposedly seeing — not to mention the stalwart men's men who bravely accompany their girlfriends and wives to these films. You have to give them something to look at between all the girl-talk and winsome expressions.
This is what we want as a collective audience. We men want to identify with the charismatic playboy who finds the diamond in the rough. Women want to identify with the smart, sassy, everyday girl with one killer outfit that knocks the playboy off his horse. Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock are repeatedly given these roles because we're comfortable with their faces and with their schtik, and we like how they make us feel at the end when they finally kiss.
But, oh, does that swelling-music, circling camera, fuzzy-focus love ever truly happen in the real world? I think not. I believe it's a myth perpetuated by the Hollywood dream machine as "the hope."
And now I sorta have a thing for Sandra Bullock.
°
Yeah, I watched a chick-flick. Alone. You got a problem widdat?
It was sweet, funny, sexy, formulaic and predictable. I doubt the Roger Eberts, Leonard Maltins, and the A.O. Scotts of the nation gave this 2002 film very high marks, but the movie knows where your buttons are and when to push them.
As it finished I realized that this was the same romantic comedy I had ever seen starring either of the two stars. Grant played the same charming, womanizing, wealthy cad he seems to always play, who — somewhere in the middle of the film — realizes that he's in love with the same clumsy, intelligent, understatedly-pretty-until-the-"a-ha!"-moment, opinionated-but-lonely, pain-in-the-ass woman, that Sandra Bullock seems to always play.
I've always been one to scoff at people who won't go see a movie because they don't like a particular actor. What difference does it make, I've argued, he/she is portraying a character, not him/herself! And, at some levels I know I'm right. Most film actors must be able to get out of that wet paper bag if they're going to carry that 70-million-dollar picture.
But Sunday evening — very briefly — I saw the world more as it is than as I think it should be. Maybe it was too much V8 and chocolate, I don't know. But as I felt my buttons being pushed in the right order at the right time, it occurred to me that these two stars didn't have to break out of anything in this movie. Most of the English-speaking, movie-going world like Hugh Grant — certainly the women, anyway — and they want him to be the sexy, naughty boy who gets hooked by the klutzy, plain girl. They like Sandra Bullock as that klutz who wins the guy over without even trying, and who is filmed with softer and softer focus throughout the film to accentuate the beauty that her leading man is supposedly seeing — not to mention the stalwart men's men who bravely accompany their girlfriends and wives to these films. You have to give them something to look at between all the girl-talk and winsome expressions.
This is what we want as a collective audience. We men want to identify with the charismatic playboy who finds the diamond in the rough. Women want to identify with the smart, sassy, everyday girl with one killer outfit that knocks the playboy off his horse. Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock are repeatedly given these roles because we're comfortable with their faces and with their schtik, and we like how they make us feel at the end when they finally kiss.
But, oh, does that swelling-music, circling camera, fuzzy-focus love ever truly happen in the real world? I think not. I believe it's a myth perpetuated by the Hollywood dream machine as "the hope."
And now I sorta have a thing for Sandra Bullock.
°
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Thematic Photographic #53 - Hittin' the Road
The theme over at Carmi's blog this week is "Road." My contribution below has appeared on my site before, during my drive to Montana and back in July last year. As soon as I saw "Road" as the theme, the image of this photo swam to the fore in my mind. I guess it's a powerful photo to me, and shows that there is still lots of wide-open land in our country.
Thanks, Carmi, for giving me the opportunity to share this one again.
Thanks, Carmi, for giving me the opportunity to share this one again.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Supercali...docious!
The review for my most recent EventChaser professional writing gig assignment has been posted. As a reminder, that's what that big orange badge is over on the left side of my blog page. Pop on over and see what I have to say about "Mary Poppins" on Broadway in Chicago, and maybe you'll want to head to Chicago to catch a performance before she leaves!
If, after you've read my review, you find yourself saying, "I can do better than that!" read up on how to become an EventChaser correspondent and, who knows? Next weekend you could be seeing a show for free and writing about it!
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If, after you've read my review, you find yourself saying, "I can do better than that!" read up on how to become an EventChaser correspondent and, who knows? Next weekend you could be seeing a show for free and writing about it!
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