Monday, January 14, 2013

Instant Mobile Writing Den

Ingredients:


1 iPad



1 Bluetooth Keyboard



1 Automobile Cockpit


Instructions:


Turn automobile steering wheel 180-degrees from "straight."


Tilt steering wheel to desired angle (if so equipped)

Nestle iPad against center of wheel, resting on the inner circumference of wheel.

Place Bluetooth Keyboard on lap or clipboard.



Commence writing.



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Sunday, January 13, 2013

Vibes

We often refer to animals and their instinctual drives. How does a dog know to steer her newborn pups to her teats? How does a bear know when it's time to hibernate?

These are rhetorical questions. Please don't send in your answers...

But we less often refer to our own instincts as human beings. Our world has been so dismantled in regard to how things work and why; the basic necessities of our lives have been so institutionalized, so simplified, that we have no clue how we would ever survive if all the niceties disappeared tomorrow.

But — somehow — we probably would.

We have so modernized and simplified our world and our lives that we rarely rely on our instincts. But they still crop up at times, even when our power of reason in the civilized world would rather they didn't.

Most of us deal every day with a wide assortment of people. I drive a taxi, so I probably spend time with more than my fair share. What is it with certain people — or us — that at mere sight or sound of them, we react the way we do? Positive or negative, we sometimes have a strong feeling about someone. Intuition. A "vibe." Something triggers it, but what? There are the more obvious signs. If someone is just bat-shit crazy, we tend to get out of their way...and out of their sight. But others...

The night before this writing I picked up a passenger near the local commuter train station. Within seconds of getting in the car, she was on a rant about the police a couple towns down the tracks who wouldn't give her a ride to a particular spot because she's "not from around here," and was lost. I wanted to tell her that the police aren't in the habit of giving people rides unless it's to the police station, but something told me I was better off grunting in a way that sounded like I sympathized with her, if not in total agreement. Not quite bat-shit, but still on the crazy end of the spectrum. A few more minutes into the ride and I learned that her destination was a homeless shelter at a church, and suddenly I was worried that I might not get paid for the ride. A 50/50 vibe: I was half-right. She was a bit off her rocker, but she had enough money to pay for the ride.

This afternoon another woman called for a taxi from the hotel where I often sit and wait for dispatched fares. I pulled up to the door and out came a hardy looking woman in a camouflage military field jacket and carrying a stuffed backpack. She said, merely, "I saw you comin' from across the way," and I instantly disliked her. Why? A vibe. Something in the delivery, something in the timbre of her voice... something. And then she went off on a rant about the taxi driver who brought her to the hotel who had tried to run up the fare on her. Maybe she had a vibe about taxi drivers in general, and her suspicion spoke to me on some subconscious level?

I'm no expert on the subject ...or on any subject... but I think I wouldn't be far off the mark to surmise that the vibes we get from other people harken back to the days when our species used rocks and sticks to kill for their food, and roamed about the planet in search of a better place to live. When the people of one clan encountered the people of another, their instincts told them whether or not to trust the other. I think today modern humans still feel those instincts — sometimes in true fight or flight moments of danger — but more often in those instantaneous thoughts of "This guy's a loser," or "This woman is bat-shit crazy!" I suppose it's the same for those "love at first sight" moments, too. Just as you may know someone is an example of Darwinian bottom-rung advancement, some of us also know when we see the right person for us...we just sometimes never get the opportunity to express that...Jennifer Aniston, I'm referring to you!

Saturday, January 12, 2013

"I'm Somebody, Now!"

Several months back, during the heat of the summer, I responded to a dispatch of a fare in Arlington Heights, the town in which I spend most of my time at work. It was a little old lady whom I had picked up before, and she usually goes only a few blocks, so I knew it was going to be a small fare.

My job is pretty boring; not in the "I want to kill myself I'm so bored" way — I mean, I do get to meet some interesting people — but there's not a great deal of excitement in my typical day.

However, on this particular day, as I was heading to pick up the boring fare, a peculiar sight crossed my view. It happened too quickly for me to take a photo, and my sense of duty to some boring old lady waiting for her boring taxi ride in the heat of the boring day wouldn't allow me to follow it so I could take a photo, as this was certainly something worth blogging or Facebooking about. And after I dropped off the fare I tried to find it again, tried to guess what route it might have taken, but I failed. I never saw the Google Maps StreetView car again.

But then a thought occurred to me. I may not have gotten a photo of the Google Maps StreetView car (it was clearly marked as such!), but he may have gotten a photo of me!

Then I meant to at least mention it on Facebook, but a day got past me, and then another. And another. And soon I had forgotten all about it.

But tonight, as I was chatting online with a friend who lives in Italy, I took to Google Maps to check out her town...and I remembered the incident from last summer! I feverishly checked StreetView in Arlington Heights...

(Edit 12/13/15: As Google Maps updates its Street View annually, the original link I had posted here no longer shows my taxi in the image — if it loads at all. In its place is this screen grab I made at the time it was current. ATG)

THAT'S ME!! I'm Google Famous! Sorta. They blurred out my license plate and cab numbers. However, if you click on the "+" at the upper left corner of the image above, and then click and hold on the image to move it around, you can see two things: you can just barely make out my cab number — 573 — on the green oval on the driver's side rear passenger door; and you can just barely see the shocked and excited look on my face as I saw the Google Maps StreetView car driving past! You can find this image on your own if you Google Maps Arlington Heights, Illinois, zoom to the corner of Sigwalt and Evergreen streets, drag the StreetView guy to the south point of the intersection and rotate the view to see my taxi.

I'll bask in this sudden fame for, oh... about a minute or so. I have other blog posts to get to....



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Tuesday, January 08, 2013

The Birth of Stuff

SCHAUMBURG, IL - It started with an awkward-seeming proposition 33 years ago in Chicago Heights, Illinois. A tentative friendship had begun in an English class at Bloom High School between sophomores Sam Lapin and Tony Gasbarro, until Lapin leaned across the aisle and asked Gasbarro, "You want to make a movie with me this weekend?"

Uncertain if the engaging, quirky-humored Lapin didn't have an ulterior motive, Gasbarro shrugged off the nagging suspicion Lapin might be a serial killer and accepted the offer, and waited to see what was in store.

That weekend the boys together finished what Lapin had started, a short, stop-action animated film, "Battle on Planet 9," shot, and later edited by Lapin, on the venerable Super8 film format. It was the first of many films involving the two.

"It was all Sam's equipment," recalls Gasbarro today. "The camera, the lights, the markers, the paper, the Legos!" The popular building toy — of which Lapin was then and is still today a devotee — made up many of the miniature sets and even some characters of "Planet 9" and later films the pair were part of.

"The Legos were mine," says Lapin, "but the camera was an old Bell & Howell from the sixties or early seventies handed down from my brothers. It was great because it had a shutter release capability for taking one frame at a time" which made stop-motion animation possible. Adds Lapin, "I had a movieola-type viewer for editing I think I got at a flea market. It worked great until Tony broke it."

Gasbarro changes the subject and adds that even Lapin's family cats were frequently employed as stars, extras and props. "Cookie, Bunny and Little Bit," recalls Lapin. "They were great cats...but temperamental film stars."

For their first collaboration, Gasbarro and Lapin felt their partnership needed a name, and after deliberating for several long seconds, they came up with Cheap Productions, Inc., and an equally hastily designed logo of a grimacing sun with one of its corona flopped over. Or was it a flower with a wilted petal? Gasbarro says he does not remember.

"Tony designed and drew it," says Lapin. "He was the artist." Lapin's comment draws a self-effacing guffaw from Gasbarro, who then shakes his head. "Well," Lapin adds, "he was absolutely useless with the Legos. I certainly wasn't going to let him build the sets or the space ships!"

Lapin and Gasbarro soon got their other friends, the bulk of Bloom High School's theatre department, involved in the filmmaking effort, which continued as a film consisting of random, mostly original, silent, sight-gag sketches, inspired largely by the British "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "Benny Hill" television comedy programs in local syndication at the time.

The film was made up of "just plotless, improvised scenes," says Gasbarro. "It was just stuff, hence the title. 'Stuff.'"

Consisting mainly of gags created with in-camera edits and general teenage boy silliness, the film was a hit with their audience - which was mainly the group of filmmakers themselves. Encouraged by the film's success and the fun they had making it, the group endeavored to make another, and a genre was born: the Stuff Film.

While Lapin and Gasbarro continued to work on more plot-oriented film ideas, which were usually conceived by Lapin before collaboration shaped them into stories, the Stuff films seemed - in their minds - to take on a life of their own, and they saw a need to separate them from the Cheap Productions label. A few more moments of deep thought bore the conception of Stuff Enterprises, a subsidiary of Cheap Productions, Inc.

"Stuff 2" quickly followed the first Stuff film, and then both companies, recently separated and each run by... well, everyone ...then collaborated for their first mixed live-action/animation - not to mention title-melding - film, "Stuff 3: The Stuff From Outter [sic] Space," in which some kind of stuff from - you guessed it - outer space lands on earth and commences to eating everyone and everything in rapid, blob-like fashion, growing with each thing it consumes until it climbs a tall building and fends off several flying machines which appear to merely be flying at it for the sole purpose of drama and of being swatted out of the sky or eaten. The blob is finally defeated by a super laser which reduces the blob to the size of a gum ball, at which point it rolls off the edge of the building and falls into the hands of a young man, played by Lucio Martinez, who mistakes it for - what else - a gum ball and pops it into his mouth. Sequel, anyone?

"Stuff 3" was soon followed by "Stuff 4: Close Encounters of the Lowest Budget Kind," in which a space alien arrives to earth in a vehicle incredibly similar to the one that delivered the stuff from outter [sic] space and then turns all the young men and one lone woman - in what appears to be some sort of communal flop house - into fresh produce.

A laughing Gasbarro recalls, "Alice [Petrongelli, who portrayed the woman] neutralizes the alien with a food processor and then tearfully collects all of us who had been turned into vegetables. Even though her boyfriend [now husband, Rich Wolff] was cast as the stalk of celery, she lovingly kisses me, portrayed by an eggplant, before placing us all into the crisper in the refrigerator! And then she places only half of Kevin [Uliassi], who was turned into two grapefruit, into the drawer!" Gasbarro's laughter trails off, and then he sighs, his face withdrawing back to an expressionless gaze, and he says, "I guess you had to be there."

The fifth - and what turned out to be the final - Stuff film was titled, "Stuff 5: Slash Gorgon in the 23rd Century," an obvious take off of the earlier, major motion picture, "Flash Gordon in the 25th Century." "To give the impression," Gasbarro chuckles, "that ours was first."

But the sun soon set on Cheap Productions, Inc., and Stuff Enterprises as the older members of the company completed their senior year at Bloom and matriculated, and then Lapin, Gasbarro and Martinez followed the next year.

The Cheap Productions/Stuff Enterprises film library still exists in a box stored in Gasbarro's leased storage space in Schaumburg, and he and Lapin have continued to dream of once again making films together.

After Lapin finished his graduate studies, his path led him into education. Gasbarro followed the path into broadcasting and video production, in his own right continuing as a filmmaker, albeit for advertisers and corporate entities.

But a run of hard luck in the economic crash of the first decade of this century and the eventual lay-off from his job as a videographer led Gasbarro into an unlikely secondary career as a taxi driver.

"It certainly wasn't what I ever wanted to do with my life, but I had to pay bills," says Gasbarro. "I always liked to drive. I saw it as a thing to do until I got back on my feet."

Three years later Gasbarro is still behind the wheel of his taxi, which he now owns. Says Gasbarro, "It is incredibly liberating to be your own boss, and this allows me to be very flexible" as he still chases freelance video production work.

Though he doesn't own the taxi dispatch company, he does own the company that operates the taxi. And its name? "I thought a lot about the hopes and dreams I had to put on a shelf as my career led me more and more into TV and video production, and of how Sam and I have often mentioned collaborating again," Gasbarro muses. "So I thought, what better way to keep that dream alive than to pay homage to what we created as goofy, stupid teenagers?"

He named his company Stuff Enterprises, LLC, with Lapin's blessing.

"Even though it was originally the other way around," says Gasbarro, "I thought 'Enterprises' lent itself better to the prospect of launching other companies under its umbrella, so anything else would be subsidiary."

Is Cheap Productions one of those companies under that umbrella? Well, no. At least not yet. But Gasbarro has some ideas.

"Right now I operate the taxi as Stuff Enterprises," Gasbarro says, "but I hope to eventually operate it as another name under Stuff. And I still get the occasional video gig, and hope to get more. So I eventually hope to possibly name the video company Cheap Productions as a Stuff Enterprises enterprise," he chuckles at his own nerdy humor, and then he adds, "with Sam's permission, of course!"

But Gasbarro's nascent business sense surfaces at the idea. "That wouldn't be such a great name for a serious video production company, though, would it?"



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Friday, January 04, 2013

A Boat Missed

I wish I knew how to write music. So much of it I hear on the radio these days speaks to me, and I wish I could express myself in the medium. To convey a thought with such an economy of words, constrained to rhythm and meter, and in a string of notes and note blends that appeal to the ear is a talent that eludes my grasp. I have played with a musical keyboard and dabbled with a few notes, and found an appealing blend, but only in a very few instances, and never in a complete song structure. Never have I been able to put words to the music I've made.

When I was a kid, my family couldn't afford lessons for even one kid, let alone seven. My oldest brother, Jim, back when he had only two or three siblings (all sisters at that point), had accordion lessons, which he ...yes, accordion lessons. He recalls hating the lessons. Not long after that my parents were no longer able to continue paying for the lessons, and Jim reached the point of independence where he decided he didn't want to continue with them, either. Today he states that he wishes he had continued with the lessons, not for any latent passion for the accordion, but for the understanding of music that he has lost since quitting.

It seems to be a theme with many people I have known: "tedious" instrument and music lessons in childhood, to the point of a demonstrated lack of interest, or an out and out refusal to continue, and a consequent regret later in life of letting go of the lessons.

But I have my parents to thank for their acquisition of accordion lessons for my big brother because long after Jim had ventured off into his life, his accordion remained in our home. Brother #2, Dan, occasionally hauled out the accordion and played a few notes, pecking out the melody of a song here and there. His exploration of music piqued my interest, but I was still too small to heave the thing up onto my chest, and the straps over my shoulders to play with it. Fortunately, though, my parents had also one Christmas bought a cheapo Magnus chord organ, a plastic encased chamber with a feeble plastic fan inside that blew air across plastic reeds, resulting in a plastic tone. The organ allowed for unlimited polyphonics from the black and white keys as well as ten-button bank of preset chords in major and minor, but the more keys you pressed at one time, the less volume you got from the organ, as the pathetic fan couldn't blow enough air across all the open reeds, resulting in a sound not much unlike that from an emphysemic harmonica player.

The organ had come with a complement of music books that, despite bars of treble clef with the appropriate notes present, led this music novice through the songs via numbered notes corresponding to numbered keys, along with chord tabs in the pertinent places. Brother #2 inspired me here also, as he would tinker on it as well as with the accordion, which challenged me to imitate and reproduce the sounds he made. And as I had easy access to it, with none of the heavy lifting that the accordion required, I could at a pretty early age indulge my curiosity freely.

My parents — for reasons of their sanity, I think — made a permanent place for the organ in our basement, where anyone's tinkering with it wouldn't disturb anyone else in the house trying to do homework, watch TV or sleep. Yes, the organ at its loudest was so feeble that its sound carried not much further than the next room.

Eventually my frame grew big and strong enough that I could handle the weight and girth of the accordion. But since I couldn't read music, the accordion required me to use my imagination. I was never quite able to figure out the maze of the left-hand side chord pad, but the melodies I recalled from the Magnus Chord Organ books kept me occupied trying to find those damn chords, and, losing interest there, I experimented with chords and melodies with my right hand.

Thus began my love for keyboards. From that time forward no piano or electronic keyboard left unattended escaped my attention. If I could get away with tinkering on it, I would. That still lasts to this day as when I run across a keyboard in a department store electronics department, or I find myself in the home of someone who owns a piano, I quite seriously itch to play with it.

As an adult I find myself wishing my parents had "subjected" me to music lessons. I wonder how differently the few brief musical expressions I have created in my tinkering would have come out, how much more I may have been able to develop them had I some real depth to my musical knowledge.

The Comeback Tour

I rarely make New Year's resolutions. However, in 2012 I began to feel a slave to Facebook. It's certainly a fun pastime, but when I found myself passing all of my time just trying to catch up with everything my friends had been up to in the prior 24 hours, 16 hours, 12 hours, four hours, 15 minutes — however frequently I could get back to check — when I spent irretrievable hours, often past midnight, composing rebuttals to the posts of friends whose political opinions run counter to mine, I knew I had to change something.

I look back at this blog and see the span of time since I last posted something here, at the increasing intervals between posts up to that point.

Facebook did that.

Granted, in my blogging I had pretty much indulged just about every last random thought I had in my head — well... there are some I would do well to keep wrapped in the moist folds of my brain — but I have also fallen out of the practice of harnessing the energy of contemplation, of snatching a thought from the murky depths of my rambling mind and pinning it down for further rumination, of expressing myself in written form. I claim to be a writer, for crap's sake, and I had relegated myself to conjuring puns — clever puns, if I may say so myself — that nevertheless garnered groans and tepid applause from my stable of loyal — if not entirely supportive — friends.

So, to the best of my ability, I resolve to set Facebook on a higher shelf to make myself less likely to take it down to play with, yet keep it within reach, and to return Farrago to the easy-reach spot it occupied once long ago.

Wish me luck.