Tom Ruegger and the Vulture Project

Awoke this morning and shuffled to the kitchen minus crutches, moving at the pace of a very healthy 106-year-old. I look forward to greater adventures in the days to come.

Worked all last week on my animated script, then jumped into editing the short story. I finished Monday night, sending it out at almost 8k words. That comes out to 43 pages in New Courier font. A very exhausting process as I had to expand, add clarifying information and erase material simultaneously to stay under the word limit. Once again, a big thanks to the readers. An altered ending proved, I think, more satisfying and truer to what had been set-up. Electronic high-fives to all.

Which led me to yesterday morning. Paul Rugg, Sherri Stoner, Deanna Oliver, Tom Ruegger and myself gathered at a local studio for vulture recordings. Forging a long improvised story proved challenging, but Tom hauled us forward to a resolution. He seemed quite happy with the day's catch, and I have no reason to doubt we hooked more than we released. I felt weary and torpid the whole session. More sleep should improve my perspective. Meanwhile, Tom will add a lick of animatic and a dash of music to today's work and produce something to shop around.

And the studio was free of bees. I really liked that.

Hospital Cafe

While it appears I'm in a hospital, this is actually a station at the Hospital Cafe, a Hollywood eatery that aims to simulate a medical dining experience. You lie in bed with an IV pumping you full of drugs, and eat Jello-o and dried chicken while watching Hawaii 5-0 reruns. Ginger ale is served in a short plastic cup. For an additional fee, your waitress-practitioner will speak English, though at the level of a Saigon bar girl. ("You likee pillow, G.I.?") Actual minor surgery is available, but must be booked in advance as the doctors fly up from Trinidad. You leave the Hospital Cafe drained in fluids and cash, but ultimately feeling less than when you entered. The Hospital Cafe. Institutional food at a Five Star price.

Farewell to Bees

Sometimes I think of the house I sold last year, home to us for twelve years - longer than anywhere I'd ever lived. I miss watching the San Gabriel Mountains, especially at dusk, as the sun flung out massive shadows, burning a bright red as it dipped into the Pacific.

But I don't miss the stinking bees. (Or rabbits, or coyotes, but they have their separate tales.)

The bees didn't actually smell as in insects that stung and stunk up the place. But this time of year they'd swarm, and a swarm would descend on my house, and it would cost a hundred bucks to de-bee. Scouts arrived first, whistling, six hands in their pockets, pretending to pollinate a flower, but really casing the place. Next day I'd hear a loud buzzing from under the house or under an eave and once inside a gardening box on the balcony, indicating they'd successfully immigrated. You've heard the expression, "Busy as a bee?"Well they are brutally industrious. First they build a comb for the queen. If unmolested,  that modest little comb cottage will become a bee high-rise. After one of my Southeast Asia journeys, I returned after three weeks to find a massive bee sub-division. The structure they'd built on the underside of my split level was intricate and astounding, and heavy with honey. Even the exterminator was impressed, admitting later he'd used up all the poison in his canister just to whack this one mega colony. Stuck with clean-up, I had to climb a tall ladder and knock down the sub-division with a rake, ducking chunks of honey-filled wax dropping past my head to splat on the dirt.  This new mess had to be policed at once because various animals would be drawn to the scent of honey and die from bee poison. Hollywood is so much like that and it thrives on buzz. 

Anyway, today I finished my animated script, sent it in, invoiced and napped, and didn't have to bee wrangle. That's got me feeling pretty darn good. 

NOTE: I tried explaining all the above to the new owner, but he and his wife laughed merrily. "We love bees. My father wants to put a hive in the backyard." Clearly, this was a man who fancied bees, in a family of bee fanciers. I hope they still do.  

Another Ruegger Vulture Pic

Three vulture posts and three dead celebs over the last week: Ed, Farrah, Michael.

Those three in a road picture...

It would've been something.

Ruegger Vultures

More vultures from Tom Ruegger, who drew upon extensive meetings with mid-level animation executives.

Ruegger and the Scavengers

Vulture art from Tom Ruegger as Paul Rugg, Sherri Stoner, Deanna Oliver and I gear up to improv voices for vultures such as this one next week. Tom will then take the tracks and see what sort of animated mirth he can rustle up.

Still racing forward with the animation script, but I should make my Friday deadline. Also, thanks to the readers who got material back early. Big darn help seeing things from another perspective, plus good catches on the proofreading. Away with me now!

Confused by Success

Rushing to finish my animated script, and collate short story notes, by Friday. A check arrived for an outline last week. I hadn't seen a check in so long, I grew confused and called the Bomb Squad. Alas, they'd been laid off, but the city sent over a homeless man with a long bamboo pole. He poked the envelope, pronouncing it safe. I tipped him with a jelly glass of wine and a blueberry Nutri-Grain bar. Everyone left happy and how often does that happen dealing with the government?

Rock the Vote

Fun in Iran with this round going to the demonstrators. For about the first minute, it's a game of rock toss between demonstrators and Mullah Cops. But the crowd laps forward, then surges big time.

h/t: BBC Farsi Page via Ace of Spades.

Happy Father's Day!

Way to go, Dads! Youth and experience belong to the kids, but fathers possess cunning and hard-earned wisdom. As the philosopher Lao Ming once said, "The wise owl is the owl with a mouth full of mice, while the father with a mouth full of mice is often subdued by authorities."

Death of a Quasi-Famous Grandmother

Back from Pismo Beach (between Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo.) attending my wife's grandma's funeral service. Virginia reached 98,  once debating Richard Nixon as a sophomore at Whittier High School in, say, 1927? She claimed to have lost a close decision and nursed a grudge against the future president for many decades. Recently declassified White House documents indicate Virginia had, indeed, been robbed as Nixon paid another student to plant evidence with the principal that Virginia was insane. This effected the final tally, throwing the debate Nixon's way and convincing him that winning was more fun than high school.

 In any case, God bless Virginia. She outlived Nixon by fifteen years and certainly got her money's worth from this life. 

As a Matter of Fact...

A few remarks on Froynlaven's post: the films we viewed were ZONTAR The Thing from Venus and a Japanese horror movie with aliens and a city-busting monster that got bombed more than Berlin. (That's Irving Berlin, legendary song-writer and ferocious tippler. But more on that later.)

Paul was laid off from a dating show writing gig at CBS. I was working for a company called Mac Temps. They sent me out on day jobs to companies with Mac computers because they were so different. (Being a Mac Temp is a little like saying I used to dress in a bowler hat and spats like the cats on Mighty Mouse.) All this happened in December. The scripts we'd turned in looked like money for Christmas and more powdered donuts. But we were soon awash in real donuts, plus eclairs, bear claws, chocolate bars and fresh coffee so hot it made your teeth glow a fiery red. (Then again, we may have been drinking isotope water. I haven't felt well lately.) Tom Ruegger's assistant, the admirable Kathy Page, called later to set up a meeting with Tom and Sherri Stoner. Paul and I had made it! We were employed in TV animation - the back porch of show biz (according to certain ham-headed animation executives.)

That same day, Monday, December 16, Acme director M.D. Sweeney leased a store front in North Hollywood that would become the new home of Acme Comedy Theatre.

Low overhead and big checks - that was a fine, crackling time.



h/t: flixvendor