Man, I have had the weirdest week.
I know that I must say that at least twice each and every week since I've been here, but I think this one takes the cake!
I was at work last Wednesday at the rehearsal studio. I had been at my other job all day, so by the time I got to Ultrasound, I was incredibly tired. I only had a few bands spaced out here and there over the evening. Normally, while the bands rehearse, I sit in this hallway, in case they have any stupid questions like: "Why am I not getting any sound out if the bass amp?" (Generally, it helps if you turn it on jackass)
So, during a break in the "action" [this joke will be funnier in a minute], I got up and used the restroom. A short time later, as I'm counting the seconds pass by, a weird looking bald guy walks by me on his way to the bathroom. He's singing at the top of his lungs, but not listening to anything like an Ipod or cd player. Immediately, I think the guy is a nutjob [this will also be funnier in a bit]. The guy apparently takes care of his "business" [c'mon....there is a pattern developing here], and walks back by, still belting it out at a ridiculous volume for a capella.
About ten minutes later, it was close to the time when the last band in my section would be finished so I decided to start cleaning up. My cleaning duties are relatively easy in that I have a few chairs to pick up and clean the bathroom. The latter is where the problem started. I walked into the room with my bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels to clean the rim of the toilet and the sink. It was at this point in time that I happened to look into the toilet and notice a condom floating in all of its recently used glory. To further elaborate on the situation, the bathroom in my section is a one seater, and nobody had been into it since our buddy left.
Obviously disgusted, I went downstairs to ask if the other techs had seen the guy on our video monitoring system. They said they had seen him walk into room "6" [which is funny, because it is only one letter removed from 'sex']. I at this point ran upstairs to tell my manager, Jeff, the situation. He jumps from the chair behind his desk and hurries downstairs to inspect the situation. By this point, without the security of my watchful, but very tired, eyes....someone had used the toilet and flushed our evidence. Thankfully, Jeff took my word for it and we hauled of to the rehearsal room in question.
In most of the studios, there are opposite-facing double doors that serve as sound proofing. As Jeff opens one and begins to open the other, someone from the inside begins to push against the door in order to prevent entry to the room.
Disclaimer: For kids that are reading this unsupervised by an adult 21 years or older, please ask your parents before continuing. What follows is an eyewitness account of the events, complete with dialogue, profanity, nudity, and pornographic material. Thank you.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW!" Jeff screams through the tiny crack between the door and its frame.
The door opens slowly to reveal six persons, (Four men and two women) all of whom are completely naked, three of which are engaged in sexual intercourse.
Some of the naked people are holding a video camera and another is aiming a light fixture toward the afformentioned action. [get it now?]
"Oh shit" Jeff mutters, hanging his head. "Stop whatever it is you're doing. Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of my studio!"
Startled and apparently embarrassed, the "actors" scramble to get dressed and out of trouble as soon as possible.
"We're awfully sorry about this, man" says one guy, hiking his shorts on to cover his junk.
"How the hell do you people think that this is ok?" asks Jeff. "Do we look like a porn studio to you? You guys don't even have instruments for Christ's sake!"
"I'm a drummer," says another guy, who happened to be standing behind the drumkit.
Without skipping a beat, Jeff scratches out "That's a shame, kid. 'Cause it looks like you've only got one stick." (can i get a rimshot, please?)
So that's my story. Funny how life happens. I can't express to you how weird it feels to go into work now, not having any clue what I might walk-in on. So keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming porno movie, filmed on location at Ultrasound Studios.
Maybe if I'm really lucky and/or they forgive me for ratting on them, I can get a song into the film or on the soundtrack!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Sunday, August 7, 2005
Two Month Anniversary and Crabby Old Ladies
So today is now two months that I've been lost in this giant city. I've had some interesting times the last few weeks and I hope desperately that I can describe them all to you accurately before I have to go to work.
Anyone that has ever met me has most likely met me while I was wearing my most prized posession, my Kansas City Royals hat. I'm a huge baseball fan, and spend entirely too much time obsessing about the Royals, even though they are the worst team in baseball (two years running). I wear my hat proudly and have done so for at least six years now. I always am delighted to see someone else show support for my favorite bunch of losers, and usually inclined to point out that I, too, am wearing my KC hat (because I usually am).
About a week ago now, I was on a train home from Brooklyn and was about to transfer trains. As the train came to its usually screeching halt, and as I waited patiently for the doors to magically open, I noticed a portly young gentlemen with a bright, shiny, new Royals hat on his pudgy head. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretching into a big smile. As I exited the train and he began to board, I casually made a comment "Hey man, nice hat!" Now, I can see how one might have taken my phrasing, out of context, as demeaning or rude. But I swear to you, I said it with a degree of elation in my voice that is usually only found in toddlers who are thanking their parents for the Tickle Me Elmo doll they just unwrapped from under the Christmas tree. I was flat out STOKED that this guy was wearing a Royals lid. And like any true New Yorker, he turned and looked at me (somehow not noticing that I was wearing the exact same hat he was) and said "Fuck You."
Last Monday, I started my new job as an art handler at the Noguchi Museum in Queens. The first day went off without a hitch. I have to be in Queens by 9am, so I have to leave my apartment at roughly 8am. Being that I hate mornings and struggle to rip myself from the comfort of my deep sleep, I have very little extra time in the morning to sit down to a well-balanced breakfast. So as I get into Queens early Tuesday morning, I exit the Subway Station to catch my bus transfer, the trusty Q103, to take me all the way to the museum. I noticed that I had a few minutes before the bus came barrelling down Vernon Blvd, so I popped into a deli and purchased a muffin and a pint of orange juice ("It comes in pints?!"). I must have timed it perfectly because just as I exited the afforementioned deli, the bus was seemingly waiting for me to board. I got on and sat down pretty close to the front. At this point, it was only me, the bus driver, and this old guy with the HUGE wrap-around sunglasses.
So I begin my meal, being a diabetic, by taking my blood sugar, calculating the correct amount of insulin and then, in crude terms, shooting up. Yes, there are needles involved in my process, and I never realized how other people might take it when they saw me shooting up. Forgive me for the graphic description to follow, but just as I inserted the needle into yhe region around my belly, the old guy pipes up with a "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!?!?!?!??"
I have to explain to you the weeny, whining, drawl this poor sap used when he spoke. Do you remember the Jerky Boys? They were huge back in the mid-90s or so, and they had a character named Sal Rosenburg who was a nerdy guy who complained about everything from his "hemmerroids" to how fava beans had made him ill. If you can place this character's voice, please use the sound of that voice to hear how this guy on the bus talked.
After I explained that I was a diabetic and was taking my insulin to the old man, he proceeded to tell me that he "came from the Optometrist," (apparently explaining the absurdly oversized sunglasses) and that "they told me I have no diabetes in my eyes." Of all the conversations to get into with strangers......
For my final installation, I'd like to begin by saying that northerners are generally much more rude individuals than southerners.
Mabe has been here for the last week or so, and it has been quite awesome to have a friend around. It makes me realize that I miss my friends and I am very happy to have her visiting. We got to go to the Mets game yesterday at Shea Stadium. It was her first Major League Baseball game and it was a blast that the Mets won 2-0.
As we're riding our series of trains home, the subway was packed. I was resigned to standing near the door because of lack of seating. I was not the only one in the doorway, much less the other doorways were also full of people. Generally, as people got onto the subway I would squeeze myself into the corner in an effort to make it easy for the people boarding the train to get into the doorway. As we got to the 59th Street station, a lady (who was the first to get on at that stop, with ten other people behind her) taps me on the shoulder and proceeds to complain "Don't stand in the doorway! It makes it hard to get on the train!" I told her that I'd work on that and as she walked away to a freshly untaken seat, she mutters "Asshole!"
Nobody that got on after her, including a lady carrying a baby palm tree, complained to me about my position in the doorway. Two of them even made fun of the lady's complaint and got me to giggle a bit. The lady huffed and puffed the whole time she was on the train and got off at 72nd Street, only two stops up.......why couldn't she just walk the thirteen blocks? Lazy.
So those are my most recent adventures. Until next time.
Same Crap Time, Same Crap Channel.
Anyone that has ever met me has most likely met me while I was wearing my most prized posession, my Kansas City Royals hat. I'm a huge baseball fan, and spend entirely too much time obsessing about the Royals, even though they are the worst team in baseball (two years running). I wear my hat proudly and have done so for at least six years now. I always am delighted to see someone else show support for my favorite bunch of losers, and usually inclined to point out that I, too, am wearing my KC hat (because I usually am).
About a week ago now, I was on a train home from Brooklyn and was about to transfer trains. As the train came to its usually screeching halt, and as I waited patiently for the doors to magically open, I noticed a portly young gentlemen with a bright, shiny, new Royals hat on his pudgy head. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretching into a big smile. As I exited the train and he began to board, I casually made a comment "Hey man, nice hat!" Now, I can see how one might have taken my phrasing, out of context, as demeaning or rude. But I swear to you, I said it with a degree of elation in my voice that is usually only found in toddlers who are thanking their parents for the Tickle Me Elmo doll they just unwrapped from under the Christmas tree. I was flat out STOKED that this guy was wearing a Royals lid. And like any true New Yorker, he turned and looked at me (somehow not noticing that I was wearing the exact same hat he was) and said "Fuck You."
Last Monday, I started my new job as an art handler at the Noguchi Museum in Queens. The first day went off without a hitch. I have to be in Queens by 9am, so I have to leave my apartment at roughly 8am. Being that I hate mornings and struggle to rip myself from the comfort of my deep sleep, I have very little extra time in the morning to sit down to a well-balanced breakfast. So as I get into Queens early Tuesday morning, I exit the Subway Station to catch my bus transfer, the trusty Q103, to take me all the way to the museum. I noticed that I had a few minutes before the bus came barrelling down Vernon Blvd, so I popped into a deli and purchased a muffin and a pint of orange juice ("It comes in pints?!"). I must have timed it perfectly because just as I exited the afforementioned deli, the bus was seemingly waiting for me to board. I got on and sat down pretty close to the front. At this point, it was only me, the bus driver, and this old guy with the HUGE wrap-around sunglasses.
So I begin my meal, being a diabetic, by taking my blood sugar, calculating the correct amount of insulin and then, in crude terms, shooting up. Yes, there are needles involved in my process, and I never realized how other people might take it when they saw me shooting up. Forgive me for the graphic description to follow, but just as I inserted the needle into yhe region around my belly, the old guy pipes up with a "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!?!?!?!??"
I have to explain to you the weeny, whining, drawl this poor sap used when he spoke. Do you remember the Jerky Boys? They were huge back in the mid-90s or so, and they had a character named Sal Rosenburg who was a nerdy guy who complained about everything from his "hemmerroids" to how fava beans had made him ill. If you can place this character's voice, please use the sound of that voice to hear how this guy on the bus talked.
After I explained that I was a diabetic and was taking my insulin to the old man, he proceeded to tell me that he "came from the Optometrist," (apparently explaining the absurdly oversized sunglasses) and that "they told me I have no diabetes in my eyes." Of all the conversations to get into with strangers......
For my final installation, I'd like to begin by saying that northerners are generally much more rude individuals than southerners.
Mabe has been here for the last week or so, and it has been quite awesome to have a friend around. It makes me realize that I miss my friends and I am very happy to have her visiting. We got to go to the Mets game yesterday at Shea Stadium. It was her first Major League Baseball game and it was a blast that the Mets won 2-0.
As we're riding our series of trains home, the subway was packed. I was resigned to standing near the door because of lack of seating. I was not the only one in the doorway, much less the other doorways were also full of people. Generally, as people got onto the subway I would squeeze myself into the corner in an effort to make it easy for the people boarding the train to get into the doorway. As we got to the 59th Street station, a lady (who was the first to get on at that stop, with ten other people behind her) taps me on the shoulder and proceeds to complain "Don't stand in the doorway! It makes it hard to get on the train!" I told her that I'd work on that and as she walked away to a freshly untaken seat, she mutters "Asshole!"
Nobody that got on after her, including a lady carrying a baby palm tree, complained to me about my position in the doorway. Two of them even made fun of the lady's complaint and got me to giggle a bit. The lady huffed and puffed the whole time she was on the train and got off at 72nd Street, only two stops up.......why couldn't she just walk the thirteen blocks? Lazy.
So those are my most recent adventures. Until next time.
Same Crap Time, Same Crap Channel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)