Paper, Rock, Chainsaw

Indie movie making tip #1:
When these guys roll up next door as you begin a scene, a $20 handshake and muffins beats chainsaw.

Click here to download:

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Shit Happens

(FYI, this post requires the use of a bad word or two)

Miss Jackson is a cute dog and I'd say relatively polite. She likes tennis balls, swimming and taking dumps in people's yards.



The other day we took her and the hound for a walk. Miss J got so excited she dumped in our yard before we even left. So off we went, walkin' and talkin'. Sunshine was shining, cool breeze was breezing. Miss Jackson took her 2nd #2 in some nice person's yard. Not to be gross, but Miss J's poop sequels are always soft, sloppy affairs. It's like picking up toxic mashed potatoes. We always bring Kroger bags for this dirty work. I didn't realize I brought one with a giant hole. So you can guess what happened when I wrapped my hand around her pile of steampunk.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.

All over my hand. So I tried to wipe it off in the grass but the grass was dead. So all it did was push it around my fingers and hand. Green mashed potatoes were all over my hand and I didn't know what to do. So I ran across the street with the poop hanging out the bottom of the bag. I saw a blue newspaper bag with those advertisements that nobody keeps. I shoved that shit inside and felt proud. Like I put a fire out. Then Leah said, "Brad, what if that's somebody's paper?" I assured it wasn't as I looked down and saw the headline NEW YORK TIMES.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.

I smeared dog shit all over my neighbor's NY Times. The paper he or she probably only gets on the weekends. I imagined the ritual. The anticipation of walking down the driveway with a fresh coffee anxious to find out what Bloomberg did this week. I literally shit on that ritual.

I ran over to Leah, who by this time was abandoning me. "I'll just meet you at home, Brad," she said practically running way. I was all, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. And she was all, I DON'T KNOW YOU. So I ran back to the paper thinking it may not be that bad. Maybe it somehow didn't get on the actual paper.

It did. Sloppy taters were headline news.

So I took the paper and threw it in the guy's trash. And then caught up with my turncoat wife. When we got home I jumped in the car and drove around to all the area gas stations and drive thrus. Nobody sells the NY Times. Eventually I found it at Barnes and Noble. They didn't have any blue newspaper bags. Just big bags with their lousy name on it. So when that neighbor found his NY Times on his porch in a Barnes and Noble bag he must've been awfully confused.

If you're reading this blog, neighbor....my bad. I shouldn't have smeared dog shit on your New York Times. That was regrettable.

Haters Gonna Hate

This post is for all the haters.

Monday I went and saw my friend, Kim.

She owns Kim Harper Salon & Spa in Mason.

This place is fancy. They give you teas and coffees and magazines and robes while you wait for your hair to change colors. I didn’t partake of that. I was whisked into a room where they shampoo your hair for you. Wow. Someday, when I’m a Persian Prince I’m going to employ a hair washer. It’s so much better than washing your own.

After this, Kim cut my hair. She told me something that I want all you haters to hear. She said it’s a crime that I shaved my head all those years. She said I have great hair. She said I could be a Persian Prince. (not really. and I’m not sure where this prince stuff is coming from. maybe ‘cause Kim’s salon made me feel so royally fancy.)

Here’s me before the hair cut.

Here’s me a few days after getting it cut:

My friend Donna said I look less like a bobble head now. Thanks? Obviously I still look like a fuzzy bowling ball. Nothing’ll change that. My looks aren’t the real the point of this post. The real point is how great Kim is. She’s full of positive spunk that leaves you feeling like a million dollhairs. (wordplay!)

If you have hair go to her salon. She and her crew will make you feel special. And smell nice.

50,000 pennies video

We're shooting a video with a whole mess of pennies. Wanna be in it? If so, come to the Healing Center parking lot on Monday the 20th, 4-6pm. Bring your friends, kids, dogs, piglets. It'll be a good time and your face may end up on screen at our 25th anniversary celebration at the Cintas Center on October 3rd. No acting ability necessary. We won't ask you to do anything except smile. And hold one of these pennies. And then eventually give it back. See you on Monday!

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Dumby

If the proof wasn't in the "pudding" I accidentally dropped in the wrong powder room. Then I really did it this time.

Saturday morning I was upstairs doing a couple honey-dos before going to Nippert Stadium for the Cats' opener. I had Pandora playing on my iPhone in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. The office door was closed so I did what every total moron would do. I freed up my left hand by balancing the iPhone on top of the coffee mug. When I reached for the door knob...

Sploosh. iCreamer.

I yelped. Like a scared granny. I pulled my soaking phone out of the mug. Pandora was no longer playing. I ran downstairs and got online to find out what to do. Step one: Don't turn it on. Step two: Don't turn it on. Step three: Shake it dry.

So I started shaking it real good. And....accidentally broke the first two rules. I hit the power button, it turned on and fizzled off. I am seriously so dumb.

After 36 hours of drying in a bowl of rice (internet suggested), I drove to the Apple store on Monday. While in the mall parking lot I finished up a call on my loaner phone. I went into the store, failed at garnering enough sympathy to give me a free phone, and left with my iPaperweight.

I reached into my pockets for my car keys and they're weren't there. I left them in the ignition. I walked to the parking lot quite certain that my Jeep would be stolen. I had a vision of Letterman having me on his show for a segment called "Dumbest Dumdums Ever." He'd say, "So Brad, hee hee hee, you dropped your iPhone in your coffee mug, hee hee hee, and then when you went to get it fixed you left your keys in the ignition and your car got stolen?" I'd shake my head yes. Then that bald canadian would sing "It's Raining Dumb." I'd leave shamed.

Luckily, I still have my Jeep. No thieves in Kenwood that morning. And I still have my dead iPhone. What I don't have is a good feeling about my brain. It seems stupider as of late. I guess I blame the sugardiabetuss. (but not really)

Kingdom Wonderment

This post is about wonderment. I know you're expecting some amazing video. But I'm sorry. I'm gonna wax nostalgic for a hot minute.

I have foggy clear memories of walking some Florida beach at sunrise with my dad. I was just a little pup and still easily convinced to wake up early. We'd search for shells while that warm, yellow sun burped up out of that vast sea of, well....sea. All those shells scattered about, carried in from who knows where during the night. It made you think. There was a whole different world out there under that wave machine. I couldn't see it, really. But the colorful little bits I picked up and showed my dad was proof. There was most definitely something remarkable, something big, something mysterious out there.

This morning, I was reading this version of the Bible. Jesus (arrested), said this to Pilate.

"My kingdom isn't a geographical area, with counties and borders. If it were, my people would start a war rather than see me turned in so easily. No, my kingdom is totally other."

These words give me that same sense of wonderment I had as a tiny shell hunter. There's something out there. Something "totally other." It's an upside-down kingdom that I can't see entirely. But there are hints. Colorful bits. Proof that makes me want to wake up early and go looking for it.

Upcoming Film Project

We're gonna make a movie this fall (September 27-October 9) and if you're into that sort of thing, there's probably a way you can help. First, what's the film about?

I'm glad you asked.

It's about a one-armed, lion-tamer named Gus who hates crime.

It's about a teenager who never gets the girls. But then he finds out he's a werewolf who's really good at basketball and dancing and boom- human girl magnet.

It's about a pigeon.

Sorry. Here's the actual synopsis.

FENCES

Josh, a young white social worker, moves into a predominately African American neighborhood in Cincinnati. His next-door neighbor is George, a recently retired African American who doesn’t exactly welcome Josh into the neighborhood.

Over the course of one day, through a series of misinterpreted events, both Josh and George learn that in order to really become neighbors they are going to have to do the hard work of getting to know each other. Blurring (and sometimes crossing) the lines of racism and prejudice, both men discover that the real healing will only come in time…one genuine conversation at a time.

This movie is what they call a No-Budget film. We've been hustling the streets, begging, borrowing and stealing to get this sucker off the ground. We're making progress. But still need help.

We need people who can make a meal for a cast and crew of 15-20 hard working people. Or if you know a restaurant owner who could do the same...

We need boxes of energy-boosting snacks and drinks (granola bars, fruit snacks, fun-sized things, etc)

We need to talk to the owner/manager of the following places for locations:
Hotel
Convenience store (just need the exterior)
Gas station (exterior and a bathroom)
Car Wash
Suburban house with a patio room (or room with LOTS of windows) and laundry room

We need people who'd be willing to look thru a website listing all the props we need and loan/give us said props. (that website will hopefully be up next week)

We need someone who'd be willing to loan us a car for the out of town actors to use on their off days.

We need prayer. Lots of it. Excessive amounts of it.

We need doppler 5 to promise us there'll be no rain.

If you can help with any of these things, please email us at: film@vineyardcincinnati.com. Put what you can help with in the subject line.

Clarke + Orwig

Stuff I saw at my brother and sister-in-law's wedding:

Boobs. Yep. 50 year old floppers to be more exact. We were getting our pictures taken outside the hotel and some lady thought windows only work one way. She stood inches from the glass and watched us pose on church steps as she put her bra on. Five guys all at once said, "Did we just see....? Were those....?"

Doubt. As always, mothers of the bride never believe I can legally officiate their daughter's wedding. I've done three now and each time they've asked: "So you're sure you can legally do this...?"

Cry babies. Everywhere I looked people were crying. I had to dig deep to not join the tear party as Jana walked down the aisle. Not only because was she beautiful and smiling with a reckless abandon that made you dizzy with shared joy. But behind me were over 20 guys and gals doing that laugh/cry thing. And then beside me was Justin doing his best to ignore the tiny creek streaming down his cheek.

Am I a rapper?

Haters. I saw (and heard) a shocking number of people who truly hate my hair. I was seriously told the following things:

You look like a lesbian.
Take your wig off.
You look like you're wearing a bad piece.
Did Jana ask you to cut your hair? 'Cause that's a deal breaker.
You were so cute with a shaved head.
You look like John Mayer.
Why are you doing this?
Oh...wow...you have hair.

Embarrassed Aunts. Dr. Dad John Clarke was the best man and in his speech he told the story of when Justin was little and stole his Aunt Patty's maxi-pads and used them as soccer shin guards. When the doctor found them inside his son's socks Justin explained it was no big deal. "She has a whole box of em, dad!" Aunt Patty had never heard that story. She also doesn't love the spotlight and didn't know she and her pads were going to be featured.

N'Sync Redeux. The good doctor heard the DJ spin "Bye Bye Bye," and like a moth to the flame, he got sucked out onto the dance floor for a repeat performance of this infamous dance. It was like riding a bike for the old man and he dazzled the crowd yet again.

Unselfish Happiness. This might be my favorite part of weddings. Everyone was just sooooo happy. For Justin and Jana. I'm guessing the phrase, "I'm so happy for you guys!!!!" got shouted a billion times that night. It feels good to spend an evening being happy for someone else. Throw in a little wine, good food and dancing....hoo boy. Heaven.

I saw heaven this weekend. And it was pretty great.

Tables Confuse The Hound

Maybe it's her way of conquering her height-deficiency? Video below.

Download now or watch on posterous

IMG_0604.MOV (3256 KB)

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5-Minute Theory: Justice = Snipe Hunting

Crank that kitchen timer. I have five minutes to stew my juicy theory.

Wise-ass uncles trick anyone they can with old dodgeries like, "Hey...wanna go snipe hunting?" Then they get you all fired up for chasing the elusive snipe through the woods. Then they laugh in between sips of Budweiser about snipe not being a real thing. Classic.

Our relentless desire for justice is like hunting for snipe. It's silly because we can run through endless woods and we'll never find it. We have a insatiable need for justice. Fairness. When we're kids we're constantly clamoring about something not being fair. As adults we experience jealousy, depression, anger, bitterness, apathy when so and so gets something that we feel they don't deserve. We want things to be right. Every one of us has a tiny Judge Judy living in our stomach who bangs that gavel around when we see or experience something that isn't fair.

Well, life's not fair. It'd be sweet if it was. Just like it'd be sweet if every little kid had a hat made of snipe and mouth full of chewing tobacco. Davey Crocket style.

Man that time went fast. I should consider making it a ten minute theory.

Matchmaker

I know I'm old fashioned, but I believe every image on the internet has an audio soulmate. Pictures and sound were made for each other. The internet is a hard place for images and sound to meet sometimes. But sometimes love happens. Connection happens. I hooked these two up today. They were once just dust in the wind. Now they're a pair. I'm a matchmaker. I make matches. Find finds. Catch catches. Am I a hero? Probably. But a humble one. Unlike that Captain Sully Turkeyburger.