Hawaii post #1

Two important things to know about Hawaii:

1. It lives up to the hype tenfold. I’ve heard how great Hawaii is from Leah’s family since the late 90s. Maybe you have that person in your life. The one who is all, “Hawaii this and Hawaii that.” And you’re all, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Well, I promise, it’s about a million times better than any hype-monger will ever monger. Go there as soon as possible. It will change your life. No joke.

2. No matter what you’ve heard, using US dollars there is suuuuuuuper easy. You don’t have to mess with conversion rates or awkwardly shaped coins. Just straight up greenbacks. (I drove Leah crazy with that hilarious joke.)

So, I’m not sure how to go about talking about this trip. I’ll just share some pics. And tell you to go Leah’s blog. She’ll do a much better job than me.

We went to Pearl Harbor. Did you know that there’s still oil bubbling up from that day? I guess they refilled all the tanks right before the attack. More than anything else there, seeing that oil really struck a chord with me.

We went to Waikiki Beach (down the road from Honolulu). We saw Duke (the five-time Olympic medalist in swimming and grandfather of surfing) and ate at his restaurant. I had a fruity drink. Leah questioned my manhood. I ignored her and ate my pineapple garnish.

We left Oahu for the Big Island. Leah’s aunts Cindy and Adele greeted us with leis. The next morning we woke up and had breakfast on the lava cliffs in our backyard. I was sleepy. The sun rose up from the ocean. Fruit flies rose up from the lava.

That day Cindy took us around the island. I drove. In a Mustang convertible. Best decision ever upgrading to that bad boy. It’s like being the captain of a rollercoaster.

The next day we drove through mango groves for surf lessons from Steve (uncle) and Pono (cousin). I stood up for 1.5 seconds. Surfing is hands down the hardest sport I’ve ever tried. We then popped over to Steve’s co-worker’s beach house for some snorkeling in their pond. It’s naturally heated by lava tubes.

Alright. That’s enough for today. I have to go get a new TV remote from Time Warner. Lola ate ours while we were away. If you’re not too bored I’ll share some more pics later in the week. Aloha.

Aloha Means Goodbye

I have bad news for the internet. Dare I say epic tragic bad news. I'm unplugging for ten days. I'm going rogue. Off the grid. Amish style. Leah and I will be in Hawaii until October 23rd. I'm going to unlearn digital connectivity and go 100% analog. I'm leaving my phone and computer on the mainland. I know what you're thinking. How will you survive without me? Two words. Tuba Wolf. While I'm away, robbing you of my connectedness, I hope this award winning dance video provides you with some level of solace.

Happy Lil' Video

We Built a Fort

Welp. We did it. We made a feature film. It's kind of hard to believe that it's over. I feel a little like I did after my (and Leah's) wedding. Months and months and months of planning and then boom...it's done. Am I the only one who expects the thing you plan for to last as long as the planning? I'm not sure how to really process the experience. It's going to take months I think. But I want to attempt a quick reflective thought.

For me, making a movie felt like building a childhood fort in the woods. It was hard work full of challenges, missteps, hurdles and conflict, but every day I woke up excited to march out through the wet grass and keep building. We had a common goal, a purpose, a mission with a deadline. We had goals to hit hour by hour in order to accomplish a day's work. But it didn't feel like work. It felt like a group of friends, collaborators, builders all pooling their talents and resources to create something together. And honestly, our motivation was purely that. Sure we hope the movie will be good and find its way into theaters or DVD players. But the real reason we spent 12 hours a day working our tails off was because it's a magical thing to collaborate. We were building a fort together in the middle of a tall forest, completely lost in a project.

Cah Wash

Indie movie making tip #2: write scenes that benefit you personally. I needed a car wash, so...

Click here to download:

ATT00001.c (0 KB)

Posted via email from Brad's posterous

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:

ATT00001.c (0 KB)

Posted via email from Brad's posterous

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!

Posted via email from Brad's posterous

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)