The Factory Floor

Tequila Doesn't Help

Before I tell you this story, I have to specify that in the interest of accuracy, I shall refer to the past weekend as “Cuatro de Mayo weekend.” While most would probably refer to it as “Cinco de Mayo weekend,” this is incorrect as Cinco de Mayo fell on a Monday, which as you may know, is not the weekend.

If Cinco de Mayo were a nationally recognized holiday -- and by that I mean a holiday for which we were not required to go to work -- I could, without hesitation, refer to it as Cinco de Mayo weekend. But alas, the people who decide these things generally hate Mexicans. The fact that Cinco de Mayo is celebrated more in the U.S by non-Mexicans than in Mexico by Mexicans is a study in, if not irony, at least clever alcohol industry marketing.

Besides, introducing the term "Cuatro de Mayo" allows me to add the catchphrase I coined and used all weekend in regard to the little celebration my friends and I had on Sunday: “Cuatro de Mayo. Like Cinco de Mayo, but we did it first.”

Also, since every cantina is packed on Cinco de Mayo, I came up with an as-of-yet untested new holiday -- Cinco de Mayos, which would be celebrated at Greek restaurants where people would eat seasoned meats and drink ouzo.

Now, that I’ve explained all that, here’s what happened Cuatro de Mayo weekend. I made a retarded joke about a guy who I later discovered is actually mentally challenged. Then, I kicked a puppy.

Take That, Stereotype!

My wife doesn’t think this is a big deal, but I optioned another script today. Before you assume my wife is a party-pooper, I should clarify that it shouldn’t be a big deal because the deal is with the producer I mentioned before -- the one I really like and who believes in my abilities, blah, blah, blah. We’ve been working with her on it for some time. We all knew she was going to take it and run with it. So, the option agreement is really just a formality. But, I still think it’s cool. It's official now.

I also met a couple of other producers I like just as much. Like, if we hadn’t met about a project and I just ran into them at some party or something, I’d still want to hang out with them. All this activity is a stark contrast to the crap-tastic fucknut I dealt with a couple of years ago. It’s heartening to know that, if you work hard enough and remain patient, you can still find people in Hollywood who aren’t complete assholes.

The Story Of A Blogger

Things seem to have turned around for my wife and me this year. Nothing major, just a general feeling of hope and excitement. And yes, some good things are happening, but I’ll write about all that later. Calm down, Pushy McPusherton.

My wife chalked it up to the fact that, just over seven years ago, we accidentally broke our massive bathroom mirror and we’ve only recently come out from under the “Seven Years of Bad Luck” curse. Seems rational and logical to me.

I, of course, chalk it up to the upcoming Indiana Jones film. Those movies are awesome. And Cate Blanchett? Meow. What? It could be the reason.

Hey, have you seen “Perfume - The Story of a Murderer”? It was in theaters for, like, a day last year. I just saw it and I can’t believe just how absolutely fucking stellar it is. No, there’s no joke coming. I’m serious. It’s simultaneously beautiful and dark and funny and unique and tragic. It was like a fairy tale told in a real-ish world. I mean it. If things weren’t going so well with my wife, I’d marry “Perfume.” There. There’s your joke.

Um... not much else to report... I saw James Woods dropping off his dry cleaning a few weeks ago. That was neat.... Yes, sir. Neat.

The Perfect Comedy Gift

Have you heard about the British multi-millionaire dude who was taped participating in a Nazi-themed S&M orgy? There are so many things... It’s just that... What I don’t get... Sometimes, when something like this occurs, I am overwhelmed at the blissfully absurd gift from God. S&M. Orgy. Nazi. They all seem sort-of random yet, put together, the phrase provides me with so much joy.

Here’s the breakdown. Max Mosley is the head-honcho of Formula One racing. It’s huge in Europe. It’s like NASCAR, but instead of beer, they drink good beer. And maybe eat some biscuits.

Anyway, he’s the super-rich boss of a lucrative enterprise and then this happens. First, let me say, a plain old orgy is bad enough. People would have laughed, pointed and, like me, been secretly jealous that he can afford to pay for a themed orgy of any kind. But in Europe, an orgy is not grounds for dismissal like it is in the States. Hell, in France, having an orgy is a pre-requisite to be president.

But throw Nazis into the mix and it’s “Auf wiedersehen.” And for the record, I couldn't agree more. Nazis = fucktards. How's that for a daring social and political stance? And yes, you can quote me. Really, with the exception of the Indiana Jones franchise, Nazis don’t make anything better.

Even worse, Mosley’s parents were Nazi supporters, but he tried to play all that down over the course of his life. I guess all that pent up anti-Nazi frustration had to come out somewhere. Might as well be an orgy.

And like they say, if you’re going to go, go big. Mosley brought his orgy to the next level. The Nazi level. He even spoke German at one point. That’s commitment.

My favorite part of the video, which is available for viewing just about anywhere on the Web, is when the naked and droopy Mosley pauses mid-orgy to have tea with the hookers. During that part of the video, they’re all standing. That’s probably because they’ve been smacking each other on the ass with a riding crop.

Apparently, Mosley actually stood up for racial equality in Formula One racing, so he can’t be all bad. It’s just that... a Nazi orgy? Really? The only time I’ve seen reference to sexy S&M Nazis that in the past, it’s been in lowbrow comedies. I think it even showed up in “High Anxiety.”

To top this shame, he’d have to be caught in bed with a Boer Goat while wearing blackface. And even that wouldn’t tarnish the glee I feel every time I type “Nazi-themed S&M orgy.” Thank you, God.

The Revolution Will Be Google Street Viewed

This morning I was looking up directions to a shoot for a pilot I’m working on. Google Maps couldn’t find the exact address, just the street. So I switched to Street View and started virtually walking the avenue, looking at building numbers. The feature really is quite handy and an incredibly good time-waster.

That’s when I realized that if this outlying suburb of the greater Los Angeles area has been Street Viewed, maybe my neighborhood had, too. So, I entered my address and the little orange Google dude zipped all the way across town to my little building. I not only saw my street and my building, but my car as well -- parked stoically on the street like a mighty, dented steed.

I began to virtually walk my block when I saw the image of a familiar woman and her dog. I pass her every morning as I walk my dog. Then, I thought, “If I pass her every morning and she’s on Google Street View...”

I quickly walked the virtual block and, on the street that makes up the third leg of my morning walk, I found myself. And my dog. On Google Street View. I have to tell you, it freaks me out a bit.

I mean, I’ve popped up in other people’s MySpace photo albums before. I even appear in an embarrassing YouTube video posted by one of my college classmates. But this... this seems a little more sinister. I think it's because my friends took the MySpace photos and I consented to participating in the YouTube video. Google Street View was done on the sly in a quiet, cleverly disguised way. It’s creepy.

Of course, now I’m going to list it among my other Web homes: MySpace, YouTube, my personal domain, IMDb, my unused Facebook page, LinkedIn and now Google Street View. All I need now is a Wikipedia entry and my quest for Web-wide domination will be complete. Mwah-ha-ha-ha!