RUDIMENTS, pt. 732
(I'm like that, you know)
So then, I began mentioning
how all this began. Frankly,
I can't precisely remember
except for some reason it fell
to me to answer the call -
someone from the film pool
figured I'd be the guy to
round up some of the usual
suspects and bring them in.
A few problems: First, this
coincided with the first week
of March, when lots of these
'real' guys (and not) are in or
on their way to Daytona, FL.
Some of my best candidates,
thus, were gone - and the only
reason John (see pt. one),
was still around was pure,
blind luck. Usually, he was
Daytona-bound by then.
I wouldn't expect a film-crew
geek to know that, but, that's
one of the conflicts. Second
was - the really gnarly, slice-
your-nose-off guys that they
were seeking for 'authenticity'
wouldn't have had anything
to do with this without a
promise of booze, drugs, or
babes in return. Bikers at that
level often had a motto that
went: 'Ass, grass, or gas; No
one rides for free.' Meaning,
let's say, girls had to pay for
their ride. I did manage to
get about 15 people. We met
in Flip's, an old bar (long
gone now) on the other
side of Iselin. About 4:30,
as I recall. 9 or so of us had
motorcycles, and the girls
rode in a car, someone's giant
old Pontiac or Monte Carlo.
One problem, already, was
that it was only about 18-20
degrees out. Yeah. Cold. Let
me add that, in the depths
of the next morning, when my
friend Rod (dead now) and I
finally got done, we had to
ride (slowly) home in what
was about 12 degrees. On a
straight, dark, and mostly
empty Garden State Parkway.
I was, we both were, comatose
and frozen. One of the quandaries
of cold weather riding is whether
to go really fast, but make it
shorter, yet colder, OR go
slower, to accommodate the
cold, (which does get everywhere),
but which also extends the trip
and the exposure time. It's
truly a Devil's bargain. We had
little choice but to drive slower
yet steady. At some point half
in, in any case, Rod changed
his mind - just deciding to
go fast, and left me behind. I
did get home, eventually, stiff
and frozen as a board. Kathy,
along with the girls in the car,
had gotten home long before,
and was soundly sleeping. She
says that when I arrived home,
the arctic blast of air I brought
in with me, awoke her and
chilled the entire room.
-
Each of us, at the end of the
night, received cash - something
like 25 bucks each - for our
appearance. Rod and I, having
stayed later, after the others left,
so as to be in a motorcycle
scene (they paid us an additional,
larger amount, for the use of the
motorcycles in the scene. It went
unused anyway, but the bikes got
more money than we did, and
underwent the same stupid take
after take BS too) got paid
more and stayed later. Having
motorcycles at work, riding,
in a movie scene, when it's
12 degrees out, made about
as little sense as would have
giving Roseanna Arquette
to John for 20 minutes in
a make-up trailer. (I said
make-up, not make-out).
Unless it was to be called,
'Ice Capade Idiots On Two
Wheels.'
-
When I do writing, which is
most all of the time, I find
myself making distinctions
between 'writing' and 'telling.'
The telling is easy, though
more of a pain, laborious; I
guess because it has to 'add
up' moreso than the 'writing'
does. There I can do most
anything and have a freedom.
Unfettered establishment of
my own facts. Neo-real. People
will go watch The Matrix, and
come away all energized and
happy, accepting a guy oddly
named 'Neo.' Try that with any
writing, and you're immediately
labeled this or that. Much of my
writing - which is painful, and
hard for me sometimes - has
to do with 'listening.' Listening
for what's coming in. I catch most
of it, but a lot is missed. If I don't
grab it, as it's coming over,
I'm often then surprised, five
minutes later, that it's just gone.
-
The intriguing thing was, for me,
how I'd gotten mixed up in this.
I never thought I was a natural
for standing out as a ringleader,
nor as a person seen by others
as commanding enough to reel
people in to do 'biddings.' It's
always turned to disaster anyway,
mostly because I don't go along
with any programs, and my ideas
are so outlandish and other-worldly
that eventually they just (seem to)
drive others away. It was like
that in Metuchen too, with
Stanley Lease and Fred Keiser
somehow thinking that if I was
set up to run (sacrificially) for
Mayor, I'd have this following
of stooges behind me to do what
I said and, I guess, bring out the
votes. What a joke - you know
the story, and I've written of it
here. I lasted about 14 days,
before the whole political
establishment gave me the
old heave-ho. Just as well.
-
You know why? Because - as in
this movie thing - I brought in
the real world, the authentics,
the regular people, but it was
the actors and actresses who
walked through the scenes,
oblivious to the packed room
of 'extras' around them. They
walked without any awareness
of the 'people' around them,
just intent instead on their
lines and their pose. You can
see that in scene with the Bikers
in the house, posted with the
previous chapter. The muddling
festives - my people - in the
scene : slouched and stupid :
are merely backdrops for the
tepid walk-ins and walk-outs of
the role-players, who can actually
be seen acting through this, in
their badly mechanical fashions.
The entire film is a waste, and
it's all very visible. I think there's
a fair case to be made here for
the insipid nature of entertainment
reality. Were we stupid to go along
with all that? Yes, probably we were.
I'll stand by that, and end it here.
-
But, of course, jerk that I am,
I have to go on : why is it that
we've allowed the world to be
so structured? How is it that we
are satisfied with gibberish for
mental entertainment, a Starbucks
on most every corner, movie
phones and palaces to peddle the
stuff, and we grapple with none
of it - instead we hang out,
discussing the sensitivity of
the character portrayals and the
finer processes of the filmic
qualities of dross? I'll leave
that all to you. BUT, maybe if
you need an authentic bunch
of ruffians to trash your house
and yard, I could probably
rustle up a few candidates.
I'm like that, you know.
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