Tuesday, October 26, 2004
MARRIED MEN????
Married men? Yeah, that's right...
TY says that it all depends on the context...
I have difficulty understanding why breaking of the vows is ever worth the trouble...
We have come to understanding, whereas my pattern and addiction seems to be the girly/druggie/"I'm going to go snort coke in the bathroom while you're not looking" kind of man, Beth seems to be attracting the married man...yes, that's right...she attracted two short, hispanic married men in two consecutive nights this weekend...In fact, one even had the nerve to say to her, "I'm looking to cheat on my wife with someone and get back at her..." to which Beth replied, "Well, I'm not really a home-wrecker..."
Now, the question is: are there patterns we are destined to fall into...am I showing (by my dating history) that only coke addicts/dealers are attracted to me?
Is she only destined to attract the marriend man who is only looking to cheat on his wife and have a night of debaucherous fun???
If so, god help us all...
Married men? Yeah, that's right...
TY says that it all depends on the context...
I have difficulty understanding why breaking of the vows is ever worth the trouble...
We have come to understanding, whereas my pattern and addiction seems to be the girly/druggie/"I'm going to go snort coke in the bathroom while you're not looking" kind of man, Beth seems to be attracting the married man...yes, that's right...she attracted two short, hispanic married men in two consecutive nights this weekend...In fact, one even had the nerve to say to her, "I'm looking to cheat on my wife with someone and get back at her..." to which Beth replied, "Well, I'm not really a home-wrecker..."
Now, the question is: are there patterns we are destined to fall into...am I showing (by my dating history) that only coke addicts/dealers are attracted to me?
Is she only destined to attract the marriend man who is only looking to cheat on his wife and have a night of debaucherous fun???
If so, god help us all...
Friday, October 15, 2004
BOYCOTT CHEVRON...at least the one on LaBrea and Beverly
Boycott Chevron
This is also another backlog. It has just been too long since I have posted on my blog page, so there are many updats. For example, one night after being here for about a week, we really needed to fill up the car with gas. So, I pull into the Chevron on the corner of LaBrea and Beverly to fill up the tank. Now, throughout the trip, I had been having this problem with my credit card. I guess out here in the West, to be able to fill up your tank and pay by card at the pump, you need to enter your 5-digit zip code. They don't ask for pin numbers. I had changed the address for my card before we left Boston, but they imformed me that it might take up to six weeks for the change to go through (what the fuck??). The gas pumps wouldn't take my new zip code, nor would they take the old zip code (again, what the fuck?? One of those addresses has to be correct in the system). So, Beth had been filling up the tank on her card for a period. But this particular night, I get so fed up when the pump tells me that my zip is invalid, I go into the store and explain my situation to the man behind the counter. He tells me that it is very simple. I just tell him the amount I want on the pump, and then he rings that up on the card in the store, and will set the pump. So, I purchase $15 of gas.
He then precedes to shout at me, "AND YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED!!"
"What?" I ask.
"Have you seen Lord of the Legolas?" he asks (at least that's what it sounded like he said...)
"Lord of the what??"
He precedes to tell me that Orlando Bloom from "Lord of the Legolas" just pumped gas at my pump only minutes ago...He was apparently still reeling from this. I didn't bother to tell him that the movie was actually called "Lord of the Rings." I simply smiled and left to fill up the tank.
Well, here the story takes a turn for the worse. The pump shuts off after putting 2.1 gallons of gas in the tank and chargin me $5.11.
But I know that they just charged my card $15. And I'm not leaving there without the rest of my gas...
So, I go back in the store and there is a different man at the counter now and he is also talking to another customer about "Lord of the Legolas"
I explain the situation. And he tells me, "Yes, your tank must be full then."
No, it was empty when we rolled in there, and what the hell tank only takes 2.1 gallons of gas? I know that the car is small, but not that small...
He then tells me to go back outside and try to fill the rest of it up. But the pump won't do anything.
I go back in and this time I'm really starting to get pissed. The original guy is back this time still muttering to himself, "Legolas..."
I talk to him and he tells me the same thing. But that he can take my card and put more money on it if I want...
Well, you're missing the fucking point. The point is...I paid for $15 worth of gas...I got $5.11. $15 was charged to my card. I saw the receipt. I drive out of there and I lose $9.89.
He continues to argue with me. I storm out of the store. He follows me out and to the pump and keeps telling me he can just put more money on the card if I want.
I say don't bother, yell something about how I will never come back to Chevron since they stole 10 fucking bucks from me, get in the car, slam the door, and drive of. Beth yells something out the window about them all being motherfuckers...
Not only that, but I drive a block past another Chevron and realize that they are charging 20 cents less for gas per gallon. In fact every Chevron appears to be charging considerably less. I have half a mind to report them for this and the fact that they stole my fucking money.
I go on a crusade for the next few days about how everyone should boycott Chevron, until I realize that they appear to monopolize the gas industry in my neighborhood and I have very few options. I then settle for simply boycotting the Chevron on the corner of LaBrea and Beverly.
Fuck...maybe if they weren't so worked up about seeing "The Lord of the Legolas" only moments before, they could actully run their fucking business properly...
FUCK...
Boycott Chevron
This is also another backlog. It has just been too long since I have posted on my blog page, so there are many updats. For example, one night after being here for about a week, we really needed to fill up the car with gas. So, I pull into the Chevron on the corner of LaBrea and Beverly to fill up the tank. Now, throughout the trip, I had been having this problem with my credit card. I guess out here in the West, to be able to fill up your tank and pay by card at the pump, you need to enter your 5-digit zip code. They don't ask for pin numbers. I had changed the address for my card before we left Boston, but they imformed me that it might take up to six weeks for the change to go through (what the fuck??). The gas pumps wouldn't take my new zip code, nor would they take the old zip code (again, what the fuck?? One of those addresses has to be correct in the system). So, Beth had been filling up the tank on her card for a period. But this particular night, I get so fed up when the pump tells me that my zip is invalid, I go into the store and explain my situation to the man behind the counter. He tells me that it is very simple. I just tell him the amount I want on the pump, and then he rings that up on the card in the store, and will set the pump. So, I purchase $15 of gas.
He then precedes to shout at me, "AND YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED!!"
"What?" I ask.
"Have you seen Lord of the Legolas?" he asks (at least that's what it sounded like he said...)
"Lord of the what??"
He precedes to tell me that Orlando Bloom from "Lord of the Legolas" just pumped gas at my pump only minutes ago...He was apparently still reeling from this. I didn't bother to tell him that the movie was actually called "Lord of the Rings." I simply smiled and left to fill up the tank.
Well, here the story takes a turn for the worse. The pump shuts off after putting 2.1 gallons of gas in the tank and chargin me $5.11.
But I know that they just charged my card $15. And I'm not leaving there without the rest of my gas...
So, I go back in the store and there is a different man at the counter now and he is also talking to another customer about "Lord of the Legolas"
I explain the situation. And he tells me, "Yes, your tank must be full then."
No, it was empty when we rolled in there, and what the hell tank only takes 2.1 gallons of gas? I know that the car is small, but not that small...
He then tells me to go back outside and try to fill the rest of it up. But the pump won't do anything.
I go back in and this time I'm really starting to get pissed. The original guy is back this time still muttering to himself, "Legolas..."
I talk to him and he tells me the same thing. But that he can take my card and put more money on it if I want...
Well, you're missing the fucking point. The point is...I paid for $15 worth of gas...I got $5.11. $15 was charged to my card. I saw the receipt. I drive out of there and I lose $9.89.
He continues to argue with me. I storm out of the store. He follows me out and to the pump and keeps telling me he can just put more money on the card if I want.
I say don't bother, yell something about how I will never come back to Chevron since they stole 10 fucking bucks from me, get in the car, slam the door, and drive of. Beth yells something out the window about them all being motherfuckers...
Not only that, but I drive a block past another Chevron and realize that they are charging 20 cents less for gas per gallon. In fact every Chevron appears to be charging considerably less. I have half a mind to report them for this and the fact that they stole my fucking money.
I go on a crusade for the next few days about how everyone should boycott Chevron, until I realize that they appear to monopolize the gas industry in my neighborhood and I have very few options. I then settle for simply boycotting the Chevron on the corner of LaBrea and Beverly.
Fuck...maybe if they weren't so worked up about seeing "The Lord of the Legolas" only moments before, they could actully run their fucking business properly...
FUCK...
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
"POR FAVOR, NO NECESITAMOS AYUDA!!!"
This is a back log from when we first got out here to LA, but it had to be done...the shipment of boxes has already arrived from Boston, so we rent a U-Haul the day after we arrive, so we can drive down to the AmTRACK station and pick the fucking shipment up. First of all, I must say, that the U-Haul we are sent to is not in the nicest area of LA...second of all, as soon as we pull into the U-Haul parking lot, we are ambushed by a pack up Mexican men...I am just like, "What the fuck is going on?" I've never seen anything like this in my life. Why are these men attacking my car?? At one point, it becomes apparent to me that they are trying to see if we need "labor" for the day. In other words, do we need help moving? No, as a matter of fact, we do not...
Beth will be driving the extended-length van because I have already refused to and she is selected by default. However, the van will be put on my credit card since she already paid for the one in Boston. I go inside to give them my credit card number, at which point, I am finger-printed...now, this is beginning to seem a little sketchy to me. I have never been finger-printed to rent a U-Haul before, the woman at the counter appears to speak little to no English, nor will she get off the phone to explain to me exactly why I am being finger-printed. It becomes apparent to me, however, that if I refuse, I will not be getting my van for the day.
Finally, the charade inside is up, I go out to the parking lot where they are instructing Beth to get in the van. I go to get in my car because she will be following me home since I know the area a little better. It is at this point that I notice a short Mexican man open the back of the van, climb inside and begin to shut the door. I'm just like, "what the fuck?" Beth starts the van, apparently, this man is now in the van's cargo hold unbeknowest to her. I am afraid she is about to drive away with this man. I grab my baseball bat. Thank god, I now carry it with me everywhere I go (afterall, you never know when you may have to hit a few balls...)...I get out of my car and run up to the van, fling the back door open. The man is yelling at me in Spanish...I am about ready to start swinging. Beth gets out of the van when she realizes all of the commotion in the back. Apparently, while I was in the store being finger-printed, the man had come up to her window on the driver's side of the van and had said something to her. She couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, so she just smiled and nodded. He had apparently asked her if she needed help moving; when he saw her nod, he took that to mean the affirmative.
I know little Spanish. It is at this point that Beth taught me a key phrase..."No necesitamos ayada..." stellar..."WE DON'T NEED HELP." And after being accosted several times in the parking lot of Home Depot by hispanic men asking me if I needed help painting/carpeting/building, I realize this will be a very valuable phrase indeed...
I'm going to put that one right up there with, "No puedo bailar..."
This is a back log from when we first got out here to LA, but it had to be done...the shipment of boxes has already arrived from Boston, so we rent a U-Haul the day after we arrive, so we can drive down to the AmTRACK station and pick the fucking shipment up. First of all, I must say, that the U-Haul we are sent to is not in the nicest area of LA...second of all, as soon as we pull into the U-Haul parking lot, we are ambushed by a pack up Mexican men...I am just like, "What the fuck is going on?" I've never seen anything like this in my life. Why are these men attacking my car?? At one point, it becomes apparent to me that they are trying to see if we need "labor" for the day. In other words, do we need help moving? No, as a matter of fact, we do not...
Beth will be driving the extended-length van because I have already refused to and she is selected by default. However, the van will be put on my credit card since she already paid for the one in Boston. I go inside to give them my credit card number, at which point, I am finger-printed...now, this is beginning to seem a little sketchy to me. I have never been finger-printed to rent a U-Haul before, the woman at the counter appears to speak little to no English, nor will she get off the phone to explain to me exactly why I am being finger-printed. It becomes apparent to me, however, that if I refuse, I will not be getting my van for the day.
Finally, the charade inside is up, I go out to the parking lot where they are instructing Beth to get in the van. I go to get in my car because she will be following me home since I know the area a little better. It is at this point that I notice a short Mexican man open the back of the van, climb inside and begin to shut the door. I'm just like, "what the fuck?" Beth starts the van, apparently, this man is now in the van's cargo hold unbeknowest to her. I am afraid she is about to drive away with this man. I grab my baseball bat. Thank god, I now carry it with me everywhere I go (afterall, you never know when you may have to hit a few balls...)...I get out of my car and run up to the van, fling the back door open. The man is yelling at me in Spanish...I am about ready to start swinging. Beth gets out of the van when she realizes all of the commotion in the back. Apparently, while I was in the store being finger-printed, the man had come up to her window on the driver's side of the van and had said something to her. She couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, so she just smiled and nodded. He had apparently asked her if she needed help moving; when he saw her nod, he took that to mean the affirmative.
I know little Spanish. It is at this point that Beth taught me a key phrase..."No necesitamos ayada..." stellar..."WE DON'T NEED HELP." And after being accosted several times in the parking lot of Home Depot by hispanic men asking me if I needed help painting/carpeting/building, I realize this will be a very valuable phrase indeed...
I'm going to put that one right up there with, "No puedo bailar..."
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY
If one more man who is shorter than me hits on me, I am going to fucking scream. And I am not talking just a little shorter than me...inches...maybe half a foot. And come on people, with my boots on, we all know that I am close to six feet tall. Doesn't anybody obey Hartley's Law anymore? My grandmother would be rolling over in her grave...
It is getting to the point that I have started handing out the number to the REJECTION HOTLINE...for those of you women (and men, for that matter) that aren't in on this yet, you should check it out...because I've given out my number one too many times (because I'm just too damn nice)...I now have to screen every phone call that comes through here...call after call after call...for weeks...incessant...it won't stop...come on fellas, you could tell I was clearly dissinterested...when I'm interested and you're my type, believe me...you'll know it...yeah, I know I'm cool...you don't have to flatter me with phone calls I won't pick up....i'm cool, I know...I'm a fucking rock n' roll singer...and I play guitar...and I have long black hair...and I love video games and drinking contests...yeah, I know I would be a cool girlfriend to have...but when you connect, you connect and you know it...those are the people you ought to be calling...not me, who stands there half in a trance as you tell me for the third time that you are named after a dead guy in Boston...or stands there trying to calculate our actual height difference were my boots off (six, seven inches taller than you?? FUCK)...or stands there trying to figure out why on earth you would be asking for my number when we have barely spoken for 30 seconds...or stands there trying to figure out why on earth you just used the pick-up line, "Hey, let's go do some blow. I've got a kilo at my house in Pasadena."
My fucking god...where are my girlie druggies (those without brain-damage)??? Why are the only men who seem to be calling here 5' 5" short, stocky men from Mexico (named Oscar/Radar, Ricardo...take your pick) or 35-year old men who are looking for a young girl to dominate them?? Where are my girlie druggies???
RANT done...I need some fucking sleep...
If one more man who is shorter than me hits on me, I am going to fucking scream. And I am not talking just a little shorter than me...inches...maybe half a foot. And come on people, with my boots on, we all know that I am close to six feet tall. Doesn't anybody obey Hartley's Law anymore? My grandmother would be rolling over in her grave...
It is getting to the point that I have started handing out the number to the REJECTION HOTLINE...for those of you women (and men, for that matter) that aren't in on this yet, you should check it out...because I've given out my number one too many times (because I'm just too damn nice)...I now have to screen every phone call that comes through here...call after call after call...for weeks...incessant...it won't stop...come on fellas, you could tell I was clearly dissinterested...when I'm interested and you're my type, believe me...you'll know it...yeah, I know I'm cool...you don't have to flatter me with phone calls I won't pick up....i'm cool, I know...I'm a fucking rock n' roll singer...and I play guitar...and I have long black hair...and I love video games and drinking contests...yeah, I know I would be a cool girlfriend to have...but when you connect, you connect and you know it...those are the people you ought to be calling...not me, who stands there half in a trance as you tell me for the third time that you are named after a dead guy in Boston...or stands there trying to calculate our actual height difference were my boots off (six, seven inches taller than you?? FUCK)...or stands there trying to figure out why on earth you would be asking for my number when we have barely spoken for 30 seconds...or stands there trying to figure out why on earth you just used the pick-up line, "Hey, let's go do some blow. I've got a kilo at my house in Pasadena."
My fucking god...where are my girlie druggies (those without brain-damage)??? Why are the only men who seem to be calling here 5' 5" short, stocky men from Mexico (named Oscar/Radar, Ricardo...take your pick) or 35-year old men who are looking for a young girl to dominate them?? Where are my girlie druggies???
RANT done...I need some fucking sleep...
Thursday, October 07, 2004
AMERICAN IDOL AUDITIONS 2004...
My fucking god...
What kind of hullabaloo was this? Most of the time spent there, they had us wrangled around by all kinds of people involved with the show...
so, we drove up to San Fran Sunday night. Got there about 2:30 am Monday morning. Where we joined the line that was already half a mile long. Nothing was even going to be happening until 6am, but there were people there all snuggled up in sleeping bags waiting in line. There were even a few tents set up (more than a few)...There are people here who have already auditioned in several other cities this season and are "sure this is the one..."
Now, as anyone who knows my voice knows...this was not a contest for me...nevertheless, we didn't have anything better to do and thought it would be funny to show up there and have me audition. So, we wait outside in the misty air...outside the Cow Palace, no less...
About 6am Monday morning, people in the line in front of us begin to rustle around and rouse from a deep coma-like sleep. At which point, we are slowly herded into the Cow Palace (yes, the irony). At one point, it becomes evident to everyone that we will all be receiving bracelets to audition the next day (making it unneccessary for anyone to have camped out for an entire 24 hours)...Edgar was in line a row behind us...fans of the show will remember him as the infamous man who sang "Can't Escape My Love" by Ricki Martin in season 2 while falling on his knees and convulsing...he also tried to get in to see the judges season 3 but was removed from the venue by security. Nevertheless, he was granted an audition in San Francisco like everyone else. He also had his picture taken by more than a few contestents and signed several autographs...
After standing in line 6 or 7 hours on Monday morning, we were finally allowed to enter the Cow Palace. All bags were searched. My Rock Star energy drink is confiscated by security as the woman informed me, "Miss, we don't allow caffeine in the buidling..." What, are we in fucking Salt Lake City??? Despite this, Pepsi Cola was readily available for purchase inside the arena...
IDs were checked and we were then given wrist bands and tickets for the next day, when the actual audtions would take place. We were told to arrive no later than 6am the next day...
Now, at this point, I have not eaten in 24 hours, nor have I slept that night...we grab food, some blankets (because it was dreadfully cold standing in line that night and I did not want to repeat that the following day), and locate a hotel where we can crash...the time is 1pm on Monday afternoon...We rouse ourselves about 10pm that evening, order some Domino's pizza, watch a dreadful thriller on TBS starring none other than MeatLoaf...I practice singing for about an hour...at which point it is 4am on Tuesday morning, so we head back over to the Cow Palace...
We are actually able to enter the building after standing in line for 2-3 minutes....we find out seats...my god this is a madhouse...people have, in fact, been camping out here all night...there are tents set up on the stadium floor...out in the halls, there are people practicing there acapella songs...singing vocalease...
cameras everywhere...
About 7am...the boom goes up...they start swinging the camera around the stadium...everytime it comes near you...you must stand up and cheer and/or scream...I can't help thinking to myself that is the most dreadful instruction you can give a singer right before an audition...do you want us to blow our vocal chords for the day?
The contract is then passed out to everyone...I am shocked to find that I am the only one that actually reads it...everyone else is madly signing their name...but read this...any original song I sing...becomes the sole contract of FOX...also, I discover that by signing this particular contract, one must waive their rights to section 1582. For those not familiar with this, section 1582 protects you against anything that is not written explicitly in the contract...but this contract informs the reader that you are signing a contract and you are agreeing to terms which may be unbeknowest to you at the time...essentially, this contract may change at any time without your consent...by signing this, you waive your rights to 1582...they can do anything to you that they damn well please...you have waived you rights to that protection...not only that, but you have waived your rights to talk about anything in relation to that...my god, why is no one reading this contract???
I sit there baffled for about 2 hours while I await my audition...Should I sign this...my god, I don't even want to be on this show...I only thought it would be funny to audition...finally, I figure, we've driven five hours to the audition, waited seven hours in the rain...I have to at least audition...
I sign the contract, head down to the floor for my audition...I am surrounded by people who "know" they are the next American Idol...they stood in those prayer circles up in the stands and they prayed to Jesus...they are going to win...
It become apparent at one point, that demographically, they are only allowing a certain "slice" of the population through at this particular audition...men...in particular white men who sing country...seriously about 98% of those who went through onto the next round fit this criteria...it is evident that the show knows the particular genre they are going to be promoting this year...at least trying to promote...that is not to say that women did not make it through...there was the girl covered in bananas...yes, bananas...you will see her in the auditions, don't worry...or the 350 pound woman who was swinging and swaying in front of the judges...but we all know that some of the people who make it to the final judges (Simon, Paula, and Randy) at the audtions are only there to be ridiculed...because it makes good TV (remember Keith from last year???)...and as the contract states you agree that "some of what may by filmed and broadcast may be derogatory, degrading, and/or humiliating leading to public ridicule, defamation, or condemnation..."
My question was: for what and by who were we being condemned...my familiarity with that word is only in the context of condemning one to hell...is that where we are being condemned to??? Just for auditioning for American Idol...my god...I thought it was just a stupid TV show...
Finally, I was up in front of the table...I sang 30 seconds of an original song...they motioned for me to approach the table...cut my wristband off and promptly ejected me from the building...I wasn't even able to use the restroom...
I walked out amongst the tears of those rejected around me...man, I didn't care...I had second thoughts after I read that contract...do I really want them to own me...what if I had actually made it to Hollywood...I wondered to myself before the audition if I would be able to turn that offer down...don't you need a lawyer before you sign the rights to everything you have away???
People were crying and bitching and complaining around me...I got in my car and drove away...
Did I want to be on American Idol...no...
Why did you audtion, then? I had nothing better to do and thought it would be funny...
I drove five hours home to continue putting my new band together...everyone else drove (or flew home) crushed...making plans for next season when they would audition for the show in several cities...
Man, I just wanted to fucking meet Simon Cowell...
My fucking god...
What kind of hullabaloo was this? Most of the time spent there, they had us wrangled around by all kinds of people involved with the show...
so, we drove up to San Fran Sunday night. Got there about 2:30 am Monday morning. Where we joined the line that was already half a mile long. Nothing was even going to be happening until 6am, but there were people there all snuggled up in sleeping bags waiting in line. There were even a few tents set up (more than a few)...There are people here who have already auditioned in several other cities this season and are "sure this is the one..."
Now, as anyone who knows my voice knows...this was not a contest for me...nevertheless, we didn't have anything better to do and thought it would be funny to show up there and have me audition. So, we wait outside in the misty air...outside the Cow Palace, no less...
About 6am Monday morning, people in the line in front of us begin to rustle around and rouse from a deep coma-like sleep. At which point, we are slowly herded into the Cow Palace (yes, the irony). At one point, it becomes evident to everyone that we will all be receiving bracelets to audition the next day (making it unneccessary for anyone to have camped out for an entire 24 hours)...Edgar was in line a row behind us...fans of the show will remember him as the infamous man who sang "Can't Escape My Love" by Ricki Martin in season 2 while falling on his knees and convulsing...he also tried to get in to see the judges season 3 but was removed from the venue by security. Nevertheless, he was granted an audition in San Francisco like everyone else. He also had his picture taken by more than a few contestents and signed several autographs...
After standing in line 6 or 7 hours on Monday morning, we were finally allowed to enter the Cow Palace. All bags were searched. My Rock Star energy drink is confiscated by security as the woman informed me, "Miss, we don't allow caffeine in the buidling..." What, are we in fucking Salt Lake City??? Despite this, Pepsi Cola was readily available for purchase inside the arena...
IDs were checked and we were then given wrist bands and tickets for the next day, when the actual audtions would take place. We were told to arrive no later than 6am the next day...
Now, at this point, I have not eaten in 24 hours, nor have I slept that night...we grab food, some blankets (because it was dreadfully cold standing in line that night and I did not want to repeat that the following day), and locate a hotel where we can crash...the time is 1pm on Monday afternoon...We rouse ourselves about 10pm that evening, order some Domino's pizza, watch a dreadful thriller on TBS starring none other than MeatLoaf...I practice singing for about an hour...at which point it is 4am on Tuesday morning, so we head back over to the Cow Palace...
We are actually able to enter the building after standing in line for 2-3 minutes....we find out seats...my god this is a madhouse...people have, in fact, been camping out here all night...there are tents set up on the stadium floor...out in the halls, there are people practicing there acapella songs...singing vocalease...
cameras everywhere...
About 7am...the boom goes up...they start swinging the camera around the stadium...everytime it comes near you...you must stand up and cheer and/or scream...I can't help thinking to myself that is the most dreadful instruction you can give a singer right before an audition...do you want us to blow our vocal chords for the day?
The contract is then passed out to everyone...I am shocked to find that I am the only one that actually reads it...everyone else is madly signing their name...but read this...any original song I sing...becomes the sole contract of FOX...also, I discover that by signing this particular contract, one must waive their rights to section 1582. For those not familiar with this, section 1582 protects you against anything that is not written explicitly in the contract...but this contract informs the reader that you are signing a contract and you are agreeing to terms which may be unbeknowest to you at the time...essentially, this contract may change at any time without your consent...by signing this, you waive your rights to 1582...they can do anything to you that they damn well please...you have waived you rights to that protection...not only that, but you have waived your rights to talk about anything in relation to that...my god, why is no one reading this contract???
I sit there baffled for about 2 hours while I await my audition...Should I sign this...my god, I don't even want to be on this show...I only thought it would be funny to audition...finally, I figure, we've driven five hours to the audition, waited seven hours in the rain...I have to at least audition...
I sign the contract, head down to the floor for my audition...I am surrounded by people who "know" they are the next American Idol...they stood in those prayer circles up in the stands and they prayed to Jesus...they are going to win...
It become apparent at one point, that demographically, they are only allowing a certain "slice" of the population through at this particular audition...men...in particular white men who sing country...seriously about 98% of those who went through onto the next round fit this criteria...it is evident that the show knows the particular genre they are going to be promoting this year...at least trying to promote...that is not to say that women did not make it through...there was the girl covered in bananas...yes, bananas...you will see her in the auditions, don't worry...or the 350 pound woman who was swinging and swaying in front of the judges...but we all know that some of the people who make it to the final judges (Simon, Paula, and Randy) at the audtions are only there to be ridiculed...because it makes good TV (remember Keith from last year???)...and as the contract states you agree that "some of what may by filmed and broadcast may be derogatory, degrading, and/or humiliating leading to public ridicule, defamation, or condemnation..."
My question was: for what and by who were we being condemned...my familiarity with that word is only in the context of condemning one to hell...is that where we are being condemned to??? Just for auditioning for American Idol...my god...I thought it was just a stupid TV show...
Finally, I was up in front of the table...I sang 30 seconds of an original song...they motioned for me to approach the table...cut my wristband off and promptly ejected me from the building...I wasn't even able to use the restroom...
I walked out amongst the tears of those rejected around me...man, I didn't care...I had second thoughts after I read that contract...do I really want them to own me...what if I had actually made it to Hollywood...I wondered to myself before the audition if I would be able to turn that offer down...don't you need a lawyer before you sign the rights to everything you have away???
People were crying and bitching and complaining around me...I got in my car and drove away...
Did I want to be on American Idol...no...
Why did you audtion, then? I had nothing better to do and thought it would be funny...
I drove five hours home to continue putting my new band together...everyone else drove (or flew home) crushed...making plans for next season when they would audition for the show in several cities...
Man, I just wanted to fucking meet Simon Cowell...
Saturday, October 02, 2004
GOING OFF LINE
Going off line for a few days. Going to see what's up with the Idol auditions. There will be plenty to blog when I get back...
Going off line for a few days. Going to see what's up with the Idol auditions. There will be plenty to blog when I get back...
