Once again, my “Renaissance Man” brother has a new set of commercials out. Love the whole “soul paint” concept! He’s the commentating, red-vest-sporting, paint-wearing guy that might remind one of Kevin James. Or Greg Dorchak. And, yes, that was real paint dumped on him. Milk-based paint, not that lead-based stuff. So…okay, maybe he’s not a real tough guy. It was only milk. Based. And he got a rash.
One day, looking out over a major shopping mall’s parking lot from several stories up, I noticed a curious thing:
Where to? (Photo credit: Lori Greig)
Maybe one in twenty (“twenty’s” as good as any number; pick ten or a thousand) drivers actually used their directional indicators to signal they were making any turns.
You have got to be kidding me.
I watched people exiting other parking lots in the area—same thing.
Of course, one can clearly see this on the road. You’re toolin’ along all nice and pretty like, windows and moon roof open, radio blasting, singing along to your guilty pleasure Rhianna tune (We found lovvvve in a hooopeless placcce….), when—out of nowhere—another vehicle is suddenly two-feet in front of you.
You utter your favorite expletive and associated hand gestures, are unceremoniously yanked out of your Rhianna Zone, and reach for your M20a1B1 Super-bazooka, only to suddenly realize it’s in “the shop” for maintenance.
WTF, you cry?
Why-the-alphabet-soup is it that one of the simplest, least-energy-sucking moves a human can make are not routinely performed? I mean, I see big bruiser dudes in Super Duty four-bys, tatts covering their tree-trunk arms, not flip that little wand on the steering column as they whip their testosterone-laden tanks out onto streets.
Does it take that much energy? Do they really need to save it up for their MMA cage fight that evening? Or, are, they, too, in their own, private “Rhianna Zone,” and simply forgot?
Well, I recently came into another reason for why this phenomena is so prevalent. I’d never considered this one, but it would certainly explain the rampant exhibition on today’s byways. It’s because of all the turns we make out there on the road, and the stock reservoirs simply are not large enough.
I have no issue with the religious celebrating Christmas as they do…I just do not share your religion.
But.
I still enjoy the season just the same!
I’m not of the traditional religion. Nor non-traditional. I’m just not…”religious.” To me Christmas means peace. And joy. Among other things, it also means being with family. Enjoying their company, and their company enjoying your company. It’s the spirit (yes, “spirit“) of giving—and receiving. It’s reliving Christmases of old…experiencing Christmases of new. It’s enjoying many people enjoying (or trying to!) the season, and therefore life itself. Its people enjoying their own versions of Christmas, both religious and not. It’s one huge time of year where most people try to make a concerted effort to be a little…nicer.
Okay, tackling you to get at the last Xbox 360 with Kinect or Kindle, or cutting you off for that parking spot as they spill their piping hot Starbucks into their laps, notwithstanding.
And I’ll take one day a year over zero any time (but I know the number’s quite higher)…with the optimistic hope that such behavior will carry over a bit more into their daily lives. I enjoy the spirit of everyone trying to be a better Human and hope that people will stop killing each other and politicians will start acting like the adults they’re rumored to be.
But, that’s not all.
It means watching my favorite Christmas movies! Eating my favorite Christmas food! Writing Christmas cards and letters! Christmas trees and all the trimmings! Colorful lights! Festive music! Admittedly, I look forward to seeing what others give to me (and, heck, yeah, it’s fun)—and look forward to how they feel about what I give them (this is just as much fun)! It’s the metaphysical “feel” of the season I try to experience in my own, personal, metaphysical way. I love the snow and hope for the proverbial “White Christmas” (as a kid, that’s what we had every year, no exceptions—upstate New York).
So, maybe I did a good enough job explaining what Christmas is to me, maybe I didn’t. But it’s my version, and allows for other versions to coexist. Christmas may have started for one reason (religious) or another (secular), but as is the case with other things in life, it has taken on more in its journey through the ages. It means many things to many people, but it all seems to join at various versions of family, peace, love, and understanding. Let’s all try to be so accommodating.
Well, earlier this year, we got one—and at a pretty good discount from Sears, of all places—and this bad boy mamajamma really gets the business done. I mean, it really makes you wanna vacuum.
I jest not.
Guys are somewhat visually oriented. Sometimes we’re also, well…a little “thick” when it comes to certain things.
Like vacuuming.
When my wife and I do the housecleaning, we divide up the duties. I get the honor of vacuuming. Now, I have to admit, I’ve kinda always liked “making things come clean,” I know, it’s a weird thing and some may beg to differ…but it’s true. I’m not obsessive at all about it (some may heartily agree here…), but I have my moments. Well, when informed that I really should vacuum every other week—perhaps even every week—I kinda, um—balked. Yes, balked. We used one a those “closed canister” vacuums before…The Animal.
We’ll never go back.
One day, I thought, okay, I’ll vacuum the “every other week,” and I’ll see just how much is picked up by the Dyson DC39. You see, folks, The Animal has a see-through canister, where you can actually see the dirt pile up, and—bonus!—it spins around really, really fast! So, in essence, it’s kinda like a video game! And…since guys are largely visual in nature, we get to see the actual fruits of our labor—not to mention the 275 AW Ball™ and Radial Root Cyclone technologies—in action!
Now, when I first grabbed hold of this bad boy, my first impression was not immediate love. It’s made of light plastic (it’s only 22.9 pounds). If you’re not flexin’ and strainin’ your muscles under the heft of at least a 30-pound slug, why bother, right? Where’s the substance to the equipment? But I have to say, it’s light for a reason, and that reason makes it easier to handle for those not ape-strong for the more anchor-weighted machines of yore. But, what really got my attention, and fast, what really absolutely, positively hooked me was its ability to pick up animal hair—pa-ronto. This thing is engineered to pick up animal hair and dander, and this baby delivers. What used to take me, say, 15 minutes…now takes me less than 5.
And when I checked the canister after just one room…the canister was full.
That means that what I’d thought was clean from my previous vacuuming was a bald-faced lie.
It wasn’t clean. Not even remotely.
But I discovered another fact: it was actually fun vacuuming with this piece of haut technology, cause it was so badass. It was quieter, faster, and easier. I could see the dirt…whipping around in the canister. It was now like I wanted the house to be dirty—really dirty—the dirtier the better, so I could go around sucking up even more dirt, seeing more dirt swirl around inside the canister, emptying the immediate fruits of my labor.
Me and The Animal against the soils of the world…roaming free on the untamed carpeted (and hardwood-ed) wildlands of domesticated terrain…alone with my thoughts…my hardware…my finely honed senses and skill…and a hungry HEPA filter.
Today I’m interviewing one of the founders of a brand new film production company called, Class Clown Pictures, headquartered in Texas. I’ve known him nearly my entire life. We both came from humble beginnings and have had to hone our wit to a fine and deadly Krav Maga edge on the mean streets of rural America to survive this crazy world, and though we’ve been separated most of our adult lives, I still know things about him, and tonight, I’m gonna dish—I mean interview him. He’s one of the funniest guys around (not the funniest, mind you, but, you know, he can hold his own, and, well, even make some money at it…). Him and the rest of the “two-guys-a-girl-and-no-pizza-place” have formed this company to “make funny movies,” and by “make funny movies,” I mean indie movies, and by “indie movies” I mean—well…I don’t quite know what I mean, so I’ll let Greg Dorchak, Writer/director/producer/actor, tell his story. Note: when someone has all those positions listed after their name, it either means they’re multi-talented…or they can’t hold a job.
F. P. Dorchak: Good morning.
Greg Dorchak: I thought you just said “toni—”
FP: Now, just for the record and in the interest of full disclosure, you are my brother, correct?
GD: Do I have to be happy with it? No? Then, yes, I’m your brother.
FP: But you’re not my only brother, is that right?
GD: I am, in fact, the only one that matters.
FP: But you’re not my favorite.
GD: Immaterial. Continue.
FP: Who is my favorite brother? Do you know? Say it.
GD: My favorite is Brudda Iz; not sure about yours…but, I’ll bet he ain’t as big as Iz. Was.
FP: Say it. I want to hear you say it.
GD: Fuuuuuuuudddddgggggee. Okay, It’s me.
FP: Nope, you’re wrong—it’s me. So, I hear you’ve created a production company.
GD: Well, I’m married, so “to get chicks” is out. But really, I created it to basically “make funny movies.”
FP: What makes you think you’re qualified?
GD: Meh, who is ever qualified to do anything? However I have been an actor for many years, and a writer, and a director and a cartoonist blah blah blah…I think I know funny when I see it. I did stand-up comedy at 17, then improv, then got into film—I’ve been doing this for a LOT of years.
FP: So, you think you’re funny?
GD: Oh man, and how.
FP: Say something funny.
GD: Your mother.
FP: Really.
GD: Your mother.
FP: I have to admit that I did catch your stand-up act—in Vegas, no less—and loved how you rolled that drunk, afterward.
FP: OK…so, why a duck? Tell us some more. Who are these “other people” I’ve never seen, and what are their “jobs”? Or are “they” all really just another Hollywood scam so you can pretend “Oooh, I’m a Big Important Producer, now, and you’re just a lowly tech writer….” or “I have a Casting Couch and you just have a widdle wiggly Yoga Chair,” or—
GD: Okaaaay….
GD: Well the other people, Tim and Shara, listed on the site are friends and work acquaintances, and we help each other out. Tim has been in the biz for a long time, he and his two brothers do Grade A special effects and CG (FP: here’s a link for some of their work). I’ve been in two of his films. If you have seen a super hero movie, or a monster movie, or a sword and wizard movie—they probably worked on it. Shara has been a producer for photography shoots, music videos, film, you name it. And we have an extensive network—
FP: And by “network” you mean “slept around”?
GD: —of other industry folk to fill out where we need it. This is Texas—you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting someone in the biz. And we have TRIED.
FP: Fine. Are there any specific types (e.g., slapstick, high brow, toilet humor?) of comedy you intend on making?
GD: Anything with a humorous bent: Romantic comedy, dark comedy, Dramedy, fantasy, family—anything that has a strong comedic/humorous tone.
FP: You got my fifty bucks, quite whining. And, I’m still waiting on my T-shirt. So, you have any projects in the oven?
GD: Yes—our first one out of the shoot (pun intended) is one that I think a lot of folks can relate to, and so will have a huge following—it deals with one of the perils of home/property ownership: Homeowners’ Associations.
FP: Rat bastards.
GD: Rat bastards.
FP: I hear you like giving wedgies. Can you explain that?
GD: Well it’s like this: every studio out there has to start somewhere—and this is where we are starting. Even big studios have to find money somewhere—they just have more people to go to, plus they have a track record. We are a new company—though we have all been in the biz a long time. We have to prove ourselves, we have to build that track record. And that takes a weensy bit of money to start. I got a chunk of my own cash in it as well.
FP: Why should I give you money before you make the movie? Doesn’t that seem…backward?
GD: Can I say “LOL” here?
FP: OMG!
GD: There ain’t no movie if there ain’t no money. We have to get the ball rolling. In indie productions, a lot of times if you can sign some name talent to your film, it is easier to attract investors (not to be confused with donations). But to get those actors, you do have to pay them something. That’s why we are asking for financial support at this point in time. You are a writer, yes? You have self-published a book, yes? You self-published to get a book in print to build credibility—for people to see your work. Is it easier to publish a book with or without money?
FP: The literary world ain’t so enamored with “indie” work as is the film world. But, wait a minute—then I’m again supposed to give you money once you make the damn thing? Hey—
GD: Well—ummm…yes…but, indirectly at that point….
FP: You think mom likes you best, don’t you.
GD: She told as much. MANY times.
FP: Well, you’re wrong—it’s Chris. So, tell us about your creative process. Does it really involve a dialog with your hairy-assed navel?
GD: My navel is one of the few people who really understands me. My creative process is really all over the place—like that video on my site (FP: see “Creativity Captured”). Sometimes I will go months with no ideas, then PWAMM, I get a bug up my ass—can I say “bug?”—and I go off at a tear for weeks and weeks. The one thing I can always count on though—is that I will have the ideas, and I will get the thing done.
FP: And that’s why you had Tim and Shara. To pick up your slack. You know, I got to drive the tractor first, when we were kids.
GD: You got to drive the tractor first because dad knew that was the best you were ever going to do. Plus, I played stupid for a reason.
FP: Yeah, and we all know what that “reason” is.
FP: You know, all those bruises you got when we were kids? They weren’t from me. You kept falling into things on your own. And—one time? I saw you hide in a closet and punch yourself in the face. Three times. True story.
GD: You know that time I said Crackers pooped in your pillow case…?
FP: Well, they have a name for “cutting” yourself; they should also have a name for beating yourself….
GD: That was out of line, Senator. Wait a minute…are we talking about masturbation? Because I told you I thought it was a snake attacking me.
FP: Oooh, Comment approprié: a producer wrestling with his snake. Okay, any parting shots for our audience, Mr. Funny Man?
GD: Visit our site, www.classclownpictures.com—click on the “wedgie” link and please donate and or share the link with your friends and family—it will be so cool when the film comes to be a part of the process—brag to your friends—and when we do make it—we will take care of those who took care of us. Also, my IQ is eight points higher than yours, Frank.
FP: Well, eights point higher than nothing is still…hey, well…it’s been great having you, Bro—I mean, “Mr. Dorchak.” And I am older than you, so I will be looking forward to that “care” you talk about. Anyway, thanks for enduring my hard-hitting, Barbara Walters-like, no-holds-barred interview (Anderson Cooper would be proud). I truly wish you all the best in your Class Clowns Pictures—and I want my T-shirt. XL.
GD: It was fun being here, Frank. This was my very first interview as Head Clown; I hope I didn’t ruin your couch with my tears.
FP: NP. But you kept honking that damned horn during this interview and your big floppy shoes kept gettin’ in the way.
Portions of this interview were pre-recorded. None of the views and opinions expressed in this interview were from anyone important. This interview is not suitable for children nor adults. There is a one day limited warranty on this interview. No horses were hurt in the shooting of this interview, but some feelings might have been. I hope. I used the rototiller when we were kids and he never did. Oooh, he’s such a Big Important Guy, now! Eight points. He’s not smarter than me. He’s such a liar. But he’s funny. I’ve seen his Vegas Stand-up act, he was pretty good. Blah x 3. Copyright today. IMCCVIIX12.
The Jovers, I recently discovered, were an hilarious husband-and-wife vaudeville-style act. When I watched this clip for the first time this past weekend, I laughed so hard my eyes watered! The strength and flexibility of these two are not apparent when you look at them! This clip is of a live performance at the MGM Grand, in Reno, NV—in 1980. Fe is now 83 and lives with her daughter, but her husband, Will, has since passed away.
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