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  • "The Long Watch" is a science fiction short story by Robert A. Heinlein. It is about a military officer who faces a coup d'etat by a would-be dictator.

  • excess: more than is needed, desired, or required; "trying to lose excess weight"; "found some extra change lying on the dresser"; "yet another book on heraldry might be thought redundant"; "skills made redundant by technological advance"; "sleeping in the spare room"; "supernumerary

  • unusually or exceptionally; "an extra fast car"

  • supernumerary: a minor actor in crowd scenes

  • Added to an existing or usual amount or number

  • Fasten or secure in a specified place or position with a strap or seat belt

  • flog: beat severely with a whip or rod; "The teacher often flogged the students"; "The children were severely trounced"

  • Beat (someone) with a strip of leather

  • an elongated leather strip (or a strip of similar material) for binding things together or holding something in position

  • tie with a strap




There’s been a lot of filming in the East Village/Downtown area lately, which means that I’ve been out there trying to capture the action with my camera to sell the photos to the newspapers that employ me. This also means that I’ve been getting a hard time for exercising my God-given right to annoy these same film crews with naught but my presence.
Walking down the sidewalk on First Street heading into the shit with my two camera straps criss-crossing my chest like bandoliers I was stopped and asked to move over to the other side of the street by security hired to keep people like me (and you) off their sets.
I asked him if the businesses were open during filming, knowing full well that they were as I had seen the signs stating as much posted at each end of the street.
“Well…” the security guard said eyeing my cameras.
“In that case, I’ll be at House of Hayden having a beer,” I said, spinning on my heal and continuing on my way into the thick of shooting out front of the bar.

There are rules at play here that I do try and follow. If a film crew has rented a house, business or building, it’s private property and I try my damnedest to respect the boundaries by strictly shooting outside of the establishment. Or at the very least I’ll leave without a fuss when I’m busted sneaking around inside. It’s not the money that makes me stray, believe me—I’m not paid that much. It’s the curiosity that’s killing me. Both the need to know what secret things they’re up to inside and then there’s the Mt. Everest factor—can I climb it? Can I go inside, blend in with the scenery and come out with a picture? Most times it turns out I can. But, I’m not always looking for a celebrity shot, hell, most times I don’t even watch their shows so I have no idea who the stars are. My favorite shot I ever got by trespassing (there’s really no other word for it) onset was of a room full of extras, in their varied costumes, reading newspapers and talking to one another. Maids, businessmen, cops and debutants occupying the same space staring at their cell phones or up at the ceiling seemingly bored out of their skulls.

Before this latest Prison Break shoot began they had to cut a deal.
They paid a handsome amount to the owner of House of Hayden, Dave Hayden, to remove the speed bumps in his alley for purposes of filming a gun battle there, with the understanding that the bumps would be replaced at the conclusion of the shoot.
Hayden, friendly guy that he is, offers a drink to the man with whom he has just closed the deal.
“What can I get you?” Hayden asks him.
“Nothing” says the man from Hollywood.
“Well-you have to have a drink in front of you or I’ll have to ask you to leave,” Hayden says, deciding to bust the man’s balls a bit.
“Nothing—thanks” Hollywood reiterates.
“Sorry, but that’s bar rule” Hayden explains.
“I don’t want anything,” Hollywood says.
At this point Hayden, feeling a little exasperated that he can’t get a rise out of this man from Tinsel Town, leans in and confides to him: “You know it doesn’t have to be alcohol. I can bring you a glass of water.”
“No, thanks,” Hollywood says. “I don’t want anything.”
In order to save face and being a man of his word, Hayden sees no other option but to ask Hollywood to leave his bar. Which he does and then spends the next hour or so conducting business on the wooden bench out front of House of Hayden like it’s such a nice day he actually prefers it outside.

Now, I did have a point to this story. Something about how Hollywood needs to lighten up a little when they come into our neighborhoods to film their little shows, but writing this story out makes me realize that I may have missed the point completely.
While Hayden was busy trying to bust Hollywood’s balls, Hollywood was turning it back around and taking the piss out of Hayden. And, if that was the case then I can only say, “Well played, Hollywood. Well played indeed.”

sky day 347

sky day 347

"dammit, my bread went stale"
backs turned, your name, spin around, hey there
there is a face i know, at last
and in the evening, less than twelve hours after coming here
i run into stewart campbell out of millions in this city
what luck, one of the people i want to see very much in this place
oh my gosh, maureen, i thought you were in africa
yeah i was, i just got in this morning
oh damn, what time
like, ten hours ago
shit, you booked it to the guggenheim then haha
yeah haha it's free night so you know... and i read about jenny holzer's thing here tonight
yeah, yeah, i can't wait to talk about it with you
i couldn't help but think that no matter how old you get your face is always going to look sort of young
there was an art exhibit where there was a bed in the museum and you could rent a night to spend in the bed like in a hotel
sleeping in the guggenheim
i felt almost positive that the people spending the night in it, if there were two people, would feel very pressured to have sex in this bed with a black blanket on it
because when else could you have sex like that in the guggenheim
this was all i could think about
and maybe it was all the people staying in that bed every night could think about
this felt dumb
this was probably the intent of the "artist" or whaterrer
i told you about the zimbabwean woman on the plane who sat near me and didn't seem to sleep the entire flight
for almost an entire day
she told me about her son and some other stuff
like that it was her first time to america
and she has been trying to move to this country for twenty years to see her son
but robert mugabe is an asshole
yes you can say that again
robert mugabe is still an asshole
everything here actually does seem perfect and happy and smiling and warm and healthy but i know it isn't and thought about music
i watched her eat airplane food
she told me about her husband dying very briefly
i didn't tell her anything
i am worried to an extreme extent about alienating people i have not seen in a long time, especially my close friends
about not meeting their expectations and delivering the exact characteristics they have idealized in relation to how they remember me
in how they will expect me to be, and how they remember me being
not that i'm totally different
i am very afraid of this
and still, feeling indifferent about them not meeting my expectations because, uh,
it just wouldn't bother me and i would adjust
i am semi paranoid about this and have trouble not thinking about this
i offered you my extra malaria medication but who wants those dreams, really
they start out good for a few days and then they turn on you, incredibly
the clothes were washed in a washing machine
and then dryed in a drying machine
i drank a drink from a machine
swiped a plastic card in a machine
people talk on their cell phones in the street and out in the open, in public
there were no large guns strapped to the bodies of muscular men
i saw a cop with a stick on his belt instead of an assault rifle
there were also very many cats asleep inside of your dormitory which i thought was nice
that was a calm thing
today was the first day i did not see a gun in a long time
i know that this reality was planned by a government official
new york feels tame

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