tai-chi-one.com

I made it to Dominic Bono’s house in Vienna by Thursday night. He knew that people had fucked up. There were five scenes out of sync on the film and the video master. He called Nelson Funk and I made arrangements to get his corrections the following day. I dropped the corrected sound track at the lab in Rockville, knowing that someone had fucked up and I needed good prints to compensate for the several bad prints that I had already paid for. Dominic also made arrangements for me to meet with a woman in downtown DC on Sunday for corrections to the digital master, plus additions to the credits. I briefly visited with family and friends to make sure I still had some friends not affected by blood disorders. I had tried to keep the entire thing objective so my outside contacts and their general lack of interest with anything that didn’t concern them personally helped me keep a real perspective about the human animal keenly in check. No one really gave a duck’s ass anywhere, unless the duck’s ass was on their own red neck. No one could figure out why I was doing what I was doing since there was no real money involved. I was living and doing what I wanted to be doing was my delusional mantra. I had to have the car back to Triangle by noon the next day, but I did have a corrected digital master and dub master in tow to take back with me. There were high hopes of additional screenings for the film. Since we had been sending out out-of-sync VHS tapes to film festivals those early hopes were dashed. After all, it was a film about sickness and death and a touch of compassion. That was hard enough to sell, let alone ventriloquist’s puppet speech patterns. On my final leg down 95 with the dog leg on 40 to Wilmington I did my mileage check. I clocked in at over 7,000 miles in two weeks. The car rental was for unlimited mileage. Oobladee, OOOObladuh. I found a woman on the banks of the Cape Fear River and capped the caper with a cookie.

The next morning I immediately dropped in to give blood for money, dropped the dub master off at the studio for fresh VHS copies and returned the car, filling out the check for two-hundred-eighty dollars. Chanter picked me up at the car rental office and took me home to die. Instead I was immediately on the phone to Dublin, Ireland looking for that worldwide distribution.

“Get it funded,” I was told.

These bloody guys were driving me nuts. I sent out another ten proposals and learned that the Boss was having a conference for hemophiliac families in the next few weeks featuring my main dancing partner, Laureen, the funded queen. He was flying her into North Carolina, renting a hotel and feeding the troops for a one day session. He didn’t get the far reaching implications of a definitive film/video—mass media product about hemophilia that featured a few of his clients. I pestered the Hawaiian/Asian Yamaguchi in Las Vegas and sent him a copy and he loved it. He had become a millionaire several times over because of the hemophilia community. He finally said that he doesn’t fund projects, but after the first of the year he would make a contribution directly to the chapter and leave it up to them whether they wanted to do anything. I figured that my relationship with the chapter was officially over since the group at the National Meeting didn’t even offer me floor space to crash on. I was stuck in a giant Riddle and there was a tree in the back yard that FEMA wouldn’t remove because it didn’t hit the house.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 29th, 2008 at 2:24 am and is filed under BLOGCHI. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.