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Chris Ming

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Anyone, Anything, Any $

Last updated on March 24th, 2017 at 06:50 pm

Several months ago I decided the following mantra would define the next year:

“Work for anyone, on anything, for any amount of money.” I still was (am) new to Los Angeles and the entertainment business. I figured regardless of what I did, I’d learn something new. More importantly, a blanket “yes” without regard to my specific interests or career direction would stop the cost-benefit analysis that zips through my head every time it’s time to act. This analysis usually led to choice paralysis, which in turn led to no action at all.

Take away choice and the malady cleared right up.

It’s akin to the Jim Carey movie, YES MAN, only much more degrading, not nearly as funny, and no meeting Zooey Deschanel at some hipster dive bar. Which I suppose makes it nothing like YES MAN whatsoever.

The experiment led to a smattering of entertainment experiences dabbled from every inch of the palette, some great, some less so. But I wouldn’t trade any of those experiences for anything. Not that I loved my first day on set, a 16-hour PA shift for DESPERATE ACTS OF MAGIC — I was surly and miserable afterwards — but I learned a lot, watched some great people work, and popped my PA cherry.

The mantra (“anyone, anything, any amount of money”) led to my first script writing classes with Pilar Alessandra, my first Pitch Fest, my first casting gig, my first trip to the Film Market, and my first production coordinator job. Of course, not every something leads to something else, for a variety of reasons. Sometimes things just didn’t click, or I didn’t make the best first impression. Or I made choices that others didn’t appreciate, which can really hurt you if you get hung up on it.

Other times I did my best, for little or no money, and still no new opportunities came to fruition — another circumstance that’ll hurt you only if you dwell on it. I don’t like to think of this as getting burned (when you do free work, you kinda have to let go of the “getting burned” mentality as you’re working towards the intangible value of good will.) It doesn’t make it sting any less: for example, writing three free coverages for a producer who, after the fact, won’t take your calls or return e-mails. Or reading for a well-known independent film festival and your point person barely bothers to mutter a thank-you before walking away. None of these experiences leave you with the warm and fuzzies.

It’s discouraging if you let it be. If you’re not zoned for the proper mindset, which is: be completely ambivalent and unaffected by your results. Do your best work with zero expectations, and follow it by accepting whatever you get in return, whether it’s a thank-you, more work, or just the experience. Then nothing can hurt you.

Photos Credit: Marian Caraban

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Write-A-Thon

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

Contrary to the title, this post is not about writing.

Let’s start by talking about writing:

The fun of banging on the keyboard every day wanes. It becomes more about the afterglow than the work before it (“love having written, hate writing.”) There are times I enjoy the creating, capturing the moment perfectly in words as I imagined in my mind. These moments are far and few between, however. The majority of the time, writing is work. This isn’t a problem if you’re professional and treat the writing as such — you get up and get it done, regardless of how you “feel” or whether you’re “up to it.”

Recently, my writer’s group took on a unique challenge: our group of six would collaborate to write the first draft of a screenplay — in one night. One single all-night writing session to get from FADE IN to BLACK, dividing the labor equally amongst six people.

We held four meetings in the weeks prior to hash out an outline we could execute within the time frame. The outline was skeletal — we established only the main protagonist’s names, motivations, and back story, and agreed upon three or four settings. It did fulfill the single necessary requirement: get us from A to Z in 24 beats (a serendipitous coincidence, thanks to 24’s unique mathematical properties of being divisible by 3 (writing pairs) and 8 (hours to write.)

The remaining details were left up to the writers and created on the fly. This spontaneity led to moments throughout the night where one person would pose thoughtful questions like “wait, is Whitney impregnated by the demon before or after Adolfi is gored by the alligator?” and other pressing issues that affected theme, allegory, and continuity.

We met. We drank coffee. We conquered. Not in that order.

But we got our draft — a nonsensical, terribly violent yet wholly completed draft.

Take away lessons: this is a good way to get a draft written, but it’s not a good way to write a draft. I’d recommend everyone gives it a try.

Like I said: this post is not about writing.

Setting aside eight hours to stay up all night with a group of people with a single intention (“let’s make some s#%!”) was the most fun I had in this medium in a long time. Throwing down words that made zero sense logically or grammatically in a sleep-deprived state was a small reminder to enjoy the process of creating, not just the event of having created. I’m not talking about those 8-hours, either; I mean the whole process: surrounding yourself with people who want to make something, having the idea of the all-nighter, makingprogress with the outline week by week, anticipating the event as we moved closer and closer, and wondering if we’d manage to get everyone together for eight hours (a miracle in of itself.)

So now we got this draft, and what we’re going to do with it (revise it, revisit it, trash it?) is pretty unclear. I hoped it’d be a rough draft to add to the portfolio but I think even that may be a stretch. It may end up being nothing more than the only souvenir from a night where a group of people decided they were going to make something. And followed through.

That, and this blog post, that isn’t about writing.

Photos Credit: BookMama

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Five Kindle Features That Maximize Workflow

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

The Kindle has dramatically improved my workflow. I sympathize with the “I-love-holding-a-book” camp, but I also don’t argue with results: results trump nostalgia. I’ve included the five Kindle features that will change the way you read and work, and some pointers on how to implement them. This list is based off the 3G non-touch Wi-Fi-capable Kindle.

    1. Maintain Your Reading List

The trumpeted feature of the Kindle Bookstore is you can buy a book anytime, anywhere, and be reading in seconds. You can even read samples of books. But the real highlight of the Kindle Bookstore goes unmentioned: searching for books maintaining an up-to-date reading list.<

With the Kindle Store, you can immediately search for your book. Then add it to your Wish List (and download a sample.) Then it’s safe to completely forget the book, until you’re ready for your next book purchase.

The Wish List streamlines maintaining an active book list. Your Kindle becomes your single destination to remember what you planned to read, to buy the book with a single click, and to begin reading.
Constantly reading is crucial in lifelong education, and removing barriers is a significant step towards continuing that education.

  • Overhaul Your Note Taking System

I’m a huge fan of annotating books and having a notes system. Analyzing your own thoughts and expounding on an author’s original work based on your experiences allows for exponential personal growth. Inspiration (“ah-ha!” moments) is exciting when you hit a key point while reading. Tangents spring on utilizing information. You have worldview paradigm shifts.

Unfortunately, obstacles stand between inspiration and action: interrupting reading momentum, logging your thoughts, cataloging them into a system where it’s easily accessible. It’s difficult to digest vast amounts of material if you’re forced to constantly stop and start.

A handwritten organization system for your notes, no matter how strong, loses effectiveness after X amount of material. The best way to access information on the fly is if it’s digitized (read: searchable.) This is especially true if you’re not only searching for the original material you read, but your reaction to the material. Reading on the Kindle closes this gap and removes barriers in digitizing your notes:

  1. Highlight original content on the Kindle
  2. Type quick notes about applying this information. The Kindle is a tool for reading, not writing — the keyboard is clunky at best. So all you’re writing on the Kindle is a note or two that will jog your brain to recall those first sparks of inspiration (my notes usually look like the stream-of-consciousness of a second-grader.) Don’t bother writing out the entire thought.
  3. Continue reading with minimum momentum lost (no putting down the book, no finding a piece of paper, no finding your place on the page, etc.)
  4. Amazon automatically stores your books, highlights, and notes. Log-in to your Kindle account to access it. Copy and paste your notes into your digital system of choice (I prefer Google Docs, but Evernote works well, too.) From your Kindle Account, you can also share your notes or follow others.

With digitized notes, it’s easy to access you exact thought, from the exact original idea, from any title. Based off the brief notes, it’s easy to develop your ideas further.

  • Follow Blogs

Keeping up with the blogs I followed used to be a struggle. I don’t read well on the computer — I want to get lost in the material. There are too many distractions on a computer monitor. With my feeds in the Kindle, it’s easier to give the content all my attention and more convenient to stay up to date.

  1. From Home, go to the Menu and select “Experimental.”
  2. Launch the Browser.
  3. Enter the URL for your reader and sign-in (I use Google Reader.)
  4. Bookmark your Reader URL so it’s easily accessible next time.

Using the Kindle to access your Reader works great: it displays your feeds and posts, marks posts as read when you click on them; you can even “Favorite” posts. The only major drawback I can see is because “Kindle doesn’t support multiple browsing windows” you can’t open hyperlinks within the post (I haven’t researched a work around solution to this yet.) Instead, I’ll “favorite” the post so I know to return later.

  • Reading Scripts

I work as a script reader and not carrying physical scripts is a major convenience.  Some benefits:

  1. Reading time is drastically reduced
  2. Easily sort scripts
  3. Annotate and bookmark as you read — no more flipping back pages to find “that great line”
  4. Zero waste (paper, ink)

Friends have complained about eyestrain when reading PDF’s on the Kindle. This can be solved by using a horizontal orientation.

If you don’t read scripts, reading articles that you find on the web is another useful option. Again, it goes back to the desire to get lost in content, which is a challenge on the computer. Just convert the article into a PDF or a Word document, and send it wirelessly to your Kindle:

  1. Attach your document to the e-mail address associated with the Amazon account to which your Kindle is registered, but with a slight modification: the e-mail address will look like <name>@free.kindle.com.
  2. No wires necessary.
  3. For a list of approved document types, see Amazon’s list
  • Borrow Books from a Public Library

I have both a New York Public Library and a Los Angeles County Library card. You can borrow digital material from both. There can be long queues for material, but the digital stack collection is expansive enough to cross off a few items from your Reading List — the one you’re keeping up to date with tip number one.
Check out your library’s website to find its library card requirements.

There are other great features to the Kindle: text-to-speech, listening to mp3’s, using it for audio books, looking at pictures, access to Project Gutenberg for a huge collection of free books. However, I’ve found no regular use for them (I have an iPhone and an iPod for music/audio books; it’s difficult to annotate using text-to-speech; my reading queue is so long I probably won’t ever need to access PG.)

These five features that maximize workflow all pertain to reading, and with good reason: reading is what Bezos and the Amazon team set out to revolutionize when they released the Kindle. Looks like they’re on the right track.

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Accountability

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

I never thought of getting a poker game together as such an exhibition. It never used to be; in high school, in college, we’d decide on the when/where/time, and then spend 10 minutes making calls. Within 30 minutes, we’d hear back from 95 percent of the people. In or out. See you there or catch you next time.

You could say those were simpler times. Now, everyone has more responsibility to juggle and things come up at the last minute. Ask any assistant or executive how things are at the office, and they’ll tell you, “oh, it’s crazy busy. Crazy crazy busy.”

Crazy busy is not an excuse for lack of accountability.

Life if complicated, but isn’t that why you have all those fancy apps on your phone? Your iCal and your six alarms, your international text messaging and GPS. Don’t these tools exist so you can make a commitment — yes or no — or if you have to break a commitment, you can communicate in a timely manner?

So what’s with the lack of accountability? Why do people consciously decide they’re not going to bother with a response? Why do we accept the behavior with the admission that, “well, this is how things just are…”?

We see others do it, and that makes it okay
The executives, the agents and all the other power players leverage time as their weapons. Canceling and rescheduling are tools in their arsenal to remind others that compared to them, they’re insignificant. Suddenly, “feeling tired” and “I don’t feel like it” are valid reason to cancel appointments. I remember rescheduling a half-an-hour general interest meeting that’d already been pushed literally, a dozen times — the original appointment was over a year ago.

If a meeting is pushed back one whole calendar year, then (one) the issue at hand either resolved itself and (two) the meeting wasn’t important to begin with. Why not cancel it?

Instead, I push it back another month, without explanation of the logic behind the decision. I bask in the wisdom of the decision, and nod my head as I observe “how business is done.”

Then I emulate the behavior in my personal life, with my personal relationships. If I’m called out on it, I justify my lack of accountability by saying, “this is how business gets done.”

There’s an implied pecking order when it comes to accountability.
The relationship is easy to follow: if they’re higher than you, then you’re the model of accountability and commitment. If they’re lower than you, you remind them of their status by not bothering to respond. That’s not precisely how the train of thought choo choos through the mind, but it’s close.

Every time someone fobs you off, they commit a specific transaction: they bet this show of superiority (“I am so powerful, so well-connected, that I can’t be bothered to respond to you”) is more valuable than any potential retribution (“…and there’s probably nothing you can do about it.”) On a conscious or unconscious level, blowing you off was a justified opportunity cost.

Ease of access translates to an easing of accountability
Our wonderful communication applications put our entire network just a few keystrokes away. That barrier to connect is so low, that in turn, the perceived opportunity cost of failing to connect is non-existent (“I choose to ignore this message because I know if I need something, I can always reach out.”) Plus, generally speaking the “higher” the technology, the more indirect and greater the anonymity. So by relying heavily on e-mailing and texting, we shield ourselves from the emotional consequence: we don’t respond to an e-mail; we cancel last minute via text.

In short, if I don’t feel like an ass for canceling then it’s easier to cancel.

The lack of accountability can be frustrating if you let it be. Is this how everyone treats one another? Is this really how business gets done? You can mope about it. You can get out of the game.

Or you can treat each one of those tiny injustices like chips on your shoulder. They can serve as nettling reminders that you’ve got something to prove — that they miscalculated when they decided blowing you off was a justified opportunity cost.

And then you go do something about it.

Photos credit: fahad Al-Muhanna

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Fairy Tale

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

I’m in the room, exec producer on my right, director to my left, and casting director across the table from me, and they’re swapping stories about girls they’re seeing and asses they’re tapping. I wish I met them years ago to better reap the benefits of their wisdom, because I see it: they can flip a switch the second an actress enters, and suddenly they’re charming, powerful, suave. The switch returns to off when the door closes, and it’s back to the “Vaseline story” about the prostitute in Mexico.

I have friends who’d be great in that room, armed with an encyclopedia of sexual conquests to contribute; guys who can weave sex stories into epics, turning a weekend tryst into an underdog tale, with antagonists and rising action and of course, a climax.

Theirs is a skill set I haven’t refined. When pressed to contribute, I tell them about my girlfriend, Amy. She lives in Ireland. I haven’t seen her in months but she’s visiting for Christmas and New Years. I’ll visit in April, and then she’s going to move to Los Angeles in the fall.

It’s a lovely story. But it’s not what the audience wants to hear. Which is understandable: when you want to see WILD THINGS you don’t settle for YOU GOT MAIL.

The general response is “that’s cute,” which looks like a compliment on paper, but is dismissive and belittling when heard aloud. “That’s cute” is an appropriate response to crazy cats and swearing babies you see on YouTube. Not two people trying to keep a relationship intact from halfway across the world. It’s a backhanded compliment with an unsaid implication:

That’s cute… that you think it’s going to last.
That’s cute… that you think anyone stays faithful these days.
That’s cute… that you think your relationship is a fairy tale, and you’ll live happily ever after.

There’s an inclination to challenge minority status if it’s flaunted, or presented without apology or embarrassment. Unapologetically aligning yourself with the minority is an affront to the status quo. It’s an attack on how others see the world, so they’ll get defensive. They’ll lash out in retaliation, with rebukes or belittlement.

The real insidiousness of their counter-attacks is that it springs from truth as they know it. “Believe, me,” they tell me. “I’ve had the unhappy marriages, the multiple divorces, the legal battles for money, for custody, for the dog. You, you’re young and naive, and what you’re talking about is a fairy tale.”

These are all facts. Irrefutable. I am young and I am naive, and when I tell people about Amy and our relationship that exists 6,000 miles apart with an 8-hour time difference, I wholeheartedly agree. We are chasing the fairy tale.
If you’re not, what would be the point?

Photo Credit: moniellain

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Who Owns Your Collaboration?

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

The scariest part about going collaborative with a project is the realization that once you bring another person on board, once you put out that innocuous question over coffee or drinks or a BBQ sauce stained napkin, “I got this project; you interested?” is that the project doesn’t belong to you anymore.

Now you share the project with your partner. It’s a joint-venture. Doesn’t matter how many nights you slaved over the concept, or how much money you sunk to get it from point “A” to its current manifestation. The scope continues to grow, you add more pieces, you bring on more people, and you own less tomorrow than you did today.

It can be a punch in the gut, watching your collaborators rip apart your meticulously constructed project, fumble with their individual pieces, and tweak that, adjust this, turn that knob and spin this dial, then try to reassemble the monstrosity. Don’t they know?! That’s your baby they’re so callously tweaking and manhandling, with absolute disregard for the sacred “process.”

Eventually, the torture ends. The collaboration is over, and it yields a product. The product is in the can and ready to ship, and so the rights revert back to you, right? You suffered through the butchering, but at least now your baby (your bloated, misshaped baby with 13 fingers and an ear for a nose) is back in your arms, right?

It is… right until the moment you ship. The second you put your project out to the world, it doesn’t matter what the byline reads or screen credit declares or contract states: the project once and forever more no longer belongs to you. Now it belongs to the world. It’s theirs to judge, to hate, to love, to critique, to ignore. If you’re not okay with that, you’re limiting your opportunities to create something greater than yourself.

I finished working on an independently financed television series, where I met a lot of talented people, but at times the project felt like a sinking ship. Production wrapped a month early when we came up short on the money. Once the dust settled and the strike days came and went, we could look past the issues of gross overspending, creative arguments, and constant rescheduling, and see these were the symptoms of the real problem: the project was never a true collaboration.

The project only ever belonged to a single person: the creator, who doubled as an executive producer, who tripled as the financier. He struggled to keep all the moving pieces together, clutching the reigns tightly in his fist, refusing to relinquish even an iota of control. Even as the pieces slipped faster and faster through his fingers, he continued to hold onto the illusion of control, because it was the only way he knew how to respond. It was both frustrating and heart breaking to watch.

I try to bear that in mind as I plunge into collaborations: any project of mine with a chance at denting the universe was never “mine” to begin with.

Photo Credit: shindz

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Headshot

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

Displayed on his laptop was the Facebook photo of someone I barely recognized. His was a good-old boy face, with clean features and a fresh haircut. He carried himself with forced-casual posture — shoulders back and spine slightly hunched — and it screamed American Eagle catalog.

Teddy and Kathy laughed at his modeling photos as they passed the bowl back and forth, him clicking and changing the picture every other toke. Teddy gestured towards the screen. “Look at what Ky’s been up to.”

Ky was a server who started working at the Thai restaurant just before I left. We didn’t talk much: I remember he seemed real country, real green. He mentioned getting into acting and modeling. I could barely place his face on the Photoshopped Malibu Ken in front of me, who went through a wardrobe change and pose shift with every mouse click, the only ubiquitous feature the plastic smile on his face:

Here he is, wrapped in a scarf!

Now, flexing his abdominal muscles!

Wow! It looks like Ky’s ready for a night on the town! Let’s go, Barbie!

They laughed and pointed and laughed some more, half in good-nature, and the other half, not so quite. “Hey, I mean, good luck to him,” Kathy said.

“Yeah, hope he gets something out of these pictures,” Teddy added. Like these dismissive platitudes negated their ridicule, or concealed the resentment laced twixt every laugh, every comment, every puff of smoke exhaled in Ky direction.

I remember doing the exact same thing, once upon a time, while visiting my friends Jenny Beth and Danielle, in Nashville. Late one night and bored, we started flipping through the 30-pictures-deep Facebook modeling album of a former CTY co-worker. He proudly posted a short prelude, explaining that he never considered modeling, but a friend suggested it and he “loved the results.”

The “results” were far more over the top than Ky’s photos, and included super-mega-bonus suggestive captions, like “wanna get nailed?” as if wearing cut-off jean shorts, an open flannel shirt, and a firm grip on the shaft of a hammer wasn’t suggestive enough. Or if clutching a toy jack hammer directly in front of your crotch didn’t slap you across the face with a laundry list of double entendre, one was provided for ease of reference (“I’d hammer you, too.”) We laughed and we pointed and we laughed, until we went through the entire album, trying out each caption in our own sexy voice.

Half in good nature. Half not so quite.

This time around with Ky’s photos, it wasn’t as amusing. I walked out of the room, and the click of the mouse and more laughter followed me into the hallway. Their gaiety hit too close to home. It was a low blow, making the subject of their ridicule someone who was getting started in entertainment. Be certain that anytime you attempt something difficult, something without a proven record, people are lining up their bets against you and laughing as they do it. Rare are the people who wish you the best of luck, and mean it.

Which is helpful, in its own way. Ridicule weeds out those without the gumption to stick it out for the long run. If you can’t handle some razzing at stage one, it’s unlikely you’ll have the staying power to last the seasons, when ridicule melts to begrudging acceptance, and eventually, blooms to admiration.

Still. “Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a difficult battle.”

Photo Credit: Shannon Huppin

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Spin

Last updated on March 9th, 2019 at 03:55 pm

There’s a crazy homeless lady yelling obscenities outside my window. I hate callously tossing around words like “crazy” and “homeless”– that could be someone’s grandmother outside – but she’s got a schizophrenic gait to her speech, see-sawing from sing-song to Banshee. That’s the “crazy.” And she parked her shopping cart of worldly possessions next to my car, and is using the rear end bumper as a roof. That’s “homeless.”

Teddy suggests we get out there and tell her to move, but he doesn’t read horror scripts all day, so he doesn’t know any better. There’s always that guy in slasher flicks who approaches the seemingly vulnerable creature, disguised as an old lady or the ubiquitous little girl (equally ubiquitously played by Chloe Grace Moretz.) His hand is outstretched, like he’s about to pet a baby bird. He’s hunched over, his eyebrows furrowed, and in your head you’re screaming “No! Don’t do it! It’s a trick! She’s going to bite your face off!” but he inches closer and closer, unconcerned with your pleas because you don’t possess telepathy and he is inside a television.

He gently touches the old lady, and…

Nothing happens. He smiles…

Right before she rips his face in half.

I will not be this guy.

The alternative to asking the crazy homeless lady to move is realizing that she may be obnoxious, but she’s not doing nobody harm. We should just stay inside our warm, safe apartment, with running water and electricity and cell phones, counting our blessings.

Then get on the cell phone and call the police, and ask them to move the crazy homeless lady.

I prefer this option, though I’m not sure what good it’d do. In Los Angeles, there’s this “live and let live” attitude towards the homeless and panhandlers that still escapes me. There’s a panhandler I regularly pass, stationed right where the “10” empties onto National Blvd. Her scraggly brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, and tucked into her USC sweat shirt. Every time I get gas or groceries, she’s working that corner, though her specific duties vary. Sometimes she’s got her cup in hand, walking down the long line of cars waiting for the light. Other times, she’s flirting with the homeless wheelchair guy, or drinking a 40 out of a brown paper bag.

Yesterday, I saw her at Starbucks, ordering a Frappuccino. It was half-off, part of the Happy Hour special they were running, but still.

Across our apartment, a woman parks her van loaded with cans and bottles she’s collected inside an outdoor garage. Like others, she makes her living hunting recyclables. I never gave it any thought until I overheard her conversation with another professional recycler.  “People look down at me,” he said, “but shit, I ain’t working for no man. I make my own money, and I make my own hours.”

He’s not a recyclables hunter; he’s an entrepreneur.

And what one might refer to it as panhandling, others call hustling.

In upstate New York, you throw an empty bottle on the ground, it’s littering. In Los Angeles, you know it’s going to get picked up: so you call it charity.

In many American cities, employing someone at no pay to keep the coffee machine going and fetching printouts is called slave labor. Here it’s an internship.

If that’s not spin, then I don’t know what is. It permeates from every crevice of our lives, a byproduct of being concerned with how others perceive you. Spin is everywhere and it’s still spreading, bleeding over Ethernet cables and wireless routers, diffusing from our real lives to our online lives and back again. There’s merit in developing the ability to spin, especially when it’s your Facebook or blog account that notifies others of your engagement, your job promotion, or what you ate for lunch.  It’s more fun (and easier on the ego) to spin a post about triumphing over adversity, versus admitting this recent slump of failures has got you frustrated and rapidly losing faith. And why admit you got your heartbroken when a simple “In a relationship with…” toggle box explains it all, and the only thing left to do is untag your former significant other out of your life?

Spin grants us a glossy veneer to cover blemishes. With a click, any defeat can be turned to victory, any failure, a success.  “Be all you can be,” has given way to “be all you’re perceived to be.” This power comes with the very real possibility of losing sight of who we actually are and what we actually feel. Until one day we find ourselves out on the street, babbling schizophrenics all, torn somewhere between our real lives and digital selves.

Photo Credit: Ed Yourdon

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Tipping (Isn’t a City in China)

Last updated on March 24th, 2017 at 06:50 pm

Allan soured his face as I explained his duties as the bus driver for today: keep your phone on. Answer the calls. Make sure you’re constantly looping back here from LAX — don’t just stay at the airport.

He had this “I-can’t-believe-my-lot-in-life-is-driving-a-bus” expression on his face. The sentiment seeped into his posture, and into his surly one-word responses to my instructions. He maintained that presence the entire day, up till the moment I signed his parents, indicating services rendered, and that he completed his duties.

After I shook his hand, he paused, then said, “Handshakes and thank you’s are nice, but that’s not why I do this job.”
I smiled and blinked, in that confused way we do when we don’t understand someone and hope they’ll go away if we stay cheerful and silent. He placed the form I just signed back in front of me, and pointed out the highlighted section about “gratuities not being included in the fee.” And he repeated himself:

“Handshakes and thanks you’s are nice, but that’s not why I do this job.”

Ah. He was, very not so subtly, asking for a tip.

I looked to my boss, Charlie. He had the very same smile plastered to his face. “I need you to tell me exactly what you need.” He blinked repeatedly.

Allan gestured to the paper. “Would you go to a restaurant, eat, and just pay the bill? Is that how you treat your waiters?”

Charlie explained to him, as nicely as he could muster, that we didn’t tip the drivers, and this was something he was going to have to work out with his company. Allan snatched his papers and stalked off, calling in heavenly reinforcement with a “God bless,” reminding us not tipping bus drivers wasn’t the Christian thing to do, before he disappeared out the door. I’ve never seen him since.

Despite knowing Allan was a troubled man working on his own issues, the whole experience left me feeling dirty. Well, not dirty exactly, but worse — cheap. I lived and worked in this community for a few months and had completely removed myself from the service industry for the first time in more than a decade. I surrounded myself with a constant stream of people whom I could tell, based on how they conducted themselves, saw these men and women in the service industry as beneath them. Did that influence or contact high or whatever you want to call it put me out of touch with my own humility?

Humility — how you view your importance to this world — is the quality I value above all virtues and attributes. It’s difficult to teach, and more difficult to fake, as it shapes your every interaction with others. At the same time it’s a quality closely tied to one’s resiliency; it toughens you up to do the hard work when your other resources: money, time, intelligence are scarce. And precisely because I value my humility so greatly, it strikes a nerve when Allan’s response challenges it.

Maybe Allan’s correct, and it’s proper etiquette to tip these drivers; just because we set the precedent of not doing it doesn’t mean we were right in the past. Navigating the rules and ethics of tipping is a treacherous path, though — put out a tip jar in front where something gets sold and money changes hands and we ask, “Oh, am I supposed to tip?”

Everyone knows they should tip their servers, though percentage points are often points of contention. Some tip bartenders extra generously, and others tip them the same way they tip strippers: a dollar per round, more depending on the square inch of cleavage shown. What about the baristas at our coffee shops? The furniture movers? Cab drivers and delivery boys? Sushi chefs? Camp counselors? Bell  hops and door men? Who do we tip and how much?

It sounds like an over analysis, but I don’t see it that way, because I am, and everything I achieve is, a byproduct of this system. In eleven years, I’ve made my living on both the overwhelming generosity and bitter stinginess of others. Every person whose food I served or dish I cleared, has microscopically yet very definitely had a hand in shaping who I am, and I am blessed. I am grateful. Not because of some glamorous lifestyle, or because I have so many great things, or because of any significant achievement: I am blessed to be at a station in life where I can make those things happen for me, if I work for it. Because of those people who tipped, I’m in position to earn it.

That’s the idea behind tipping, isn’t it? That no one’s entitled to it, no matter your life’s station or  your job title. No one’s entitled to the extra, even if you work in a profession where “a minimum 18 percent gratuity is charged for parties of 6 or more” or if it’s the kind of place where you put out a tip jar. We are not entitled to the tip. The same way we’re not entitled to the promotion because we’ve been with the company for x number of years, or the paying gig because we interned for three months and got really good at fetching coffee. We’re not entitled to any of it.

Everything we want, we must earn

Photo Credit: Tom Raftery

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Stories You Were Born to Tell

Last updated on March 24th, 2017 at 06:52 pm

“MODERN FAMILY: there’s a show I feel like I was born to write,” my friend said to me. “It’s like, I can anticipate every. Single. Joke. Before they get to the punch line, I already see the set-up and I know the payoff.”

Makes me think of watching cage fights, with George St. Pierre or Miguel Torres in the ring, and I’m  anticipating the shovel punches and the fist-elbow combo thrown, and when his opponent’s going to shoot or if it’s a deke! and instead follows up with a kick, and I know he does this by avoiding deceits flowing from the hands the eyes the head. Instead, he locks on the hips like Master, and that’s how he anticipates every. Single. Punch.

But recognizing technique while reclined in the barcalounger is not the same as stepping into the ring with 155 pounds of War. And calling out a punch line isn’t the same as writing one.

Recognizing and anticipating puts your skill level a hair above those who blindly consume, and hardly an iota closer to someone who creates.  Recognition is a tool in a poor man’s arsenal; safety scissors amidst scalpels. Before assuming you’ve got the chops for story, ask yourself: can you talk about which parts of the story work (and which don’t?) Can you break it down for people, step-by-step, moving through the story with a clear head and clear vision and clear words as to why this piece fits better over here than over there? Can you see past the words to spot the structure? Why is a show like Modern Family funny? Why does a bit work, not just on the funny haha level, but that deep, resonate in my gut level? Can you break down why some stories feel like discovering a soul mate and others just the cheap fulfillment of a one-night stand?

That’s ARTICULATION.

Go another level, past articulation, down to limbo, and you’ve discovered where real work happens. No liberties here, no staring at the near completed puzzle and saying, “of course the pay-off happens here, where else would it go?”  You’ve CTRL+N’ed yourself to a document so bleak and white it’d give Edith Wharton a symbolic hard-on. Now, CREATE.

That’s the real work.

Yes, story be story. Anyone with years of books beneath their belts and movies behind their eyeballs gots a sense of what that is. Everyone’s got their inkling of the aesthetically pleasing. I look at Starry Night, I’m hit with the vague understanding of its appeal and allure. It doesn’t bring me half a step closer to investing in a Crayola 24-pack and hacking off an ear, though.

Consume. Recognize. Articulate. Create. In that order.

Fortitude and study, that’s what it’s going to take to learn the mechanics, to get a grasp on the science and move from one level to the next. Fortitude and study reveals the magic, and what is magic but some misdirection mixed with sleight of hand, built on a science foundation? Prepare to invest your time if you’re going to articulate rather than recognize, and create rather than articulate. No room for skeptics, neither. No time for rants on “my artistry, hear me roar! unbound by the boundaries of your box, by the man, by rules or convention!” Because art isn’t the doing away of structure, but its understanding: why it works and where it’s limited. Scrapping what fails and retooling the rest.

So where you going to get educated on your reversals, your turning points, your inciting incidents? How you going to study up on three-act structures and the placement of set-ups and payoffs?

By taking classes. Reading screenwriting books and treating the good ones like Testament. By listening to others talk about screenwriting, piping the knowledge of others directly into your brain every chance you get. By reading scripts: piles and piles, spanning across genre and generation.

And most importantly, by wringing out your brain every chance you get, putting pen to page and shedding stories. Even when you don’t think you’re ready. Even if you don’t think this story is ready to be shared.

So that when you find the story you were born to tell… you can.

Photo Credit: Gifford Pinchot National Forest

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