Ever wonder who writes the TV listings you see in the newspaper? Well, from 1990-1994, it was me. During the winter of ’92-’93 — just before they decided to close the Atlanta office and kick me to the curb — I had the good fortune to be involved in a project to rewrite movie descriptions in a database of over 30,000 movies. The goal was to write two descriptions for each movie — one under 65 characters and another under 120 characters to ensure that the text would fit correctly in the little grid in your Local Listings. Here is how I described that project in a letter dated 10/22/1993.
____________
I am working with TVData again, temporarily. I log on to the mainframe in New York via a local line where I am re-writing many of the movie descriptions we wrote last winter. (We were originally told to shorten them to something between 120 and 130 characters in length, and no one had seen fit to inform us that they were really supposed to be under 120.)
Most of what I do is take an existing description, which is usually starts something like:
“A young [occupation] ...” or “A young man unjustly accused of [crime] ...”
and follows up with
a) “... sets out to ...”
b) “... finds himself ...”
c) “... attempts to ...” or
d) “... seeks revenge against ...”
It then concludes
a) “... win the hand of a wealthy heiress.”
b) “... the target of mobsters who believe him to be [something he is not].”
c) “... prove himself innocent and unmask the real culprit.” or
d) “... the [noun]s that are responsible for his [relative]’s death.”
Ninety percent of the time it has
“... with the help of a beautiful young woman.” stuck on the end.
With that kind of input here’s the kind of stuff I cranked out at a rate of several hundred descriptions a day. (I apologize if I’ve posted these before, but I’ve been going through my archives this week.)
The Egg and I (1947): A woman scrambles to survive on her husband’s chicken ranch.
The Early Bird (1965): A lone milkman stands uncowed by a corporate takeover.
Clash of the Titans (1981): If Perseus is to win Andromeda’s hand, he must get Kraken.
Psycho (1960): A deranged mama’s boy takes a stab at running a motel.
Traveling Executioner (1970): The owner of an electric chair does the prison circuit.
Beer (1985): An ad executive with a head for business hires three average Joes for a campaign to pump up sales at a local brewery.
Bitter Rice (1949): A rice-field worker becomes involved with two men who go against her grain.
Chisum (1970): The owner of a vast cattle empire locks horns with a businessman determined to dominate the entire Pecos region.
Forever Emanuelle: An insatiable archaeologist jumps everybody’s bones.
Sweat Shop: A seamy garment tycoon falls in love with an illegal-alien employee.
Follow that Dream (1962): A family gets the cold shoulder when they try to homestead a piece of unclaimed land alongside a Florida highway.
Les Patterson Saves the World (1987): A diplomat lifts the lid on a plot to disease the world with infected toilet seats and extort billions for the cure.
Little Nuns (1963): An order of spunky nuns attempt to convince airline officials that jets make too much noise to suit their quiet habits.
North to Alaska (1960): A miner replaces his partner’s fiancée with a gold digger.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Smell and the World Smells With You
... I met with Sims Promotional Group, an event marketing firm, today. I wanted to dress for success, however after I left the house, I realized my shirt smelled like animal. The longer I wore it and the warmer I got, the more I smelled like litter box. So now I know: Don’t hang dry cleaning anywhere near the boys or their box. I wanted to put on the dog and ended up putting on the cat.
I got called back to a second interview, though.
I got called back to a second interview, though.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Remembering the Great Rat Hunt
Rumor has it that a Starbucks is going into the space formerly occupied by Grady’s American Grill, my old hangout. Oh, what times we had there! The Great Rat Hunt comes to mind. I documented it in a series of e-mails, and guess what? I saved the entire chronicle on disk!
So as old Grady’s is gutted to make room for a new tenant, let’s take a moment to remember the greatest Drunken Bar Adventure of 2000.
(My friend, “Lucky,” says I posted this a couple of years ago, but I don’t remember it. With the new Starbucks going in, it’s timely again, anyway.)
____________
... The rats in the Labyrinthine warren in the bushes behind Grady’s are propagating at a rate that flies in the face of reason. Possibly because the guys from Planet Smoothie and I have been feeding them (I in the interest of science and they because they like to see rats jump.)
For our next scientific endeavor, Pete will be bringing smoke bombs from Alabama and we will drop them in the holes whereupon, if my hypothesis holds, the rats should all come out at once (en mouse, as it were). I invite you all over tonight to see the spectacle. ...
... Pete’s not coming with the smoke bombs now until Wednesday night. I might now want to start thinking about what to do with the rats after they come out, though. My current strategy is to run and scream in a shocking soprano. ...
... The rat thing was pretty lame. I showed up at Grady’s on the appointed day at 5:00 with two disposable cameras to document the event, a Super-Soaker for both fire safety and personal protection lest we be overrun by frenzied rodents, an arsenal of smoke bombs and firecrackers, and an instinct for the hunt which was honed by a million years’ evolution.
We had to wait until after 10:00 to go out to the rat holes so we could operate under the cover of darkness. We didn’t want to alert the other Grady’s patrons to the seamy underbelly of the food and beverage industry nor raise the suspicions of the fire marshal or health inspector. We went behind the bushes where the rats live and started dropping the smoke bombs in to flush them out the hole in front. Now, I am not about cruelty to animals. I brought a box of Cheese Nips so that if any of the little rat guys made it out they could have refreshments.
We waited for the spectacle. No rats. More smoke. We then opted for a more aggressive strategy and started chucking whirly, fiery fireworks in the holes. Most disappointing. (Though this was where the Super-Soaker came in to extinguish a small fire we had inadvertently started.) A few minutes of this and we thought, “screw the rats!” and dropped in some explosives with a bit more kick. Still no rats, but we did draw a small crowd from the liquor store around the corner.
The next day I was telling Ned, the Grady’s GM, about the adventure (an enterprise which he couldn’t countenance but wanted to hear about, nonetheless). While showing him the residue of our munitions, the reek of dead rat led us back in the bushes where we did find the bloated carcass of a rat who had clearly been trying to claw his way out of the hole when he met his demise. He had a dazed and confused look etched on his face as if he had fought his way through disorienting smoke and flame to reach safety. After an appropriate time of mourning (the length of time it took Ned to get a shovel), I pried him out of the hole with a stick whereupon he was summarily consigned to the compactor and, presumably, squished.
So, Rat Hunt 2000 was somewhat anticlimactic after all of my “ratomontade.” I had hung all my hopes and dreams on seeing dozens of gasping rats swarming out of their smoke-filled warrens and queuing up for Cheese Nips. As it was, the Super-Soaker was the most exciting part of the whole event. Oh, well. A couple of owls have taken up residence in a tree right outside Ben’s office window. I suppose I can turn my attention to them, now.
So as old Grady’s is gutted to make room for a new tenant, let’s take a moment to remember the greatest Drunken Bar Adventure of 2000.
(My friend, “Lucky,” says I posted this a couple of years ago, but I don’t remember it. With the new Starbucks going in, it’s timely again, anyway.)
____________
... The rats in the Labyrinthine warren in the bushes behind Grady’s are propagating at a rate that flies in the face of reason. Possibly because the guys from Planet Smoothie and I have been feeding them (I in the interest of science and they because they like to see rats jump.)
For our next scientific endeavor, Pete will be bringing smoke bombs from Alabama and we will drop them in the holes whereupon, if my hypothesis holds, the rats should all come out at once (en mouse, as it were). I invite you all over tonight to see the spectacle. ...
... Pete’s not coming with the smoke bombs now until Wednesday night. I might now want to start thinking about what to do with the rats after they come out, though. My current strategy is to run and scream in a shocking soprano. ...
... The rat thing was pretty lame. I showed up at Grady’s on the appointed day at 5:00 with two disposable cameras to document the event, a Super-Soaker for both fire safety and personal protection lest we be overrun by frenzied rodents, an arsenal of smoke bombs and firecrackers, and an instinct for the hunt which was honed by a million years’ evolution.
We had to wait until after 10:00 to go out to the rat holes so we could operate under the cover of darkness. We didn’t want to alert the other Grady’s patrons to the seamy underbelly of the food and beverage industry nor raise the suspicions of the fire marshal or health inspector. We went behind the bushes where the rats live and started dropping the smoke bombs in to flush them out the hole in front. Now, I am not about cruelty to animals. I brought a box of Cheese Nips so that if any of the little rat guys made it out they could have refreshments.
We waited for the spectacle. No rats. More smoke. We then opted for a more aggressive strategy and started chucking whirly, fiery fireworks in the holes. Most disappointing. (Though this was where the Super-Soaker came in to extinguish a small fire we had inadvertently started.) A few minutes of this and we thought, “screw the rats!” and dropped in some explosives with a bit more kick. Still no rats, but we did draw a small crowd from the liquor store around the corner.
The next day I was telling Ned, the Grady’s GM, about the adventure (an enterprise which he couldn’t countenance but wanted to hear about, nonetheless). While showing him the residue of our munitions, the reek of dead rat led us back in the bushes where we did find the bloated carcass of a rat who had clearly been trying to claw his way out of the hole when he met his demise. He had a dazed and confused look etched on his face as if he had fought his way through disorienting smoke and flame to reach safety. After an appropriate time of mourning (the length of time it took Ned to get a shovel), I pried him out of the hole with a stick whereupon he was summarily consigned to the compactor and, presumably, squished.
So, Rat Hunt 2000 was somewhat anticlimactic after all of my “ratomontade.” I had hung all my hopes and dreams on seeing dozens of gasping rats swarming out of their smoke-filled warrens and queuing up for Cheese Nips. As it was, the Super-Soaker was the most exciting part of the whole event. Oh, well. A couple of owls have taken up residence in a tree right outside Ben’s office window. I suppose I can turn my attention to them, now.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Compare and Contrast
On my 30th birthday, I took my sister and her kids and my cousin and her kids to Discovery Zone. You know, where you play in a ball pit and crawl through Habitrails for kids? I strapped on knee pads and crawled through as well as any one of the kids.
Flash forward to my 40th birthday. I visited the same cousin and her brother for a day of board games today. MY SHOULDER IS SORE FROM ROLLING DICE FOR A FEW HOURS. What’s to become of me? I can hardly wait for 50!
There’s still time for you. Eat well, exercise ... or as my grandmother would have said, “Straighten up and fly right.” I should have straightened up and flown right, I guess. Then I wouldn’t be a paunchy, middle-aged man. And my shoulder wouldn’t hurt from rolling the bones. And I didn’t even roll sixes — I rolled all little ones.
See you in a decade,
Bob
* * * * * *
With age comes decrepitude but also skills of manipulation.
We can’t out run ’em but can usually out think ’em.
I don’t know if I can out think ’em ... remember from when you were a teen how stupid a 40-year-old is. But I can still out drink ’em. That’s my new strategy. In the event of dispute, we’ll do shots until somebody falls down.
Flash forward to my 40th birthday. I visited the same cousin and her brother for a day of board games today. MY SHOULDER IS SORE FROM ROLLING DICE FOR A FEW HOURS. What’s to become of me? I can hardly wait for 50!
There’s still time for you. Eat well, exercise ... or as my grandmother would have said, “Straighten up and fly right.” I should have straightened up and flown right, I guess. Then I wouldn’t be a paunchy, middle-aged man. And my shoulder wouldn’t hurt from rolling the bones. And I didn’t even roll sixes — I rolled all little ones.
See you in a decade,
Bob
* * * * * *
With age comes decrepitude but also skills of manipulation.
We can’t out run ’em but can usually out think ’em.
I don’t know if I can out think ’em ... remember from when you were a teen how stupid a 40-year-old is. But I can still out drink ’em. That’s my new strategy. In the event of dispute, we’ll do shots until somebody falls down.
Monday, November 21, 2005
A Sentimental Journey
I miss my time at sea and working at the fish cannery.
The little cannery where I grew up was run by a one-eyed Norwegian woman and was located right on the coast because that’s where the fish were. She took me in after the orphanage burned and I had nowhere else to turn because, in our village, there were no wolves to raise me as their own.
We produced 40 types of fish and seafood products, 15 types of preserves, as well as salted, smoked and dried fish, ready-made fish products and frozen fish. Strict quality control, high-quality packaging, high-quality taste and the introduction of new technology enabled us to achieve success in the domestic and international markets. I loved that old Norwegian woman.
And in the off season, we used to make sausages. Oh! How I remember when it came time to drown the pigs in sausage season! We’d drive them to the shore like lemmings and in they’d tumble. They’d kick at first, but they’d stop moving after a few minutes and we’d scoop them out and put them on the truck. And they’d make the best sausages you’ve ever tasted. Hoo-eee! Must have been the salt water.
I spent several summers on a whaling ship. Oh, that was a time! We’d spot an old humpback and run for the whaleboats. Some lucky fellow would get that whale with a harpoon, and off we’d go on a “Nantucket Sleigh Ride,” pulled along by that big old whale. He’d get tired after two or three hours, then we’d bring him on in and cut him up good. And he’d make the best sausages you’ve ever tasted.
One year I missed whaling altogether because I had crabs, but I don’t want to talk about that right now.
One time that old Norwegian lady got sick. Awful sick. I don’t know if she had tuberculosis or the plague or maybe she finally succumbed to fish lung — a lot of our boys got that — but, whatever it was, she was in a bad way. I’d been at the cannery shoveling fish guts when I got the word. By the time I got to her, she was just barely alive. We spoke for a while, her voice getting weaker and weaker. I held her hand all that night and into the next. Finally, that old Norwegian lady died. And she made the best sausages you’ve ever tasted!
I miss my time at sea and working at the fish cannery.
The little cannery where I grew up was run by a one-eyed Norwegian woman and was located right on the coast because that’s where the fish were. She took me in after the orphanage burned and I had nowhere else to turn because, in our village, there were no wolves to raise me as their own.
We produced 40 types of fish and seafood products, 15 types of preserves, as well as salted, smoked and dried fish, ready-made fish products and frozen fish. Strict quality control, high-quality packaging, high-quality taste and the introduction of new technology enabled us to achieve success in the domestic and international markets. I loved that old Norwegian woman.
And in the off season, we used to make sausages. Oh! How I remember when it came time to drown the pigs in sausage season! We’d drive them to the shore like lemmings and in they’d tumble. They’d kick at first, but they’d stop moving after a few minutes and we’d scoop them out and put them on the truck. And they’d make the best sausages you’ve ever tasted. Hoo-eee! Must have been the salt water.
I spent several summers on a whaling ship. Oh, that was a time! We’d spot an old humpback and run for the whaleboats. Some lucky fellow would get that whale with a harpoon, and off we’d go on a “Nantucket Sleigh Ride,” pulled along by that big old whale. He’d get tired after two or three hours, then we’d bring him on in and cut him up good. And he’d make the best sausages you’ve ever tasted.
One year I missed whaling altogether because I had crabs, but I don’t want to talk about that right now.
One time that old Norwegian lady got sick. Awful sick. I don’t know if she had tuberculosis or the plague or maybe she finally succumbed to fish lung — a lot of our boys got that — but, whatever it was, she was in a bad way. I’d been at the cannery shoveling fish guts when I got the word. By the time I got to her, she was just barely alive. We spoke for a while, her voice getting weaker and weaker. I held her hand all that night and into the next. Finally, that old Norwegian lady died. And she made the best sausages you’ve ever tasted!
I miss my time at sea and working at the fish cannery.
Friday, November 11, 2005
I’ve Got a Right to Sling the Booze
“It’s my birthday today,” the gentleman said as he bellied up to the bar,
His tie was askew, his nose was all red, and his eyes were black as coal tar.
“So here I have come with no time to waste for a glass of your finest Merlot.
Just a touch — a smidgen, a taste — and then I really must go.”
“A jolly old wine,” the man averred, “And what a lovely bouquet!
I’ll take one more and then, on my word, I really must be away.
So tasty this wine! I’d sample a third, but I’ve really no time to lose.
Oh, what the Hell! But I think you misheard — this time I’d rather have booze.”
“A gamut of gimlets, if you’d be so kind, for whiskey and scotch I abhor.
Then I’ll be off, I’m sure you won’t mind … my, what a generous pour!
Again with the gin!” was the tippler’s call, “I’m starting to warm to this place.
It’s my birthday, it is, and I’m having a ball!” he said, a big boozy flush to his face.
The bartender warned, “Have a care! You don’t know what that much will do.”
But the man, he chose not to beware and kept on swilling her brew.
“’Smy birthday today!” the man again told her, “I think I deserve a small drink
Just to affirm that I’m older … I can have another snort, doncha think?
I like you … you’re a nice lady. And I like the way you pour gin.
Say! What’s your name? Katie? Kate, how ’bout you hit me again!”
“I think I’d like to sit here a while and enjoy a cocktail or two.
I’ll sit on this stool and bask in your smile. So, Katie — what’s up with you?
What brings a girl so fragrant and fair to this place so vile and so low?
To breathe this stale cigarette air where these loathsome inebriates go?”
“Katie, ’smy birthday today. It’s time to see what you’ve got.
It’s time we threw caution away — and this time I’ll buy you a shot.
And, of course, I’ll share one with you to show you that I’m not a fake.
I’ll drink anything you can drink, too. I’ll drink any ol’ drink you can make.”
The man showed signs of his drinking — swaying, slurring his speech
Katie made the drinks without thinking. She mixed two mighty shots — one each.
“That’s good! That shot’s a kicker!” He polished it off with ease.
“There’s nothing like a good liquor. I’d like another one, please!”
But, that one drink became two, “Then how ’bout a small splash!
Then — no ’ffense to you — but I’ll have to drink and then dash.”
“I gotta fly out of here like a comet — if you’ll walk me out to my car.
’Cause the truth is I think I might vomit, and I don’t want to barf on your bar.
Just let me lean on your shoulder. Are you kidding? Of course I can drive!
You know, I may be a year older, but I’ve never felt so alive!”
“Thanks, Katie, ol’ pal” was all he could mutter as he settled in at the wheel.
“You’re a g-gem,” she heard the man stutter, “Oh ... I gotta get home for real!
You heard me there, Kate — no question, I really must leave.
You’ve kept me out far, far too late ... and I think I’m getting ready to heave!”
Katie stepped back and let the man go, she watched the pitiful sot leave
The man should not have been driving, though, she sadly watched his car weave.
“I’m the King of Today!” the birthday boy roared as he madly careened down the street.
“I’ve drunk the best drink Man’s hand ever poured, and Katie’s the best you could meet.”
So delighted was he that he floored it, and squealed with delight and with glee.
The oncoming truck, he ignored it — then he slammed right into a tree.
That sound! Why, it was horrendous! The carnage was equally so!
The damage and wounds were tremendous, they were able to find most of him, though.
They carefully took the pieces they found and laid them to rest six feet under.
Now that man is Heavenly bound … Why? It makes a man wonder.
So, take heed when your time comes to revel. Turn down the Merlot and the gin!
I’ve seen it all — on the level! Just turn out the lights and stay in!
It’s not worth your life to make merry, it can be fatal to paint the town red.
Next time could be you that they bury, best not to drink yourself dead.
His tie was askew, his nose was all red, and his eyes were black as coal tar.
“So here I have come with no time to waste for a glass of your finest Merlot.
Just a touch — a smidgen, a taste — and then I really must go.”
“A jolly old wine,” the man averred, “And what a lovely bouquet!
I’ll take one more and then, on my word, I really must be away.
So tasty this wine! I’d sample a third, but I’ve really no time to lose.
Oh, what the Hell! But I think you misheard — this time I’d rather have booze.”
“A gamut of gimlets, if you’d be so kind, for whiskey and scotch I abhor.
Then I’ll be off, I’m sure you won’t mind … my, what a generous pour!
Again with the gin!” was the tippler’s call, “I’m starting to warm to this place.
It’s my birthday, it is, and I’m having a ball!” he said, a big boozy flush to his face.
The bartender warned, “Have a care! You don’t know what that much will do.”
But the man, he chose not to beware and kept on swilling her brew.
“’Smy birthday today!” the man again told her, “I think I deserve a small drink
Just to affirm that I’m older … I can have another snort, doncha think?
I like you … you’re a nice lady. And I like the way you pour gin.
Say! What’s your name? Katie? Kate, how ’bout you hit me again!”
“I think I’d like to sit here a while and enjoy a cocktail or two.
I’ll sit on this stool and bask in your smile. So, Katie — what’s up with you?
What brings a girl so fragrant and fair to this place so vile and so low?
To breathe this stale cigarette air where these loathsome inebriates go?”
“Katie, ’smy birthday today. It’s time to see what you’ve got.
It’s time we threw caution away — and this time I’ll buy you a shot.
And, of course, I’ll share one with you to show you that I’m not a fake.
I’ll drink anything you can drink, too. I’ll drink any ol’ drink you can make.”
The man showed signs of his drinking — swaying, slurring his speech
Katie made the drinks without thinking. She mixed two mighty shots — one each.
“That’s good! That shot’s a kicker!” He polished it off with ease.
“There’s nothing like a good liquor. I’d like another one, please!”
But, that one drink became two, “Then how ’bout a small splash!
Then — no ’ffense to you — but I’ll have to drink and then dash.”
“I gotta fly out of here like a comet — if you’ll walk me out to my car.
’Cause the truth is I think I might vomit, and I don’t want to barf on your bar.
Just let me lean on your shoulder. Are you kidding? Of course I can drive!
You know, I may be a year older, but I’ve never felt so alive!”
“Thanks, Katie, ol’ pal” was all he could mutter as he settled in at the wheel.
“You’re a g-gem,” she heard the man stutter, “Oh ... I gotta get home for real!
You heard me there, Kate — no question, I really must leave.
You’ve kept me out far, far too late ... and I think I’m getting ready to heave!”
Katie stepped back and let the man go, she watched the pitiful sot leave
The man should not have been driving, though, she sadly watched his car weave.
“I’m the King of Today!” the birthday boy roared as he madly careened down the street.
“I’ve drunk the best drink Man’s hand ever poured, and Katie’s the best you could meet.”
So delighted was he that he floored it, and squealed with delight and with glee.
The oncoming truck, he ignored it — then he slammed right into a tree.
That sound! Why, it was horrendous! The carnage was equally so!
The damage and wounds were tremendous, they were able to find most of him, though.
They carefully took the pieces they found and laid them to rest six feet under.
Now that man is Heavenly bound … Why? It makes a man wonder.
So, take heed when your time comes to revel. Turn down the Merlot and the gin!
I’ve seen it all — on the level! Just turn out the lights and stay in!
It’s not worth your life to make merry, it can be fatal to paint the town red.
Next time could be you that they bury, best not to drink yourself dead.
Thursday, November 3, 2005
Ow!
I did something to myself I wish I hadn’t done. As I wrote in an e-mail to a friend a little earlier, “... I’m experiencing a little discomfort today. Before I left the house, I bent over to pick up some cat vomit and cracked a rib or something. Now, every time I move a certain way, it elicits a, ‘Hut!’ sound. I sound like a quarterback when I move funny.” It has also affected my ability to suck in my gut, so I look a little more paunchy than usual.
Again, I’m alone in the office. The most work I’ve done so far today is trying to get the shell off a stubborn pistachio. You know, the kind that has no crack for you to get your thumbnails into. I’ve got a couple of invoices to code and send to accounting, but they can wait, they can wait.
Now I see it is 1:00. Time to go get a sandwich from our little café downstairs. And only four hours before I can head home. I have a funny feeling the office will close a little early today.
Again, I’m alone in the office. The most work I’ve done so far today is trying to get the shell off a stubborn pistachio. You know, the kind that has no crack for you to get your thumbnails into. I’ve got a couple of invoices to code and send to accounting, but they can wait, they can wait.
Now I see it is 1:00. Time to go get a sandwich from our little café downstairs. And only four hours before I can head home. I have a funny feeling the office will close a little early today.
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