Happy Holidays/ Visit from the Parents/Ryan Werner Redux

Yes dear children I know I've been neglect, and, accordingly in the posher suburbs of your States, I'd likely lose possession of you.  But much has transpired and much continues to and I gladly look forward to another island to reside in for the holiday where internet moves at a speed akin to us gaining reception of the keys to our new apartment (and thus entrance therein) (translation really fucking slow!)

Until the next one, feast your eyes on my holiday card, a Chris T. original...

And how could I forget the visit from my dear parents?  My mother, shouldering thru an elbow surgery, and my father, tasting the local alcohols.  And me,  Jack, and Tom, drinking girly drinks that could barely inebriate the likes of Ryan Werner.

Oh Colombia..!

Sundance/ANOTHER EARTH/Remembering Home

I'm feeling as removed from the US as I have since I lived in Havana.

That is not necessarily a bad thing--just that it's easy to forget that you have a life there.  Simple things.  The people who are, when the geographic is applicable, of importance--friends, fellow drinkers, ex-girlfriends and lovers, neighbors, annoying office mates, Mickey from the Ear and George from Pao and even that rat bastard crumbsucker Stefan.  And Nora--let's not get into that bungled procedural.  In a way I can't totally nail down, they remain as abstract memories  triggered from characters in films you see late in Santa Marta that bare only the slightest resemblances in appearance or demeanor. to the figures in the faded Iphotos.

But on films and memories, and straying from post-Xanex musings, a film that I worked on in the not too distant past and that is without a doubt more of a moving picture in my mind was just accepted to competition at Sundance.  To boot, it was written, co-written, and directed by two of my favorite people in the world--Mike Cahill and Brit Marling.

Mike and I have been conspiring and collaborating since our first days of University, and Brit, Mike and I for an almost equal amount of time.  We've traversed the Go-Go clubs of DC; the depths of Central Havana when Mike became convinced that he was allergic to his mattress in Vedado; and been asked to leave some of the posher bars and clubs in nyc for trying to swing from chandeliers.

It's been over ten years of working together and I'm proud more than anything to have an imprint, however small, on ANOTHER EARTH and to have helped in my own small way to shepherd it to the most prominent festival in the United States.

I'm exhausted.  But these pictures aren't.

Weirdly enough I can't find anymore of Cahill.  I suppose  would be lousy as an archivist.

A Letter to Ryan Werner and Lizzie Nastro/ On Human Centipede

As Nora taunts by sending me "accidental" emails of her exploits in Venice, I'm happy to report that Jack and our new friend Ana conspired to prepare the most "mejor" Thanksgiving dinner, augmenting all with bacon!  What an idea!  Following an accomplished effort at teaching the house dog how to swim, Frankie had the foresight to Entertain us with Human Centipede!  If you have seen it,  it's a crowd pleaser!  If you haven't, I'm not entirely sure where to begin.

Because we're thoroughly in the "in" in New York with regards to those who are in the "in" in the very important world of independent film which Ted Nope so eloquently and accurately documents, we know the folks behind the release, and we, the collective in Colombia, have transcribed the following public letter to the man behind the Centipede (luckily not in the middle, if you know what I'm saying), Ryan Werner.

11/26/2010

Dear Ryan,

Thanks in advance for effectively  publicizing your film, HUMAN CENTIPEDE.  As we browsed the selection of bootlegs at the local Super Market, it immediately caught our eye.

While we held off for a week to view, we did find time to screen it towards the end of our Colombian Thanksgiving.  It certainly made me appreciate how good it is to be an American. I'm quite excited for the betterment of humanity in that you're so eager to involve yourself with the sequel.  I think the whole world, including children, will most certainly benefit from such a work of art.  It stands in line with other works in your catalog.  To quote Mark Borchardt in MODUS OPERANDI, "Job Well Done!". 

Like the best of cinema, its intrinsic social value was demonstrated by its altruistic nature which far exceeds the reaches of our living room.  Without pause I can say it really instilled solid values in Andres, our eight year old neighbor, particularly when the antagonist allowed the woman to be fed.  I mean, despite his apparent deviant nature, what a Nice Guy!

You, as a curator, have reached deity status in my book, and Godard would be proud, if He by some odd chance remains unaware of your promotion of such a piece, and its availability in a town as remote and small as Santa Marta.

To say independent cinema can't change the world is simply false!

Firm handshakes, sturdy pats on the back, and lemondrops for all,

Nicholas Shumaker

dictated and then written

CC: Mike Plante, Elizabeth Nastro, Jack Turner, 8 year old Andres from across the street

Jack Contra Horses

Sometimes the best way to combat stress is with a good home cooked meal!

Pictured below is Jack munching on an afternoon delight known as Horse Balls.  His surliness was fully mediated by a healthy dosage and the day became better for all, besides DP Michael Simmonds who was shocked to find out that an NYU professor had installed a camera in the back of his head.  Someone beat him to the punch!

A good day indeed!

Sunday Funday are Still Workdays/AKA an Ode to the Magical Bean

As anyone knows whose followed the blog, with rare exception, we're pretty much working non-stop to get Frankie's movie off the ground in a timely fashion. In the process, the work weeks extend to the full seven days, and we've toiled in the office as Sundays (as football games and, by proxy, the entire season) slips beautifully by!  The Horror!

But there is salvation with the Bean.  Pictured below is Jack on a conference Skype call in the States from our new Sunday office--The Pool!

Yes.  When life serves you lemons that command you to work all day, turn them into lemonade that you can drink by the Pool!

Once again, none of this would've been possible without the Bean.  Thanks Bean!  We love you!

P.S. -- Frankie is Skyping with Mark Borchardt whose elated that the Packers are railing the Vikings right now!

Introducing the Male Strippers/Or How I Learned to Keep Waiting and Love the Internet

I'm not sure who played this gag on us, but at around 7pm, following a somewhat hostile takeover of the new office, we responded to several knocks at the door.  Curious, Frankie opened it, and four uniformed men walked in.  As we had been waiting for the internet the entire day, we were surprised to find four men in uniform as opposed to one man not in uniform.  Immediately, panic enveloped my chiseled body, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Nora--in her infinite cruelty that began with the dismissal of Frankie's opus--had commissioned four male strippers to surprise us, clad in Internet installers outfits, knowing full-well through an earlier communique that we'd toiled all day for the Holy Grail that is the Internet Service.

But again, reality rendered me incorrect.  As Colombia turns, four men are regularly delegated to install WiFi service in Santa Marta.  After two hours of work, some headscratching, some beer drinking, lots of knee slapping, and some serious ponderings, we had become best of friends, and another amazing cultural exchange had been achieved.

Amen to these fellows, and may the Lord bestow many a Blessing on Them and their Kin!

Introducing the Crew

As the days turn to weeks, I think it only appropriate to provide you, dear followers, with kindly introductions to our dedicated crew.

This is Camila.  She is from Bogota and very nice.  Even though she just flicked me off.

To clarify she is in the foreground of this photo.  She is not the more frumpish looking woman purchasing liquor, nor is she the man who appears, with head rested against guarded glass, to be asleep.  Of course she's not because she's a she and he's a he!

Oftentimes, though, she becomes very tired (sueno) because she has to tolerate us.  Like today for example.  What a tenuous day it's been!  We've weathered or are weathering the likes of an office move, a negligent landlord in the new office who promises us wireless but hathn't delivered (hathn't is not a word but sure should be,) and a long walking trip to the grocery market to purchase a "magical bean" which temporarily allows us internet even without a wireless connection.  Oh if all places in the world could only provide such a magical bean!  But alas, Colombia does.  Oh how we love our magical beans!  What would life be without it and its blue blinking light that admits our ability to download your fanmail!  I love you Bean!

And alas, per norm, I digress.  This post was not meant as an homage to the magical bean.  Rather it was to lift the tired spirits of our wonderful coordinator, Camila.  She has learned to tolerate our cultural insensitivity, our terrible ignorance of her native tongue, and our inability to ever stop.

This is a picture of her!  She's Great!

My Father the Bartender/Ruminations on Homesickness

My Dad stayed at my apartment last weekend and, amongst other social functions, carved out some precious hours to visit George, Johnny, Don Hill, and all my friends from the Greenwich and Spring barrio.  Reviewing these, I have a tinge of home sickness, but luckily early swims on the beach and hours perfecting my bronze.

In any event, I'm unsure as to what time these were snapped but love them I do and will continue to.

A hero, that father of mine....

Mike Plante! WTF?

As a producer, sometimes it is of the utmost importance to master the skill of the hard sell.  Especially when dealing with talent.  While it would appear I have failed in the case of Nora, I still remain confident that her management and agency will allow her the personal agency to make the appropriate decision.

My more realistic and immediate concern is the refusal of my friend, Mike Plante.

Mike is an old friend of mine.  We've seen many cities together at many times, and romped together through many an awkward terrain.  While he appears to appear like a corporate stooge in the above picture, you'll see that his athletic prowess and sense of victory rivals mine, as pictured below, making him today's best candidate to Be An Actor!  Sweet!

As is readily apparent his grit and determination rivals only Spartacus.  And it is for those qualities that Frankie sculpted the perfect role for our moustached wingman.  And yet, over the last six months, he, like Nora, has rejected every overture for a tailor made project that will propel his star meter to the heavens that house his bowling score.  What the fuck gives?

Please, fellow readers, facebook or email me and I'll provide his details so you can harass him into the film.

I Would Make a Sweet Boyfriend!

I've taken my first day off in two weeks.  I spent the day soul searching on the beach, playing in the waves, and existentially questioning my very existence.  Wow!  Not really your typical day off!

In NYC, it is my habit to wash away these ruminations at the Ear Inn or Pao.  But here in Santa Marta, the only "local" I can really imagine is the strip joint down the road, The Pink Flamingo, and I can't really in good faith, health, or conscience  qualify it as such, despite its many diverse offerings.

In any event, the lack of work time has led to some pretty fucking serious self-examinations--thanks to Chris Smith, I'm comfortable being a reality show.  To the point, it was somewhere between my second tussle with the playful ocean, an pleasant afternoon nap in the shade, and a scolding by Eva in Paris that I realized something--I would make a sweet boyfriend.

Here are the main reasons why:

(1) I'm on production frequently so you wouldn't have to see me and thus wouldn't get annoyed by me.  Getting annoyed with your partner can really be a thorn in the side of a healthy relationship.

(2) If you need your space you can always send me to the bar.  They know me there.

(3) I more than likely wouldn't stray as I'm certainly not getting any younger.

(4) I have gray hair which points, at least in a superficial way, to me being mature.

(5) Assuming you have a mother I can entertain her with stories from weird places.

(6) I live in an apartment.  Right now though I'm living in a house that feels, again, like The Real World.  So if you enjoy reality television, you'd essentially be dating a cast member!  How sweet is that!

(7) If you're insecure about eating, I will finish your cheeseburger for you.

So ladies, be you single or taken, chew on this for a minute or two and get back to me.  If you have referrals please email them to me with pictures (both head shots and full body shots--think casting).  If you can think of more reasons why I would make a sweet boyfriend, please send them to me and I'll weed through them.

Until tomorrow...

A Week in Photos

Locations Meeting

Frankie Versus The Couch

Me in Repose

6AM - Backyard of our Finca

Jack Befriends the Enemy (aka Glasses Killa)

and finally the obligatory weekly installment of our shirtless driver, Manuel

The New Finca: A New Dog, Broken Glasses, Sex Shops, and Rekindled Friendships

Readers.

I am appalled at myself for the delay in communique but work has domineered more of my leisure than it previously had.  That apology aside, let's not shit around and proceed wildly, henceforth:

(1) We've changed location to a finca on the water that has a dog.  While I like the dog a tremendous amount, on the first day whilst at work, he took advantage of my glasses and destroyed them.  Below you'll see Jack's failed attempt to put them back together.  Said dog in question also has fleas, which may or may not aiding Jack's hair to appear so peculiarly.

(2) While I typed away at the office and squinted through contracts, Frankie continued his scout with the team.  Today took him to the police station, where he modeled the following "extras."  Pictures forthcoming.

(3) It's been really amazing to reunite with my Canadian producer friend Ken.  He and I used to play squash in Cuba and partly inspired me to (try to) produce.  Last night we ate street food and drank tequila in plastic chairs on the beach.

(4) We've located the only adult toy store in Santa Marta.  Just saying.....

Hasta manana.

An Open Letter to Chris Smith - Part 2

2 November 2010

Dear Chris-

Despite our recent communique, dated 1 November 2010, I entered our fridge last night after a day of duress to cleanse my frustrations with an ice cold Aguila.  I reached into the box, and removed the first one.  Strategically, your cinematographer obviously dismissed my last missive by wrapping a release around my frosty one.   I can only imagine you that you, a man of ethics and accountability, did not authorize such an action.

Regardless, not cool.

Your genocide against trees must end.

As an aside, I need your help convincing Nora Zehetner to be in the film.  Perhaps we can discuss over that Something Special that is warranted for signature.

Kind regards,


Nicholas Shumaker
cc: Christopher Thompson

An Open Letter to Chris Smith

1 November 2010

Dear Chris,

No matter what you do you will have to personally present me with a release to obtain my signature.  Releases planted underneath my pillow, inside of my shoes, in my jacket pocket, and other clever places including in my drawers and taped to my bedroom door will not be signed and promptly shredded.  Most importantly, obtaining my signature while sleeping, as was attempted last night by your able cinematographer whose braces inflicted flesh wound seems to be mending well, will not happen (see picture below).

Your behavior is committing homicide against trees, an offense sadly not punishable by anyone besides Vice President Al Gore.

Let's save some trees knowing that I will consider signing when you come down to Colombia and we meet again, akin to Berlin, face to face over a Something Special.

Until then, I remain,


Nicholas Shumaker

santa marta--where the weather is divine, the people freindly, and the prostitutes wear braces

Hola Amigos!

We've arrived in Santa Marta.  Majestic doesn't begin to describe the place.  But, with my constrained vocabulary, it's the best jab I can get in.

As a man of few words, last night we had an incident.  The story has many tentacles, but in the interest of time and my own recollection, it'll have to contained.

Frankie, I found quickly, has a new muse.  She works at a great place called the Pink Flamingo, where all the men working wear Real Madrid jerseys and all the women working wear..  well... barely anything.

Concurrently, there's a tiny crew (one person) documenting our adventure, and without naming names said worker opted to see how well Colombians could actually dance.

After approaching a local candidate, it appeared that her prowess was indeed elevated.  After ten minutes of ecstatic gyrations (see below picture) she threw her forehead up in the air, and, purely on accident, struck said worker's on the forehead with her braces.  Yes.  Her braces.

Looking around, it became apparent that the majority of female employees at this fine establishment wore braces.  Jogging my memory more, I remembered all of the women at these places had braces.   What gives?   Some noble soul, please chime in?

Apt at surgery, Jack and I had to repair our wounded solider out in the back of the Flamingo.  Whether this will limit our nocturnal travels remains unclear.  But count this tale as cautionary.

Simmonds Arrives/Awards Ceremony

Yesterday our wonderful DP Michael Simmonds arrived.  Michael has shot a number of great movies, and functions well in all environments, ranging from the tropics of Antarctica to the desert plains of Serbia.  So Santa Marta should be a breeze.

After a long day at the office and a number of arrepas and a brief consultation of how to reapproach Nora, we headed to a Colombian Production Grant Awards Ceremony.  Our friends and co-producers on the project--Dynamo--were up for a new film from Andreas Baiz, whose next film is prepping.  The ceremony was like nothing I've ever seen in that they gauge 80 projects or so, narrow it down to 20, bring those 20 in for interviews, and then have a huge ceremony in an auditorium to announce the winners while the non-winners sat and watched.

Michael and I sat in anticipation and confusion (as we barely understood what was happening) but after a five second delay we found out our Andreas won!  Which was great!  Again victory rears its head in pre-production!

From there we went to celebrate with Havana Club!  What a splendid way to pass an evening!  The festivities bore little to no resemblance to the picture below....

Tomorrow we head to Santa Marta.  V excited to catch up with Jack and with Frankie.  All's coming together.

Nora's Response

Half way through my first cigar in years, Nora, the aforementioned, lovely actress whom I've professionally courted to join this crazy trip, struck up an electronic conversation via Skype. While inappropriate to divulge all, let's just say it's official.... she's not going to be in the film.  It was confirmed by, what I can only deduce as a self-portrait expressing her thoughts on my persistence.

See Exhibit A

That said, I think she's alluding to there still being a chance.  Being from Detroit, optimism is in my genes.

While her enthusiasm in saying nahhh is evident, what remains to be seen is whether she or her representatives will file a restraining order.

The Longest Days

I did get to go to the Mall today again which is great.  They know me there by name.  I bought cigars and am smoking one, which is really nice, as I trudge on with work.  Michael Simmonds our beloved DP arrives tomorrow, and I had a great two line email exchange with Ben Kramer in LA which was awesome, as always.  This is pre-pre in Colombia when I should be at a premiere for a film I can't understand.  Producing is all about the leisure and perks.

Colombian Talk Shows

I learned something interesting today about me and Colombia.

When I'm not in the office, which, aside from scouting, is the rarified moment, I am in the Mall.  I really don't have the lay of the land in Bogota, and, admittedly, I never thought Malls were all the rage, despite the extreme fun propagated in Mallrats, but I've spent a fair amount of times in Malls since I got to Colombia.  First up was a few weeks back in Baranquilla where I ate MacDonalds.  Then I bought a thirty dollar Nokia phone and a four dollar wallet at a different one in Bogota.  I've pictured each below because, like a father, of my new children I'm proud.

Claudia, who I've mentioned but not formally introduced, is our production coordinator, and it was with grace and precision that she facilitated my new found love for the Malls.  She escorted me to the best stores where I pondered purchases of belts, wallets, jousts at pinball and air hockey, and Eurotrash sunglasses and revealing swim trunks (that Jack previously bought) that would provoke my dear mother to disinherit me.  Best of all she led me to a fast food eatery whose offerings exceeded my favorite MacDonalds meal in both taste and thrift.  Here she is, kind reader.  Under her watchful eye I pitifully navigate this foreign land.

From there the day turned sour.  I attempted to sneak onto a Colombian talk show called Extra but was promptly escorted out.  The show shared the same stage as the Colombian version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.  Despite my vocation as an independent film producer, my aspirations covertly align with that show's ethos, yet I aborted invasion onto it.  Instead, all I earned was this lousy picture before the suits forcibly relocated me to the street's curb.

Publish Post

From there I made a last ditch pitch to convince my actress friend Nora to join us on this culturally enriching adventure.  Beg and plead as I did, she refused, for the seventeenth occasion, so the only option I can muster is breaking into tears on a video conference call.  Nora.  If you're reading, consider this an amazing non-Razzie opportunity!  Regardless of her decision, I will always adore her and a special place will always be vacant in my heart for her likes.  

Back at my apartment,  just got off the phone with Turner and, from the marbles swimming in his mouth, our radically talented (and patient)  casting director Susan Paley Abramson and I could only conclude that he was perfecting his Stephen Hawking impression for All Hallows Eve.  

I can only imagine what that cruise ship did to my poor business partner.

Bogota - Day 1 - From Brothels to Academia to Pizza Parties

This morning I weathered my insomnia by exercising the body at 7AM with ten sun salutations.  It is impossible for me to type sun salutation without thinking of its irony and humor, as transmitted (prior to any novice knowledge of what a sun salutation actually is) by Jonathan Ames' in his groundbreaking novel, Wake Up Sir.  In any event it soothed the nerves and readied me for an occupado day of scouting brothels, strip joints, and universities.  A day isn't complete, as my dear followers know, without hitting each of these in the broad daylight.

First off was the 49 Club.  49 Club spans an entire city block, and according to their kindly manager, Orlando, is set to reopen tomorrow--although the renovations looked at least ten to twelve days off from this writer's eye.  Regardless, this four storied monstrosity was a site to behold.  A bevy of open dance floors snaked away to private VIP areas and apartments that could be rented by the hour.  Where I'm from we rent by the month, but perhaps they're on to something.  Of particular note was a small casino that I'd gladly wager my wage in for a night.  Here's a picture of me and Orlando.

From there my intrepid driver, Claudia, and I carried on to La Piscina, which is, from all internet machine testimonials , the most highly regarded adult establishment in all of Bogota.  Even in the daytime, the architecture and design of the place proved it's in the running for the coveted Sweet Times award of "Best Stip Joint Slash Brothel".  After entering an ominous looking door in a derelict wasteland of Bogota, we were greeted by the owner and taken to its coliseum-esque main room, where embedded stripped pads with requisite stripper poles floated above a seemingly well-maintained and (disease free) pool.  The only negative I could see was that if one were so inclined to take a dip, one would be quickly banished from the establishment, quite possibly forever.  Pictured below, who wouldn't want to shake away the days worries with a frosty Club Colombia and a refreshing swim.

From there, we ended the afternoon at a University which was OK.  Back to work.  My solo pizza party in my hotel room, adjacent to Parque 23, hath begun.

Bogota

Yesterday I was in New York City, Santo Domingo, and Bogota.  What a wonderful surprise Santo Domingo was, what with their airport and allegiance to Michigan made Dominos Pizza!  It was as if I had regressed back to the age of twelve.  What a wonderful year that was!

Arriving in Bogota is always a pleasure.  The aduana (customs official, for you English-only plebians) seemed convinced I was mctipsy and proposed the idea of sharing a beer as he welcomed me to the country.  What a gas!  I only had two Aguilas on the plane!  Not sure what could've possibly set him off on that course but it was even more fun to correct his presumptions!

But the sweetest news of the day of course is that the good ship that carried Frankie and Jack to Cartagena has officially landed, and they've been met at port by the good people from Dynamo.  We will reunite on Saturday in Santa Marta.  This will also offer Jack some blogtime (is that a word?) to give us first hand reports of the treacherous and amazing voyage.

Until then, here's a picture of Stefan in a bathtub with Nicole from years ago.  I'm awesome at capturing moments.  Sweet!

Ted's Excellent Adventure

As some of you might know, my cousin was involved in a hit and run in Brooklyn three weeks ago.  His injuries were extensive--a partially broken back, tremendous road burn, et al--and he's gone through some fairly extensive surgeries to begin the process of physical reparation. 

Last week he was transferred from NYU Neurological ICU to a rehabilitation center across the street.  I went to visit him this afternoon.  The visit coincided with the first time he's gone outside since the accident, and the weather couldn't have been more accommodating.  Miraculously his resolve has allowed him to begin to slowly take steps again and ask for Strohs beers with his solids. 

In all seriousness, it was refreshing to know that he's accelerated in his path to recovery.

Hawaiin Shirts are the New Shit

I've had the busiest of days preparing for my departure tomorrow.  Included therein was breakfast with Lars Knudsen.  Having previously been a train wreck, it feels really good to be Lars' life coach and help guide him through what are rather mundane issues that he's exploded.  For those who don't know him, I've pictured him below.  Given his rampant insecurities, he'll certainly object to this post but we share the same lawyer so I doubt our shared lawyer can both sue and defend me concurrently.

Following that, I headed to the office where I am busy packing up.  Whilst finalizing some very important (and secretive) matters, I received the below pictures of Frankie and Jack.  Hesitant before to go on the cruise ship thanks to its frivolity, I'm now safe harboring a bit of jealousy.  To say the least.  More so than anything is the fact that Frankie has this shirt and the only way I can get one is by stealing it from him.

Quiz Show

Everyone loves Quiz Shows!  Especially Christian Vesper, but, with that gentleman, and I use gentleman and Vesper in the same sentence with an immense amount of hesitation, they typically relegate themselves to guessing what designer made what designer tie!  The ways in which we pass our nights!

So in the spirit of the Great Quiz Show I've opted to include a weekly game here at SWEET TIMES.  If you email me with the correct answer, I'll offer amazing advice about everything!

Week 1

NYC Bathrooms -- PS 122, The reduxed Don Hills, or that god dreadful hotel Trump made in Soho?

Goodbye Yoga

As most of my loyal followers have been certain to notice, my personality has drastically changed over the last five months.  The wild, wandering ways that helped define my first thirty years have been replaced by a calmer, more deliberate Nicholas Shumaker.  Pictures like this have been set in the backseat of a bygone era:

While I'm a pretty remarkable person by every estimation, not dissimilar to Timothy Carey's lead character in the underexposed cult classic THE WORLD'S GREATEST SINNER, I for once can't assume full credit for this unlikely transformation.  Nope.  It was in the hands of the world's greatest (and most tolerant) yoga instructor, Rebecca Phillips.  Not only has she weather my histrionics and stomached all of the insults I grimace her way, she also guided me into perfect tree pose knowing that I'm pretty retarded on my left side.  For those looking for a similar transmutation, get in touch with her.  With my departure she has over four and half hours a week free for the next two plus months.

Dispatch from the Cruise

Having just finished my daily intake of roast beef and cauliflower, I received this missive from Jack, whose exact positioning in the Caribbean remains unknown:

22 October 2010

Nick-

Things are going swimmingly on the high seas.  Frankie is in good spirits and has found great company with a seventy year old woman named Millie. A recent widower from Kansas City, she has agreed to partner with him in the line dancing class that occurs between 1630 and 1700, just before the early bird dinner.

Of high interest to you is my besting of Frankie in the shuffle board tournament.  What a thrill victory brings!  Ever the good sport, Frankie tipped his hat towards me after a a firm handshake and a wily wink.  Between the patchwork class that begins at 3PM for which I have signed up, I'm going to sneak onto the court for a few practice shuffles.  (I certainly hope the tournament officials don't happen upon this blog post as I cannot risk a penalty.)

You see, the early evening could be a rocky one indeed, I must admit.  Sponsored by Saucony, Jimmy (pictured below on the left), who hails from New Mexico and rides the good ship once a year with his wife of forty years, is the reigning champion of the last twelve years, and also my next opponent.  I would be dishonest if I did not concede a  smidgen of trepidation.running through my tummy for Jimmy is a formidable adversary, indeed.  So keep me in your thoughts at 5PM when the shit is destined to go down and I create a ruckus.  Someone might become an appetizer for the sharks!

Otherwise, life is grand on the seas and, staring past the ping pong room and the geriatric yoga practitioners, I can now, with confidence, posit myself within the ranks of the great explorers of yesteryear.  Encyclopedia Brown, poise your pen, ink the tip, and be ready to posit me, Mister Jack Turner, alongside Mr. Christopher Columbus and his fraternity of great explorers in the annals of history.

In Cartagena I trust,

Jack

Anchors Away!

As I toiled over a Powers on the rocks and a Black Market Burger with the two Davids last night, Frankie and Jack (in Ryan Werner and Rene Bastian fashion) toasted two Sex on the Beaches replete with umbrellas on their cruise ship.  The anchors are up, the non-existent sails unfurled, and the AARP aged cruiseliner is en route to Cartagena with a quick stop in Aruba.  Ahoy!

As an aside, ever the non-traditionalist,  I'll be flying on Sunday direct to Bogota.  As I end this, it's important to note as another aside, this not only represents Mr. Latina's first foray on foreign soil, but might be the first time in cinema history that a director is transported via cruise ship to location.

Von Trier has his camper.  Latina has a four hundred some foot boat.  To each their own!

Jack Goes Boating

Jack fully supports my new blog despite the fact that he, like the majority of you, insists on not following it.  Ya'll be strange.

That in mind, Jack flew to Fort Lauderdale this morning which was totally sweet.  Last night we had a festive gathering with our friend George at Pao and David Amsden even showed up.  Wow.

Prior to that we took the 1 Train from the office to George's place.  During that four stop ride, Jack was able to prepare for his trip by packing for two months.  On the subway.  Talk about time management.

You don't believe it?  Here's evidence. 

Don't ever doubt me.  

Ever.

Don Chucho

While we were scouting in Santa Marta, we happened upon a jovial fellow at a restaurant named Don Chucho's.  Little did we know at that time that Don Chucho was the proprietor of said establishment, and that said establishment was in fact considered by the weathered travelers who pen the Lonely Planet guidebooks to be the best restaurant in the town.  Don Chucho proved that to us with a feast of the freshest local catch.  It quickly became apparent that we were kindred souls, as he graciously offered us a free bottle of tequila as digestif.

Sadly as we moved on to the next venue, our friend the bottle was "checked" and then, apparently, stolen from the coatcheck at our new friend Diego's nightclub, Ibiza.  I could never tag blame on Diego as he's a kind and honest man.

Sometimes, late in the night, when I brawl with my insomnia, I wonder what happened to that bottle.  If you've seen it, feel free to email me.

Bad News For People Who Like Bad News

Naysayers beware!

There is a new breed of counter-conspirators who appear to be contesting the semi-popular, longstanding conspiracy theory that we are, shall I say, fucked when December 2012 rolls around.  It turns out that the switch from the Mayan way of calendaring to the Gregorian way (or something whatever) yields not an apocalypse of living, but rather an apocalypse of clarity. The calculations might be all wrong!  Darn!


So we might all not die at the end of 2012.  Furthermore, there might not even be the tidal shift in paradigmatic consciousness (whatever that actually means) that Daniel Pinchbeck pretentiously softballed to tripped out advocates in "2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl".  I want my money back from the galley I received years ago!

All this firmly attached to the hip, i should be sleeping well knowing that society in some form will stretch past the year after next.  But alas I type at 534AM EST....

I'll Show You Something Special

This whiskey, Something Special, is posturing to be our official beverage in Colombia.  We had it for the first time in Bogota a few weeks ago, and were immediately won over not only by its amazing smoky taste and handsome packaging, but more so that some Scotsman would actually name a Scotch "Something Special."  Color me smitten.

Frank's on a Train

Frankie Latina is training from Milwaukee to Fort Lauderdale.  The conductor, pictured with, will deliver him to Florida on Wednesday.