IOU One Government

Gather around children, for I shall tell you a tale. A tale of a great state teetering on the brink of disaster. Heroes rose to create a state budget that could work for all and save the state of California, only to have partisan politics get in the way and doom the state forever. It was a tragic tale that... wait, you've heard this one before? Now that you mention it, this does sound familiar. Well... here we go aagggaaaiiinnn!!!

Last night at midnight was the deadline to pass the state budget or doom California to writing IOU's (which may or may not be honored by banks... that's yet to be seen). Once again we were faced with a doomsday scenario as the clock ticked closer to midnight. And once again, the politicians were unable to do their damn jobs.

After an onslaught of bickering, snide remarks and overly dramatic speeches, we found ourselves right back where we were not too long ago- going to hell in a hand basket (or some sort of wicker carrier). Ah, politics in action (or rather, inaction).

This is why I have chosen this time to announce my candidacy for governor of the great state of California in 2010! I'll be running on the "Shit, We Can't Possibly Do Any Worse" ticket, and I ask for your vote!

I am currently assembling my staff and potential cabinet. Only hotties need apply.

Vote Duff in 2010!

The Great Idol Adventure

I've been putting this off for a while now, so I might as well just crank out at least a handful of stories from the adventure, as it took place over a month ago and they have yet to be told...

It was a warm, sunny Sunday morn as we shifted the sat truck into gear. The time on the clock was 11:11 AM and Don Henley's Dirty Laundry chimed out through the radio. Oh yes, good omens all around as we began our Sacramento to Los Angeles pilgrimage to bare witness to the Mecca of news ratings, the goldmine that made every non-Fox affiliate sick with envy. That's right, it's that time of the year... the grand American Idol finale was afoot, and we were on our way down South to feed it to the masses.

Granted, I'm no Idol fan myself... I hadn't seen a single episode this season until the week before we left, which showcased the final two: Adam Lambert and Kris Allen. One guy could sing, the other could kinda sing (but gosh if he wasn't adorable), and the grudge match was on.

So seven or so hours later we get down there, and what happens? We haven't kicked off our shoes for more than an hour when BAM! Los Angeles is hit by a full-on, straight-up earthquake. Seriously, what are the odds?

So, getting to the meat of the story- Wednesday was the big finale, and we had to do morning and evening show hits through Thursday morning... which ammounts to about 2 or 3 hours of sleep a night before hitting the pavement and doing it all over again.

Cutting to the chase... Day 1 was primaraly focused around pre-event events going on around the Nokia Theater, such as a So You Think You Can Dance dance-off. We chatted with that jerk Brittish guy, who actually had some insightful things to say about this year's Idol competition.

POW! Day 1, no problem.

Day 2 actually had a show in the evening, where the two contestants had their big face-off. This show would be so much better if the two hated each other and were constantly talking smack, but apparently they get along, so it's kinda dull. We had our first experience in the media center, which offered quite the spread...

So first up, good ol' Paula Abdul was trucked out, and she seemed... well, confused as ever. As reporters threw out questions (and I gotta say, they were terrible questions... who the hell are all these people anyway?), Paula seemed to dance around answering any of them directly, then declared that she'd be doing a live telecast for the Home Shopping Network upstairs, hocking her line of jewelery. Somebody finally shouted out the question that everyone was thinking... will she be back next year? Her publicist, or assistant or whatever, quickly ran up on stange and led her off by the arm, saying they were out of time. As she disappeared around the curtain, she shouted "Stay tuned!" It was both strange and awkward, and I wouldn't have expected anything less from the woman.

Next, the boys were trucked out for a few questions, most of which were answered by saying "Gosh, golly... we're just such good friends and it doesn't matter who wins. It's just a wild experience". Come on... let's get some fight in there! Let's get some "I'm gonna eat his children!" Maybe next season we'll find some UFC guys that can sing... Now there's a finale that I'd watch!

WHAM! Day 2 brought with it a quality package, primarily made up of stuff recorded from the show, and we were well on our way to another day of sleep deprivation... but Wednesday had much more promise to it.

For you see, Day 3 was the grand finale! The big red carpet event that was really the whole reason we were down there! We, along with probably 50 or so other media outlets, lined the red carpet and prepared to desperately plea for someone of note to stop by.

It was kinda sad, really, to see who the first ones were to arrive... mostly people that were on the show in the "top 50" or something, who were milking the experience for all it was worth. Like these girls...

They were actually there hours before the event began, and were sure to stop by each media outlet, sometimes more than once. Oh, and then there was this guy...

Blake something-er-other... He was the first to arrive on the red carpet and the last to leave. Apparently he did alright for himself some years ago on the show, but has yet to do much else, other than wander the carpet and shoot off some cocky attitude. He even had his own mic, but it was never made clear who was shooting him or why (although I suppose the flag did say Time... which really only raised further questions). He stopped by us 2 or 3 times, and really once was more than enough.

Anyone of note just walked past and made his or her way in- Santana, Heather Locklear, Steve Martin, and so on. We got a handful of former contestants, and were lucky enough to squeeze in and catch a few words from Carrie Underwood. Plus Simon hollared out "Hello Sacramento" as he strutted past. Not a bad turnout, and everything seemed to be going better than expected!

Then, as the big finale began, an ungodly number of catastraphies lined up and pummeled us, one after another, threatening our ability to have anything at all for the show. Will they make it? Can they solve the numerous problems before the looming deadline strikes? Well, that's a tale for another night. To be continued...

Are You Ready For Some NASCAR!

Junior! Juuunniooorrr!!

The passionate screams still ring in my ears, days after the Nascar qualifying round at Infinion Raceway in Sonoma. That was the assignment for the day, and while I'm not a Nascar fan, I'll take adventure in all its forms (AKA anything besides the day-to-day grind). Oh, and I brought the ol' Idol crew along for the ride.

Now I gotta say, Nascar is an intresting entity. It's a whole culture that seems to be built around commercialization and beer consumption. There's really no other sport like it... Rather than have one team or the other, there are dozens of competitors, many of which have hard core fans. It's like going to a football game and having fans cheer for different players exclusively. But, at the same time, they can all come together and get drunk under the same Nascar flag.

So we were down there for Friday's events, which were primarily the qualifying time trials. Again, I'm new to all this, but apparently that chooses who lines up where on Sunday's race. Makes sense, I suppose. Cars would one at a time run through the windy raceway, with their times being announced to the rowdy crowd. It was windy as all hell (I just realized that windy, as in curves, and windy, as in blowing air, are spelled the same, and create all kinds of confusion in this situation... thanks a lot, Webster's Dictionary), and I don't know if the wind affected the racers, but it certainly made it difficult to shoot from a distance... so I recruited some assistance from "Satellite Truck Operator" Don Peso-

For being out of the game for some time, he did some fine work. So for hours, one car at a time would run around the course shooting for the best time. We shot a whole heck of a lot of 'em, but since neither myself nor Peso knew the slightest detail about Nascar, we had no idea who any of these people were or what their times meant. As a result, we decided to take a break during the guy that ended up coming in first place, since our sports guy was off doing his radio show at the time. All I can tell you is that it wasn't Dale Jr. or Jeff Gordon, and if it isn't either of them, then it's all a mystery to me. And even if it was them, I couldn't tell you anything about it.

We did happen to catch up with Gordon after his time trial. He declined an interview as he hurried the rout from the press room to his trailer, or whatever it is that he hides out in. He signed a few autographs without looking anyone in the eye, treating himself as if he was some sort of grand deity. Now I'm sure he had plenty on his mind, what with the time trials and all, but from the brief walk-by that I witnessed, I gotta say he seems like he's pretty full of himself. But, given the hundreds of campers surrounding the race course filled with yokels willing to die for the man, I suppose I can't blame him.

What, you're too important to sign a mustached beta tape? Well I didn't really want you to anyway, so there.

After the trials, we shot a separate package on the hundreds of campers that come and stay the weekend in the surrounding lands. It's basically like a redneck version of Burning Man, where rows upon rows of campers line the area around the race track, flying proud American flags along with those of their favorite racer.

"We spend four days partying for a three hour race", one gentlemen said as he took a swig from a 24 ounce can of Hamm's. I'm no racing fan, but I gotta say that it'd probably be a lot of fun spending an evening huddled around a campfire with these drunkards. Some old dude with a Vietnam/Korea Veteran hat cooked us dinner as the reporter logged our tapes from a picnic table outside a camper, while screams of "Ricky Bobby" and "Shake and Bake" echoed in the evening sky.

Nascar, I can't say I understand you... but if you can get me off of VO/SOT patrol, then I welcome you to our area any time. Perhaps the next time around I'll be the one pounding a 40 of cheap beer and screaming "Juunniiooorrr!!!" at some jerk with a camera. Hey, everybody has a dream...

Trolling at the Cap

Working the Capitol beat can be a little tricky at times. All this gov'ment stuff is tricky and complicated, and for those who don't regularly wander the halls of this grand monument to state government, dropping in for a quick soundbite isn't always as easy as it sounds. To quote The Dude: "There's a lot of ins, a lot of outs, a lot of what-have-yous... got any Kahlua?" This was a day where we could have used a little Kahlua.

It was a simple enough prospect: Some millions of dollars are spent every year on automobiles for lawmakers. Some refuse them in an effort to mend the budget crisis. Others go ahead and take 'em. So let's just head down to the ol' Cap and ask a few lawmakers how they feel.

The problem with the Capitol is that everybody is always doing something (stupid government in action), and therefore are never in their offices. So what's a couple of plucky journalists to do? Well... wander the halls.

It's really all you can do, just wander around until you catch a lawmaker on his or her way to make some law, and walk along with them (backwards for the photog... always an adventure) as you hit them with rapid-fire questions. Not a problem, as long as you know who these folks are. Unfortunately, me and my trusty 'porter (slang for reporter) aren't usually on the Cap beat, and aside from a few familiar faces, we can't really recognize such-and-such from this-and-that district as they hustle and bustle down the hallway. And heck, there's a lot of 'em...

Occasionally a familiar face passes by... but then you have to try to remember if they're in the Senate or Assembly. You can't just yell out "Hey Guy!", as I tend to on my usual day-to-day stories. They expect you to know who they are, and in all fairness, we probably should. But heck, we're only down here a handful of times a year (there's bigger stories to be told!), so cut us some slack! I suppose that's what they did when they posted all the photos in the hallway, which is where we stationed ourselves in an effort to spot a familiar face. It was like some sort of wacky trivia game where you had to spot someone walking down the hall, remember where their picture was, and call out their name before they realized what you were doing.

Golly this is a lot of work. Can't we just stand in a corner and have them shuttled to us one at a time? I mean c'mon... Media Elite over here! You think you're so big and important because you're dealing with a budget crisis amidst a worldwide recession? Well I'm required to take a dinner break, so let's get this moving along, can we?

Gotta love politics.

The Beta & The Iceman

Fresh off his successful adventure to Southern California, our good friend Alfonzo, known for being the most famous mustached beta tape in the county, decided to spend Saturday afternoon just kickin' it with the boys. And what do tough guys do on their days off? Why, catch a WNBA game, of course!

Calling up his homeboys- all-star Sacramento mayor Kevin Johnson and retired UFC heavy-hand Chuck Liddell, the three enjoyed a Monarch's game from courtside.

During halftime, Chuck was kind enough to leave his mark on the tape. He seemed a little confused by the concept, and who can blame him, but the big guy went along with the ludicrous request, and we here at The Photocalypse commend him for that.

The Iceman now joins his polar opposite, American Idol's Adam Lambert, in building the mustached tape's notoriety. Who knew that this young, wide-eyed beta tape would one day grow up to become a notable man about town?

I'm hoping to snag Mr. T and/or Bruce Campbell by the end of the month. Hopefully they shop at the same Grocery Outlet that I do.

Flying with the Conchords

Stand-up comedy is an art form that can either be brilliant or utterly painful to watch. Much like playing the guitar, when done properly, it seems effortless. A pro looks as if he is on stage being himself, and he just happens to be hysterical. But it's a long, hard road to that, and as Lewis Black said in a book of his that I read some time ago, in the early days you're gonna crash and burn and hate yourself and hate your life. But if you can endure through that, you could actually get somewhere.

So for that reason, I have respect for those who dare to grab a microphone and stand before a crowd. However, before this past weekend I had only seen one stand-up show live (the previously mentioned Lewis Black). Having some old college chums passing through the area, I decided I'd give it another go, and we hit up the Punch Line club in San Francisco. 12 local comics hitting the stage. It was entertaining, affordable, and I got some pointers on what does and does not work.

(Sorry for the blurry picture, it's all I could snag before the bouncer yelled at me.)

So I'd go back and do it again, but that's beside the point. That adventure was just a warm-up to tonight's, which I'd been looking forward to for some time. Yes, Flight of the Conchords, a comedy act that has an excellent show on HBO (funniest on TV, according to Time), came to Berkeley for two shows, both of which sold out during the internet pre-sale. Fortunately my brother paid the extra fee to snag 'em, because I was left high and dry when they actually went on sale (they said "on sale at 10 am"... how the hell is it sold out?!).

Outsiders may be confused by their awkward interactions, bizarre songs and terrible singing voices... but those were few and far between at the Berkeley Community Theater tonight. These guys have a rabid underground following, which was apparent from the moment that they hit the stage adorned in cheap robot costumes to crank out their new classic, "Too Many Dicks on the Dance Floor".

The laughs were plentiful from the adoring crowd, as they plowed through their 90-minute-or-so set of song, awkward banter, song, awkward banter. I laughed my ass off, even to the songs that I knew by heart. I understand that there is a fine line with this type of humor, and it can be really hit-or-miss with some people, but for my money, I was quite pleased.

The guy next to me, a lanky fellow with his lady friend, seemed less impressed. Not once did I see him laugh, and I was well aware of his reactions, as I was leaning awkwardly close to him in order to see around the gigantic man sitting in front of me. Right around the time the band drove into a powerhouse drum-driven version of their hip-hop classic Hiphopopotamus VS. Rhymenoceros, they gathered up their things and called it a night. Works for me, since I could shift over and stop spending the evening trying in vain to peep around Gigantor's head, but given the fact that these tickets were so hard to come by, I can't help but wonder what they thought they were getting themselves into when they bought their pre-sale tickets. I guess the Conchord brand of humor isn't for everybody, but damnit, it's for me!

There were certainly a few lulls during the show... songs that aren't all that funny and seem to go on for too long, such as Bowie's in Space and Foux Du Fa Fa. Meanwhile, my personal favorite of theirs, the outrageously out-of-control love song If You're Into It, was notably absent (despite having a miniature red piano on stage). The track was also left off their full length CD that was released last summer, which I feel is a terrible tragedy.

Overall though, the show was goddamn hysterical. These goofy New Zealanders have really got one hell of an act, and I encourage you to check out the first season of their self-titled show. I'd tell you to see them live, but you probably won't be able to get tickets.

But here's one of the songs from tonight's show, a little diddy that's hoping to corner the robot music niche once machines take over the world. I must note, though, that I did not shoot this (a drunk coworker broke the zoom on my camera during a previous adventure), but it was made available by way of YouTube:

Good stuff. Good goddamn stuff.

American Idolatry

Things have been a little quiet around here as of late. Not for lack of eventful material, but rather because of a crazy schedule and overworking, primarily centered around an adventure to Los Angeles to cover the American Idol finale. More tales to come on this journey full of self-discovery, equipment malfunctions and bikini chicks... A well-known coworker was along for the ride and documented these events through the art of photography, so once I nab some of his pics the tales will begin (possible travel video to come as well).

However, without going into too much detail, I will provide you with one quickie-

Another longtime cohort was in tow for this adventure. My old traveling buddy Alfonzo and I go way back, and we've traveled the world together.

So of course, no Idol adventure would be complete without the lil' guy. Now, being no American Idol expert myself, it was nice to have someone along that understood the show. He even got a chance to meet his favorite, runner-up Adam Lambert.

And while Lambert didn't get fresh with him like he did with a certain local reporter, Alfonzo was able to score an autograph from the glam rocker, who seemed confused as to why he was signing a tape with a mustache. But, to his credit, he went along with the ludicrous request and earned my respect for it.

With a little luck, ol' Alfonzo will cross paths with more celebrities and perhaps one day become the most valuable mustached beta tape in the world. Hey, every young tape has a dream...