Friday, September 29, 2006

Hold Me Back...

So I land this morning, run to the Lot C bus at LAX, hop in the Jeep, speed down a CROWDED 405 freeway, roll into the UCLA parking lot, and arrive at the Kevin Smith class about fifteen minutes late. So I miss a segment on what the hell we're actually doing. No sweat, so I think. This meeting was scheduled a day before, where the professors changed the times, fucking up my flight schedule from San Jose. And it added sixty eight bones to the credit card and a 5:30am wake up call is the result. But I have my ass in the seat. The professors strongly encouraged us to attend, but you COULD cop out and not show up, which some people did. Again, my ass was in the seat.

So one professor talks yada, yada, yada. Great. Got it. My boys are in the class, and what I missed, I'll get later. So next on the agenda is the head of the producing dept. She starts talking the usual yack about the class, what's going on, how great we are, etc. Then she asks if we have any questions. Cool. Here's my chance to find out what I missed. I ask a question. She says that should have been gone over. Okay. But the other professor says that I came in late. She then turns with steely eyes and says no one ever comes in late to her class. Huh? This is grad school, not homeroom. People have real jobs, and mine happens to take me to San Jose, Palookaville and all points between. So I stare, tripping that she's calling me out like I'm at St. B's. She then says that in her class, if people are one second late, they get a grade less. So I'm stewing. I'm tired, sleepy, and now super pissed. I'm STILL fucking pissed. That's cool. I think she may remember that last year, I was the only screenwriter to attend the so called Town Hall meeting and questioned why we don't have classes on television. She didn't seem pleased by that. Well, I pay good scrilla to learn about television. She talked about some class that happened years before I got into the program. Great. That'll help me.

Anyway, I talked with my screenwriting boys and they had some great ideas. We'll try to see how "cutting edge" this class is going to be. It's all experimentation, and I think we can do something interesting. But that shit has me jacked.

5 comments:

Franco said...
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David Anaxagoras said...

(Um, I think Franco has just spammed you.)

L., I couldn't agree more about the homeroom comment. Some people seem to become teachers just for the power trip. What better way to further inflate the old ego than to become head of a department? Let me tell you something about Miss On Time Producer -- she never ever ended her class on time. One of my 434s met in same classroom after her producing class. She was always late getting out and as a result we were always late getting started. She didn't seem to care. Our instructor was a part-timer and wasn't willing to rock the boat. But I opened the door and walked into her class EVERY WEEK and acted surprised that it was still in session.

I remember that steely stare.

So, no surprise, she's a total bitch and a complete hypocrite. Life is too short to suffer such fools. And when you drop $4000 a quarter, you don't take abuse from anyone.

Unruly Brown said...
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Unruly Brown said...

Oh hell naw! She got you mixed up, homie. Sounds to me like she needs to be "professionally" checked if she's been doing that and getting away with what David described. One second late? She's out of her damn mind, and I HOPE she's not going to get away with that tomfoolery. Usually when people do the asshead routine, it's because they're bitter about some other area of their lives. You do NOT need her abuse and superiority issues. She best get some act right. What's that trick's name? Lemme send her an e-mail. hehehe

Lawrence said...

Gotta hold ya back Tia! Nah, we'll see. She gets the first as mulligan, a freebie. But I ain't the cat to think it's raining if you're pissing on my leg. And I didn't get where I am by allowing folks to piss on my leg. She can save that for those other cats who chuckle at her bad jokes. I'm not that cat.