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GERN'S
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
LIST
More
accurately, it's "Frequently
Asked Questions About Gern," or
"Questions Gern is Asked
Frequently." If this were truly
"Gern's Frequently Asked
Questions," it would consist of
questions like "Why do
women
say they that all they look for
in a guy is a sense of
humor
but they won't come within a
nautical mile of a date with me?"
"Does 'it'
really happen to other guys?" and
"How is it that
Joel
Schumacher
continually gets work and I
don't?"
Hey,
if Prince can change his name to
an unpronouncable symbol at will
for no apparent reason, I can
call myself Gern. It originated
with a
column
I wrote long ago. Basically, I
decided that my name just
wouldn't look good on a book
jacket. I was pressed for time,
so I turned to Steve Martin. Long
ago, Steve did a comedy bit on
his album, "Comedy
is Not
Pretty,"
wherein he revealed that his real
name is Gern
Blansten
(760k wav file).
It's
called "Desperate
But Not
Serious."
For a look at the official
poster, click here.
It's available at your local
Blockbuster, unless they got
smart and burned their
copies.
Lots
of people. It starred
Christine
Taylor
("Marcia Brady" from
"The Brady Bunch
Movie"),
Paget
Brewster
(who was on "Friends" as
Kathy, the girl Joey was
dating but Chandler was
in love with, and
recently starred in her
own -- now cancelled --
series, "Love &
Money") and
Claudia
Schiffer
(supermodel, arm candy
and one of the worst
actresses I have ever
encountered). It also
featured
John
Corbett
("Northern Exposure,"
those Ford commercials),
Joey
Lawrence
(whoa!),
Max
Perlich
("Homicide," "Drugstore
Cowboy") and
Henry
Rollins
(singer, author,
exercise
enthusiast).
Sure.
Lots, actually. The set was
teeming with babes, most of whom
had their own entourage.
Stacey
Sanches,
Playboy
Playmate of the Year 1995, was a
"featured extra" (mostly they
featured her cleavage), and I
swear I saw at least one other
Bunny on the set, but don't quote
me on that. There were also
assorted strippers, aspiring
actresses and hangers-on, but I
never got much of a chance to
speak to them as they were too
busy trying to impress the
director. Ah, Hollywood...
The
director was a guy by the name of
Bill
Fishman.
He also directed "Tapeheads," an
early film of John Cusack and Tim
Robbins (cool!), as well as the
big screen version of "Car 54,
Where Are You?" (ugh). It was
produced by Mark McGarry and
Jason Villard, and executive
produced by former Roxbury owner
and b-movie mogul
Elie
Samaha,
who is also notable for being
married to Tia
Carrere
(schwing -- I bet she gets sick
of hearing that). One draft was
written by Abbe
Wool,
who also wrote "Sid and Nancy,"
though the script subsequently
got more working over than a
caught mob informant.
No.
No.
Sorry. I've recently obtained a
copy of the final edit of the
film, and frankly, it's probably
best for all parties involved to
just pretend that it never
happened.
I
was a production assistant
intern, which basically meant I
did everything no one else wanted
to do, and I didn't get paid for
it. Mostly, I moved chairs,
wrangled the extras and got
coffee. I also wrote one (1) line
of dialogue, though the Writer's
Guild refused to give me credit.
(Bastards.)
I
was living in Los Angeles,
working for Movieline magazine
(see question
#14),
and I noticed signs on the street
requesting that we not park on
the street because they were
going to be filming there
tomorrow. This pissed off one of
the neighbors, and she went
door-to-door, giving everyone the
number of the production company
so they could call and complain.
Instead, I called and asked for a
job. At first, they didn't want
me, but then I offered to work
for free, and they told me to
show up the next day at 6 a.m.
They hired me on the spot. (I
lucked out: That turned out to be
the first day of
production.)
It
is currently available for rent
at Blockbuster, but that's about
it. No need to go out of your way
to find it; it's the cinematic
equivalent of anesthesia: boring,
yet vaguely pleasurable. Still,
it's not something one would
electively choose to do if they
knew what they were getting into,
unless they had to.
European
distribution has been secured,
but what that means is anybody's
guess.
Under
the table next to the couch.
Geez, do I look like your
mother?
And
thank God for that.
Gee...
Where to start? There's an
element to the magazine that you
really won't pick up on unless
you're really paying attention or
you know the people who work
there. Basically, the
Movieline
staff (ugh, I feel dirty just
thinking about them) are all very
insecure and insular. It's not
unlike the bitchy "in crowd"
hangers-on at high school. They
desperately want to be hip and
liked, and they love to remind
others how hip they are. There
were only two people (out of
about 30) that worked there that
even remotely treated me like a
human being. And frankly, that's
not enough to make me real sad if
I heard, say, that they all
perished in a boating
accident.
Also,
their internship program was
insulting. It basically consisted
of stapling and faxing, with some
filing thrown in for variety.
(Though I'm told that most
internships are like this, but I
have only the movie experiences
to judge it against, as that was
my only other internship.) The
only thing I did that had
anything to do with the
production of the magazine was
once I wrote a headline. (For
those of you keeping track, it
was the headline "Clued In" for
the review of the video
"Zero
Effect.")
Boy,
it was almost cathartic just
writing that. (Almost.)
(For
more on this and related issues,
check out my Gern
Journal from June
28th.
Or read this
interview with me on the Seven
Questions
site.)
Depends
on how you count it. I was an
editorial writer for exactly one
week, then I was "promoted" (more
of a horizontal move) to
Viewpoints (opinion page)
columnist. I held that job for
two years. About a semester after
I started as a Viewpoints
columnist, I was brought on as an
Arts & Entertainment
columnist. I did that for two
years as well.
I
started as an Internet columnist
writing the column "Fightin'
Words" for Psycomic.com, which
closed down about six months into
the gig. So I moved FW to The
Comic Reader, but the
disappearance of the editor led
to the suspension of my term
there as well. The column is
currently on hiatus while I find
the right outlet. In addition, I
also write KAOS Theories on Pink
Floyd for Spare
Bricks.
Additional columns are currently
Top Secret.
At
last count, nine, of which I am
the last. (Boy, that was some fun
grammar.) And yes, my parents are
Roman Catholic. (How'd you
guess?) There is a sixteen-year
difference between myself and the
oldest sibling, Jean.
You're
still reading? Wow. Okay, since
you brought it up... Mostly, I'm
into lungs. I like women who are
breathing. Definitely big on
that. Women who get my sense of
humor and are single are rare,
and if you can make me
laugh, I'm sold. I also seem to
prefer dark-haired women, but
I've gone for blondes and
redheads, too. Even the
occasional pink-haired girl.
(Sorry, no bald chicks.)
(No,
not together... get your mind out
of the gutter, or wherever that
place is where minds go when they
think of grown men putting
rodents in their pants.) The
question refers to my
long-standing obsession with
jokes about "pants" and
"hamsters."
As
for pants, I just think that the
word "pants"
has something about it that makes
it inherently funny. It just has
a happy sound to it: "pants."
Pants pants pants pants pants
pants pants. (Admit it, that made
you smile.)
And
hamsters, aside from being lots
of fun to throw around, are, in
my opinion, an evolutionary
accident. I'm amazed that
fundamentalist Christians haven't
seized upon the idea of hamsters
as proof that evolution is a load
of crap. What possible
evolutionary purpose could these
wee creatures serve, except for
little Billy to flush down the
toilet when he's done playing
"sailor" with Harvey?
Wam!Net,
a computer networking company.
Exciting, huh?
Have
a question you'd like answered?
E-mail
me.
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