you say 'murder' like it's a bad thing
im going to start in the middle of my story because really that's a good part.
on tuesday night i was in some po-dunk town 3 hours north of la shooting our little show. we were outside of a punk/metal club, which came stocked with every cliche punk kid you could think of. one of the stars of this episode of the show was one of these punk kids. she spent a lot of time before we got to the club telling the cheerleader who envies her that people who judge you and make you feel bad about yourself aren't really your friends.
then she spent most of the time at the punk club crying and high because one of her buddies kept making fun of her for being on MTV (gotta say i dont know which side of this dispute i come down on...)
so we're done shooting inside and we're setting up cameras in the alley next to the club to do interviews with our two girls. im standing in for one of the girls as bruce adjust his camera and lighting. this girl is about a foot shorter than me, so im standing with my legs spread like 5 feet apart from each other.
one of the many very cool punk kids walks up behind me and kicks me in the balls from behind.
i turn around slowly (after all, im in pain) and take about 6 seconds to compute what just happened and what i can tell you about the next 10 minutes is pieced together from fragments of my memory and bits of eye witness accounts.
i followed the now-borderline-running-away punk kid to the back parking lot. im in a lot of pain. it's dark and im pretty sure there are other people all around me, but all i see is this kid's platinum blond head making it's way across the lot. everything else is immersed in varying shades of red. all i saw was red and platinum.
i caught up with him, spun him around by his shoulder and realized he was around 130 pounds lighter than i and 10 years younger.
before this all came together in my head and had a chance to indicate to me that hitting him might not be a great idea, i had him pinned to the ground in the center of a handicapped spot and was throttling him about the head with whatever parts of my arms managed to make their way through his flailing hands.
after a few seconds, i no longer saw red and platinum. all i saw was red as his previously pointed platinum hair was now caked with already drying blood.
then he stopped fighting back and simply lay there unrecognizable and unrecognized by the people who i suddenly realized had gathered around and had witnessed the whole thrashing.
it's the next night and im back in la. we (wisely) got out of po-dunk (very) shortly after this whole incident and no one really said much on the three hour drive back home.
on tuesday night i was in some po-dunk town 3 hours north of la shooting our little show. we were outside of a punk/metal club, which came stocked with every cliche punk kid you could think of. one of the stars of this episode of the show was one of these punk kids. she spent a lot of time before we got to the club telling the cheerleader who envies her that people who judge you and make you feel bad about yourself aren't really your friends.
then she spent most of the time at the punk club crying and high because one of her buddies kept making fun of her for being on MTV (gotta say i dont know which side of this dispute i come down on...)
so we're done shooting inside and we're setting up cameras in the alley next to the club to do interviews with our two girls. im standing in for one of the girls as bruce adjust his camera and lighting. this girl is about a foot shorter than me, so im standing with my legs spread like 5 feet apart from each other.
one of the many very cool punk kids walks up behind me and kicks me in the balls from behind.
i turn around slowly (after all, im in pain) and take about 6 seconds to compute what just happened and what i can tell you about the next 10 minutes is pieced together from fragments of my memory and bits of eye witness accounts.
i followed the now-borderline-running-away punk kid to the back parking lot. im in a lot of pain. it's dark and im pretty sure there are other people all around me, but all i see is this kid's platinum blond head making it's way across the lot. everything else is immersed in varying shades of red. all i saw was red and platinum.
i caught up with him, spun him around by his shoulder and realized he was around 130 pounds lighter than i and 10 years younger.
before this all came together in my head and had a chance to indicate to me that hitting him might not be a great idea, i had him pinned to the ground in the center of a handicapped spot and was throttling him about the head with whatever parts of my arms managed to make their way through his flailing hands.
after a few seconds, i no longer saw red and platinum. all i saw was red as his previously pointed platinum hair was now caked with already drying blood.
then he stopped fighting back and simply lay there unrecognizable and unrecognized by the people who i suddenly realized had gathered around and had witnessed the whole thrashing.
it's the next night and im back in la. we (wisely) got out of po-dunk (very) shortly after this whole incident and no one really said much on the three hour drive back home.