Frenchy's Rant

Neilsen Media Research
770 Broadway
New York, NY 10003

April 20, 2006

Dear Mr. Leslie Neilsen,

I’m not really sure how you have time to figure out who is watching what in addition to a busy movie career. Airplane! is one of my favorite movies of all time, better even than Police Squad. In fact, I loved the movie Airplane! so much that I got into a career that lets me fly every week!

That career is mixing audio for sporting events. I love my job, and want it to go on forever. And on the days that I think maybe I don’t really love it, all I need to do is look at how much my mortgage is, and I go right back to loving it again.

That’s why I am writing you Mr. Neilsen. I want one of those ‘black boxes’ to take to work with me. I want to be considered a Metered Neilsen Household. Having one of those black boxes at work will increase the ratings of the shows I am working on, making me a more marketable mixer, and who knows, it might even help with the Emmy Award Board of Directors (unlike the strippers I sent them last year. What a disaster that was!)

Please send my black box ASAP, the 2006 Emmy Awards are fast approaching.

Sincerely,

Frenchy
Emmy Award Losing Audio Mixer

Well, the London trip started off well. Two hours into the eight and a half hour flight, I asked for a glass of red wine to help me sleep. In Business Class, wine is complementary, but back in second class, it’s five bucks a bottle.

The wine comes, a nice little bottle of La Palma from Chile. Excellent vintage and all that. I pour a glass, take a sip and set the glass down on the tray. Not bad. A few minutes later I watch in horror as my arm takes on a life of it’s own, like a scene from Flight with the Undead Appendage.

I know my arm well, and what is about to happen. I have seen this scene played out countless times. It successfully frees the captive wine from the glass, sending four dollars worth of Chile’s finest wine all over the tray, and eventually my pants. Now I look like someone stabbed me in the leg. Great.

Mission accomplished, the undead spirit released control of my arm.

The guy sitting next to me, the one that didn’t even say hello when I sat down, watched the whole thing. As the wine soaked into my formerly dry pants, he shrugged and said, “Eh, don’t worry about it man, shit happens.”

The rest of the flight, I waited for the undead arm to strangle him, but sadly it never did.

I sent Northwest an e mail about this a few weeks ago, but never heard back. Maybe I will have better luck with a letter. Their website says they will respond within sixty days. We’ll see.

Northwest Airlines
Customer Care
PO Box 1908
Minot, ND 58702

Dear Customer Caregiver,

As a frequent flyer, mostly on Delta, I would like to first thank you for allowing me to accumulate Delta miles even when I am technically flying on a Northwest airplane. Very generous! I want to surprise the family with a trip to Dayton, Ohio, and every little hoarded mile helps!

Recently, I have become aware of what I consider a discriminatory policy of yours. It seems there is now a $15 extra charge to sit in an exit row. As a very frequent traveler that puts a high value on my life, I have to tell you this policy sucks. When flying, I always try to sit in the exit row, not only for the extra leg room, but also to be closest to the way out in case something bad, I.E. a ‘water landing’ happens. When I say to my fellow exit row seatmates, “If there’s a problem, just follow me!” I’m not kidding. I want OUT!

While I haven’t had to use an over-wing exit door yet, I don’t think it should cost $15 extra for the privilege. You should reconsider this outrageous charge. There are many other ways you could bilk passengers out of $15. Pay-Per-View Porn and Pay-Per-Use toilets are two things that immediately come to mind.

Think about it.

Sincerely,

Frenchy the Frequent Flyer.

PS: Northwest flight attendants are much nicer than Delta’s!

Everyone has a defining moment, an event that changes or shapes a career.

When I first started working in television, I would take pretty much whatever job came my way. Didn’t really matter what or where it was, work was work, and as a tadpole freelancer, you don’t turn down work. You don’t know if that phone will ever ring again.

Once, I accepted two back to back jobs three hundred miles apart. After the first game, I drove three hundred miles, slept in my truck for an hour, worked the second game, then drove all the way home.

I would do pretty much anything, carry cables, pick people up at the airport, whatever it took. I was always interested in audio, so I started learning how to set up microphones for sports events.

I was called to do audio for an interview one day. This work is usually easy, mostly consisting of putting a microphone on a subject, then trying to stay awake while they talk and talk and talk. Since I’d worked every day that week, I was pretty exhausted. I barely managed to stay awake.

The producer looked over at me and said, “Were you just SLEEPING?”

“No, Sometimes I like to close my eyes so I can concentrate on the sound without distraction.”

“And your snoring doesn’t distract you?”

Sometimes it isn’t so easy.

The moment that made me decide that I wanted to mix in a TV truck instead of being outside the truck was another interview. I was working as an audio assist (A2) at a college football game. My job was to set up all the microphones for the mixer (A1) in the truck.

We had to interview the coach before the game. (I don’t remember his name, but this day is burned into my brain.) My job was to put a lav mic, a tiny microphone that usually clips onto a tie or shirt collar, on the coach.

I walked up to the coach, lav mic in hand, and said, “Hello, Coach. I need to put this microphone on you for the interview.”

Scowling, he untucked his shirt, indicating he wanted me to run the microphone wire up his shirt and clip it to his collar. Reluctantly, I started this unpleasant task.

Halfway up, I was convinced this guy was wearing a damp sweater under his shirt. That, or he was half man, half sheep. Whatever it was, he was HAIRY and it was GROSS.

As I was trying not to vomit, he looked at me and leered, “I bet you just LOVE that, don’t you sweetheart?”

And with that little statement from Freako the Sweaty Mammoth, I knew I was done. I couldn’t do this job any more. I needed to learn to mix.

And so I did.

Years after the UnderSweater incident.

A few months later, I was called by CNN to cover a press conference. Of course, being a freelancer with a day off, I accepted the job, without knowing what the job really was.

The press conference was for the resignation of Man-Beast the Disgraced Wooly Coach.