Frenchy's Rant

I am convinced I have been on the road too long. At some ungodly hour, the hotel fire alarm went off. Slowly, I woke to the clanging racket. However, I never considered for a second that I should get out of bed, nevermind try to escape the burning building. Instead, I looked at the clock, and calculated that I still had three hours left to sleep. Flashing fire engine lights painted the walls. Rather than jumping up, I rolled over and tried to shut the din out. I quickly dozed off. After a short while, I was woken up again. An announcement that seemed to come from under my bed said, “We have investigated, the fire alarm is false. You can go back to sleep.”

The next morning, I asked if anyone at all had tried to escape the “burning” hotel. Most people hadn’t even acknowledged the alarm, but strangely, almost everyone heard the “all clear” announcement coming from under their beds.

When a fire alarm and voices from under teh bed won’t get me up, but the alarm clock still does without fail, it’s obvious I have been on the road WAY too long.

I recently found a bunch of little stories I jotted down from the “good ol’ days” in television. Even eleven years ago I was collecting material for a blog and eventual book.

The Beginning

My first job in television was as a utility for the Celtics season. My duty was to coil a cable behind Dick Garrett, one of the handheld camera men on the court. What glamour! Dick and I became friendly with a season ticket holder that sat right behind us, a nice older gentleman named Bob. Bob used to buy Dick and me a soda during each game. One day Dick wasn’t at the game. Bob came up to me and demanded “Hey, where’s my Dick??”

Close Call

Leaving Providence for Phoenix on American Airlines all seemed routine. I was conveniently settled in right next to the engine for the long flight. The plane accelerated on the runway, suddeny I heard the reverse thrusters, as if we were landing. What the?!? We slowed dramatically, and I bolted upright. The pilot came on and announced, “Folks, when we got up to 100 mph, we got a tire warning light. One tire was not rotating, so I decided to abort the takeoff. We’re now going to try to taxi back to the gate.” In approximately five billion flights, I had never experienced an aborted takeoff, and I imagine it is a frightening thing for a pilot. I bet it would be even more frightening trying to land with a frozen wheel. The whole plane was grumbling about being late and missing connections when we walked off. I went up to the captain and simply said, “Hey man, thanks for stopping this thing.” He replied, “No sweat”, but I noticed that he was sweating.

Zombified in 1998

Before taking off for Los Angeles on a US Air flight, the pilot announced that due to strong headwinds, we would have to stop in Kansas City to take on more fuel. Obviously this was going to make us late, and the zombies were grumbling. One guy was more upset than the rest and was loudly bitching about how this stop was going to ruin his plans. This absurdity continued for about ten minutes. Finally, someone behind him spoke up and said “Hey ASSHOLE, there isn’t enough fuel to get there, and you know what happens to these things when they run out of gas in the sky, right? They CRASH! Now, would you rather they DIDN’T stop?” The plane applauded me for that one.

Multitasking

On a Beechcraft twin prop, the pilot made the following announcement: “Folks, there’s drinks in the cooler in the closet… I’d serve them to you, but I’m a little busy up here flying this plane.”

You’re Fired!

An airplane banner flying around above the Memphis Motorsports Park read simply: “Screw The Boss!”

Boooooring!

An interview I did was so long and boring that I nodded off while it was going on. The producer nudged me and said, “Are you SLEEPING?” Thinking fast, I replied, “No… I like to close my eyes to concentrate on the sound recording without distraction.” She said, “And your snoring doesn’t distract you?”

Power of a Nickname #1

Most people working in television have a nick name. I received mine in a bar in Painted Post, New York in 1996. Bobby Coles, an audio mixer from California and I were in a bar quite late one night, when he realized that he didn’t know my last name. I told him it was Lanciaux, which he thought was a hilariously ridiculous name. (Probably just the booze talking, I mean, it sounds EXACTLY like it is spelled…) He asked if it was French, which it is. He said, “I will call you Frenchy.” Somehow, the next day everyone called me Frenchy, and it has stuck ever since. I often wish there was a better story to this nickname, as this one almost never fails to disappoint.

Power of a Nickname #2

I was crewed to mix a hockey game for the Canadians. The director found out my nickname, and said, “Ooohhh, Frenchy, eh? Do you speak French?” Actually, I don’t, and told him so. He looked down his nose at me and after a pause said with disgust, “Your nickname, eeet eeees veery stoopid.”

Power of a Nickname #3

Then I got a phone call from a French producer looking for a French audio guy. He had only my nickname to go on. Had to disappoint him too. I probably should learn to speak French someday. (And yes, the greatest irony is that Frenchy’s Dad is… of course… a French teacher!)

Grave Digger

I mixed a few seasons of Monster Truck Jam for TNN. These shows featured in-truck cameras for the show. Installing in-truck cameras in Monster Trucks seems pretty simple. Unless of course someone forgets to replace the pin that holds the steering wheel in place. Then you REALLY wish that camera didn’t work at all, especially as it records the steering wheel coming off in the driver’s hands moments before he crashes his $150,000 truck. Not that I’ve ever seen THAT happen… but since it wasn’t MY fault, the tape WAS pretty funny!

How To Get Into Television

A fellow freelancer told me one day how he got into TV. He had worked at a grain distillery for years, and finally worked his way up to distiller. On his first night as head distiller, the machinery that separates the alcohol from the grain had a problem. Rather than call for help, he decided that he could fix it by himself. He was proud of the way he had handled the crisis without involving anyone else. However, he didn’t realize that the grain had actually not been distilled, and when a local farmer fed the not-distilled grain to his cows, it killed the whole herd. Two weeks later he was working in television.

I confess. I have a problem… For a while, I actually thought I might have had a stroke.

What is teh problem?

Exactly that. I can’t type teh word “THE”, unless I am trying to write about it. Spelled that damn word wrong twice already, and it wasn’t intentional.

Trying to convince myself I was OK, I looked up teh word “TEH” on Google (of course Google helpfully offered “ Did you mean: THE” which I usually do mean. Why must Google mock me?)

Teh first link of my search for “TEH” led to Wikipedia, the current authority of all things useless. Here is what came up from teh search:

“It happens primarily for some, because the T and E are typed by the left hand on adjacent fingers, while the H is typed by the right, and in rapid typing, the T and E are often typed by the left hand in a drumming motion before the right can get the H in between the two. Conversely, overcompensating with the right hand can result in the misspelling “hte”, which is also found in word processing program auto-corrects.” *

Yeah, overcompensating with the right hand… Interesting, I always thought that was a stroke problem of a different sort. But anyway…

I found that “teh” is also used in a new internet language called “Leet” or if you are cool, “£337” This “language” was probably invented by bored and/or stoned computer geeks. £337 uses teh word “teh” in funny ways, for example: “My typing is teh ass!” or “That £0$3r is teh $ux!”

Teh ‘Urban Dictionary’ helped clarify teh use of “TEH” in £337: *

Idiot 1: That’s awesome.
Idiot 2: Wait, what?
Idiot 1: Uh, I mean, that’s “TEH” awesome!
Idiot 2: Oh, thank God! For a second there I thought I wasn’t talking to another idiot!

I am encouraged that ‘teh’ has about 9,539,998 more Google results. I guess I am OK after all.

* Used without permission, but since I don’t make a cent from this site, I am teh win!

Haiku is a traditional style of Japanese poetry. It is a seventeen syllable poem consisting of a verse of five syllables, a verse of seven syllables, then one more verse of five syllables. In the traditional form, it is supposed to be about the seasons. While I like being forced to tell a story in three lines, with syllabic rules, the season thing did nothing for me.

I used to write a lot of Haiku. Here are a few of my favorites:

Grandpa passed away
Peacefully in his sleep while
his passengers screamed.

Mom and Dad’s lessons
are nothing a few years of
therapy can’t fix.

Filthy bathroom stall.
Someone has pissed on the seat.
Must use ass-gasket.

My pants are shrinking
They get tighter and tighter
I should drink lite beer.

I pulled my finger,
Just to see what would happen.
Doesn’t work like Dad’s does.

Silence is golden.
But then again so is piss.
Silence is not wet.

ha ha ha ha ha
hee hee hee ha hee hee
ho ho ha fuck you

And my very favorite:

Glad you found this site.
Hope I didn’t offend you.
Fuck You if I did.

Today started off with a phone call from my plumber.

“I have good news and bad news.”

“OK, John, give me the bad news first…”

“Well, I dug about five holes in your yard, and finally found your sewer connection pipe. There are tree roots growing right through it. The pipe is crushed. It looks pretty bad. I’ve been digging all morning.”