Steven Seagal Kicked My Ass

This is my fave of all my Steve Seagal blogs

My brother called to tell me there was a film crew setting up shop in nearby Stamford and they were looking for help. They'd put up a huge sign in the window of their temporary offices with contact information. I've been writing a screenplay and taking film classes and I'm dying to work on an actual film set.

My brother gave me the phone number and then sent me a link to a classified ad on Craigslist. Results, the ad included an email address so I wouldn't have to make an embarrassing phone call. At 43, I'm guessing I'm not your typical intern / production assistant applicant.

I sent my resume and a cover letter to the email address in the ad. Maybe I shouldn't have used the phrase, "I know this sounds crazy, but I'd love to work on a movie and I'm a huge Steven Seagal fan."

Yes, it's one of my secret shames. I love Steven Seagal movies. I don't know why. They are idiotic and he is really just plain ridiculous, but there's something about him and his never-changing formula that I love. When he shows up wearing a full-length leather car coat or quasi-Asian smoking jacket, I know somebody's going downtown.

The working title of this movie is Marker. When it's released, it will probably be something like Death Marker or Death Comes a Marking.

My brother called me again. "Did you call them?" he asked.

"No. I emailed my resume."

"You have to call them. They're not going to respond to email."

"Fine, I'll call them."

Ring, ring. Someone picks up the phone.

"Hi, my name is Becky and I sent my resume in yesterday. I understand you guys are looking for help on your movie."

"How did you get this number?" she said, sounding very paranoid.

"My brother gave it to me. He sent me a link to your Craigslist ad." Just a thought. If you're trying to keep something a secret, you probably shouldn't hang a big sign out your window and put an ad on Craigslist. "I sent my resume to you yesterday," I said.

"What's your name?"

"Becky Risher," I replied.

"Right, yeah, I remember you," she said, now leaning toward smug.

"Why did I scare you?" I asked. "I mean, I'm not a stalker or anything."

"Right."

"Well do you still need help?"

"Have you ever worked on a movie?" she asked.

"No, but I can do lots of things."

"Like what?", she said. I thought I heard her typing in the background or perhaps whispering something to a co-worker.

"Well I can type. I can make coffee. I'm really good at finding things because I'm a researcher."

"You know, I think we're good for now. But we'll call you if anything comes up."

"What was your name again?" I asked.

"Meriwether."

"Meriwether? Like Lee Meriwether?"

"Who?"

"Lee Meriwether. From Barnaby Jones."

"Who's Barnaby Jones?"

Forget it. I knew I was sunk. I was just thinking how I might've played it differently. I was embarrassed to be blown off by a 20-something smugster named Meriweather.

Still I am compelled to watch Steven Seagal movies. There's something about him. I went to his official website when I started writing this blog to see what he had to say about himself. The home page states that Steven is an accomplished actor, musician, martial artist and philanthropist - a man of many facets. He's also just completed filming Marker and a critically-acclaimed blues album called Mojo Priest.

You're my Mojo Priest Steven. I don't give a damn what Meriweather says.

NB I think if I'd gone on to explain the Lee Meriweather reference, that the show starred Buddy Ebsen during his sexy years before he became Jed Clampett, well I think Meriweather would've peed in her pants laughing. Laugh all you want Meriweather. You'll pee in your pants plenty after you have a baby.

Afterbirth

When I was a kid, we moved a lot. My dad worked for IBM and we definitely lived the I Been Moved life.

The second-to-last place we moved while I was still at home, was a small town called Westport, Connecticut. Today, Westport is one of the wealthiest communities in the country. In 1978, it was still a place where a middle-class American IBM family could live and prosper. Sure there were the occasional Paul Newman sightings -- but he was just out grocery shopping at Hay Day or grabbing a beer at Ship's.

Moving to Westport was a tough transition from sunny Southern California. We didn't have the right clothes. We didn't talk the same way. It was fricking freezing during the famed Blizzard of '78. It's a long story that I tell in detail in my blog Middle School Blues.

My first day of school I was sitting in the office and a boy walked by and winked at me. I thought to myself, "I am not in Kansas anymore." Or Cali. These kids were going to be tough. And they were tough.

There was a kid on the bus named Jeb. He was older and popular and cool. And I was none of those things. Jeb started calling me "afterbirth". To this day I don't know why. Worse, I didn't know what it meant. And we didn't have the Google back in those days so I just sat there wondering. Now I know what it means. I have firsthand knowledge since becoming a parent.

Yesterday I was on Facebook where my now Facebook friend Jeb posted the sweetest picture of himself comforting his son who had a rough at-bat in a baseball game. I couldn't stop thinking about that picture and how much we've all changed as a result of growing up, getting married, having kids, getting divorced, losing a parent, losing a friend.

Good for you Jeb. Way to grow up and become a good man.