Battle of the Butterflies
Battle of the Butterflies
Originally uploaded by aaronjmaier.
The butterflies were ruthless that day.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 1:13 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Battle of the Butterflies
Originally uploaded by aaronjmaier.
The butterflies were ruthless that day.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Butterfly Affect Premiere
Join Maier/Riedmaier/Maier Productions for an evening of locally produced comedy, camp, and crappy special effects. We guarantee that this will not be the worst movie you ever see or the popcorn is on us, literally!
Where: Morton Hall Rm. 237, Ohio University, Athens, Ohio
When: Saturday April 23, 2005 at 8:00 PM
How Much: The Low Low Price of Only $2
Danger lurks just around the corner as the notorious, Michael Horris Davies IV has just escaped from Kenton County’s Maximum Security State-of-the-Art Underground Prison. The killer, who chops his victims into 43 equal pieces, bites off more than he can chew when he crosses paths with a toxic waste dump worker with a take-no-prisoners attitude trained by roving Gypsies in the ancient art of Kung Fu. In the melee that follows the blood of the killer is mixed with deadly toxic waste in the worst place imaginable – the nest of a butterfly - with horrible consequences for all.
When the dust settles hordes of giant mutated killer butterflies emerge from their toxic cocoons hell bent upon the destruction of civilization as we know it. Young or old, rich or poor, none are safe from the ruthless attack of mutant beasts. Stories spread like wildfire about the deadly butterflies that are said to be two stories tall with teeth like sharpened steak knives and an insatiable taste for human blood. When things get out of hand the president must call in the military to save our great nation from the ferocious killer butterflies intent upon world domination.
Is there any hope for mankind to prevail against the great winged menace? Are we destined for a future of butterfly overlords? Join us for the Butterfly Affect.
What is all of this about, you may ask.
You may have heard about the C-horror movie that my brother, roommate and I are currently brewing up like the bathtub gin of old Athens town. All of my waking hours are spent tethered to this confounded editing box - albeit a jazzy Mac G5. The time spent here at the still distilling down the "funny" is sending me into a state of delirium that I would put up against any drug-addled 70s classic rock roadie in their prime. Without all of the good Mescaline of course.
My cabin is infested with wasps. It is not heated and it is still cold at night. I slept from 8:30 am until 11:30 am on a couch last night with a riled-up cat running laps from the empty food dish to the visual buffet on the kitty big screen - the large picture window with a bird feeder hanging just feet away from the glass. Not much opportunity for slumber allotted for the human occupants.
Just six days until the premiere. Press releases. Flyering. Trailer distribution. Calling friends and family. Planning a show. And, oh yeah, finishing the fucking mutant butterfly C-horror picture by the end of the week.
You do, however, have my guarantee that this will not be the worst movie you have ever seen.
Yours, Aaron Joseph Maier.
Where: Morton Hall Rm. 237, Ohio University, Athens, Ohio
When: Saturday April 23, 2005 at 8:00 PM
How Much: The Low Low Price of Only $2
Danger lurks just around the corner as the notorious, Michael Horris Davies IV has just escaped from Kenton County’s Maximum Security State-of-the-Art Underground Prison. The killer, who chops his victims into 43 equal pieces, bites off more than he can chew when he crosses paths with a toxic waste dump worker with a take-no-prisoners attitude trained by roving Gypsies in the ancient art of Kung Fu. In the melee that follows the blood of the killer is mixed with deadly toxic waste in the worst place imaginable – the nest of a butterfly - with horrible consequences for all.
When the dust settles hordes of giant mutated killer butterflies emerge from their toxic cocoons hell bent upon the destruction of civilization as we know it. Young or old, rich or poor, none are safe from the ruthless attack of mutant beasts. Stories spread like wildfire about the deadly butterflies that are said to be two stories tall with teeth like sharpened steak knives and an insatiable taste for human blood. When things get out of hand the president must call in the military to save our great nation from the ferocious killer butterflies intent upon world domination.
Is there any hope for mankind to prevail against the great winged menace? Are we destined for a future of butterfly overlords? Join us for the Butterfly Affect.
What is all of this about, you may ask.
You may have heard about the C-horror movie that my brother, roommate and I are currently brewing up like the bathtub gin of old Athens town. All of my waking hours are spent tethered to this confounded editing box - albeit a jazzy Mac G5. The time spent here at the still distilling down the "funny" is sending me into a state of delirium that I would put up against any drug-addled 70s classic rock roadie in their prime. Without all of the good Mescaline of course.
My cabin is infested with wasps. It is not heated and it is still cold at night. I slept from 8:30 am until 11:30 am on a couch last night with a riled-up cat running laps from the empty food dish to the visual buffet on the kitty big screen - the large picture window with a bird feeder hanging just feet away from the glass. Not much opportunity for slumber allotted for the human occupants.
Just six days until the premiere. Press releases. Flyering. Trailer distribution. Calling friends and family. Planning a show. And, oh yeah, finishing the fucking mutant butterfly C-horror picture by the end of the week.
You do, however, have my guarantee that this will not be the worst movie you have ever seen.
Yours, Aaron Joseph Maier.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 6:02 PM
0 comments
Friday, April 15, 2005
Maier/Riedmaier/Maier Productions World Premiere
Sleep is sparse of late. We have been forced by our adversaries in the School of telecommunications to edit without our work being made known to those evil creativity hating bastards employed by the tuition bounty hunters at Ohio University. Like bandits we sneak into the non-linear editing lab under a blanket of nightfall. All of this to avoid the spiteful eyes of OU professors making sure that absolutely nothing funny or insightful is produced under their watch.
Work on the Butterfly Affect, however, proceeds as planned despite the best efforts of enemies, both real and imaginary. The boys at Maier/Riedmaier/Maier production have been putting in some long hours getting ready for the big show next weekend.
In case you have missed the news the Butterfly Affect world premiere will be held on Saturday, April 23, ironically enough, on the campus of Ohio University. Morton Hall room 237. Eight o'clock pm. Come one come all. If I am passed out when you arrive, no, I have not been drinking again. I probably have not slept in a week.
Work on the Butterfly Affect, however, proceeds as planned despite the best efforts of enemies, both real and imaginary. The boys at Maier/Riedmaier/Maier production have been putting in some long hours getting ready for the big show next weekend.
In case you have missed the news the Butterfly Affect world premiere will be held on Saturday, April 23, ironically enough, on the campus of Ohio University. Morton Hall room 237. Eight o'clock pm. Come one come all. If I am passed out when you arrive, no, I have not been drinking again. I probably have not slept in a week.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 12:46 PM
0 comments
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Two Turn Tables & a Bedsheet
Two Turn Tables & a Bedsheet
Originally uploaded by aaronjmaier.
The Honor Patrol sketch comedy group hosted a DVD release party and fund raiser for the Athens Internal Film Festival last night at Casa Nueva. The Honor Patrol, a group of pizza-eating fun-loving ninja kids, rolled out some feel good oldies from their much anticipated retrospective DVD. The kids proved that funny material - if stored correctly - can keep for years without spoiling. The evening started off with the musical stylings of Chris Monday and Has Mat and lasted well into the night with DJ Jesse Dillon and Danceable Solution on the turntables.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 5:19 PM
0 comments
Monday, April 04, 2005
April in Athens
The sun does not seem to be in such a hurry to dip beneath the horizon these days, and he skies are not as restless as their March brethren. Finding a secluded corner of repose on a sun drenched stone amongst the old oak trees of campus green I am infused with a sense of tranquility that has eluded me throughout the harsh winter. Seeing the gentle blossoms of the dogwood trees break away from their rose colored buds brings a sense of warmth and release that I have longed for after months of shivering myself to sleep in the cold Ohio woods.
A couple walks past as I quietly scribble about in my journal. The sweet smell of the blossoms is shared by a young man with shaggy hair and a girl in a long skirt and headband that frames her gentle smile. A smile that seems appreciative of him taking the time to pull down the tiny branch and share an evanescent moment together. The arc of this bending branch is mimicked in nature on the same tiny dogwood by a greedy squirrel lugging the crumbled remnants of a discarded donut to his corner of repose.
Nervous exchange students snap digital photos of only slightly less nervous squirrels scampering away with their deep-fried bounty. The joy and curiosity on their appreciative face melts my icy cold cynicism like the fat yellow sun warming the rolling hills around me. Three girls in three athletic t-shirts juggle three styrafoam cups of expensive trendy ice cream with three restless cell phones nearby. Three sets of dorm room keys jangle from their necks on three sets of thick corporate-sponsored shoelaces.
The squirrel hangs upside down on a barren branch of an oak tree with the prized donut dangling precariously from his mouth. The carbon copies giggle back and forth as the Vaudeville routine reaches its climax. Longing for the flashbulbs of the Asian press nature’s street performers dance for their discarded boutique ice cream cones thrown in their tip jars that strangely resemble garbage cans.
The girls leave and the squirrels carry on their business. I remain in the sun, jotting away in my journal, a stenographer in the courtroom of my own life, testifying in front of no judge but myself. I find it sad that the squirrels have more luck foraging from the overflowing garbage cans neglected by campus grounds crews than the fruits of the stately oaks towering overhead. Are they sellouts amongst squirrel purists? Are they viewed with contempt by squirrel friends who stayed in the secluded forest and fought the good fight as they seek out the fast life of discarded French fries and exploding flashbulbs?
Is it a choice made by each individual squirrel to live this type of life or was it the circumstances of their birth that brought them here? I have always wondered if there was an intense screening and interview process for those extremely successful bears that fish juicy salmon from raging rivers on National Geographic nature specials. Did the bears rummaging through dumpsters in national parks just make some poor decisions as cubs that have led them to this less than glamorous end? Are these cute squirrels frolicking about before me just the greaser squirrels that did not pay attention during acorn gathering class in favor of smoking cigarettes and talking about cars?
As I scribble away these thoughts in my journal for few to read, I often wonder if I am fishing salmon from the crystalline rivers of my own life or rummaging through the dumpsters of real lives lived by others. I have come to learn that this calm of April is ever fleeting. Turbulent thunderstorms of despair and loss roll over the horizon of time robbing the gentle white blossoms from the boughs of the tiny dogwood. I can do nothing but freeze this moment in time. For I will certainly need it some day.
A couple walks past as I quietly scribble about in my journal. The sweet smell of the blossoms is shared by a young man with shaggy hair and a girl in a long skirt and headband that frames her gentle smile. A smile that seems appreciative of him taking the time to pull down the tiny branch and share an evanescent moment together. The arc of this bending branch is mimicked in nature on the same tiny dogwood by a greedy squirrel lugging the crumbled remnants of a discarded donut to his corner of repose.
Nervous exchange students snap digital photos of only slightly less nervous squirrels scampering away with their deep-fried bounty. The joy and curiosity on their appreciative face melts my icy cold cynicism like the fat yellow sun warming the rolling hills around me. Three girls in three athletic t-shirts juggle three styrafoam cups of expensive trendy ice cream with three restless cell phones nearby. Three sets of dorm room keys jangle from their necks on three sets of thick corporate-sponsored shoelaces.
The squirrel hangs upside down on a barren branch of an oak tree with the prized donut dangling precariously from his mouth. The carbon copies giggle back and forth as the Vaudeville routine reaches its climax. Longing for the flashbulbs of the Asian press nature’s street performers dance for their discarded boutique ice cream cones thrown in their tip jars that strangely resemble garbage cans.
The girls leave and the squirrels carry on their business. I remain in the sun, jotting away in my journal, a stenographer in the courtroom of my own life, testifying in front of no judge but myself. I find it sad that the squirrels have more luck foraging from the overflowing garbage cans neglected by campus grounds crews than the fruits of the stately oaks towering overhead. Are they sellouts amongst squirrel purists? Are they viewed with contempt by squirrel friends who stayed in the secluded forest and fought the good fight as they seek out the fast life of discarded French fries and exploding flashbulbs?
Is it a choice made by each individual squirrel to live this type of life or was it the circumstances of their birth that brought them here? I have always wondered if there was an intense screening and interview process for those extremely successful bears that fish juicy salmon from raging rivers on National Geographic nature specials. Did the bears rummaging through dumpsters in national parks just make some poor decisions as cubs that have led them to this less than glamorous end? Are these cute squirrels frolicking about before me just the greaser squirrels that did not pay attention during acorn gathering class in favor of smoking cigarettes and talking about cars?
As I scribble away these thoughts in my journal for few to read, I often wonder if I am fishing salmon from the crystalline rivers of my own life or rummaging through the dumpsters of real lives lived by others. I have come to learn that this calm of April is ever fleeting. Turbulent thunderstorms of despair and loss roll over the horizon of time robbing the gentle white blossoms from the boughs of the tiny dogwood. I can do nothing but freeze this moment in time. For I will certainly need it some day.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 8:57 PM
0 comments
Friday, April 01, 2005
Free
I am free.
Free like my second cup of coffee,
everyday at the Donkey.
To gorge myself on bad Chinese,
extra MSG if you please.
Free like the Burrito Buggy,
Wednesday and Friday only,
tip you friends liberally.
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours,
rob the rich to feed the poor.
In need more,
more love, more faith, more debt.
Whore?
Who are you calling a whore?
I'll cut my hair if I need a job,
Uncle Stafford wants his loot,
I'll be damned if I can find my suit,
that filthy houndstooth,
abomination that’s the truth.
I am free.
Free to love, free to leave, free to discover
that aint nobody free.
Free like my second cup of coffee,
everyday at the Donkey.
To gorge myself on bad Chinese,
extra MSG if you please.
Free like the Burrito Buggy,
Wednesday and Friday only,
tip you friends liberally.
You scratch my back I'll scratch yours,
rob the rich to feed the poor.
In need more,
more love, more faith, more debt.
Whore?
Who are you calling a whore?
I'll cut my hair if I need a job,
Uncle Stafford wants his loot,
I'll be damned if I can find my suit,
that filthy houndstooth,
abomination that’s the truth.
I am free.
Free to love, free to leave, free to discover
that aint nobody free.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 8:38 PM
0 comments
Mitch Hedberg Remembered
My brother sent me this email today. It was not a pleasant one to read.
almost all,
today is a sad day. and, don't worry, this time i'm not bitching and moaning about some war in some backwards-ass country. rather, today's sadness stems from the death of a man who's work i'd admired and probably hacked on more than several occasions. if you are not familiar with the comedic stylings of Mitch Hedberg, i would suggest you dig up some of his work. here are a few of Mitch's words:
"I would imagine if you understood Morse code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy."
"Rice is great when you're hungry and want 2,000 of something."
"I wish I could play little league right now because I'd kick some fucking ass."
"I used to do drugs. I still do drugs. But I used to, too."
"An escalator can never break: it can only become stairs. You would never see an 'Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order' sign, just ' Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience.'"
"I opened a yogurt and underneath the lid it said "please try again." They were having a contest that I was unaware of. I thought maybe I had opened the yogurt wrong. Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me. Come on Mitch, don't give up! An inspirational message from your friends at Yoplait. Fruit on the bottom. Hope on top."
"I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it."
"I'm not a house-hold name because most of my fans live in apartments."
"If carrots got you drunk, rabbits would be fucked up."
I am really getting tired of doing these kinds of posts. First Johnnie Cochran, then Mitch Hedberg, who's next Terri Schiavo?
almost all,
today is a sad day. and, don't worry, this time i'm not bitching and moaning about some war in some backwards-ass country. rather, today's sadness stems from the death of a man who's work i'd admired and probably hacked on more than several occasions. if you are not familiar with the comedic stylings of Mitch Hedberg, i would suggest you dig up some of his work. here are a few of Mitch's words:
"I would imagine if you understood Morse code, a tap dancer would drive you crazy."
"Rice is great when you're hungry and want 2,000 of something."
"I wish I could play little league right now because I'd kick some fucking ass."
"I used to do drugs. I still do drugs. But I used to, too."
"An escalator can never break: it can only become stairs. You would never see an 'Escalator Temporarily Out Of Order' sign, just ' Escalator Temporarily Stairs. Sorry for the convenience.'"
"I opened a yogurt and underneath the lid it said "please try again." They were having a contest that I was unaware of. I thought maybe I had opened the yogurt wrong. Or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me. Come on Mitch, don't give up! An inspirational message from your friends at Yoplait. Fruit on the bottom. Hope on top."
"I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it."
"I'm not a house-hold name because most of my fans live in apartments."
"If carrots got you drunk, rabbits would be fucked up."
I am really getting tired of doing these kinds of posts. First Johnnie Cochran, then Mitch Hedberg, who's next Terri Schiavo?
posted by Yonder Vittles at 12:55 AM
1 comments
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