Tag Archive: Manhattan


3:40 PM – CHAD
It seemed like we were in New York for about four months… not that I’m complaining. I told you about how I lost my camera in the city about three nights ago, the night of that screening in Manhattan, right? I even called the theatre and everything, and they eventually called Bob back and told him they never found the camera. This is something that Bob will remember personally, and it is important that I have him as a witness. I also told you way back on the first day of the trip how we got all those pills in Houston, didn’t I? Well, I want you to know that up until now, I’ve been very proud of myself as far as the pill intake is concerned. As I mentioned, we got about forty valiums and forty somas. Well, I have been very careful to take the valiums one night and then the somas the next, never mixing the two. I know it might sound ridiculous to a normal person to hear this, but I honestly take that as a sign that I’m growing up. I have a problem, however. I mean, beyond the drug problem… I have a dilemma. If I lost the camera last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, then what the fuck was I doing in B&H Electronics on Thanksgiving itself looking for a camera to replace the one I had already lost? Or, let me put it this way. If I had already lost my camera by Thanksgiving, then why was I convinced that I had used and lost it at The Tank a night later and kept calling them on the phone and shit? I obviously don’t know what the hell has been going on, do I?

Here’s what I know for sure. It was absolutely Thanksgiving when I went to B&H Electronics, because they are a hardcore Jewish business with the hats and tassels and everything and strictly follow the Jewish calendar, which is the only reason they were open on Thanksgiving, to begin with. This place gets absolutely slammed with business, and has easily the most intricate anti-shoplifting measures in place of any store I’ve ever been in. You don’t even get to touch your merchandise until after it has been bought and paid for, and you are on your way out the door. To sum it up briefly, you go up to a guy who has the camera you want bolted down on a fucking table, ok? You tell him you want the camera, so he points you to a line and tells you, go wait over there and tell another guy that you want the Vado 4GB Camcorder in purple, because that’s the only color even close to appropriate that is left in stock. This second guy then prints you out an order form, which you take to a line with a bunch of cashiers. You give a cashier the order form, and they charge you for the camera. You pay for the camera, having not even touched the fucker yet. Then, the cashier gives you a receipt that you take to a fourth person who finally gives you your camera on your way out the door. I go and buy a camera on Thanksgiving, with Raphael and Lara Pan waiting outside. I go through the whole rigmarole and check point bullshit, pay about a hundred and fifty bucks for the camera, and finally have it handed to me on the way out. I walk through the doorway, and a fucking alarm goes off. This guy comes up to me and asks me if he can see my receipt for the camera. Keep in mind; they don’t even let you touch your merchandise until after you’ve paid for it in this shylock shithole. I told the guy the same thing I tell the people at Wal-Mart and elsewhere who do the same shit… you know, the people who aren’t even the police to begin with, and even if they were, they wouldn’t have the right to accuse you of theft with no proof, thus no right to search you, but Americans let them rile through their bags every day? Those people… I always tell them no, of course you can’t search through my shit, are you out of your goddamn mind? I usually start out saying that in a bit nicer manner, but inevitably the conversation always devolves into rudimentary phrases such as the previous one. Well, I get into it with this guy, and I really think that he thought he could just search people’s shit anytime he liked. To make sure, he asked me to wait while he went and got his supervisor. By now, a crowd had gathered, and I told him please do, go get everybody right up the chain, so that eventually there are like five Jews there in the doorway telling me I have to show them a receipt before I can leave with the camera. Somewhere along the way, I realized that I had a bunch of weed and some pills in my pockets, so I had to abandon my initial plan, which was to just walk out into the streets dragging all these Jews with me until the police came and broke the whole thing up. My fantasy was that after the cops stopped the fight and were stripping everyone down, they would find the receipt in my pocket and I would be fully vindicated, and maybe even become some sort of local hero in the New York media and then just move there and host the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade from time to time.  In reality, the police would have found all the drugs and arrested me for possession, along with assault and battery, shoplifting, and all kinds of other stuff. This was the first time in my life that I can really point to and say that drugs held me back. I had to settle with singling out the head rabbi and telling him look, I’ll give you my receipt, but I also want you to take this camera and stick it up your ass, then walk back through all those lines in there and get me my money back. I might even have taken the opportunity to remind everybody how far we were from the West Bank, at least in geographical terms. By the time I got back outside, Raphael and Lara were like, what the fuck took you so long? I know this was on Thanksgiving, because we went to George and Virginia’s house after that and I was bitching about the experience all night, in addition to having to shit really bad and watching the Longhorns lose to the Aggies.

I know this for sure, too. The night that I have been convinced I lost the camera on all the way up until this point (Late January) when I am actually sitting down here and writing this shit was November 26th, 2010 also known as the only night we showed the movie at The Tank in Manhattan. I can remember having it in my Astros jacket pocket at one point when I was talking to George Gierer out in front of the Pork Slap place, and I remember using it to film the introduction and/or question and answer portion of our program. Now, how in the hell could I have still had the camera a day after I was trying to buy a new one to replace it? The only logical explanation is that we have been traveling back through time on this whole trip and I don’t want to rule that out, but I think I might just be all fucked up and have no idea what I’m talking about. Except this: It is now Monday, November 29th (four days after Thanksgiving) and we are in the car leaving Manhattan to haul ass to Providence, Rhode Island in time for a screening tonight, but not before we stop back by B&H Electronics so I can buy that fucking camera… again…

7:15 PM – BOB
I’ve never been to Rhode Island.  I don’t know a single person in or from the entire state.  We’ll see what she has in store for us.  My gut tells me that this week will be a bit of a slow-crawl, but I’m hoping that the Fri/Sat 1-2 punch of Baltimore & Philly will kick us back into high gear before we besiege the south once again.

Leaving NYC

Enter Providence

8:58 PM – CHAD
We’re at The Cable Car Cinema in Providence and Total Badass is about to start. Here’s the Introduction, the very first thing I filmed on the new Vado camera, which sucks by the way:



9:10 PM – CHAD
While the crowd enjoys the movie, I have walked over to The Wild Colonial Tavern, where I will meet up with Bob in a bit. The tavern was pretty cool, but not near as cool as this butthole I filmed on the way over there. This was the second butthole I found on the trip, if you recall correctly (the first one was on St. Augustine Beach, Florida) but this one is manmade, while the first one was definitely a carbon based life form.



1:45 AM – CHAD
We ended up staying with a girl named Ally who worked at the Cable Car Cinema, but that was actually all a big coincidence because we had already been hooked up with her by Raphael’s roommate, Anna before we ever knew where she worked. Anna and Ally were friends back at The Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) which all the locals here pronounce as RIZ-DUH. Ally had a very nice place, a really cool quilt, and a cat that we were lead to believe would try anything to escape. I don’t remember the cat’s name, so I’m sticking with Dragon. As in, Jonathan Brisby made possible the rats’ escape from the terrible cruelty of NIHM. He was killed today while drugging the farmer’s cat, Dragon.”

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11:44 PM – BOB

I drove in from Long Island and met up with Chad and Rafael in Brooklyn. Rafael has a roommate and a guest.  Both of whom seem like fine folks.  There’s also a dog that is 183 in dog years and wears a diaper.

Getting back in the tour groove took a bit of effort. Needless to say, I was late to The Tank.  As I did with all the venues, I shipped DVDs so that if I’m late or in jail, they can screen the film without me.  For some reason, The Tank couldn’t find the disks.  Adding insult to my tardiness was the fact that I didn’t realize that I’d have to drive through the Theater District to get to the joint.

Running Late to the Tank

In the long run, it all went down just fine. There was a little group for Hell on Wheels and about twice as many for Total Badass.  The crowds were into the flicks and we got a great response. This is our final NYC screening and we’ve been having a blast here.  It was just plain cool to see the killer reviews we got in the NY Times and the Village Voice, but it didn’t seem to translate into noticeably larger audiences.  Last Friday at reRun was probably our biggest draw.  It was a pretty full house, but not a sell-out.  And the cinema is tiny.  I think it holds 80.   I guess I figured that a great review in the Times would get some asses in seats.  Hell, maybe it did. Maybe there would have only been 8 people there without the Times write up.

Tank Basement

2:50 AM – CHAD
So tonight we screened Total Badass in Manhattan at a place called The Tank. We were right in the middle of the theatre district and Times Square, down the road from Radio City Music Hall and all that shit, but oddly didn’t get much spillover of tourist traffic. On the bright side, most of the people we had been staying and/or partying with in Manhattan came… Payson, George and Virginia, Raphael for his third appearance, and my old college buddy, George Gierer even showed up. It seems like Austin’s James Teiser was there too, but don’t take my word for it. We went to Rudy’s Bar and Grill afterwards to eat hotdogs, and Gierer treated us to some Pork Slap beers, which immediately became my favorite new beer I discovered on the entire trip. Not because it was good, necessarily, but because of the two pigs slapping their bellies together on the can. In fact, I think the beer might have even been kind of disgusting, but the pigs made that alright somehow, and it seemed to get you fucked up more than usual. So fucked up, in fact, that I went ahead and lost the Flip video camera that had survived through the entire production of Total Badass as well as our west coast trip last summer and seventeen days on the road this time around. As such, I have no video of the riveting Q and A that followed our Manhattan premiere. Eventually, most of us went back to George and Virginia’s house and partied into the night. I didn’t have to shit near as bad this time when I got over there, because there were bathrooms at The Tank.

Anyway, remember how on yesterday’s journal entry, I told you that I wrote an article one time that explains why I don’t get as bent out of shape about Texas Longhorn Football as I used to? Remember how I told you I would reprint it later on when there wasn’t much else to talk about? Well, you’d think that the night that a movie about my life premiered in Manhattan wouldn’t fall into that category, but I really don’t have anything more to say about it, so I’m going to go ahead and get the Longhorn shit out of the way right now. This is a story I wrote back in 2005, when writing didn’t bug the living shit out of me, like it does now…

From Top to Bottomus

I could sit here and carry on for quite some time about how much The Texas Longhorns winning The National Championship in football means to me, but it’s actually much too special and important of an event in my life for me to completely share it with you people. Let’s put it this way…. Before the Longhorns won, Jesus could have come back to Earth and told me, “Chad, it’s time. I’ve come to take you, your family, and your friends to heaven with me.” And I would have said, “You know what, Jesus? Fuck You. I’m not going anywhere until The Longhorns win a National Championship.” That might seem a bit worldly to you, but seriously, there is no way in Hell I would have died a happy man if this hadn’t happened and now that it has, my life is complete and nothing can stop me from reaching my full potential. Oh sure, you would think that little creature comforts such as having children, graduating from college, or being such a phenomenal success in the entertainment business would have afforded me this level of happiness in life, but they offered me nothing compared to the sense of accomplishment and overall satisfaction that have swept over me since that glorious day. You have to understand that before now, underneath all of the smiles and successes, I was but a husk of a man because I knew it was all a lie. I would be out in society going through the motions with the rest of humanity, trying to make my mark on history, but all I could hear inside my head was a little voice saying, “It’s all bullshit. You, your people, and your state are all a bunch of losers because The Longhorns haven’t won a National Championship in your lifetime. You will all be forgotten, and your lives are in vain.” I have never really used the word “bliss” all that much in the past. In fact, I always thought it was kind of a pussy-word, but now I’m not ashamed to tell you that in my heart and in my mind, I have a feeling of absolute bliss. The best thing about it is the lack of caring… the complete and total aloofness… that I have towards sports now. All of the failures and setbacks and tragedies in my life… the deaths of loved ones, the felony convictions, the struggles with substance abuse… they were relatively easy for me to deal with compared to The Longhorn’s 1999 home opener upset at the hands of North Carolina State and the three blocked punts that went along with it. I used to suffer every loss as though it was a lesion upon my very soul. Every season that The Longhorn’s shot at a title slipped away left me with the horrifying uncertainty of whether or not all of my dreams would ever come true and because of this, I was never able to live my life without fear. Now, I could give a fuck less if a plane goes down with the whole team on it because it doesn’t matter anymore, nothing does. All of this bad shit that is supposed to happen in 2006 and all of the signs of the apocalypse and growing indications that we’ve all succumbed to evil are much easier to deal with since the UT win. In fact, maybe it’s a good time for the end of the world. What else do we have to live for? These are the things I’m telling myself in the aftermath of the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me.

So anyway, this other time, I fucked shit. I actually fucked shit. As fun as that might sound, it actually turns out to be quite unpleasant. If you don’t want to hear about it, I suggest you quit reading. I had gone to the home of a large woman who I met over the internet, which should come as no surprise because I’m like Nanook of the North when it comes to hunting down fat chicks on the computer… I log on with a fucking ice axe. Before you get the wrong idea, I don’t want you to think I’m complaining. I obviously think fat girls are sexy, or I wouldn’t fuck so many of them. The funny thing about this is that the fine girls I fuck get all weirded out when they find out I fucked some fatty… They take it all personal like it’s a reflection on them or something. I don’t know what it is, I guess they’re just pissed off because they spend all that time and effort staying in shape and being fine, and it turns out they could have fucked me anyway.

So, I’m laying back in bed with homegirl, who’s balled up at my waist, giving me head, and I tell her she needs to swing her ass on up my way so I can start manipulating it whilst she goes about her business. I don’t know what is behind the universal assumption that fat girls are always going to let you fuck them in the ass, but I have a couple of theories. First, there’s the self esteem issue, where maybe the girl feels like giving up the ass gives her a much needed advantage over the competition. That might explain the girl’s motivations, but why does it always seem like such a natural option to the guy? Is it because every part of a fat girl is much larger than the corresponding part on a skinny girl, so it stands to reason that the same would hold true for her butthole? I mean she eats more, she takes bigger shits, so maybe her butthole is more suited for having things stuffed up it. The truth is, some girls are so fat, their butthole is pretty much the only place you can fuck them.

I know that may have all been a bit over the line, but it’s nothing compared to the shit you’ll tell yourself about not needing a rubber when you fuck a fat chick. First of all, you mistakenly assume that you are the only person on earth who would even fuck this girl, when deep down inside you should realize that ninety-seven percent of your friends would, too (with the other three percent being gay). Then, you start telling yourself that she must not have AIDS, or she wouldn’t be so fat. Or even if she does have AIDS, she’s so big, by the time it gets down to her pussy, you’ll be gone. Some girls are so fat, their AIDS never even know you’re fucking them. You’ll be all draped on top if her, hounding away, and she’s like. “Shhhhh! My AIDS are sleepin’!” Some of you guys with smaller dicks don’t have to worry because your peehole is never going to make it anywhere it could pick up a disease. You’re fucking skin, dude… labia at best. What were we talking about again? Oh yeah, so homegirl motors around to where her ass is facing me. Despite their awkwardness on the land, fat women are actually quite fluid and graceful when in bed, which brings me to a story that I have been wanting to tell for years.

One time my parents took my sister and me to The Houston Zoo and we were all at the hippopotamus tank. I was about twelve and my sister, Ashley, was about five. We were in this big crowd of people watching the hippopotamuses swim around in what was really nothing more than a large swimming pool. It must have been mating season, because there was this big male hippo courting a bunch of females. He hopped up on one’s back, and I remember I decided to try out the word “humping” on my parents. You know how when you’re young, there are bad words you aren’t supposed to say, but as you get older, some of them become fair game? For instance, at twelve years old, you might get away with damn or hell, but shit and fuck are strictly off limits and words like “hump” are in a grey area. Well, I decide to try it out and I announce to the crowd, “Look, they’re humping!” and my dad, Bo, just backhands me right there in front of everybody because if there’s anything he hates, it’s being involved in some kind of sophomoric public spectacle. I promptly took “humping” off the list of acceptable words to use in front of the folks.

Moving on, have you ever heard a hippopotamus bellow? They have this really loud “moo” that you’d recognize anywhere once you’d heard it, and the male starts belting out a couple of them while he’s humping his girl. Well, Bo cups his hands around his mouth and starts bellowing back, and they get in this big argument, for lack of a better word. The hippo would just go “Bwaaaah!” and Bo would go “Bwaaaah!” right back. I don’t know if it thought that Bo was another male hippopotamus, or if it was just pissed off that somebody was bothering it while it was fucking, but the hippo was becoming visibly agitated. I hopped off its mate and swam across the pool towards the crowd, pulling up in front of us all broadside, like a battleship. Its tail was right above the waterline, and it started to whirl around, like a propeller… I had no idea hippopotami could do this. Well, this thing starts taking a shit, and its tail was just slinging the turds right out of the pool and up towards the crowd. The shit started raining down over to everybody’s right, and the hippo just turned its body accordingly, strafing the crowd. I can remember watching a wall of doo-doo working its way towards us, like a sprinkler hitting the sidewalk. People were literally running over each other to get out of the way.

Anyway, I’m not trying to say this girl was as big as a bull hippopotamus by any means… but she could have passed for a calf. Once again, I want to assure you that I’m not complaining. In fact, this was one of the better buttfuckings I’ve ever been involved in, before everything went to shit. It was one of only a couple of times in my life that a girl’s butthole had totally given way, allowing me to fuck it as I chose. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been around when that has happened, but you can get pretty wrapped up in the moment. So, I’m hammering away back there like John Henry, and I had no idea that anything was even wrong until my whole dick just started stinging. I looked down and everything looked fine- clean as a whistle. I didn’t realize that she had taken an entire shit, and my dick was the only thing holding it in. I had been fucking it for about five minutes without knowing because my cock had created a vacuum at the anus from which nothing could escape, not even smell. My dick was being digested. I pulled out and broke the seal, and her fucking butthole turned into Spindletop. I had like three pounds of shit in my lap in a half a second. I fucked shit. That’s all I could think. I would try to come up with some witty way to explain to you exactly how much damage was done, but I have never seen this much shit all in one place in my life and this was fucked shit, mind you, so it went everywhere. I was in a state of shock as I got up and walked to the shower, and my dick was still hard. I had like two and a half turds worth of pounded shit piled up on top of my dick like a key-bump, so I had to walk all slow so none of it would fall off on the carpet. It was like that race they do at picnics with an egg balanced in a spoon, except with shit and a hard on. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror out of the corner of my eye and I looked like Rambo hiding in the mud, hunting for Russians. I don’t know if you’ve ever been shit all over by another person, but it gives you this look on your face that you can’t get rid of for days. It’s a look that says, “I fucked shit.” I always try to be a total gentleman when dealing with women, believe it or not, so the whole time homegirl was apologizing, I was like,”Sorry? What are you sorry for honey? Oh, that little ol’ mess? Don’t be silly…”

Anyway, they took the hippopotamus tank out of the Houston Zoo years ago. My kids and I went there last summer and they were devastated to learn it was gone. They have always loved the story about the time the hippopotamus tried to poo-poo on grandpa. I have yet to tell them the one about the time I fucked shit…

3:14 AM – BOB
We ended up partying all night with some old Austin friends and some new New York friends.  We met up with Austin ex-pat Bryant Jackson who has offered his couch/floor for the next three nights.

Chad and I ventured to the late night pizza joint to grab a bite of booze-absorbing pizza before crashing out.  We witnessed this spectacle while chomping our grub:

Street Brawl

Guns were flashed.  Fun!

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12:21 PM – BOB
Chad fucked up the IFC meeting, so I ditched him in NYC and headed to Washington D.C. for our screening at the White House.

1:34 PM – CHAD
I took a bus down to Washington D.C. from New York for our screening. The bus ride down was the first time I got any real sleep on the entire trip. All other forms of rest up until this point have been more of a comatose state from partying too much. There is a big difference between actually falling asleep on your own terms and simply passing out because your brain no longer works. That being said, I don’t have much to report about the trip down.

4:51 PM – BOB
Today was a pretty routine day on tour.  See:

Bob – Carousel
 

This is the first street bandage I’ve found on this tour.  On the last tour, I came across four of these.

5:17 PM – CHAD
Before I left New York, I looked at google maps to give myself a general idea of how to get from the bus stop to the movie theatre we are at tonight. It ended up being about an hour walk, most of it along feeder roads and industrial areas, but at least I got to check out Arlington. When the bus was pulling into town, I saw Marine One, the presidential helicopter take off and fly right over us. I would be posting you video of this, but I’m afraid I lose my video camera a couple days later in New York City, along with the videos stored on it. This was the same camera I used to shoot all of the hand held scenes in Total Badass, as well as everything on our West Coast tour last summer. It’s gone now. Here is a haunting video, one of the last ones taken on said model:

10:12 PM – BOB
The screening went pretty well.  The DC Rollergirls were out in force:

To my surprise, Chad somehow made the trek from NYC to DC for the screening.

Q&A w/Bob and Chad

I saw Chad outside chatting it up with a drunk woman who was noting that the audience was kinda thin.  “But it’s a documentary… I mean, it’s a Tuesday and all… but it’s a documentary… who watches documentaries at the theater? And on a Tuesday?”

10:30 – CHAD
I remember this was a Tuesday, because the theatre had burgers for about two or three dollars and really cheap beer. There was a little bar and grill in the front of the theatre. You could say it was a theatre/bar/grill. Brazoswood High School’s own Rita Rahm Barr was there, with her husband Brian. They’re the ones who turned me on to the cheap burgers and beer. After the movie, Dan Driskill kept the high school reunion going with an appearance of his own. He and I went out for a little bit after the movie, but I wasn’t much use to him. I actually remember thinking that at one point. We had gone to a bar and Dan was in the bathroom, I was fading in and out of consciousness, thinking “I’m not really much use to him, right now.” I just didn’t feel like I was being good company, but who knows? Turns out, Dan’s brother runs a hotel right down in the middle of all the shit in Washington D.C., only a couple blocks down from the White House. I got totally hooked up.

2:14 AM – BOB
After the screening I bolted back to NYC. We’ll see if Chad can catch back up.  I’m heading out to Long Island tomorrow night, so I guess I’ll see Chad again on Friday when we screen at The Tank in Manhattan.

Balt Tunnel Toll

Drive Into NJ

Have I mentioned yet that it costs over $32 to drive from NYC to DC?  And, you guessed it, 32 and change to drive back.  Fucking toll roads.

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10:43AM – CHAD
So, we have a screening today at noon back at reRun, but Bob just got a text from Aaron Hillis, who booked the screenings, explaining that he wasn’t going to be able to make it down to the movie this afternoon. Now, that really shouldn’t be a big deal, but apparently I’m not allowed over at reRun anymore without Aaron there to take personal responsibility for me. We were specifically texted not to go down there without him, so I guess he’s my official “handler” for the week. This gives me the day off to watch college football.

11:11 AM – BOB
Regarding last night, my filmmaker friend Michael Galinsky wrote this:

Posted by Michael on November 19th, 2010 in Rumur
Total Badass http://www.rumur.com/news/totall-badass

About 8 months ago my good friend Bob Ray sent me a cut of his documentary “Total Badass”. The cut was a bit of a mess but it was clear that there was a pretty amazing tale unfolding. Tonight i saw the final cut at a screening in Brooklyn and I was shocked at how much he had been able to do without changing it significantly.

The film follows his friend Chad Holt, who is a total badass. I’ll leave the explaining and the reviews to the reviewers http://movies.nytimes.com/2010/11/19/movies/19haleroundup.html but i did want to relate a post show screening story from tonight. Early in the film we learn of Chad’s exploits in his band, Front Butt. In the band he would wear a butt in the front of his pants and he would leap from the stage into a trash can. It was clear from the footage that the performance transcended schtick. The danger and the pain were real and palpable, painful to watch. The band, like all other aspects of his life was designed to transcend expectation and push the envelope in all directions. It would be quite easy at first glance to kind of dismiss the front butt, and the stage diving, and the music as a gimmick. However, it was clear that while for some people the experience was like a freak show, for others there was something transformative about how Chad pushed way beyond the boundaries to an area of danger almost as a gift to the audience. In pushing himself so far he made room on the other side for those too scared to push themselves.

In order to drum up press and enthusiasm for the screening, the booker had promised live stunts. He bought a trash can and Chad was urged to use it. While in some ways the film is a chronicle of Chad’s exploits, it is also a tale of redemption. Over the course of the film, Chad pulls his life together and is able to start taking care of his son and daughter full time. At the screening Chad said, “I don’t want to do this because I’m at a different place in my life. I’ll do this, but it won’t be authentic and it will be kind of sad. But ya’ll take a vote and if you vote on it I’ll do it.” I voted no. It was a tie. I had a bad feeling about it for two reasons. Number 1, I just thought it would be a lame gesture. Number 2, Chad mentioned that he didn’t have health insurance and I just thought it would be awful if their film tour was messed up because of this silly gesture.

After some awkward back and forth Chad brushed past me and headed towards the front of the venue holding the trash can. The filmmaker had given me his flip camera to capture the q and a so I followed behind him. When we got to the front he started to take his wallet and phone and lighters out of his pocket and dumped them on the hostess platform. A few people had streamed out of the venue to witness, but he didn’t wait around. He dove into the trash can and headed down the stairs. I felt the same hot jet of adrenalin that I get when my kids fall. He flopped painfully down a couple of steps and I knew that something was wrong. He hit the middle platform with a thud and then rolled down the next section. He hit the bottom explosively and flopped to a halt. Staring at both him and the little flip camera screen had given the whole thing an edge of surrealism.

The filmmaker, Bob has his little photo camera trained on Chad. He filmed the stillness because Chad wasn’t moving. I headed down the steps and it was clear that he was breathing but my sense of dread began to turn towards real fear. With his feet splayed at an awkward angle it seemed that he might be hurt. I also thought that he might be faking it to let those who had voted for his degradation feel some guilt. There was a lot of confusion and the stress level started to ratchet up the longer he laid like that. I searched Bob’s expression for any sense of fear or doubt, but found none, which was comforting – at first. My jacket was locked in the theater so I got the promoter to let me in. He seemed a little nervous, but excited by the tension. We were all kind of joking about it, but after 20 minutes i was starting to get nervous. The danger of it started to get to me. Sure, there was a 90% chance he was fine, but if he was hurt, or had a spine injury he needed help immediately.

We went back to the front and I checked his feet. They hadn’t moved at all. I started to get freaked out, so freaked out in fact that I felt the need to leave. Bob moved forward and peered inside the trash can with a lighter to check his eyes. He was calm but appeared nervous. He couldn’t seem to get any kind of response from Chad. Finally a guy standing near by said, “This is ludicrous, i’m calling an ambulance”

I left. I still thought it might be a performance but I was cooked. i couldn’t take the pressure and i didn’t want to get caught up in the drama. I bid Bob goodnight and took off in a foul mood. I thought about Chad’s kids. I pictured him in a wheel chair. I felt like shit and my thoughts were flying around like bats in a small room.

About three blocks from the venue I heard the ambulance on its way and i was glad to be out of there. When I got home I saw that I had a voice mail. My friend Adam had called to tell me that moments after I left Chad popped up. It had been all performance. In total badass form he talked his way out of trouble with the ambulance.

That was high art.

2:02PM – CHAD
Ok, so there’s this bar in Manhattan called Stout, and it’s like Texas Longhorns headquarters if you are in New York City. During a good year, the entire club is packed with Longhorn fans during the football games. This year, 2010, has been so shitty for the Longhorns that the fair-weathered fan base has dried up and the bar only shows the games in a dingy back room, hidden away from public view. Bob and I went to said dingy back room and ate a pizza while Texas beat the shit out of Florida Atlantic to vent out some of their frustrations over the year’s other losses. You know how a guy will get his ass kicked in a bar fight, so he goes home and beats the shit out of his wife and kids? That’s kind of what Texas did to Florida Atlantic.

10:51 PM – BOB
I’m sitting in a house in Long Island.  I know it says that it’s Day 11, but I’m really writing this from the future.  If you’ve been reading the tour journal, you already know that all my entries are time-traveling lies.  So really, it’s Day 16 (Thanksgiving eve) and I’m acting like it’s Day 12. I know this is confusing, but time-travel always is.  Anyway, my point is that I don’t remember what happened on Day 11. I know it was only five days ago, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what happened.  In fact, five days ago seem like it was about 27 months ago… maybe it’ll come back to me.  I’ll let you know, if so.

Perhaps the distraction of a possible NYC fire will liven things up:

11:45PM – CHAD
We went to visit our old friend, Patrick Holmes, at The Living Room where he tends bar. Patrick is a friend from way back when Bob and I lived next door to each other over on West Campus in the early 90’s. He’s been living in New York now for well over a decade and I look him up anytime I go up there. Shit, he came out and saw Rock Opera out there when we took it up for the New York Underground Film Festival way back in 2000. I guess that excuses him for not coming to any of the Total Badass screenings this time around. Plus, he did get us so fucked up at the bar that I really can’t tell you anything about the night, other than Patrick was there.

12:01 AM – BOB
Chad and I walked back to the crash-pad near the World Trade Center.  We found a hard-copy of the Village Voice.  The page with the review has a huge pic of Chad.  It’s the pic on the DVD cover (thanks, Jerry Milton!) where Chad is in a tumped-over trashcan, apparently naked but with shoes on and knees bleeding.  A striking pic, to be sure.  And the Voice knew this, giving it nearly half the page.

I found this cute write up:
http://www.theroadtorollergirl.com/2010/11/19/slackerstruck-a-wannabe-meets-hell-on-wheels-director-bob-ray/comment-page-1/#comment-116

Official Tour Page: www.badassfilmtour.com

BOB:
Okay, aside from the post on Day 1, all this other “Bob” portion of the tour journal is a big, stinking pile of time-traveling untruths.  I mean, it’s really Day 12 and I’m sitting in the Mid-Manhattan Public Library, spewing lies all over the internet.  But if you wanna play along, I’ll just try to write the following entries as if I actually did write then when the date and time-stamp suggest.   Game?

11:17 AM, maybe? – BOB:
Um, we woke up or something?  I don’t fucking remember and the fact that you expect me to is really pretty dickish on your part.  We’ve been working and partying our asses off for 12 straight days.  Yeah, I guess I woke up somewhere in Houston and drove all fucking day to New Orleans.  That shit felt like it was three months ago…

Leaving Houston

Okay, new idea.  I’m gonna let Chad’s writing carry the load for this first leg. I know y’all are disappointed, what with my humor and wit giving this blog all its energy and flavor. But I’ve been doing all the driving again, just booked the last two dates (while driving, mind you) and am still, on a daily basis, dealing w/ posters, merch, partying, press, derbies, cinemas, and driving from 4-11 hours.

But here are the pics and vids I too several days ago:

Chomped some pork-n-slaw.

Gambling

Stumbled around New Orleans like a drunken pirate.

In New Orleans

It’s romantic here.

Chad and Sara SlowDance…

Smoke Weed

Pickle in a Pouch

Crashed on a fold-out bed.  Not bad.

And now, take it away Chad:

6:53 PM – CHAD:
Right now, I feel like we might as well turn around and go right the fuck back home. We had our chance… History was right there at our fingertips. This had the potential for one of the greatest trips of all times and it was all going to start with an art exhibit that was going on at Delgado Community College when we pulled up in New Orleans. Granted, Bob and I aren’t exactly patrons of the fine arts, but it just so happened that the first “older woman” that I ever dated (way back when I was 23 years old and she was younger than I am right now as we speak) lives in New Orleans and invited us to an art opening that her sister was in. At said opening, there was an interactive display where this chinaman (I only call him a chinaman because I got the impression that one of the points of his exhibit was to bring out some kind of repressed hatred and subjugation of orientals that lies dormant in all barbarians such as myself but I’m not one to judge, just let me explain what he was doing and you make up your own mind) would sit you down at a table, prepare you a bowl of Chef Boyardee Raviolis while dressed up “Hop Sing” style up to and including bare feet and then when you were finished, he would eat whatever you didn’t and proceed to lick your plate clean. Bob and I were the very next people in line for this when he abruptly packed his shit up and went home. I can’t help but feel like if only Bob and I had gotten there a little bit sooner… If only we had been moving a little faster and without pills, for instance… then we would have gotten this whole ordeal on tape and been propelled into tour journal stardom. Our tragedy was a real life example of the “butterfly effect” that Confucius himself would have been proud of.

Ravioli

Art Show

7:45 PM – CHAD:
Despite the hardships we encountered in the early goings of our trip to The Big Easy, my luck actually took a turn for the better, as evidenced in the following:

11:13 PM – CHAD:
Eventually, we hooked up with “Vogue” (Vouge. Let your body move to the music. Move to the music.) who some of you may remember from her reign of terror back in Austin and she took us down near The French Quarter in the “Snug Harbor” area of town. Well, the harbor got very snug very quickly about 3 minutes after we parked and another old friend from Austin recognized me on the street and gave us free drinks from the bar she worked at all night. I forget the name of the place… Here’s what little I did catch before then: