So today, in our office, we had excitement. It goes like this:

1. A week or so ago, Halloween decorations were bought for the approaching holiday. (And by this I mean real, going-all-out-decorations. This is Nickelodeon, after all, even if our show is in the Boring Building.)
2. One of the items purchased was a party fog machine.
3. Today, the fog machine was taken into a hall to be tested. A guy named Tim plugged it in.
4. The machine began belching something…but it didn’t seem right. All assembled leaned forward.
5. All assembled leaned back when the belching-something fog machine became an on-fire fog machine.
6. The fire alarm went off. Everyone not involved in the “incident” initially thought it was a false alarm, as always, till we saw wisps of actual smoke floating down the hall.
7. Everyone went outside. The story got around and we laughed at it.
8. A big fire truck arrived, honking up traffic on Victory. Someone in our crowd asked if a girl caused the accident on purpose so all us women could meet hot firemen. Said firefighters emerged from the truck in full gear, even carrying axes. I laughed at the equipment overkill.
9. The firemen went in, put out the fire, came back grinning. Tim took a picture with one of the firemen and got to hold the axe.
10. We went back into the building. The hallway floor was covered with fire extinguisher powder, besmirched with a teeeeeny little spot of melted plastic, and the air smelled mildly yechy. Some people coughed a lot, but I was surprised because I didn’t. The Human Resources guy told everyone they should take an extra long lunch to give the building time to air out, not come back for a couple of hours.
11. We accepted. I went home and opened the front door for my cats for an hour and a half, letting them go out in the sun and become happy napping cat puddles.

The end.

Baby I was never cool enough/
To get a job at a record store/
And if I had I wouldn’t want you anymore.
- The Refreshments

Hey, does anybody in the Los Angeles/SFV area remember the Tempo Records chain? I’m feeling very nostalgic, and can’t find any info out there on the interwebs.

I briefly used to work there in college, in the Northridge one. It was a smallish, privately-owned chain with other stores in the San Fernando Valley, Hollywood and places south. Eventually the chain started shrinking, though, till it finally disappeared. At some point I heard it was run by shady folks who actually ended up in some kind of trouble, but I have no idea of the story.

It was one of those extra cool record stores for people who cared ridiculously and passionately. People with pink hair when it was still a slap in the face, before your mom could get it at the neighborhood salon. With a collection of each artists’ work maintained by people who were fans (I was in charge of the Comedy section, natch), who knew that the last “hit” record of somebody wasn’t enough to say you carried them. I remember the massive “security” surrounding the release of U2’s Rattle and Hum — the management would test us to make sure we didn’t leak it out early, despite demand. I would stare at the cover of Jane’s Addiction’s Nothing’s Shocking and think of how perfectly the cover art fit the title, and how genius it all was. I remember certain cassette tapes whose titles always made me ponder them when I was restocking: Everyone Loves The Pilot (Except The Crew)” by Jon Astley (who did “Jane’s Getting Serious”) — that title always seemed like such an interesting truism. And an album called something like “A Stern Pancake” by a one-named group in the “F”s, I think — their name escapes me and I hate that. I wish I could remember. I have a million stories from the place (I haven’t even gotten into the video section tales). It was a treasure trove of things to think about.

I was a geek there. Hopelessly naive and going through my first major depression at the same time, lost in the enormity of college and absolutely hopeless at being cool. (I once updated the big title-and-artist reference book all records stores used to have, and somehow cluelessly through out the whole “L” section.) I don’t know why they hired me, really, but I probably wasn’t as disdained as I used to think I was or else they wouldn’t have kept me around — I was just too serious and lousy at taking kidding. Ken used to call me “Eeyore.” I actually quit because I wasn’t making enough money, went to Marie Callender’s and was even more miserable as a waitress. I was going broke when I left, but I still wish I hadn’t quit. I wish I’d stayed longer, been more of a “lifer,” even though working at a record store “too” long wasn’t exactly a badge of honor, at the time. I wish, as I often do with people who knew me as I was then, that I could show them how much more of a clue I’ve finally grown — or at least think I have.

For some reason I’m thinking about the people I knew there, and Googling them, and coming up empty. Actually, what happened is I was listening to some Fleetwood Mac (not hipster-ish, but I like ‘em), and remembering the jokes my very funny boss Ken McCullough used to make about them when he played them over the in-store stero system. He used the in-store system for a lot of jokes, actually — for instance, if any employee was seen to be flirting with a customer, he’d play “Wild Sex (In The Working Class)” by Oingo Boingo and embarrass the crap out of them. If a customer was suspected of being about to steal something, it was “Shoplifters of the World Unite,” by the Smiths to clue us all in. He was really riotously funny, but he used to tell me he couldn’t stand the idea of performing for strangers and didn’t see how I could do it. He could only be funny around people he knew…and that he definitely was.

So being that “Ken McCullough” is a ridiculously common name (and I don’t even know if I’m spelling it the way he did), even searching in the most privacy-invading people-finding sites isn’t coming up with anything definitive. Another friend who worked there was named Mark Farrell. And a skinny guy named Doug, and a lady named Lori, and someone named Neil. You see my problem.

It’s unlikely anyone has any clues, but these web things have done lots of miracles of connection before — I seen it. You never know. If anyone knows anything or just plain wants to reminisce, you know where that comment button is.

Linky:
The LAPD is confiscating what may be rare, collectible coins from the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries that are showing up among the homeless.
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-coins13oct13,0,2577745.story?coll=la-home-headlines

Observy:
Why is every low-level pharmacy technician I’ve ever had to deal with so freakin’ SURLY? The people who actually take your prescription and then ring it up? Seriously, it’s getting to the point where I wish places like Sav-On would make the joint cheerier by hiring folks from the DMV.

And why does it always take [Surly, Russian-Accented Voice Of Death] “Twenty minutes…” [/SRAVOD] no matter what or when your order? To count thirty pills and put them in a bottle? When there’s no one else ahead of you in line? When there’s no one else in the STORE? And since I haven’t had insurance for so long, I’m already psyched about paying $112 out of pocket for these 30 measly pills — waiting half an hour to do so while being sneered at is just icing!

I always get the impression (or make the assumption, I should say) that because I’m not an 800-year old person with a walker and my meds are mostly for mood disorders (and currently-punchline problems like Restless Leg Syndrome) that the person behind the counter always thinks I’m a big fat fakey faker who’s just wasting their time because I’m a pussy who can’t face life like the rest of the world. I always want to say “You think I don’t need my meds? You want me to visit you when I’m off them? Trust me, you ain’t cornered the market on “surly.” I can also do “murderous”! Or let’s wait till the RLS stuff runs out and I’ll come by when I’m unable to stop kicking you in the ass.”

Maybe they’re pissed because they need the meds too but they have to give them to me instead. Could be. All I say is, get a prescription and get in line, hon-sky. It’ll just take “twenty minutes…”[/SRAVOD]

1. Last Thursday I was in one of our cartoon voice recording sessions.
2. George Takei was the only actor reading that day.
3. He was reading his part from a script that I wrote.
4. Everything out of his mouth was awesome.
5. I of course made sure to include a line where he said “Oh MYYY.”
6. I got to hear him say it three times, live, right in front of me.
7. I beamed like a mental patient and could barely keep from doing the Snoopy dance the whole time.

And THIS JUST IN: Our show, El Tigre (due out on Nickelodeon in Spring 2007) just got picked up for 7 more episodes! Woo HOO!