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Pekka
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em seu burro dos pais!
Feb 2002
time: 07:20
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I e-mailed my script to a potential agent and forgot all about it, because I didn't get a callback. Maybe it wasn't that good I thought to myself. Or maybe I didn't sell it properly. What ever the reason was, I forgot all about it until I had a message left to my phone, "This is Mr. Juvonen trying to reach Mr. Pekka. I have read your script and I would like to invite you over here to talk about it".
Urho Juvonen. The sadistic bastard who was named after a President. He didn't quite live up to the expectations of his parents but became a multi business owner, and enterpretaneur. His weird taste in art and wild imagination, combined with his bigger than life ego was bound to clash with mine.
I was excited to recieve the message. His professionalism prevented him from telling his address of his office, and his number was secret, so I called the operator's service. "118, Number Service, how can I help you?", "Hi, I need the number of the person who called me last, excatly an hour ago?", I requested. "Sir, it's a secret number, I can not give you the number". "I understand that, but this is a special case.", "It doesn't matter sir, I can not give you the number, it's not listed". "But you see, I have this.. I know who called me. Urho Juvonen. I need his number and I know it was him calling me. He's my agent and this thing could change my life. I know you are not supposed to give me the number but...", "I can't give you the number sir". What a muffdiver. Looks like I have to wait for my agent to call me again, and HOPEFULLY he does.
I googled up his name and behold, I found the address of his office. His website claimed him to be "The Star". I thought he was supposed to work for stars and help people to become stars. I knew something was wrong and weird with him, but I wouldn't dwell on it.
Since it was weekend, I thought I'd go to his office the next monday.
freestyle story telling continues soon.
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Pekka
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em seu burro dos pais!
Feb 2002
time: 07:20
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Monday came and I took a cab to his office. I really couldn't afford it but since I was going to MY agent, I should be taken there by a cab. All the actors do it, so why not script writers. I wouldn't know anything about being a writer, but I can always try to act like one, I thought.
I arrived to the address and walked up the stairs and found his office. Didn't look like much, but at least it was clean. "I was expecting you earlier", he opened the conversation. "Mr Juvonen?", I asked. "Yes. I was expecting you earlier.", he insisited and continued, "I read your script and I think it needs some work but in general I think you have potential and after we work this a bit, we should pitch this to major production companies".
I was excited. My script... into a movie? Getting paid too? Sweet! ".. this all came so fast, I don't know what to say.. except that I'm very interested in working the script with you and hopefully we can pitch it", I said. "So.. what's the next step?".
Urho took off his tie and said, "the next step is you and me working this script. We should start as soon as possible. Is NOW ok for you?", he proposed. "Now? You mean right now? .. ok.. why not.. sure".
"First things first. You know I'm a method agent. You know what a method actor is? I'm just like that, except I write. I mean I help writers. We need to feel the script, and frankly I don't feel few of the characters at all. Help me feel, show me, let's make it work. Pain, anger, lust, it's all good, we just need something to work with.", he foamed.
Pain, anger, lust? Who is this guy.. an agent? I mean, a method agent???
"Look son, we don't have time to waste, let's go to your place and start working. I need to see the world through your eyes, so I can make everyone else see the world through your eyes and sell this baby. That's the key, that's the Oak Island, that's the Ringlemere gold cup! Understand?", he looked at me, measuring me and trying to see if I had the passion and what it takes.
"I'm not sure, my place is kind of small and..", "No excuses! Do you want me to work with you? Do you want the riches and the women? Then you need to make sacrifices, and the first one is your private life, you have none from now on, I'll make you a star!".
This was our deal. I wouldn't have to pay him money, we would come up with a percentage, a cut, later on. Oh and he would move in with me.
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Pekka
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em seu burro dos pais!
Feb 2002
time: 07:20
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I don't know what is more sad. The fact that none of you yet realize this is a freestyle story and not real life, or that ... there's no other option.
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We arrive to my place, and he immidiately settles in without me having to say act like it's your home. His method agencing kicks in right away, and he goes to my bathroom and smells my deodorants, toothbrush and carefully examines the room. "Mmm.. clean.. I like it..", he mumbles. Next up for inspection is my fridge, and after that is my book collection and clothes, paying attention to my boxers. He wanders around touching everything like a little kid and says, "I'm starting to feel you a little already. You like simplistic style.. you don't live with a woman and you think those shakes still works for you even though your gym card is already out dated. You're a dreamer, and typical writer. Let's talk about the script.. is this your first script?", he asks. "Yes this is my first one.. is it that obvious?".
No reply. He pulls out his laptop and shows me my script on it. "You have some basic grammar problems, and you're writing in english. We need to work with your prepositions, but other than that, I don't see bigger problems ahead of us. What is your style of writing?". "I kind of just write, see what happens, and go from there on .. I never really plan too much, I just think of a title and start winging it".
"Forget that Gonzo ****. Since Hunter Thompson, everyone started writing like him. It's not cool anymore, and it certainly will not get you any deals in the future. It's just like Quentin Tarantino, after him every film student started making films his style. Forget Tarantino. You need to bring your own style, your own method of writing and describing things. So far I don't see any style at all and you say you just wing it?". "Pretty much.. ", I reply. "Good, so we have lots to work on. When do you feel the most creative?".
I think that for a minute and can't come up with anything.
Gotta go now, come back later.
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Pekka
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em seu burro dos pais!
Feb 2002
time: 07:20
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I didn't realize he would literally live with me. he would spend every hour, minute and second with me, I guess that's method agencing. Never heard of it before, but there's the first time for everything.
We go to local office store to print out my script and make few copies of it, and while copying Urho says, "you know your problem with the script and writing in general is that you have no structure, you have no style. I mean this could be a Mel Brooks type of thing where we both look outside from the inside and say 'wow, the dude is alone and speaking to himself', but this is not the Fight Club, I'm real, and not just real to you. I'm real, flesh and bone".
What the hell is he talking about.. I'm getting confused, and try to ignore what he just said to me, but he continued, "You see.. while you were in the grocery store buying us food.. I searched your bookmarks and found Apolyton and read some of your stuff. I also noticed you had few double logins. I also noticed, that you might not be aware of them. What would you say if I told you, that you are writing to yourself, and not knowing it? What would you say if I told you, that you're living in a world part fiction part real.". I thought about it for a moment and said, "but like you said.. this is not Fight Club. This is not Beautiful Mind. It's been done, like you said, don't try to be the next Hunter Thompson or the next Tarantion. It's all been played out already.", I reasoned.
"Exactly. It's already been played out. But how would YOU know the difference? Do you think it's just coincidence, that we both have big egoes, that we both are a bit weird, that we both have strange taste in art, that we both are working for ... the same script?".
I started seriously thinking about kicking this dude out of my place. He was not right in the head. He wasn't even professional in my mind, and his methods were certainly weird.
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Pekka
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em seu burro dos pais!
Feb 2002
time: 07:20
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Dracon II, take a wild guess? 
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We take the bus and head back to my place. "Do you know what I'm saying to you? Are you listening?", he starts again. "Yeah, you're trying to say you are in my imagination, and that I have lost the marbels and I never noticed it.", I guessed. "Exactly. Do you notice all the people staring at us right now? Maybe it's because you are talking to yourself. Maybe you are one of those smelly people, who talk to themselves in the bus, and everyone is afraid of them.".
"Well.. I think they are staring at us because you talk weird stuff. You know maybe you should just stop for now, do me a favour just stop, I'm embarrased.", I plead. "Stop? You're debating yourself. Just stop then. Make me stop. Just shut up. You're still talking.". "If you don't stop now, I'll kick your ass, seriously, stop", I continue with my pleadings.
"Kick MY ass? Don't you mean kick YOUR ass. I'll kick your ass. Kick my ass, and I'll kick your ass. Get it? You're too slow, or does it mean I'm too slow, or are we both.. or just you?", he asks for trouble.
I can't take it anymore. I start walking to the other end of the bus, messaging him to stay away from me. But he follows me like a leech. I get out in the next stop not knowing where I was but I couldn't care less. I looked back, and Urho was still in the bus. FINALLY!
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Pekka
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em seu burro dos pais!
Feb 2002
time: 07:20
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So I open the door. What the hell, I didn't order Kebab, I know I do so regularly but I just got home and had sex. I think I know if I ord... "Hello my name is Tarish. I have lived in Finland for 5 years and I try to support myself by selling my art. Would you be interested in buying any of my work?", he smiles and has some nice karma around him. I would usually say no thanks and shut the door but somehow I felt like looking at his work.
It had few paintings, well more like drawings, and few pieces of jewelry. I look at them, "are those golden?". "Well sir, for you my friend, no they are not golden. I say they are for customers but no they are not. But I made them myself and I give you a good deal. Are you interested in them?", he asks me. "Well.. yeah but not in sense of getting any, I just think they're pretty good looking. If you had some of them curvy daggers, knifes and stuff, I might get one..", I try to dodge from buying anything.
"Sorry my friend.. no daggers no knives. What about literature? I have books about Hinduism, I have tales of the princes and princesses, I have... I have lots of exotic books too.", he pitches me. "Sure... what you got?".
He opens his bag and the one on top is Koran. I take it in my hands and flip it open. Wow.. looks like handy work, someone has really busted their butts making these.. , "how much for this?" I ask. It was written in arabic so I wouldn't even be able to read it, but it looked great. "For you, I can not sell it.", he says.
"What do you mean, you had it in your bag, where you have stuff you sell, why won't you sell me this?", I asked. "Because you are... you are not a muslim are you? This book is a very special version and I will sell it to a brother muslim. You can't even read it.", he replies. "Yeah, so, I want it, I'll pay for this. How much?", I start the bidding.
"You don't hear so well, do you? I said it's not for sale, not for you my friend". Chesty walks up, nude, and asks what's taking me so long. "AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! You infidel bastard, the women you let outside naked!!!!", he shouts in panic and tries to grab the book in my hand, but mistakenly grabs my hand. My ... strong... hand.
I quickly grab his hand, taking it off of mine, and hit him with the Koran. He stumbles, and attacks me. The coward bites me in the chest so I have to uppercut him good and break his nose, but as I bring the hammer, his head pumps up violently from my punch, headbutting my nose. The Koran flies from my hand directly to the bathroom and into the toilet.
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15-05-2005 22:24
Good luck.
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