Wednesday, November 03, 2004
4.
4. Gary and Bill - 2004
It was a quiet morning at 24 Frames Video. A recording of Glenn Gould’s 1981 performance of the Goldberg Variations competed with the occasional thunk of a video or DVD being dropped through the outside slot. Gary Ablett sat behind the counter, absentmindedly chewing on a pencil as he studied the next month’s video order sheet. He was having difficulty concentrating because he couldn’t stop thinking about the guys. As he attempted to get his mind back on his work, he noticed that his clerk was staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just wondering if you wanted a side dish with that pencil.”
“Bite me.” Gary went back to his order, and Bill went back to surfing the ‘net on the computer terminal next to him. He and Gary were like the Mutt and Jeff team of 24 Frames. Bill was six-eight(though three inches of it were hair), and Gary barely passed five-seven on a good day. They had known each other since high school, and when Gary decided to cash in his dot-com options and bail on the corporate world, the first person he called to come work for him was Bill. Gary paid him well and gave him a flexible schedule so that he could pursue his musical career, such as it was.
“So, you coming to the show tonight?” Bill’s power trio was playing a show at The Space, a local venue run by friends of his.
“Which band is this, now?”
“Slow Deaf Child. The instrumental trio.” Bill had three bands going at the same time. In addition to playing bass in Slow Deaf Child, he sang in a 80's metal tribute band and also played keys and sang in a band that played weddings. Gary rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think so, man. Progressive noodling isn’t really my thing.” He stood up. “Besides, people are coming into town tonight, and David Shanahan’s elected me to be the guy to co-ordinate everything.”
“Who’s coming?” Bill hadn’t heard any of what was going on, other then that Jack’s mom had died.
“Well, Jack’s flying in from Tokyo, Charlie’s driving down from Portland, and, uh, Doug and Kevin are coming too.” Gary braced for the onslaught, but none came.
“The Golden Boys are back in town, huh? Well, ain’t that some shit.” Bill turned around to take the stuff out of the drop slot, and Gary left the counter to go back up to his office. As he did, the Bach was replaced by King Crimson, and Gary knew that Bill would be in a funk all day. Bill Ryan hated Doug Harris more then any other person on the planet except maybe for Kevin Maurer. It was all music related, of course. With Bill, everything was. Once in his office, Gary put another Bach CD on and closed the door.
A dot-com multi-millionaire at 22, Gary had opened 24 Frames five years before, annoyed that he couldn’t find the movies he wanted to at the local Schlockbuster. A year later, his little store had become the hip spot to be seen renting movies, as well as a refuge for local artists and musicians who wanted a flexible source of income and a place to network. The only rule he had in hiring employees was that they had to have at least a basic knowledge of cult films and a distaste for the Hollywood mainstream. He carried bootlegs(cleverly labeled as imports, and who was to know any better) and out-of-print movies that the chains wouldn’t touch, and enjoyed a healthy clientele as a result. He watched the market on the Bloomberg terminal in his office for a few minutes, then sat back in his chair.
It’s going to be an interesting couple of days, he thought as he cracked open a can of Coke. The Golden Boys, as Bill called them, hadn’t been together in the same room in over 15 years. It’ll be interesting to see how long we can stay in the same room now. He looked at the framed photo over the terminal and thought about old times.
It was a quiet morning at 24 Frames Video. A recording of Glenn Gould’s 1981 performance of the Goldberg Variations competed with the occasional thunk of a video or DVD being dropped through the outside slot. Gary Ablett sat behind the counter, absentmindedly chewing on a pencil as he studied the next month’s video order sheet. He was having difficulty concentrating because he couldn’t stop thinking about the guys. As he attempted to get his mind back on his work, he noticed that his clerk was staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just wondering if you wanted a side dish with that pencil.”
“Bite me.” Gary went back to his order, and Bill went back to surfing the ‘net on the computer terminal next to him. He and Gary were like the Mutt and Jeff team of 24 Frames. Bill was six-eight(though three inches of it were hair), and Gary barely passed five-seven on a good day. They had known each other since high school, and when Gary decided to cash in his dot-com options and bail on the corporate world, the first person he called to come work for him was Bill. Gary paid him well and gave him a flexible schedule so that he could pursue his musical career, such as it was.
“So, you coming to the show tonight?” Bill’s power trio was playing a show at The Space, a local venue run by friends of his.
“Which band is this, now?”
“Slow Deaf Child. The instrumental trio.” Bill had three bands going at the same time. In addition to playing bass in Slow Deaf Child, he sang in a 80's metal tribute band and also played keys and sang in a band that played weddings. Gary rolled his eyes.
“I don’t think so, man. Progressive noodling isn’t really my thing.” He stood up. “Besides, people are coming into town tonight, and David Shanahan’s elected me to be the guy to co-ordinate everything.”
“Who’s coming?” Bill hadn’t heard any of what was going on, other then that Jack’s mom had died.
“Well, Jack’s flying in from Tokyo, Charlie’s driving down from Portland, and, uh, Doug and Kevin are coming too.” Gary braced for the onslaught, but none came.
“The Golden Boys are back in town, huh? Well, ain’t that some shit.” Bill turned around to take the stuff out of the drop slot, and Gary left the counter to go back up to his office. As he did, the Bach was replaced by King Crimson, and Gary knew that Bill would be in a funk all day. Bill Ryan hated Doug Harris more then any other person on the planet except maybe for Kevin Maurer. It was all music related, of course. With Bill, everything was. Once in his office, Gary put another Bach CD on and closed the door.
A dot-com multi-millionaire at 22, Gary had opened 24 Frames five years before, annoyed that he couldn’t find the movies he wanted to at the local Schlockbuster. A year later, his little store had become the hip spot to be seen renting movies, as well as a refuge for local artists and musicians who wanted a flexible source of income and a place to network. The only rule he had in hiring employees was that they had to have at least a basic knowledge of cult films and a distaste for the Hollywood mainstream. He carried bootlegs(cleverly labeled as imports, and who was to know any better) and out-of-print movies that the chains wouldn’t touch, and enjoyed a healthy clientele as a result. He watched the market on the Bloomberg terminal in his office for a few minutes, then sat back in his chair.
It’s going to be an interesting couple of days, he thought as he cracked open a can of Coke. The Golden Boys, as Bill called them, hadn’t been together in the same room in over 15 years. It’ll be interesting to see how long we can stay in the same room now. He looked at the framed photo over the terminal and thought about old times.
