You Can’t Find……What?

By Kelly Mahan Jaramillo, Nov. 12th, 2007

Okay, it has been quite a week, what with the Writer’s Strike, figuring out how to separate the urge to write with figuring out how to operate wordpress and the homepage, rage and heartbreak over this war, the blistering letters to Congress, and headaches that are so random and painful that I am happily cultivating the thought that my long awaited brain tumor is here or the three huge veins on my head that bulge out when I start to get angry are finally going to explode, when in reality it is shaping up to be a sinus issue.

The headaches are not the prelude to the next grand adventure, they are seemingly just a buildup of too much snot. May I sit in my chair staring at the screen, paralyzed at what to do first, and feel sorry for myself? Thank you.

Then a voice from the studio knocks it all to the back burner.

“I cannot find my dykes. Where did I put my dykes?”

The last cue of the film is really starting to shape up, and when I finish this, I am going to be calling director Eileen Nelson and asking her if she wants a rough taste of it before she has to leave for a week.

As music co-producer, generally when Tomas utters a rather plaintive query, it is my job to put aside whatever I am paralyzed by, or even doing, and help him so he can get back to writing.

I have NO IDEA what he is looking for. I am pretty certain he does not have a secret stash of gay women in the studio, which would be fine by me, but if he did he would not call them what is considered a rather rude term.

We live in the acrid San Fernando Valley, so, no need to plug up the hole in the dam from onrushing water, I mean, yeah, the house is ready to split in half, but that is the landlady’s problem, not ours, and a dam would not help.

“Uhhh…” I manage to say with great eloquence.

“My dykes! The S/PDIF cable from my original EMU needs to be repaired, and I cannot find my dykes!”

I challenge anyone in this business to tell me what he just said.

Now, I know what it means when I hear “spittif’ (S/PDIF – Sony/Phillips Digital Interconnect), EMU (Emulator), it is digital gear talk. But my brain seized at ‘dykes’.

Although I was momentarily excited at the prospect that my headache was due to confusion, as I would rather die of confusion than snot.

Whoops! Not about me. Need to figure out what he is looking for.

I ask, and he is in his own zone of frustration, so he starts to pantomime, and also become noun-less.

“You know, the little blue thingys, cut, small, you know,” he says, making scissoring motions with his hands, coupled with a combination sigh-huff-snort sound.

Oh dear, not helping, but I venture in, somewhat timidly, I must admit.

“It sounds like they would be in the tool box,” I offer.

“I’ve looked,” he shakes his head and walks back to the studio.

My sense of self preservation is not about to probe the dyke issue, I am going to go with the sense of a form of wire cutters.

I remember we recently used a small snipping device that had rubber blue handles over the metal, and I had JUST SEEN then in the one of the semi-junk drawers.

I pull them out and walk back into the studio, with the appropriate face of “maybe?”, which is not an act, because the whole dyke issue has my visage in a semi-permanent question mark.

He looks at me as if I have found the Holy Grail.

I am peppered with questions on where, how, etc., which I answer, and he happily goes about repairing the cable. My work here is finished.

I decide it is best to put my one pressing question on hold for the time being, and ask him later my Question For The Night – Why in God’s name are small wirecutters called Dykes?

When evening falls, and we are about an hour away from shutting everything down, I ask, and am met with a very thoughtful,
“I don’t know, that is just what they are called. Huh, I don’t know why, yeah, wonder where that came from?” He expresses the proper curiosity, but there are more pressing matters, like writing the Americana melody for the first fifteen seconds of the cue to his satisfaction.

WELL! I have all the time in the world, and I am going to find out. I Google, I go into forums, and guess what. No one really knows!

Some say it is an acronym, Tomas, when he could talk again after writing for four hours, said they were diagonal wirecutters, maybe specific to studio gear, but possibly it originated from electricians?

He decides to dive in deep into the forums, and finds a the same world of hurt and confusion, but then there is this one person who clearly feels that the rest of us are morons. His post:

“What else would you call them?”
Posted by: dchamil at July 17, 2005 10:50 AM

What else would you call them??? WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU CALL THEM??
Okay, I cannot go on with this, I am feeling the left vein on my temple start its angry heartbeat. This is not worth bringing on another headache, although….

I am not buying that my headaches are snot-related. Not after that.

This entry was posted in American Dumpling, Composing, Film, Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to You Can’t Find……What?

  1. Sherri says:

    I just re-read this post, still laughing out loud! You’re hilarious, woman!

    And for that reason, I’ve tagged you. I can’t wait to see what 7 random things you come up with. Can’t wait, I say!

    I’m linked to this blog, but if you decide to post it on a different one, let me know and I’ll change the link.

    You go, girl!

  2. I am on my way over to you – Tomas and I just read your “three Coors light” and you and he could talk for hours – you cracked us up.

    I am going to investigate this 7 random things right now!

    Girl is going… a rather stately pace…..

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