acetaminophin
that’s a stab in the dark, btw. i never claimed to be a speller.
of all my weirdo pseduo-phobias — bathrooms, driving, lighting matches — the one i most still need to address is taking pills. curing headaches via nyquil for its painkillers seems somewhat roundabout.
i haven’t been able to accomplish much recently. i’m paralyzed. my little brother has the flu and i’m so paranoid i’ll get it all i do is wash my hands. but um. i am having a good break.
the return of good movies
now that i’m home, i can turn my attention to movies EVEN MORE exclusively. (i enjoy my life.)
my father and i went to a matinee of return of the king in a huge two-tier theater with a curved screen and an audience that shrieked when the lights went down and throughout at Classic Movie Moments. sometimes i clapped along with them, giddy, as a testament to the fact that for the first 2.25 hours i was swept away by this film.
i think my resting heart rate for the duration of rotk was 106. that’s about what it was the last days before i heard from swarthmore and i know because my p.e. teacher made me take my pulse in front of the class. when he realized it was over 100, he looked at me like i might be crazy, or dead.
the POINT is, it’s such a kickass film it feels like a workout. you break out in a sweat. you alternately tense and relax. and afterwards you feel goofy and fulfilled.
my only quibble is with the last half hour. what is with the 10 different endings, each schmaltzier and more mythical than the last?
it’s so good though. isn’t it? so scary, and thrilling, and well-directed and well-paced. i even thought the script was better. check plus, peter jackson. and thanks.
peddling donuts
me: would you like to buy a donut for an excellent cause?
lady: oh, i’d like to but i just can’t. i’ll give you some money though.
me: thank you. are you sure you wouldn’t like the donut?
lady: no … go give it to someone thin.
me: YOU’RE thin.
lady: you haven’t seen me naked.
in less than two hours of selling, veronica and i sold 108 real donuts. many we sold more than once, since many soft-hearted administrators “bought” donuts, or even whole boxes, without taking them. virtually all of them were on atkins and they weren’t convinced when i told them these donuts were low-card. they did, however, find veronica and me excessively cute.
i’m done w/ everything. it’s a great feeling. i handed in my film final and my screenplay draft (held together w/ clothespins) to my prof at the same time. she was much more excited about the screenplay, which left me a little miffed i had bothered at all with the finals.
who cares! tomorrow i go home. top five movies to see:
#1 Return of the King
#2 Big Fish
#3 21 Grams
#4 Mystic River (finally)
#5 damn, there was a fifth. it’s escaping me now. no matter! happy break, everyone.
!!!
i finished! i finished i finished i finished my first draft. 109 pages, half of which it took me a semester to write and half of which it took me this past week. ignoring that — and many other things, including its roughness — i am very excited to report i have a full, functional first draft.
and no, you may NOT read it, no matter how well-intentioned you are, until i have spent the requisite few weeks revising it and feeling more solid about it.
meanwhile, just celebrate with me. YEAH baby!
poor miss moore
i braved the snow this morning for blue pancakes and far from heaven with k-ross and msrabi.
that was my third retro film of the weekend. #1, on friday, over milk-godivaliquer-&-kahlua cocktails in plastic cups, was the disappointing fast times at ridgemont high. by the near end, one of my companions had wandered off, another asked if we could just stop watching, and i had been playing snood for twenty minutes.
more successfully, #2, on saturday, following a grocery run that took several of us into philadelphia for a classy dinner at whole foods, wayne’s world. so pomo it makes clueless look positively mild. and still fun to watch.
perestroika tonight, which i’ve never seen produced before in any form, will serve as #4. before i leave on wednesday, i should round off the retro to a round #5, i think. perhaps only if i indeed finish a draft of audacia.
dum da dum
i’ve hit page 92. that means 100 will be a piece of cake — and i’ll have written 50 pages in less than a week — and i should almost definitely go for a full draft, however long that turns out to be. oh dear oh dear. it’s rather exciting.
how do people feel about flashbacks? what’s the consensus? annoying or better than chronological story-telling. it’s so hard to know.
hilarity ensues
howl, howl, howl, howl, howl.
not me. the wind.
i’m on page 72, which would be excellent if it seemed like i could stop at 100 but i’m not sure i can. it is very difficult to keep the big picture in mind when writing a screenplay. individual scenes are so important, and making sure one scenes leads logically into another, and keeping the story moving.
i’ve seen lots theater recently — senior company last friday, angels in america sunday (beautiful, btw; i can’t wait for the next installment), the directing pieces last night — and lots of film: thelma and louise, waiting for guffman, the tall guy, being there (i fell asleep but i could tell it was lovely). even dance: the gammalan concert, terpsichore, and k-ross’s party. all this art should be having a tremendous effect on me. perhaps it’s the kind of thing that would show up in an x-ray.
anyway, back to plowing ahead in the story of audacia dangereyes. maybe it’ll be okay if i don’t finish a whole draft so long as hit 100 pages before i go home.
out of the ________, into the _________
high pressure situation day! first i had dinner with my future, or what i hope is my future: killer indy producer and actual breathing living Member of the Academy christine vachon. (i keep thinking vachon means “pig” in french. subsequently i keep thinking this is wrong. i only just learned today that “liebstod,” the only german endearment i know, means “love-death.” anyway!)
christine vachon arrived in pajama pants, which looked like they once belonged to m.c. hammer, tucked into black combat boots. now THAT, my friends, is a new york filmmaker. her clothes said Fuck hollywood, as did her attitude, her lack of makeup, and, in fact, her oeuvre. damn that’s hot. i wish i could be a successful creative non-sellout.
after dinner, during which i failed to make an impression on ms. christine — to be fair, there were about 15 of us and patty’s son stole the show — i heard her speak, watched clips, and participated in a Q&A. that always means, for me, that i sat scribbling quotes into my notebook and looking intently at her JUST IN CASE she should happen to be tortured by the thought, “who IS that girl with the pigtails and the intense gaze?” and immediately sign me to my bright and glorious future.
there was no signing involved. there was nothing but me saying goodbye and thank you as i left, holding the leftover lasagne patty let me take home to feed my weeklong guest. now i’m going, braced, to the trans workshop where hopefully i will not accidentally say something offensive or expose ignorance any greater than everyone else’s about the issues at hand.
christine vachon says she’s fearless. i wish i could be fearless. i mean, for god’s sake, christine vachon is only christine vachon and the cool kids are only the cool kids (hi cool kids!) and someday i’m really going to be somebody … or something.
update!
roy h. is speaking here tonight. the zionist group is bringing him as an example of an israeli college student. allow me to say, WHAT??
for those of you who don’t know, or vaguely remember, roy h. went to my high skool. i retain only a vague impression that he was hot as he graduated several years ahead of me.
his younger brother, m., however, is an infamous holy terror. m. rode the bus with me and would tell casually about his sexual escapades in the beit midrash. (dude! we had to PRAY in there!) one time he came to one of my brother’s parties at our house and in trying to run from the family room to the patio didn’t realize there was a GLASS DOOR in the way.
he fell on the door, shattering it the way you’ve never seen anything shatter in your life but only dazing himself. his mom came to pick him up soon after. my mom wondered how to break the news to her.
the ensuing conversation went as follows:
my mom: you son had an accident and shattered our glass door.
his mom: oh dear. … i hope you have insurance.
i don’t mean to imply that just cuz m. is a delinquent his brother is. but, uh, the odds are against him.
edit
i’ve taken this down in the interest of not embarrassing myself any further. thanks for the supportive comments.