In a huge office building/high school, where I find that I have apparently been cast in a high concept, low budget cartoony (re: Dick Tracy) remake of Scarface [Al Pacino reprising his role]. At the first cast/crew meeting, I am given a large pile of materials (mostly cartoon drawings, not a script in sight) and the small, female Japanese director simply asks us to learn her 4 rules for the set (the first one of which is simply Shut The Fuck Up). My character is the morose and aloof half of a duo; my name is some variant of YLEE. I flip through a yearbook-sized notebook filled with poems that I have apparently already notaded heavily - presumably, this is in lieu of a script. The artwork I'm given sorta looks like a very stylized Penny Arcade/Cardboard Tube Samurai panel. Time passes, and I await my first day of shooting. It is understood that this is a huge break for me, and I'm very eager to start even though I haven't acted in about 10 years and I wonder if I still know how to do it.
- Mood:
tired
dream (i've never seen Scarface)
In a huge office building/high school, where I find that I have apparently been cast in a high concept, low budget cartoony (re: Dick Tracy) remake of Scarface [Al Pacino reprising his role]. At the first cast/crew meeting, I am given a large pile of materials (mostly cartoon drawings, not a script in sight) and the small, female Japanese director simply asks us to learn her 4 rules for the set (the first one of which is simply Shut The Fuck Up). My character is the morose and aloof half of a duo; my name is some variant of YLEE. I flip through a yearbook-sized notebook filled with poems that I have apparently already notaded heavily - presumably, this is in lieu of a script. The artwork I'm given sorta looks like a very stylized Penny Arcade/Cardboard Tube Samurai panel. Time passes, and I await my first day of shooting. It is understood that this is a huge break for me, and I'm very eager to start even though I haven't acted in about 10 years and I wonder if I still know how to do it.
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Farewell, LJ
So I guess I'm retiring this blog. Part of me feels like I need to make some sort of eulogy or something; part of me just wants to move on already.…
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Catching up
The first sentence of this post was "Finally, some breathing room," and then as I was in the middle of the second sentence I got handed…
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(no subject)
Kinda hard to imagine Thomas Pynchon (and not, say, Tom Robbins) writing this paragraph, but there it is on p. 99 of "Inherent Vice":…
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