Screenwriting & Life... as I've written it so far.

Monday, July 24, 2006

For the Kids, & all you Crack-Babies

Hello kids. How's the day? Yes, this post is for you.

Wondering if you're a kid?... Well, rest assured - you are; and, if you're not, the situation can be rectified quickly by shoving your thumb into your mouth.

This will be short, so whatever remnants you have from June's bagged lunch, please, feel free to finish them off over this short entry.

Firstly, we're going to have babies. Cockapoo babies - two of them. This is the same type of dog that Molly was, and I think things will turn out nicely. They'd better, anyway.

Second, I've incurred some cost since last time I posted [ed. note: and this before even starting construction on my two lemonade stand props.. shit.].

Last week, and after having been to the dentist multiple [read: multiple] times for fillings in the past few months, I had a root canal. Let me tell you about it.

It wasn't that bad.

People all over the planet would rather call Mr. T a "fucking faggot" to his face than have a root canal yet, for some reason, it's no worse than a filling. This got me thinking: what in sweet Louisiana could be so bad about the process?

And then the bill came in.

(cue "cha-ching" noise)

Root canals, on average cost a whopping $1000 but, thanks to a little black market dentistry I managed to finnagle a total much less than that.

Then, not to be outdone by the bastard known as root canal, my automotive needs spiked this week in an unprecedented move market analysts are calling "fucking shitty." But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Leaving the destist's parking lot I noticed Cop on Bicycle [yes, on a pedal bike]. He was stopped, leaning over on one foot talking with a pre-teen mother and her cracked out baby; no doubt some pressing police matter given the number of slave-children drug-traffickings we've seen in recent months.

I rolled by, casually, and he looked my way [probably more out of fear for his safety given the wirey aluminum frame he sat upon]. Fifteen or twenty feet after Cop on Bicycle were another couple pre-teen mothers and their crack-babies walking along the sidewalk. Now, I'm driving - a big, synthetic materials car - minding my own business when, for no apparent reason, one kid starts tugging his mother out into the road as if to cross. Immediately I get onto the brakes, slowing considerably, so as not to dent my fender on this clearly ignorant child.

The kid makes several back and forth motions, no doubt trying to decide if he should continue crossing, or if there is a fraction of a chance that his shit will get ruined right there in the middle of the street. Because of his angst, I too am letting on and off the brakes wondering if, indeed, this child has the mental capacity of a peanut and will continue in front of this big moving object or, conversely, if he's got enough crack in his system to whisk him to the other side at a rate fast enough to give Clark Kent wood.

For fear of the former I stop entirely, frustrated by the fact that I've already had to think this much. Pre-teen Mother #1 stares at me with a look like I just humped a midget, and I stared right back at her like she and her Crack-Baby were new to the concept of "car." So I stopped, waved them infront of me just hoping that I would be far from their stench soon, and happened to look in my side mirror. Cop on Bike is striding over, catches my eye in the mirror and yells, from his mouth, no less, for me to "pull over."

Instead of fleeing the Law, I pulled the extra foot to the side after Pre-teen Mother and Crack-Baby were out of the way. For sake of brevity, the conversation with Cop on Bike went like this:


ME: (getting out of the car)
COP ON BIKE: Get back in the car!!
ME: (getting into the car)
COP ON BIKE: (at passenger window) Didn't you see Crack-Baby and Pre-teen Mother?
ME: Well, yes, but they sort of just... leapt in front of me like I was stealing their cocaine.
COP ON BIKE: Shit, that's scary. Did you see how red their eyes were? Christ. This is a nice car.
ME: Yep, she's a beaut.
COP ON BIKE: So, can I have it?
ME: Pardon me?
COP ON BIKE: You have a nice day now, sir. (biking away)


Watching him bike away with no ticket in my hand was a good feeling. Coming home to a [roughly] $1200 invoice for my car was not. Apparently my sweet-ass ride needs new brakes.

Maybe I'll ask Crack-Baby what he thinks about that.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Intermezzo: Audition Wrap-up

So, it's over with. Auditions came, went, and are now proceeding into the distance.

Wave to them; wave to the auditions.

So June 28th was the day, and I packed all my shit [ed. note: which was actually only my laptop, MiniDV camcorder, and a pad of paper avec stylo] and headed out to Innerkip in search of the building at where I'd booked my auditioning space.

Did you catch that? I said "search." There is a good reason for this: I had never been there. I had never seen a picture or even had a description of the building - in fact, I turned down all pre-audition offers for familiarizing myself with the place. Why? Who knows.

Heading into Innerkip, which is only populated by a couple thousand people and their dogs (all of whom play baseball), I was certain that in no foreseeable circumstance would it take me more than a couple of minutes to find where I needed to be; that and I was armed with the sheer determination to stop and ask someone should I not find the "Innerkip Community Centre" in said "couple of minutes."

A Couple of Minutes passed, so I stopped at the single convenience store on the single main road of this small burg. An Actress Friend of mine was tailing me so that she could help out for a few hours if I needed her, so she stopped as well. There were a few kids out front with ice cream cones. I approached the bumpkins with squirrel-like caution.

ME: Excuse me, country bumpkin, can you tell me where your Community Centre is?
BUMPKIN #1: *loud hiss*
ME: (turning to BUMPKIN #2) Excuse me, country bumpkin, can you tell me where your Community Centre is?
BUMPKIN #2: Sure. Back down this here road. It's the red one beside that new church thar.
ME: Thanks. (flicks a nickel to them)
BUMPKIN #2: No problem. (he pauses) *loud hiss*

Going back down the road I'd came, Actress Friend in tow, I stopped at the red building beside the new church, and though the sign out front read "Masonic Lodge" was not yet worried because I was forty-five minutes early and sure that a town this size might double-up community activities in the few public buildings they've got. Forty minutes pass
and my cell phone rings; I answer. It's my cameraman, John, who is also meeting me at the Community Centre to help conduct and also tape the auditions for later review.

ME: Hey, John, I know I'm late, I think I'm at the wrong place.
JOHN: Yeah, I'm at the Community Centre and I'm not seeing you.
ACTRESS FRIEND (O.S.): This sign says "Masonic Lodge!"
ME: (to John) What's the building look like?
JOHN: It's grey with a blue roof and doors.
ME: (looking around I spot it and John across the triangular section of field between the road the Masonic lodge is on, and the diagonal road the Community Centre is on) Shit. I can see you.
JOHN: What? (looking around) Oh, shit, there you are.
ME: Yeah, I'm retarded. Be there in 2.
ACTRESS FRIEND (O.S.): This sign says "Masonic Lodge!"

So, from there, Actress Friend and I proceeded over to the Community Centre [ed. note: also past a big sign that we'd passed out our way into town that read "INNERKIP COMMUNITY CENTRE <--"), met with John, and set up shop for the auditions. Then we waited.

Going into the day I'd said that I wanted ten people to show up. Ten. It was reasonable, and though I secretly harboured the hope that twenty would be the low number, I was certain we would have a chance with ten.

The day can be summed up in hour-long chunks numbered 1 through 5.


Hour 1: Two (2) kids - brought by friends. Their kids. With chicken pox.

Hour 2: Zero (0) kids. The janitor walked by.

Hour 3: Seven (7) kids. Kids that had mostly been referred to me by the goodwill of my Mother.

Hour 4: Eight (8) kids. Again, mostly kids that had been referred to me by my Mother or friends.

Hour 5: One (1) kid. It was now pouring rain outside. Like Noah pouring.


All in all, and if you can do your math, I had a turnout of Eighteen kids, broken down as follows: five girls, two sets of twin boys, and nine non-twin boys. The fact that I need one girl and five boys, including one set of twin boys, is a happy turn of events given the turnout (though I'm sure you can imagine the mass of shit that I had accumulated in my pants when, after the first two and a half hours, only one boy had shown his prepubescent face).

Either way, things worked out despite the fact that it took me an hour and a half, later that evening, to wash my underpants of all that shit.

The next few weeks will be filled with calling people back, letting them know, to their delight, that they've got the roles, and then making a couple lemonade stands as props for my film as well as speaking with the city's engineer with regard to road closures and special permits.

It should be a gay old time.

Alas, here comes the pre-production. Wave to pre-production.