Here it is March at last, and I wrote my last (pro-rated) rent check to Meghan last night. I can’t lie: I am so ready to be gone, and if I could hop on the plane to Maui right now I would. I guess I must have changed, because Portland probably hasn’t, but the fact is now with the prospect of semi-tropical sunlight in the near future, I find this dreary chilly gray climate really dispiriting and de-motivating. I spent most of yesterday editing at the media center, got the final cut of Bad News done, turned it in for broadcasting and put it up on YouTube, which I probably shouldn’t, because it’s going to have a stultifying effect on me, and certainly no one who sees it is going to want to touch me with a ten foot stick, I look chubby and bloated and most unattractive, but to be true to the spirit of that little project I had to play the clown. It’ll only make it more dramatic when I transform into a golden creature of light and toned muscles and sun-kissed skin on Maui and then go bag me a boy on San Fran! I didn’t plan ahead again so there was no laptop I could check out to bring home with me, so now I have to wait until Wednesday when the media center is open again to go in and finish editing, which sucks when you’re in the thick of the project and just want to keep working till it’s done, and obviously now we aren’t going to be able to submit Art Police to Gold Coyote: the deadline was yesterday. That’s probably my own screw-up fault, although even if I had really devoted every minute to editing it still would have been a dreadfully narrow shave so to speak, and it turned into a lot more work than expected, both the shooting and the editing. There are other places I’d like to submit it to anyway: the 10 or Less festival, and Slamdance, although I think that happened in January, so it’ll be a long wait. What I can do, though, is bring it down to San Francisco with me and shop it around there, introduce us to a whole new tableau of artistic personages. But I’ve definitely got to make it a priority to get my own film equipment in the near future so I don’t have to always be at the mercy of the fickle gods of community media. (Much as I love it.) Certainly I need to get a hard drive of my own, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to install Final Cut Pro on my laptop any time soon: I asked Neal (cool old bearded chap who seems to not only work but LIVE at the media center) how much it costs and he estimated the full suite at around $1300, Final Cut by itself at $800-900. Yeeeowwch. When I got home Meghan was having dinner with her friend Brian who made a Rollerderby documentary and (I presume) his dude, and they invited me to join them, but I wasn’t really hungry, and was in a frantic mood of getting things done (cleaning, packing, laundry, etc.) so bowed out. The truth is I relate to people way more based on temperament, taste and style than sexual orientation. I’m a weird mix of lower and upper class, not so much middle. That is, I grew up in pretty much Midwestern, white-trash poverty, but never felt I belonged there, that it was just kind of a cruel joke, and I’ve always felt I belonged in a castle in England somewhere instead. Basically, I’m an aristocrat with no money and no pedigree. I’ll have to make my own money and start my own pedigree, I guess. Nico said she can take Lucy, and will let me have her back later if the opportunity arises, and I think that’s a better option than Vicky, who has four cats (and one angry husband) already. Cousin Ant says I’ll probably smoke more weed when I get out to Maui because “it’s the national pastime.” It probably wouldn’t be a bad move to forego the liquor and pick up the pipe instead. Although I’m thinking I may not need much of either from here on out. I want to get addicted to exercise: an addiction that’s actually good for me! I watched Garcon Stupide last night. A good example of how a movie can be full of NC17 kinky sex and still be....not very sexy at all. I wasn’t really turned on once. The extremely restrained scene in Brideshead Revisited where Sebastian kisses Charles (this is my blog, I’ll be as obsessive as I want, thankyoukindly) is so much sexier than the one in Garcon Stupide where the lead boy watches his trick sit on a giant dildo. French movies are so cerebral, in the sense of being concerned with thoughts and dialogue and “interior reality” rather than straightforward plot and action, which I suppose I should like, but honestly there were a number of scenes that struck me as an amateur film project for college, dialogue scenes that went on way too long and would’ve benefited from some cutting. I also got Fat Actress and it’s sooo funny, sort of like Curb Your Enthusiasm with a female protagonist, but there were only four episodes of it made. Too bad Kirstie Alley got skinny again. Shit, this Sunday is the Hat Party, isn’t it? And I haven’t a stitch to wear.
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