Tuesday, November 22, 2005

November 22nd, 2005

Jeff talked to me about "Salem's Lot: The Illustrated Edition" the other day, so I bought one as soon as I could. It's very nice, even though I already have a hardbound "Salem's Lot" (anybody want it?), and includes some deleted portions from the first draft of the novel. Those were what I was most interested in (indeed, the only useful part of King's "On Writing" to me was his few pages about rewriting that awful short story about the haunted hotel room), and in skimming over them, I made a disturbing realization. What does it say that material deemed expendable from something King wrote at age twenty-three is better than ANYTHING I've ever written?

Something to think about.

Today I'm working "Charmed" at Paramount. Not a far distance from my place, I faced practically no traffic in getting here this morning. I must be grateful for the little things, as my grandma used to say.

I just called a real handsome extra I see a lot on sets a chingaso. He didn't seem to appreciate it when I told him what it meant. No big shock that my number of friends left in the world is now countable on one hand.

A leper's hand? my evil inner voice asks.

I'm re-reading "Harry Potter 4" on set. Another writer who's better than I'll ever be. But hey, aim for the starts, like they say, maybe you'll lose control and fly into the sun.

So, "Charmed." Another show I've never watched. Strange, though, since it's been on since 1998 (I checked) and that Alyssa Milano is one good-looking witch. Even if she used to have really bad teeth.

I haven't seen any of them, though. The girl from the John Ritter show that everyone said was so hot is on set. I guess we're doing 2nd Unit stuff. Holly Marie Combs or whatever is over doing First Unit.

Shoot, I just remembered I was gonna try to take that Harry Potter girl to the movie. She was pretty cute, but even more personable, and I called her "The Girl Who Lived" until I learned her name. I met her on "Desperate Housewives" and saw her a lot on other sets; she was friendly. I was going to ask for her number one night when we were both on FLAGS OF OUR FATHERS, but she disappeared. A part of me says, "Who needs the aggravation? She never woulda gone for you anyway." While that might be true, she seemed like the type who could've been fun to hang out with. The sort who would call me too, if she wanted to do something.

"If only I could meet someone new. I guess my chances of that happening are somewhat diminished, seeing that I'm incapable of making eye contact with a woman I don't know."

This is much more of a stream of consciousness thing than an organized essay or journal entry. Sorry, kids.

On the show, I'm playing a uniformed cop again, this time a San Francisco P.D. officer. There's a patch on the arm with an eagle on it and the motto "Oro en paz, fierro en guerra." That's interesting, sorta. I have a beard and goatee for some reason, but nobody's given me a hard time about it. Don't know if it's allowed or not.

We're shooting on the New York street at Paramount, where a bank robbery is taking place. A car has driven through the bank window (good aim) and a helicopter has landed right outside its doors. A cadre of SWAT Team members are aiming impressive-looking automatic weapons at the copter, while the uniformed police like me are holding back onlookers behind sawhorses and yellow tape. A gruff, unconvincing dude has grabbed the "Eight Simple Rules" girl and is holding a gun to her head, dragging her to the helicopter to make his escape. The SWAT guys are a little more believable--they're all muscular and differing degrees of ugly--I have on good authority that they're really SWAT Team members.

In one set up, the policemen are in a stance, awaiting a move by the bank robber/kidnapper and have our weapons drawn. I asked one of the SWAT guys if he wouldn't mind showing me how to hold my pistol. He showed me the way real police hold them and the way movie cops hold them. I chose the former.

At the end of the day, for some reason, they singled out me and my partner (a bald black dude with a voice like Vanity Smurf) to be in a close up, two-camera shot. Amazing. I'd like to think that it's because I looked so professional. Or because I showed initiative. Or because I was the only one with a goatee. Or because my partner was so darn cute. Or because of some kind of kharmic retribution, but I'll give my kidney up on eBay if the shot actually makes the show.

They told us about halfway through the day that we would not be coming back tomorrow. At first I was disappointed, because a paycheck is a paycheck (as I think I've mentioned), but then I thought it was for the best, since I need to drive down to Vegas for Thanksgiving. Then, as they were sending me home, they changed their mind, and I do have to come back tomorrow. So, it's up in the air whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. But hey, like Sarah Conner's coworker said, "In a hundred years, who's gonna care?"

When they started up the helicopter, it made the coolest sound and caused a pleasant wind to kick up around it. The weather is absolutely perfect today, as it has been for a week. At six this morning, I didn't even need a long-sleeved shirt. Something I should keep in mind the next time I'm tempted to move back home.

Speaking of which, it looks like I'll be heading north on Wednesday sometime. I'll be hitching a ride with my uncle and spawn in Las Vegas. I should be happy to be going home and seeing my family, but I'm afraid they'll all look at me with disappointment in their eyes and ask how I lost my job and comment on how fat I've gotten.

At least HARRY POTTER was good.

I've really enjoyed doing this blog journal thing. Even though I doubt anybody but tyranist and the Spaminator ("try my evil new website!") are reading it, it's given me more of an inclination to write what's been going on each day. And because so much changes and I work so much, it'll all melt together in my memory, and soon the details will be lost, like a photograph left out in the sun.

Stephen King I'm not.

I think back to when I was first in L.A., and the extra work I did then. Would've been cool to read about those adventures ("Today I sat around on 'Boston Public.' They only used me in one scene. I wish I had died at birth.") on a blog. I guess I could go through my old journal entries and put them online. Don't know if anyone would be interested (even me), but it's sort of a posterity thing. Those future not-to-be children wanted to read it, maybe future nieces and nephews would too.

Heck, maybe I should tell my mom about my blog. She complains that I never write or call enough. Would she be interested to know I just checked out the "8 Simple Rules' girl's ass?

Looked pretty good, actually.

Rish "Not J.K. Rowling Either" Outfield

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