Thursday, December 22, 2005
Absence
May make the heart grow fonder, but it sure as hell doesn't help to write another blog entry. After an extended hiatus owed to sloth, distraction and an incoherent thought process, I thought I might try and drop another line...
Yah, I got nothing.
Okay, you're stuck with the free-associative dreck that qualifies as my mind.
One, Truculentus has begun. No, I'm not taking penicillin for it. That's the name of our next show. Though I'm betting the characters ought to take a full battery of tests and medications to ensure that their only sharing the same partner.
This looks like it's going to be a lot of fun for us. What it's going to be for the audience, well, shit that's months away. By then we should have either totally elevated a 2200 year old script to an entertaining evening or proven that even the dead can be killed again.
Speaking of dead, did anyone else realize that the director of "Fear.com" and the remake of "House on Haunted Hill" is from Lansing? Not sure what that has to do with anything, but I thought it was interesting until I just wrote it down.
But that does remind me. If anyone reading this blog has an obscene amount of cash and can't find the blow or hookers to fritter it away on, then why not give IF a call and we'll make our very first movie. We've definitely got a couple of ideas that couldn't be half as bad as two thirds of the industry that accounts for 90% of the world film market. Okay, so that was a desperate fixation on fractions (and percentages), but you get the idea. I will even guarantee you a cameo. Course that might be as a fluffer in the requisite substory of a jaded porn star turned to a life in politics.
All joking aside, why hasn't anyone made Michigan the real third coast for film? We've got everything, but really big damn mountains and that's what CGI is for. We should be the spot for a picture that requires a multitude of settings. Why you could even make a post-apolcolyptic story and travel from the idyllic north to the shell-shocked southeast.
Or maybe a couple of film students could just run out and shoot their own expose on Michael Moore's frightening nude sunbathing habits near his mondo house?
Ah, well, questions, questions.
I'm back, for better or worse.
Yah, I got nothing.
Okay, you're stuck with the free-associative dreck that qualifies as my mind.
One, Truculentus has begun. No, I'm not taking penicillin for it. That's the name of our next show. Though I'm betting the characters ought to take a full battery of tests and medications to ensure that their only sharing the same partner.
This looks like it's going to be a lot of fun for us. What it's going to be for the audience, well, shit that's months away. By then we should have either totally elevated a 2200 year old script to an entertaining evening or proven that even the dead can be killed again.
Speaking of dead, did anyone else realize that the director of "Fear.com" and the remake of "House on Haunted Hill" is from Lansing? Not sure what that has to do with anything, but I thought it was interesting until I just wrote it down.
But that does remind me. If anyone reading this blog has an obscene amount of cash and can't find the blow or hookers to fritter it away on, then why not give IF a call and we'll make our very first movie. We've definitely got a couple of ideas that couldn't be half as bad as two thirds of the industry that accounts for 90% of the world film market. Okay, so that was a desperate fixation on fractions (and percentages), but you get the idea. I will even guarantee you a cameo. Course that might be as a fluffer in the requisite substory of a jaded porn star turned to a life in politics.
All joking aside, why hasn't anyone made Michigan the real third coast for film? We've got everything, but really big damn mountains and that's what CGI is for. We should be the spot for a picture that requires a multitude of settings. Why you could even make a post-apolcolyptic story and travel from the idyllic north to the shell-shocked southeast.
Or maybe a couple of film students could just run out and shoot their own expose on Michael Moore's frightening nude sunbathing habits near his mondo house?
Ah, well, questions, questions.
I'm back, for better or worse.
