Warning: This journal is rated R, for restricted audiences. It contains naughty language and adult situations. If you are under 18, do not read without the consent of an adult.
Hung like a bear,
Monday, July 27, 1998: Production Day 6
Well, the excesses of the weekend have certainly taken their toll on your faithful narrator. I still feel the pain. After cashing my first check, I gleefully ran around the liquor store on Vermont like Nick Cage in his heartfelt-drunk movie, skipped back to the crib like a schoolgirl on the last day of third grade, and drank like a man stepping from the edge of the Mojave after a week of eating sand. It was only two in the afternoon when we got started, for god's sake. Garret joined me in the debauchery and, well, let's just say what I do remember will forever scar my psyche. And for what I don't remember, the only solace I can find is in paraphrasing the perspicacious Nigel Tufnel: some things are best left unsolved. Oh, there are flashes of consciousness, to be sure: the girls from across the street (who I think are lesbians, and may have even possibly made out on our couch, damn my booze addled memory!) stopped by, someone had a little miniature dog that was freaking the cat (and me) out, wrestling (figure four leg lock, thank you) occurred, we ate a bunch of Vicodin, I took off my pants, Garret threw up in the sink, I dropped the record player, the cops came, etc etc. Nothing particularly creative happened, but it was nice to release some of the stress that has been building up in my fragile vessel. Anyway, Sunday was a complete waste, as you can imagine. I didn't even open my eyes until 3 or so, and even then I just laid in bed until nighttime, drinking tap water and ingesting large quantities of aspirin, contemplating my depravity, bad judgement, and poor decision making processes whilst under the influence. Then it was back to bed, and just like fucking high school- boom: I was back on the job again. I should make bumper stickers: Mondays are for dicks. But then again, if you didn't work Monday, Tuesday would just stop by and kick your ass. It's a vicious cycle. I don't really remember what happened today, I just tried to keep quiet and avoid trouble all day. I found a nice relaxing refuge on a couch in one of the unused sets, but I couldn't relax with the demonic 2nd AD floating around like a wraith. I need to bribe the interns and organize some code signals so I can get some rest on the set. Actually, I take it back, I do have a few memories of today's shooting activity, but it just involved more non-consensual bestiality and bondage. Surprise, surprise. Note to self: do not snort aspirin ever, ever again. Million dollar idea: hangover delivery kit. Like pink-dot: call up, and we deliver a ham sandwich, filtered water, orange juice, Alleive, and a shot of whiskey.
