Corfu Memories
Every morning I mean afternoon I drive the RV past the Corfu Restaurant.
Each time I'm reminded of the afternoon Lauren and I spent in Corfu.
We had the fortune of performing comedy on a cruise ship that hugged the perimeter of the Mediterranean Sea, among other horrible, terrible, just horrible places.
One day it docked on the Greek island of Corfu.
"Alright, Corfu. Show us your tits," I was fond of saying.
First, we walked into a McDonald's out of curiosity.
It had a Ronald McDonald statue.
The day was full of promise!
Next we traipsed about an old Byzantine fortress high atop the island hills: The Angelokastro, which means "Castle of Angels".
It thankfully had no guardrails or safety shit of any kind.
We were free to romp around its craggy cliffs and climb onto its crumbling peasant's quarters.
Then we bought a couple of goofy bugles at a souvenir shop.
Today those bugles hang in our hallway, greeting guests with silent reveilles.
Nice tits, Corfu.
Back in Ft. Floyd, I realized I hadn't heard Lauren's voice in almost a week.
New Interns
Tonight we had help from two new PAs.
Mally and Patti.
These girls are 17 years old.
Technically, I'm not sure I'm even allowed to write about them.
Mally wore blond hair and baggy clothes.
Patti walked tough like a jock.
They helped me set up tables and chairs in a church.
Friday night in a suburban church with a couple of underage girls.
Wait, what am I supposed to be doing with my life again?
Friday Night Fresnels
The first scenes were filmed outside the church.
Ft. Floyd Police held up traffic on the main drag for each take.
The big heavy lights attracted lots of attention from vocal local yokels.
(vocal local yokels vocal local yokels vocal local yulkles vulcal lulcal yulkulls...)
Between cuts, teenagers and morons yapped incoherent loud things from their automobiles.
"The football game just let out," the traffic cop said.
Oh yeah.
I had forgotten football existed.
All I've done for the last week is ingest Grundler Bend and Irish whisky.
Once removed from their vehicles, the townsfolk of Ft. Floyd were curious, civil and obedient.
Many people knew about the legend of Grundler Bend, or had read the piece about the movie in yesterday's Ft. Floyd Reflector.
A small group assembled on my corner.
"Do you need any extras?"
One woman had the director as a student in high school.
We both thought the Grundler Bend ghost stories were garbage.
Then a lone kid in his late teens approached us and began a soliloquy.
"Me and my friend went down to Grundler Bend and put baby powder on our bumper and it left the imprint of a three fingered beast. It was totally scary and then ..."
He went on, forcing people to nod while looking at nothing in particular.
"ROLLING! QUIET PLEASE!" I yelled, rescuing us.
Two kids around the age of 9 whispered to each other.
"..(skinny jeans).."
While the gaunt best boy yanked around some cables, a motorist approached him.
"What is this?" he asked.
The gaunt best boy kept his head down and curtly pointed at me.
"Ask him."
"It's a privileged hipster douchebag being an asshole to you," I wanted to say.
Instead I answered the man's questions.
"Do you need any extras?"
Extra best boys?Church Shenanigans
After another consistently delicious lunch courtesy of the director's patient mother, we filmed inside the church.
Holli had me in the back with the actors.
It was my job to cue them for their entrance.
Between takes they sang Irish drinking songs.
When I called "rolling sound" they made fart noises.
They seemed to be having fun.
I smiled to indicate that I, too, was having fun.
In the scene they searched the altar with flashlights and yelled "HOLY SHIT!"
Like a less imaginative Batman and Robin.
I checked CNN on my phone to see what was happening on earth.
Flirting With Disaster
We made a company move to the historic Candlestick Hotel, overlooking the Waagosh River in downtown Ft. Floyd.
They filmed way down in the bowels of the hotel.
Exposed pipes, damp sump hatches, the boiler room.
It felt like Al Capone's vault.
It was getting late again.
The sun had come up.
The actors were getting real punchy, wandering off set every time they could.
"Keep an eye on them, Tony," Holli would often whisper on the radio.
All week, the older actor had been oddly flirting with her.
There had been references to his hot tub and leather and honey.
The next night he again mentioned leather and honey to Holli.
Tonight he gave her arm a squeeze, to which Holli brandished her wedding band.
He responded, "Don't worry, honey. Pretty soon you'll be farting through silk."
An infatuation with flatuation he has.
Oh yeah.
And earlier in the night, the actor I once bludgeoned with an umbrella put his arm around Zhangela's waist and gave her a pinch.
A harmless, coy, seductive pinch.
Yeah.
It seems movie sets and crazy hours combine to create an incubator of wayward emotions; these mirages of feelings that come from being away from loved ones. The passion you're accustomed to expelling regularly continues to produce, and it wants somewhere to go, and it is your duty as a man to tame it if you subscribe to monogamy.
Ho boy, I need some sleep.
America The Beautifull of Shit
Back at the hotel the Miss Teen USA Pageant had descended upon the entire resort.
These homemade beauty beasts sashayed around the lobby like showgirls with their twin mothers in tow, held together by glamour glue and joyless diets.
Alex and I lumbered the heavy radio crates through the perfectest freak show in the US of Jon Benet.
Consider any surplus of passion I once had officially evaporated.
In the hotel room we drank of course, and then Alex and I went out for a smoke.
The alcohol and sleep deprivation had turned our conversation about music into a thrilling ride down memory lane.
Alex, 24, liked a lot of 90's indie rock, and mentioned The Magnetic Fields as one of his favorites of that era.
So I told him about the time they crashed at my apartment, and how Stephin Merritt had drooled all over my roommate's Morrissey pillow.
I elaborated about seeing Pavement, Yo La Tengo, The Blues Explosion, Archers of Loaf...
Alex was amazed.
"So tell me. What was that like?"
Oh no.
Verdict: Loss
No comments:
Post a Comment