Poxy Timeball
Time had become a wooden labyrinth marble game.
Tilting the equilibrium of each day.
Falling into holes.
Starting over.
Lauren and I picked up Holli in Chicago at 2:30am and drove to the Gullch Resort.
Here, Lauren leapt into bed while I stepped into an RV, and Holli followed in her Kia.
Our call time was 4am.
Today we were filming out in a remote town called Elkwound.
On the way there we passed a juvenile corrections facility.
I almost stopped in for breakfast.
Hey wait.
It's 4am.
That meant that Bizzano's or whatever it was called wasn't even open.
No bland, heavy, unimaginative Italian food for breakfast today!
Verdict: Win So Far
Farms & Barns & Haunted Houses
After the first actual breakfast of the shoot (thank you Suzanne) we got to work.
The pre-dawn set tripped with flashlight beams.
We were on an old, abandoned farm.
A giant toothless barn loomed over the property, wearing a hat of frayed shingles and a crumbling grain tower in its sunburned, winterbitten ear.
In the dew and the darkness, it scowled at another day.
But apparently we weren't filming in the barn.
We were filming in the farm house.
Jerry told me to go there.
"Where is it?" I asked.
He shook his head as if to say, "Why are you so stupid?"
"You didn't see it when you pulled in?"
He shook his 25 year old head some more.
No, Jerry.
At 4am I didn't see the small house buried by years of untended shrubbery, because my headlights were shining directly on the four-story murder barn that stood directly in front of me. Y'know, in the direction of travel.
But you're right, Jerry.
I should've put on my X-ray night-vision goggles and looked to my left so that I would have seen the obscured, unlit house through the trees.
It would have saved so much time.
Or you could have just told me where it was without having to be an asshole about it.
I found the house.
It hadn't been lived in for some time.
The porch creaked hazardously.
With each step the floor complained.
A bottle opener embossed with the year 1976 sat near the sink.
Dark orange shag carpeting tattered the living room.
Everywhere it smelled like old basement.
With my tiny keychain flashlight I ventured upstairs.
The rooms were tiny and creepy.
It was a dead doll's house.
A rusted box spring for a child's bed laid deceased in the corner, like the skeleton of an orphan's coffin.
Its shadow made grey waffles on the sloping, cobwebbed walls.
Breakfast of the Damned.
I got my morning fix of disturbing and descended down the squeaky staircase.
Sid noticed me from the porch.
"Did you actually go upstairs?"
"Yeah, it's pretty creepy up there."
He gave a big-eyed look to the crew, indicating that I was crazy and potentially dangerous.
I wished high school would end.
Verdict: Loss So Far
EMA FAQ
The sun felt safe enough to come out.
Today we filmed the final scenes in Grundler Bend.
The morning after scenes with the police and emergency vehicles.
I waited out on the dirt road for the fire department and ambulances to arrive.
An old school ambulance/paddy wagon dusted up the road.
Two elderly folks stepped out.
They were from the Emergency Management Agency.
I wrote down their information, took their picture, and had them sign a standard release form.
They had a lot of questions.
"Can you make us copies of this form?"
"What is this movie about?"
"Is this a Satanic movie?"
"Can I get a copy of the script?"
"What if the movie gets sued?"
I answered their questions and enjoyed the calm country morning.
Don't Distress With Texas
The crux of the cast was comprised of two older men and four co-ed teenagers.
Today our first young actor made her debut, a bubbly Texan named Britt.
Britt had a strong southern streak of smiling, congeniality, and general niceness.
"Shut up, PA!" Jimblob bellowed somewhere.
I found her quite refreshing.
H2oh No!
"Can we get some waters to the talent, please?" Holli requested.
Getting water sounded easier than it actually was.
Here's what it entailed:
• Obtaining a bottle of water
• Wrapping it tautly with white gaffer's tape
• Writing the name of the actor's character on the tape
• Leaving the cap intact
• Piercing the top of the cap with a blade
• Inserting a bendable straw through the cap
• Delivering the modified bottle
At first I thought this was some weird Aerosmith rider thing, but later learned it's to prevent the smudging of make up and the soiling of wardrobe.
Gee whiz, they think of everything on these here movie sets, don't they?
Day Of The Dying Alive
It felt strange to be at the office making sides and call sheets during regular business hours.
The windows had sunshine in them.
And people were there.
They were sitting and standing.
Mostly sitting.
It felt like being part of civilization again.
So while the copier did its thing, I turned on the cable news channel to see what else was happening in the real world.
Let's see.
A guy climbed a skyscraper using suction cups.
A kid fell in a river somewhere.
A woman ate 181 buffalo wings in 12 minutes.
Hey America, the pride is back.
Jizmo & The Mercedes
Jerry gave me the keys to a brand new, black Mercedes.
"I need you to pick up my friend Jizmo from the train station."
I grinned like a valet driver.
The Mercedes drove smoothly over the dirt roads.
We were in the sticks.
I didn't even know the Metra came out this far.
Apparently there was a station called Le Peach.
I waited there for a while.
A batch of commuters leaked from the 6:10 train.
No one approached the Mercedes.
No one seemed to look like a "Jizmo".
I called Jerry over the walkie talkie.
Nothing but static.
My phone had died.
I drove back to the set.
Jerry called Jizmo.
"Slight fuck up. Jizmo's at the Lucerne station."
I got to drive the Mercedes some more.
In Lucerne, Jizmo waited patiently, reading.
I guess he was a car salesman or something.
The Mercedes belonged to him.
I didn't ask about his name.
So I turned on the radio.
We learned that Mayor Daley was resigning after this term as Mayor of Chicago.
Finally, some real news.
And great news, too!
Famous Socks
I had amassed a collection of the older actor's used socks.
A pile sat on the floor of the RV.
A week's worth of deflated cotton salamis.
If I truly hated myself, I'd sell them on eBay.
Poor Alex had been suffering from foot troubles.
"Can you run to Walmart and get me some socks?"
I did and he gave me a hug.
In retrospect I should have sold him the famous used socks.
Because they're great socks!
Used socks!
Chosen socks!
Worn by a world renown actor!
Featured in the ghost movie sensation Grundler Bend!
Step into fame!!
Place your bid now!!!
Al Capone Double Date
Back at the resort Lauren and Holli's husband Mike had enjoyed a relaxing day in Ft. Floyd and waited patiently for our return.
Tonight had planned a double date at Al Capone's Hideaway.
The Hideaway is an old speakeasy turned steakhouse tucked away in the woods at the bottom of a steep hill next to the river.
I first went to The Hideaway in the winter of 1993.
A small jazz combo played standards upstairs.
They did "St. James Infirmary".
Ten years later, my friend Greg had his wedding reception at The Hideaway.
I don't know if Al Capone ever went there, but we did.
On a Tuesday night we had the whole place to ourselves.
Over a table filled with steak, Holli and I relayed our hells to our loves.
They helped shape the misery into comedy.
Them and the booze.
We had difficulty getting back to the resort.
A teenage girl walking on the side of the road waved to us in the dark maze of trees and hills.
The GPS wanted us to turn left through someone's yard.
We turned right and for a more circuitous route.
The same teenage girl walked on the same secluded road.
This time we waved.
But she didn't.
The GPS still wanted us to drive through that yard.
We didn't.
We passed the girl again.
No one waved.
With a belly full of "steak fantasy", I dreamed about sleeping more than four hours next to Lauren, in the same room as Holli and Mike, at a golfing resort near the suburbs where I was raised.
I guess you could say it was a dream come true.
Verdict: Win
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