i was kinda-like surprised when they attacked me
it's been a good run and now i'm so exhausted that it's perfect that a call came to my phone at 5 this afternoon, inviting me to sit in an edit room tonight (a skill position) and do almost nothing at all (drag a media folder to another drive and wait an hour or so for it to copy and then do another one, and then another...) for $25 an hour. A JOB?! FOR A WHOLE DAY!? so basically i'm already a paid blogger. i mean, i'm on the clock right now and i'm doing exactly what i'm supposed to be. plus, i hooked my computer into the mixing board and i'm pumping out the jams like you wouldn't believe. plus i'm writing about it. fun!?
THE SUNDANCE CHANNEL LOVES US. or at least that was the impression we all got. way less into death than showtime was, but way more into, like, filmmaking. i was worried the residual booze oozing from my furry body would ruin our chances, but aparently two consecutive nights of binge relaxing only strengthened my impression on the network brass.
and so but i'm exhausted. and this is fine, but it keeps me from writing about all the events i wanted to. or maybe that's because i can't remember them?
had dinner with my ex-girlfriend, alissa, on tuesday night and it was fun. so drunk. ate duck. second desert of the day. first jarmusch sighting of the week. tenth free cocktail of the day. then i met my second pair of canadian girls and they proceeded to come home with me but, alas, i passed out. six am.
now wednesday, canadian girls texting me incessantly. next entry will be a text message transcription. prepping for today's sundance meeting. free wine. weed pipe and ANTM hilarity with the roomies and the meg(h)ans. bjork's birthday party. megan's birthday party. wait. this was all after...
MEGHAN GOT BIT BY A DOG!
A WIENER DOG!
that's right, it was awesome. i was pretty stoned still, and wiener was sitting in timmy's lap next to me, and meghan was leaving. she went to pet the wiener and it bit her on that fleshy spot right between her thumb and forefinger. she freaked the fuck out. i immediately assumed overreaction.
then i saw the blood trail.
we methodically dealt with the situation - perfectly, i'd say. aside from maybe an inadequate scolding of the beast. there was a hypothesis floating around that it wasn't so much his fault because her hand smelled too much like a hamburger.
meghan handled the whole thing like a goddamn mutant warrior. except how she kept saying 'i can see my guts.' i mean, it was her hand, so...
but it was a pretty rad vampiric double-puncture, and we all agreed sutures were necessary. timmy offered to perform the procedure. we opted instead for...
THE EMERGENCY ROOM!
i love hospitals. last time i was in one they gave me morphine and i talked about party time and my sunglasses and kept calling all the nurses 'babe' so, yeah.
this time i got to sit near a piss-soaked man named Dr. Birdman. see why i love hospitals?
meghan was fine. dr. birdman, on the other hand, was not. while meghan, timmy, and i mixed and drank vodka/cokes in the waiting room and triage, the good doctor was busy asking what had happened to his ladyfriend, asking no one in particular who they were, threatening to drop wisdom, but mostly just dropping his pants, which weren't even his pants, which were urine-saturated and taken away by a kindly nurse and replaced with the scrubs-type. his butt-crack was hanging out with us, just about as coherent as the doctor himself.
"i was kinda like surprised when they attacked me... you know what i'm gonna give 'em..." he strikes a kung-fu stance "...power of the lord... i remember now, and it DID happen... i wanna tell you somethin' 'bout the devil. she pops up."
he claimed to want his pants back, but i tried telling him it was a bad idea. he insisted. this limping girl asked him if he had his wallet in the pants or something. "i don't have a wallet!"
meghan got no stitches, bjork drank all the vodka, i made out with no one, and by the time i leave this gig at around 6am, i will have been awake for only 18 hours, but working for 17 of them.
THE SUNDANCE CHANNEL LOVES US. or at least that was the impression we all got. way less into death than showtime was, but way more into, like, filmmaking. i was worried the residual booze oozing from my furry body would ruin our chances, but aparently two consecutive nights of binge relaxing only strengthened my impression on the network brass.
and so but i'm exhausted. and this is fine, but it keeps me from writing about all the events i wanted to. or maybe that's because i can't remember them?
had dinner with my ex-girlfriend, alissa, on tuesday night and it was fun. so drunk. ate duck. second desert of the day. first jarmusch sighting of the week. tenth free cocktail of the day. then i met my second pair of canadian girls and they proceeded to come home with me but, alas, i passed out. six am.
now wednesday, canadian girls texting me incessantly. next entry will be a text message transcription. prepping for today's sundance meeting. free wine. weed pipe and ANTM hilarity with the roomies and the meg(h)ans. bjork's birthday party. megan's birthday party. wait. this was all after...
MEGHAN GOT BIT BY A DOG!
A WIENER DOG!
that's right, it was awesome. i was pretty stoned still, and wiener was sitting in timmy's lap next to me, and meghan was leaving. she went to pet the wiener and it bit her on that fleshy spot right between her thumb and forefinger. she freaked the fuck out. i immediately assumed overreaction.
then i saw the blood trail.
we methodically dealt with the situation - perfectly, i'd say. aside from maybe an inadequate scolding of the beast. there was a hypothesis floating around that it wasn't so much his fault because her hand smelled too much like a hamburger.
meghan handled the whole thing like a goddamn mutant warrior. except how she kept saying 'i can see my guts.' i mean, it was her hand, so...
but it was a pretty rad vampiric double-puncture, and we all agreed sutures were necessary. timmy offered to perform the procedure. we opted instead for...
THE EMERGENCY ROOM!
i love hospitals. last time i was in one they gave me morphine and i talked about party time and my sunglasses and kept calling all the nurses 'babe' so, yeah.
this time i got to sit near a piss-soaked man named Dr. Birdman. see why i love hospitals?
meghan was fine. dr. birdman, on the other hand, was not. while meghan, timmy, and i mixed and drank vodka/cokes in the waiting room and triage, the good doctor was busy asking what had happened to his ladyfriend, asking no one in particular who they were, threatening to drop wisdom, but mostly just dropping his pants, which weren't even his pants, which were urine-saturated and taken away by a kindly nurse and replaced with the scrubs-type. his butt-crack was hanging out with us, just about as coherent as the doctor himself.
"i was kinda like surprised when they attacked me... you know what i'm gonna give 'em..." he strikes a kung-fu stance "...power of the lord... i remember now, and it DID happen... i wanna tell you somethin' 'bout the devil. she pops up."
he claimed to want his pants back, but i tried telling him it was a bad idea. he insisted. this limping girl asked him if he had his wallet in the pants or something. "i don't have a wallet!"
meghan got no stitches, bjork drank all the vodka, i made out with no one, and by the time i leave this gig at around 6am, i will have been awake for only 18 hours, but working for 17 of them.
posted by josh at 9:20 PM
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