katrina ain’t my girlfriend no more

so, i lived in my own two-bedroom, 1200 sq. ft. apartment for a week, and then, because of budget restrictions and general reasonable behavior, i am now sharing a two-bed place with a man who just said, "i've never done a hurricane." we might just get one in a couple days. katrina, i think. i once slept with a girl named katrina. my flat-mate is a fifty year-old british camera-man. he's a drunk and loves cocaine. amazing. his name is graham day and he has "a thing for munchkins." like our waitress tonight and the publicist on our film.

i sweat. i sleep while graham lights our kitchen on fire the other day. he also put the fire out. our associate producer (read: everyone's bitch) thinks i hate her - possibly because i think she's completely neurotic and obnoxious, but i don't hate her. people are too sensitive. i am though the only person on the crew who can remember her name. everyone calls her betty or becky. her name is betsy. my original apartment had a left-handed can-opener.

i may be in louisiana until november. i will have grossed $18,000.

that means vacation-time. central american safari. luaus. california.

i need fun. and bonus summer. and a hurricane.

i shaved for the first time in three weeks.

i watched katrina on the weather channel.

i tried to convince graham that a coke run to nawlins was a bad idea but he went regardless.

i read my loooziana book –all the king’s men.

i was invited to and attended a screening of the 40 year-old virgin.

it was funny.

boners.
i took the producer’s assistant, kelly, to a small rock club in downtown red stick.

loved a band called bones.

talked to them about doing a documentary about the red stick music scene.

they seemed excited and gave me a cd.

the other band i’m interested in filming is a cover band that plays three sets a night – 70’s 80’s and 90’s – with the appropriate costume changes (gold spandex bell-bottoms for one).

kelly and i then went to meet the crew at an unreal club called sogo’s which had exactly the same music, lighting, and clientele as altitude in lake tahoe.

i walked in and to the bar and was immediately fondled by a ridiculously cute and surprisingly coherent and witty southern girl.

she abandoned me after fifteen minutes of potential... for her giant, bald boyfriend.

sogo’s closed.

some people were missing.

we found them in the riverboat casino, but the guards wouldn’t let me in because they thought i had someone else’s ID since in the photo i’ve got a beard and today i shaved.

people yelled at the guards for being ridiculous.

they eventually let me in but requested that next time i visit i bring a second photo identification.

i won 95 dollars at the blackjack table.

fuck those security guards.

at 330 we found a mexican place that closed at 3 but still made us burritos.

i came home to my apartment and ate my burrito.

tomoorw i shoot a church where they are looking to sanctify one of their former preists, whose relics can heal and miracle all over the place.

then we board our chartered evacuation jet to austin.

did you hear that?

yes, it’s a chartered jet that’s evacuating me.

once in a lifetime.

AND NOW DAY FOUR IN AUSTIN:

it's a fucking vacation that has taught me one thing - my life in new york was like a strip club where everything is comped.

also, jesus, that was some fucking 'cane.

sorry to the people. curious about the refugee camp we'll be returning to whenever it is that we return.

excuse us, you homeless hungry and devastated people, but we must return to the very serious business of making us a big hollywood movie!

but not until FEMA gives us our generators back.

oooo, and they mentioned us on tv a lot. we're famous! we were evacuated! we work with the swank!