Hoping The Cool Girls Notice
Joe and I are writing a play.
The way it goes is that I we talk about the scene, I write it, Joe rewrites it, and by that point we're usually satisfied with it and move on. I don't know that either of us have ever delved into dramaturgy before, and so before beginning I browsed the internet for a primer on stage play formatting. The rules were not as cut and dry as I'd have liked - one man's 3.5 inch margin is another man's 2 - and so I finally settled on writing the play in screenplay format, but doing so in Word, rather than Final Draft, and italicizing all the action lines. This, for whatever reason, made the resulting document seem suitably theatrical. Thus freed from the bounds of cinematic form to which my compositional mind is usually bound, I wrote all afternoon, up to the point that Joe announced he was going stir crazy. So we decided to go out and meet some people for Mexican food at the local taco truck.
On the way there, we stopped at the intersection of Bedford and Broadway and took a picture to remind ourselves that we should shoot a scene here later.
The taco truck had vegan options; I've been pretty happy with the availability of vegan food here in Brooklyn. Also, we stopped into a convenience store that had kombucha, which made me very happy. In case you didn't know, I'm addicted to kombucha.
It was in front of this truck that we met up with Jess and Justin and Barlow, and also Ry Russo-Young, who's doing costumes for the film. Ry and I hadn't seen each other since the Sarasota Film Festival one year prior, and it was great to finally catch up in person. We wandered over to a park, where I managed to spill Habanero sauce on my hands as I ate. Subsequently, I wiped my eyes, searing my corneas. We met up with Ronnie and Mary Bronstein, and Ronnie accompanied us to our next stop: a bowling alley bar hybrid, where we were paid a visit by David Wingo, who kept us company while we waited for our turn at the lanes.
In this picture, everyone has photographers' red eye, except for me; my eyes actually are red, on account of the aforementioned habanero sauce.
By the time we exchanged our shoes and picked our bowling balls, it was midnight.
Now, I ain't a sporting man, and I can't say that I've bowled more than once in the past five or six or seven years. So I also can't say I was in rare form when I note that I placed second in our group's little competition, because rare would imply that I've played well in the past. Which I haven't. Ever. But somehow, last night, I did pretty okay, falling just short of the high score won by that golden god of the alley Barlow Jacobs. The same thing happened two nights prior when I played pool with Joe and Jess; I actually won a game of Cutthroat. I've never won a game of pool before. What mad skill will I develop next?
The way it goes is that I we talk about the scene, I write it, Joe rewrites it, and by that point we're usually satisfied with it and move on. I don't know that either of us have ever delved into dramaturgy before, and so before beginning I browsed the internet for a primer on stage play formatting. The rules were not as cut and dry as I'd have liked - one man's 3.5 inch margin is another man's 2 - and so I finally settled on writing the play in screenplay format, but doing so in Word, rather than Final Draft, and italicizing all the action lines. This, for whatever reason, made the resulting document seem suitably theatrical. Thus freed from the bounds of cinematic form to which my compositional mind is usually bound, I wrote all afternoon, up to the point that Joe announced he was going stir crazy. So we decided to go out and meet some people for Mexican food at the local taco truck.
On the way there, we stopped at the intersection of Bedford and Broadway and took a picture to remind ourselves that we should shoot a scene here later.
The taco truck had vegan options; I've been pretty happy with the availability of vegan food here in Brooklyn. Also, we stopped into a convenience store that had kombucha, which made me very happy. In case you didn't know, I'm addicted to kombucha.
It was in front of this truck that we met up with Jess and Justin and Barlow, and also Ry Russo-Young, who's doing costumes for the film. Ry and I hadn't seen each other since the Sarasota Film Festival one year prior, and it was great to finally catch up in person. We wandered over to a park, where I managed to spill Habanero sauce on my hands as I ate. Subsequently, I wiped my eyes, searing my corneas. We met up with Ronnie and Mary Bronstein, and Ronnie accompanied us to our next stop: a bowling alley bar hybrid, where we were paid a visit by David Wingo, who kept us company while we waited for our turn at the lanes.
In this picture, everyone has photographers' red eye, except for me; my eyes actually are red, on account of the aforementioned habanero sauce.
By the time we exchanged our shoes and picked our bowling balls, it was midnight.
Now, I ain't a sporting man, and I can't say that I've bowled more than once in the past five or six or seven years. So I also can't say I was in rare form when I note that I placed second in our group's little competition, because rare would imply that I've played well in the past. Which I haven't. Ever. But somehow, last night, I did pretty okay, falling just short of the high score won by that golden god of the alley Barlow Jacobs. The same thing happened two nights prior when I played pool with Joe and Jess; I actually won a game of Cutthroat. I've never won a game of pool before. What mad skill will I develop next?
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