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Rob Zombie's
what a party

2001-12-07
december 7 - Points to try to remember while i string out the stories (continuously updated over the weekend) from last night.

There are five or six kids who live in a grand Victorian for less than $300 a month. I would call them spoiled brats, but I had my "grand party palace" in London while everyone else slept with cockroaches. Greatfully, this party was mostly people from The Works, which gave us all a chance to drop guard and be honest and appreciative.

UPDATED Saturday, December 8:
Linda and I shared some personal impressions of each other that I never expected to share. In a nutshell, I told her why I thought she was so cool, despite the Sophisticated Bitch exterior. She told me that she especially appreciated my "teacher's" approach to group work. (christ, not another one)

I've a hound's nose for MaryJane. I can smell her a mile away. You know I won't see you when she walks into the room the way I didn't see Linda sitting on the couch with a long splif between her delicate fingers. She offered it to me without a word. Wrapped in a thick brown paper it looked like a clove but tasted like sweetness.

I sat down next to her and inhaled half of what was left. I've also a hog's appetite for MJ. Somewhere between that last moment of sober consciousness and the first "did-I-just-do-that-out-loud-or-did-I-just-think-it" haze, Linda and I started talking. Maybe I noticed the contradiction of her sophistication and that silly high; I just had to tell her how cool I think that is.

"Why...?"

Linda has that cool duality of people who do well in our business. The stylish blazers, the chic boots and her exotic beauty attract the attention of anyone who is looking for someone who can get the job done. (She reminds me of Angela.) Then Linda can let her hair down (or, wash it) and her silly playfulness presents a person I'd love to work with under pressure.

I've caught her at some of her funniest moments, those when that fat, sneeze-projected lugie misses the kleenex and you pray no one saw it. Or when you're trying to explain something and realize the person you're talking to, indeed the whole room, doesn't even realize you're there. I've caught her at both of those.

And the coolest thing about Linda: under that Sophisticated Bitch exterior, we shared a really good laugh both times. It is what you'd call "a moment". Two of them.

"You have that... I don't know; a teacher's sensibility about you. Has anyone ever told you that?" I hear it all the time. And I have no idea what anyone else is talking about, but Linda may have put this into perspective for me. I've been thinking about what she said for two days now, trying to understand why it is other people see me as a teacher (though, thankfully not neccessarily standing at the head of a classroom).

"You said 'Think about the process they're putting us through.' And you're right. It's not about making a great movie. I'm really glad you were able to put it that way."

Linda and I had been two people in a group of five producing a 5-minute silent comedy. In the tradition of Keaton and Chaplin, we had 48 hours to conceive, write, shoot and edit our short without the luxery of appointed responsibilities. No director. No writer. No producer. No cinematographer. No editor. And we turned out one of the best, though this was unlike any other production experience I've ever had.

When Sandy laid out the rules, I thought she was out of her mind. It wasn't until the thick of shooting - negotiating with security guards in a mall - that I realized she must have been sitting in her office, grinning knowingly over a hot cup of tea. With our unique obsticles personalities began revealing themselves. Who was 'Take Charge' and who was the leader; who was boldly creative, and who was annoyingly unimaginitive, and who was the mediator fluxuated with every hour.

There's so much more to creating film than catching dialogue with a camera. The one simple truth that seems to be lost on most of these Works people is how direly dependant each of those roles is on one-another: a 'take-charge' director, a leading producer; an imaginative cinematographer, a creative editor. Under some of that superficial friction during shooting and editing, I think it got lost in the frenzy that we all needed eachother to play our roles and serve the project - not our egos. And I'm not excluding myself from that assesment. This is the lesson I learned from that experience. I gather this is also what Linda regocnized when I talked about it during that insane 12-hour editing session. "You think like they do."

UPDATED december 9
Arnold got pretty shit-faced.
And he told me pretty much what I wrote about him. Not so much in words as in expressions. I was as shitty as he was, so it's harder to remember his exact words. But that's not the important part, anyway.

Alley and I resolved some of our issues; the polictical ones, anyway. On a personal level, i have to be honest and admit that I still resent her.

I danced to some old Russian and Irish drinking/folk songs with Yulia and Victor. I once told Yulia a compliment from her really means a lot to me. Last night I danced with her. In terms of footsteppin' that was a huge compliment. And Victor's one of the coolest "big brothers" I've ever met.

I don't know how many bottles we kicked over, but at some point I was tweezing bloody shards out of my bare feet. ...what?

Kyle and I had a moment of connection, realizing how trashed we both were and wondering why we'd never seen all these fine young babes all year. ...mildly piggish, but amusing.

Arnold and I geeked-out over comics.

Alley told me that she recognizes and appreciates the way I think about and interact with women. Geezuz, can't I just be left to resent her? This makes it so much harder, now.

And to perfectly cap our "typical frat-party" night, Kyle beat the shit out of some poor asshole for mouthing off. I couldn't help but laugh while everyone else was terrified. Neither Kyle's charming eyes (nor his slurring speach) drove anyone into bed with him, so instead he found another buck to butt heads with. Little fucker deserved it, too.



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“The End.”

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