Convalescence

I was going to start this by claiming the master is at rest. Though the only master associated with this blog is resting in eternal peace. I, the journeyman, am at rest. The weekend didn't prove as restful as hoped, though it was productive. I really tried to take the days off, but as usual it didn't work out.

I ran into an old friend that I hadn't seen in nearly twenty years. A running buddy in Portland and California in the late 80s. We were unstoppable. A ghost appeared when I saw him. Whenever I have contact with one of those ghosts it's as if I'm somehow vindicated. Like all the wild stories and anecdotes suddenly have a witness.
See, I was telling the truth.
Ask him, he was there!

J said he blocked most of those stories out when I shared the witness idea with him. I could see the shame in his eyes as he searched mine for the depth of my memory. Oh buddy, he said, we had some crazy times. I feel compelled to hold J's hand through his shame.
Someone told him along the way that we did wrong. Probably one of his three wives. Or all of them. He's cloudy and conflicted, but the love is still there. J was my happy-go-lucky, always ready with a joke, up for anything mate. He jumped on many a grenade and asked me to do the same. No bickering or wrestling for the upper hand. He was always generous with his, You're the man, now check this out's. He had my back.
Wild. J was in the room, car and bed on so many entries into the late 80s virtual black book - Eugene Hilton Psychos, Connie in Vegas, Palm Springs Princess …
He had this Jeep. We would roll down Sunset, Broadway or Haight, stop the Jeep, smile and the most we ever had to do was say, Get in. Vegas, Palm Springs, Santa Barbara, SF, Portland, LA -- we were there taking names. I remember looking over at him night after night, sharing smiles as the girls piled in.
I think in a lot of ways the spirit of the relationship of the main characters in Original Glory is much more based on J and I, than D and I.

I wrote an outline of some new material this weekend. Realism in the tradition of Richard Yates. I suppose I must remember that neither Easter Parade nor revolutionary Road ever made it to the screen. American movie audiences want epiphany, redemption and transformation. So do I, but I also savor staring at the face of naked truth. Writing this i have the answer to the question that I was about to pose. The premise of my new story is that no man is an island or the individual life is not a dream, it's a nightmare.
Glenn has failed to develop relationships to the extent that even his dying mother would rather go into a Convalescent Home than live with him. He prepared his exurban apartment for her arrival only to find she won't be moving in. The next twenty-four hours of his life reveal just how cut off he is from everyone around him and ultimately himself.
I have my only regular blog reader, David Millstone, in mind for Glenn. I definitely want to workshop it with him. I say that more as a precaution to committing to making the film, than any doubts about David.
Glenn works as a hotel desk clerk, so as a no-budget guy I'm trying to stay away from all those, Can I get a hotel to let us shoot?, thoughts. Sometimes no-budget filmmakers get so hung up on getting a location that they forget to ask if it's even necessary to the story. Like, what are they trying to say about things with an element like a location or character. In this case I want to show Glenn in uniformed service of people. There are other ways, but hotels sure are anonymous in their profferance of intimacy. I'll have to put my producer's hat on when the time comes.

Come to think about it, my old buddy J would be an awesome producer. He could sell snow to Eskimoes. I found out that he started the SAG-Aftra agency here in town. They send all of their clients to another acting coach, but J said he had to go down there this week and he'll see what he can do for me.
Funny how the world works. I needed to take care of some nagging car issues and I run into my old pal J R. He takes me down memory lane, has some valuable contacts and gets my back on some car haggling. Oh yeah, I no longer have a big comfy truck and a sporty little wagon for the wifey, but a mini-van to be shared by the growing family.
Oh, the irony of buying a mini-van from J.