At the risk of sounding boring…
It's time for the boss to prepare the next slew of work schedules and, again, I notice she's let MS Excel fill in the year. Now our schedules all look like they're for 2007. It's just like me to bother my boss with a piddly little thing like this instead of thinking of something productive like where am I going to get drunk this New Years Eve?
Since I kind of led on that this screenplay I'm working on would be complete by years end, I'm okay, if the boss is, that next year's calendar year should read 2007 all over again.
After reading the screenplay for TRUST, a Hal Hartley film, I can't wait until my request for the purchase of AMATEUR goes through in January. Aside from the film containing Elina Löwensohn, I hear AMATEUR's the darkest film he's made (but whatever it was I did read must've been before Fay Grim
was released). ( Collapse )
Jumping to my screenplay, I have Pete Peters working in an office atmosphere, a job he dreamed about since he was little. It's boring as fuck, but he won't leave. Pete Peters has issues too. He's obsessed with his first love and never has been able to romance any other girl/woman/hooker into bed with him.
I have this scene where he sits at his desk dozing off when Donna enters.
What's your Grandma's name?
Why do you keep asking me that?
But what does it matter? she's dead already.
Pete's grandma's name is somewhat of an inside joke to Donna only because she's gothic Lolita fashion on weekends, and Pete's Grandma's name happens to be Lolita. It never fails to bring a big grin to Donna's face when she hears him say that. And she isn't bad looking herself so you'd figure Pete would oblige and advantage of the situation and say "Lolita" as many times as it takes to get Donna to sleep with him.
Well, a pesky fly starts to buzz around Pete's face so that a side of him emerges that wouldn't normally reveal itself in the workplace. Mainly, trying to catch the fly (and possibly eat it too) in his hand. As Donna talks to him about stuff, mostly stupid shit that comes out of women's mouths who think they're doing a good job flirting and actually getting somewhere with a "boy", Pete curses under his breath. "God damn it. Son of a bitch. Fucking ay."
These first few curse words capture the attention of other dying of boredom co-workers at this dead office atmosphere. Their faces pop up inconspicuously, like a Kilroy, over their cubicle. Donna takes her leave because work is work and, well, she began to smell her boss nearby.
An announcement on the PA sounds for assistance from an associate at the reception desk. Pete can't take the fly buzzing around his head anymore so gets up to leave with a few more curse words under his breath and a last swipe to catch that fly. He'd said something more profound this time, like "God damn, mother fucker." that got most coworkers' attention. They poke their heads up from their cubicles, but since the see Pete headed for the reception desk, they figure he's willing to take the call although a bit frustrated.
You need music in here. It's too quiet. I don't know how you all can stand it.
As Pete exits, one of the employees had begun to raise his MP3 player and earbuds ever so timidly in the background.©H. Aguirre