Friday, August 15, 2003
The Day After the Night that the Lights Went Out in Cleveland
I should be at muster.
The film shoot didn't need me after about 7pm yesterday, but since we had that total blackout after 4 yesterday, I went home and looked at a bunch of candles, and ate melting ice cream.
Last night I was torn: I could head off toward the battle with a half a tank of gas in my car and hope I could find an open gas station before Youngstown at least, and hopefully not get stranded in the boonies. Or I could stay put in the dark and miss the battle this morning. I regretfully stayed put. Fortune favors the bold, which I am not. Strange, yes; bold, not nearly enough.
The cannon will go off in half an hour, and I won't hear it, won't feel it vibrating in my helm...won't get to scream "DARKYARD!!!" and smack into the Eastern army...sigh.
Hopefully my campmates got the message I passed through Ava the photographer. I called her and asked her to tell folks I was delayed. But she was tired, so she might not have gone down to Pentwyvern camp to tell everyone.
So I'm trapped in Cleveland with not enough to do last night and today until the shoot begins at 5. I suppose I should go clean something or write a song or work on my comics, but I am anxious and I should be in armour, not a "Strangers in Paradise" tee shirt.
The stars last night were intensely bright, with no lights to interfere with them. Mars was incredible, though I find it oddly amusing that I am missing war with the star of the war god practically sitting on my front porch.
The woman who plays the lead and I went out to eat at the only lit restaurant in Cleveland--Night Town-- which helpfully happens to be right behind where I live. I'll miss that if I move into the house. They have a generator the size of an Audi in the back that powers the whole building. Despite my ice cream "dinner", I split an order of fried calamari with wasabi and a Dublin lawyer with her. She's so thin that she looks almost anorexic, but she ate fine. I hope she does not have an eating disorder, because she is charming and lovely, and I hate to see cool artistic people screw themselves up. She told me about her boyfriend, and their long-distance relationship difficulties. I didn't know she had a boyfriend. I didn't know she was a psychotherapist either. Made me want to clam up, 'cause I know how nuts I must sound sometimes.
She doesn't have the "walking dead" feel I get when I am around people who are dying, so I am hopeful. But she has that bright-eyed look that some people have and that kind of worries me.
The cannon will go off any minute. It's much more fun to be at a mock war with armour and cannons and your friends than at war with yourself.
Ten o'clock-- somewhere else there is a boom, and the roar of cheering, screaming fighters, the clanking of metal-clad runners and the ringing of armor hit with rattan. Come on, Midrealm!
I should go back to sleep. We film until midnight tonight, and then I drive back to PA afterward, so I should get some rest. I'm not tired.
I pick candle wax of the glass top of the coffee table and think about, in no particular order:
Vlad and Laura
calling the west coast
cleaning my helm
the bright eyed look
boom
my contiburnium gets war pay tonight and I won't be there
I missed Mead Night, damnit.
wasabi is good-- I should get it and use it more often for cooking
I only have to be in Cleveland for 12 more hours
crappy enrollment means no teaching job this semester
new lines on my palm
At the war, someone's probably yelling "Hold". When does my life come off hold?
I should be at muster.
The film shoot didn't need me after about 7pm yesterday, but since we had that total blackout after 4 yesterday, I went home and looked at a bunch of candles, and ate melting ice cream.
Last night I was torn: I could head off toward the battle with a half a tank of gas in my car and hope I could find an open gas station before Youngstown at least, and hopefully not get stranded in the boonies. Or I could stay put in the dark and miss the battle this morning. I regretfully stayed put. Fortune favors the bold, which I am not. Strange, yes; bold, not nearly enough.
The cannon will go off in half an hour, and I won't hear it, won't feel it vibrating in my helm...won't get to scream "DARKYARD!!!" and smack into the Eastern army...sigh.
Hopefully my campmates got the message I passed through Ava the photographer. I called her and asked her to tell folks I was delayed. But she was tired, so she might not have gone down to Pentwyvern camp to tell everyone.
So I'm trapped in Cleveland with not enough to do last night and today until the shoot begins at 5. I suppose I should go clean something or write a song or work on my comics, but I am anxious and I should be in armour, not a "Strangers in Paradise" tee shirt.
The stars last night were intensely bright, with no lights to interfere with them. Mars was incredible, though I find it oddly amusing that I am missing war with the star of the war god practically sitting on my front porch.
The woman who plays the lead and I went out to eat at the only lit restaurant in Cleveland--Night Town-- which helpfully happens to be right behind where I live. I'll miss that if I move into the house. They have a generator the size of an Audi in the back that powers the whole building. Despite my ice cream "dinner", I split an order of fried calamari with wasabi and a Dublin lawyer with her. She's so thin that she looks almost anorexic, but she ate fine. I hope she does not have an eating disorder, because she is charming and lovely, and I hate to see cool artistic people screw themselves up. She told me about her boyfriend, and their long-distance relationship difficulties. I didn't know she had a boyfriend. I didn't know she was a psychotherapist either. Made me want to clam up, 'cause I know how nuts I must sound sometimes.
She doesn't have the "walking dead" feel I get when I am around people who are dying, so I am hopeful. But she has that bright-eyed look that some people have and that kind of worries me.
The cannon will go off any minute. It's much more fun to be at a mock war with armour and cannons and your friends than at war with yourself.
Ten o'clock-- somewhere else there is a boom, and the roar of cheering, screaming fighters, the clanking of metal-clad runners and the ringing of armor hit with rattan. Come on, Midrealm!
I should go back to sleep. We film until midnight tonight, and then I drive back to PA afterward, so I should get some rest. I'm not tired.
I pick candle wax of the glass top of the coffee table and think about, in no particular order:
Vlad and Laura
calling the west coast
cleaning my helm
the bright eyed look
boom
my contiburnium gets war pay tonight and I won't be there
I missed Mead Night, damnit.
wasabi is good-- I should get it and use it more often for cooking
I only have to be in Cleveland for 12 more hours
crappy enrollment means no teaching job this semester
new lines on my palm
At the war, someone's probably yelling "Hold". When does my life come off hold?
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