Loading ...There’s No Such Thing As A Talking Junkie!
By Evan ~ January 28th, 2010. Filed under: daily life.
Or “junky,” if your name is William S. Burroughs and you happen to be have a book published in the UK during in the 1950s! This morning I awoke at the criminally early time of 7:45am to help Tom and John with a short film they are producing and directing. They needed some extras on set today to look like junkies and wait in line at a methadone clinic. The scene consisted of five or six people waiting in a line while a worried woman searches frantically for a sign that her lost nephew is known to one of the addicts. I had to have makeup applied to me and everything. It was the most intense acting gig I’ve had since that time I had to fake an orgasm in order to get home in time for an episode of South Park.
We rolled up to the house where they were filming at 9am. There was roughly 90 minutes of preparation before we had to take our places and act like junkies. Tom was made up to look the closest to death of all the extras. He was even given a bloody gash on his forehead. It was hard for me to pretend converse with him when I couldn’t stop thinking about how ill he looked. Nicci was used as a stand-in for a little bit because the woman who was supposed to play the concerned aunt hurt her foot and couldn’t walk well. We all looked pretty terrible. I’m surprised people passing by didn’t offer us spare change or pity, what with our fetid smelling ripped clothing and creepy makeup.
We were done by noon, maybe one o’clock. The last thing we had to do was sit through a few motor-only shots. There’s no sound involved, so you will just be filmed at close range while playing with a hole in your jeans for several minutes, and they’ll probably never use the shot for anything. I guess it’s not entirely pointless…maybe futile…those words are synonyms, aren’t they? Oh well.
The remainder of my day was spent moving furniture around my apartment. First I broke my computer desk as I tried to deconstruct it in one room and reconstruct it not six feet away across the hall. The studs tore through the wood and left me with a pile of useless IKEA logs. A few minutes later I had an unsettling revelation where I noticed my record collection is way too big for my tiny, shitty bedroom. I guess it would be more embarrassing if I was concerned with impressing people or making them think I’m not an anti-social vinyl nerd junkie. But I don’t really care to impress people, and I am an ani-social vinyl nerd junkie. I both talk and write. So you see, Mr. Show, there is such thing as a talking junkie!
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