Monthly Archives: July 2012

Ain’t one thing, it’s another!

       Hi all !  I’d have oodles to say on all kinds of pressing world affairs issues if I weren’t so upset over this movie thing.
       I screen tested, and got the nod for a pulp film called Stars and Stripes Going At It. I’d only read enough of the screen-play to figure out what to accentuate for the audition. Seemed like a character I could do, kinda Johnny Weismuller meets Jack Nicholson. Something about a middle aged couple having a fling in East Africa. And my love-interest played by a hot Latin beauty, a real-life successful Central American fashion designer turned actress. I met her at the studio with the director and it felt like chemistry from the first beaker. A real Bunsen Burner, that girl.
     So flash forward to yesterday morning, with emails already discussing on-location logistics… and me finally discovering the scene on Page 393(!)
Now you gotta understand that I really needed this job. Feels like I been out of work since Gone with the freaking Wind.
And add to that my RL experiences with animals, animal husbandry, stuff like that there. A perfect fit… if it were a perfect film.
But it’s not, and I’m out.
Sad, but it’s probably for the best. I emailed the Director with the bad news. He replied within minutes; One word: “WHY?”
So I had to tell him:
“Page 393, duh! Please tell my CO-STAR I CAN’T RAPE ZEBRAS wearing her COSTA-RICAN TRAPEZE BRAS.”
Haven’t heard anything since. They’ll find somebody else, I’m sure. But it’s just a matter of time until that sucker puts the letters together. Whew, at least my reputation is intact.

Flash news!
In real, non-fictional life, I just an hour ago found a diamond/gold ring in a burglar’s cast-off tool kit out in my woods. Complete with fingerprint-less black silk gloves, flashlights, batteries, lock-picking tools, a half a pack of year-old Marlboros, and a wad of Hong Kong dollars.
   This explains my night in Hell last New Year’s Eve with two helicopters and a dozen cops traipsing all over my property and me crouching under the bed or peering through the key-hole in the dark.
I feel a sort of closure, since that terrifying five hours seemed to have started a string of bad luck till this very day.
We shall see what the ring is worth. Enough for a trapeze-bra, mebbe. Not for me, for a zebra friend of mine…

“OMG, Am I seein’ Mycean mice, Ian?”

     My next-door neighbor, gruff as usual, wet-blanketed my excitement with a spiritless “No, and you don’t have to say it three times, I heard you.”
He’d left his garage door up, in a moment of reckless abandon, and was dicking with what I’d always assumed was a chest freezer. A quick glance inside revealed a mini-world far from the frozen steaks I’d thought of; a floor of snow, mazes, ferris wheels, little faux-alpine houses.
And mice….
“They’re Nepalese Snow-blinds. if you have to know.” Ian decided to share some small secret, for whatever reason.
    With the lid propped open just a tad, a cast-off sandal, Ian was smoothing the snow on the floor of the freezer. The three shaggy White Nepalese looked for all the world like miniature yaks, and I had to supress a yuk, but what quickly caught my eye was the other mice, some a yellow-buff colour, and some, standard ‘mousey’ grey, huddling lethargically in one corner.
“This is your job, right?” 
I’d known that Ian worked for some Institute.
“A job’s something they pay you to do, no?” Ian muttered distractedly. “Ok, maybe after I publish the paper they’ll give me a couple ‘Atta-Boys’.”
I’d had time meanwhile to get a better grasp of the project; first of all:  three whites, albeit with a grey stripe on the side of their heads, which made them look like they were holding their noses aloft.
“Them are the Nepalese, right?” I asked Ian.
“Yeah, Snow-blinds.” he told me, warming up a bit.
“Funny, I always thought it was ‘snob-lined’.” I admitted. (Hey, who died and made me a mouse-expert?)
“And the others?”
“Well, in addition, there are, as you can see, three ‘blonde’ mice. They do OK in the cold, oddly enough.”
“And the other three dead-beats there in the corner?” I asked Ian, but I kinda knew the answer.
“Three bland mice, to put it nicely.” he said.
My next question was…
“Your next question is probably, you know, WTF are you working on?” Ian sounded like he was ready to tell all.
“OK, WTF?”
“Well, I’m doing the maze twice a day, time-trials, blind vs. blonde vs. bland. Recording data. That’s what we do.”
“Doesn’t a peer-reviewed study require double-blind?” I asked him, maybe still a bit miffed about his initial attitude.
“You have any idea how hard it is to find blind vet-techs these days? I mean twenty years ago they were lined up to the end of the block. Stories of candidates who actually blinded themselves to get a job. Nowadays you’re lucky to find someone remotely qualified who even wears glasses.”
“I’ll just have to fudge the article a little, I guess.” Ian revealed, looking out the door carefully. The exigencies of publish-or-perish.
“Better close the lid, the snow might melt.” I told him, feeling helpful.
“No problem, I got more, back there in the other freezer. Saved it from last winter, you remember that storm?”
“Well, you could always buy more.. from somewhere?” I suggested, thinking of, you know, year-round ski-slopes.
“Are you kidding? My snow-mice know my snow!” Ian sounded almost fatherly.
“And now who’s repeating himself?” I laughed. “I heard you the first time. And good luck with your vowels… I mean, your mice.”