Farce and Meat

Ah, the perils of having a boss who's a moron. And evil, to boot.

I'd done the first draft of a script and sent it in. She'd liked the outline and the beats before, so there was absolutely no reason for her to dislike too much of this draft, beyond actual lines of dialogue.

She hated the story.

Now, let me ask you, does that make any sense at all? How can you like the outline and the beats, then hate the story? I mean, it's all there.

But she is a person with her brain stuffed halfway up her rectum, so it's not entirely surprising. The cow.

Good thing she didn't know I wrote that (the head writer kept all scripts a secret in terms of who wrote what), or she'd've hated it more.

So I had to completely redo an entire story last week. Sent it in again. In the meeting, a colleague (one of the smart ones) commented, "I like this one. It's very farcical."

Palpatine and Boba Flat of course didn't know what a farce was. But they were adamant that they hated farces, because the term sounded like some high-falutin' type of comedy. So in effect, I wrote a farce, then tried to disguise it by putting in silly, stupid elements that would distract them from the fact that it was, in fact, a farce. But of course that wouldn't fool anyone with any intelligence. It was enough for them though.

The head writer froze at the comment. He knew how fucked I'd be if the Dark Side caught on to the fact that I'd written a farce. He needn't have worried.

"No, it's not a farce," said Palpatine.

"But it is," said the intelligent colleague, perplexed.

"It's not," snapped Palpatine, giving him a withering look that said, "I'm the boss so you'd better shut the hell up and stop talking back. And you're a fool who wouldn't recognize a farce if it bit you in the ass."

The colleague shut up. The head writer breathed a sigh of relief.

But it still came back with about 80% needing changes. Correction, it didn't "need" them. They just wanted changes for the most ridiculous reasons imaginable, and because they were Evil Cows.

So I did them and sent them in again. I haven't heard from them yet. Which I'm not sure is a good thing, since I'm supposed to have a first draft ready by Friday.

In the meantime, I guess I should probably start doing research into my next project, which will hopefully be a dark, depressing drama exploring the underworld. But still, I've spent the most part of a week sitting on my ass already.

Of course that's just in regards to work. When I get the proper motivation for other activities (which happens with rather alarming frequency), I have no problems getting into gear. Such as for an insane barbecue buffet at Brazilian Churrascaria, which sounded like heaven to the carnivore in me.



Imagine, 12 different cuts of meat, served by waiters who walk around and slice chunks of it onto your plate every few minutes! Unfortunately, it wasn't too long, probably 1 1/2 cycles, before we had to stop or risk bursting our stomachs.

Good thing the waiters were quick with the meats. Kiwi can get scary when he's hungry. See below for evidence from the past.



Anyhow, during the meal, I rediscovered my knife fetish, which was evident from some time back:





And we caught Qinwei with (gasp!) beer!



Somehow I ended up in an empty condominium, taking an imaginary bath. But let's not go there.



But yeah, not much on the writing front, though there's lots to be done.

It's just real hard to just fuckin' do it. I think a new environment will help. At least, I hope it does. I just don't want to deal with all this bullshit anymore.

Fuck it for now. Tonight I'm going to the newly-reopened Phuture at Zouk. Hopefully it'll be fun.