Sunday, April 06, 2008

ACTION! 11! ALREADY!

So, while I was trying to reconstruct some playlists and get some work done, my mind wandered a bit (the work was drawing 8 million carrot marks, so you'll forgive me if my mind wasn't 100% focused on the task at hand).

This is bad. This mind wandering. Because it never wanders to "Oh, how do I make this Kaiju Jugoruma chapter read perfectly?" or "Maybe I should get my taxes done" or "Maybe I should call ________" or "I bet the cancer society could use my money."

No, it goes off on stupid thoughts. Like that Tim Leong should've said that he thanks Leo Fender every day that Jimi Hendrix wasn't the world's greatest bassoon player, and that's why cool is important. And it thinks about that interview some more. And it thinks about the difference between Casanova and Iron Fist. And the difference between Django and Planet Terror.* And the difference between Russ Meyer and Girls Gone Wild. Radiohead and Coldplay. And other so-ons.

And that's when I had the bad thought. Already, I'm trying to make progress in the gargantuan Kaiju Jugoruma. Already, I have that Perfect Murder to plan. Already, I have top secret thing. Already, I have Action thing (which might take the terrible title of "Do You Wanna Pizza Me?" at this point — this is Justin, hanging his head in shame). Already, I have a day job. Already, I have "Let's read a whole lot of shit about James Madison!" going on. Already, I have a need to see a whole boncho Shakespeare. Already I have the business. Already, I have to print things and assemble them for shows. Already, I need a break.

Still, I had the bad thought. A bad, bad, bad, bad, bad thought. But I easily dismissed it. "Oh, that's one of those things that sounds great and maybe when we're all drunk or stoned or something I'll blurt it for 15 minutes of laffs. Then I kept drawing those stupid-ass carrots and — fucking hell! Lair of the Minotaur had to come out with an album called War Metal Battle Master, didn't they? and fucking hell! I can't believe that fucking Capital One commercial with the Heavy Metal magazine "War Kittens" line actually worked the way that sort of thing never should and FUCKING HELL! — I thought about how it could work. I thought about how I could actually do it as a story. With all the hallmarks we associate with story. Beginning! Middle! End! Pathos! Intrigue! Richard III!

Argh! Then I remembered an opening scene I thumbed for a different idea that went nowhere (all I had was the opening). I could use that. It's perfect. And the Shakespeare is perfect. And the stupid giant heads. The stupid giant heads would be great. But there's no way I'll do it if I can't make them work. And then I made them work.

And now my head in in this space of this thing that I'm already hating because I know what it means.I hate thinking.

Here. SPOILERS! A bad, flashed-out photo of Page 11 of the Action thing:



*Planet Terror actually wasn't that bad. Maybe a better comparison is Planet Terror and Death Proof.

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