i’ve been in more scenes where it says, “he sobs” … and sobs is a scary word, right? weeps is okay. he gets emotional, fine. sobs, and you go, oh shit, man. i’ve gotta sob? how am i going to sob? who sobs? you see that word in a script, and when you go to bed, you’re just thinking, why do i have to sob? do i have to sob this week? no, i don’t sob until a week from monday. then somebody tells you have to shoot it earlier. “no we don’t.” “yeah we do.” “no. we don’t shoot that scene until next monday because i’m emotionally inching my way up on the sobbing and i’m telling you it’s next fucking monday!” i don’t even know what the question was.
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don using an iphone.
ken using a macbook pro.
i’m pretty sure the last time i
whatdoesitallmean’d this hard
was 1997, wrapping my tween brain
around the men in black catzoom.
When I was Sally’s age, I used to lie . . . a lot. I’m sure it had something to do with growing up in a complicated family of world class embellishers and accidentally pulling the short straw on a weird ass mid-90s, midwestern divorce (lions and tigers and gay dads – oh my). At first, my lies were usually just a mild stretch of the truth, but, as time went on, they started to become more and more frequent and, unfortunately, more and more ridiculous. I stopped lying cold turkey after I tried (and failed) to convince my best friend that Alex, the neighbor boy I had the craziest most massive crush on, had just:
a) serenaded me
b) with his guitar
c) outside my window
. . . naked.
I mean, really. What was I thinking? Alex didn’t even own a guitar.
PS – I haven’t lied like this in over 12 years.
PPS – Alex is the one wearing a talking hat.