Breaking and Entering and the date that wasn't.
Another out of town weekend. Saturday I drove down to Portland for two days of shooting. Saturday was kind of slow, and lacking direction --so looking at the filming we'd done after the fact, I wasn't so thrilled with my performance. For one thing I looked in the shot about a foot taller than my costar, and my features looked HUGE next to her delicate bone structure.
It's all a learning experience. After the 2 hour shoot I went to the Fabric depot to stock up on 1930's prints for my quilt, then to Powell's to kill a few hours until my friend got home. So there I was stuck on my favorite block in Portland with hours to kill. It's a good thing I really don't have money to spare right now, or I'd have been in trouble. I went for a quick browse through Anthropologie for inspiration on winter fashions, then, to mecca, or rather, the world's largest independent bookseller. I found part three of a book I bought a few weeks ago, and went to the coffee shop to read. I hoped I'd be able to get through the whole thing and spare myself the $14.
the coffeeshop was crowded. Every table had someone in it, and strangers were starting to pair up. I grabbed a recently vacated table with a basket full of books next to it. After I'd settled down into the first few chapters, a male voice asked if I would mind if he sat with me. He promptly pulled out a very well used book, read for a few minutes, and fell asleep over it. He had on a hoodie, dirt in his fingernails, and an insulated cup sitting next to a can of orange generic soda. I think his book was Grisham. I had nowhere else to go, and wasn't really keen to give up my table, and thought I may as well stay in the shop reading, and keep this guy from having his nap disturbed.
Hours later I was nearly through, and he was still asleep. It was getting dark downtown and cold seeped through the glass window. The guy across from me started stirring, and I told him I was cold, and was going to get a cup of coffee, and would he like one as well. He would, after some hesitation. So he kept our table while I went for a caffe au lait and a black coffee. And then, we talked. For an hour at least. He, it turns out, was son of an army chaplain, and traveled around Europe as a kid. Since then he's lived in every contiguous state except Maine. He recently left New York and moved back to the Northwest -- and has a job in landscaping, which explains the fingernails. He told me that his ADD makes him impulsive (I couldn't help but laugh) and sometimes does things like decides to go to Mexico for a couple of weeks, or leave his home without packing anything. I made him stop for a bit in our conversation so I could finish my last chapter -- I told him I'd have to kill myself if I had to fork over that much money for one chapter. Eventually I had to leave to meet my friend, and our conversation ended. Sometimes, no often, the best things in life are unplanned.
Sunday I got up early and filmed another long scene, involving an interview, and housebreak, and finding a secret door into a room where the hostages left behind a dead body. It was a long morning, and I realized the truth of all those movie commentaries that say that the act of filming is quite boring. There's a lot of standing around involved, and some mimosas that day.
That afternoon I drove to Seattle and helped put together Christmas cards with Becky. Today I prepared for my audition this evening, which felt dreadful -- but probably wasn't. It's really hard to tell. I hope I get a callback at least. I do much better once we get to line readthroughs than in a 5 minute monologue situation. I really really want to be in this show...
Tomorrow a bit of costuming, then home to finish tearing out a bathroom.
