Jeni, Richard and I are working on the book trailer for Waiting for Karl Rove. Once my vocal dramatization of the events occurring on our trip goes viral on the Internet, everyone will know I couldn’t get a part in an Ed Wood movie. That’s right. My acting is so terrible even the worst director in the history of directors – whose Plan 9 from Outer Space is considered by many to be the worst film ever made – would not cast me in a movie.
Jeni came up with a great ending for the book. By great, I mean she came up with it and wrote it so I didn’t have to. Since she’s a real live director, she also came up with the idea for the book trailer and is in the process of developing it. All she asked us to do was read the lines she wrote.
All the Russian porn bots who hang out on my blog know that Richard is a computer geek and I’m an end-user. Hint: Humans are allowed to read my blog. The computer geek v. end-user factor in our relationship causes conflict when we work on projects together. Apparently, suggestions are NOT to be made by the end-user. If the end-user were to make a suggestion, the computer geek might glare and would certainly make a condescending remark. This might escalate into the end-user leaping across the coffee table with all the grace of a gazelle suffering from elephantiasis and karate chopping said computer geek’s Adam’s apple. That will shut him up.
The following examples of us recording our parts might lead some to question my judgment regarding:
a) who I choose to live with;
b) do-it-yourself projects; and
c) time management/bladder control.
There’s a character named Lebowski in the book. (Yeah, that’s all the spoiler alert you get. If you want more, buy the book!)
We begin to record, alternating our lines as we go. Richard reads Lebowski’s first line and sounds like a Pakistani convenience store clerk. (Yes, I’m stereotyping. ACLU come and get me.)
My inner thoughts on this deviation from the script will hereinafter be in italics.
What the fuck?
I can’t read a single line without him reading it back to me to show me how a woman would say it. Unfortunately, he makes a much better woman than I do.
He reads Lebowski’s next line and sounds like Jerry Lewis.
Isn’t the telethon always held Labor Day weekend?
Richard is never happy with a performance the first time. His next line is repeated over and over. He explains he’s trying to find his inner Lebowski.
His inner Lebowski is a Mexican Vlad the Impaler?
Next he sounds like a drawling Texas Ranger.
I tune out and begin to casturbate. Casturbation is the act of a writer procrastinating by obsessively wondering who should play her in the movie version of her book.
Meryl Streep? Naw, too close to my own age and she’s beginning to get a bit hippy. Diane Keaton? I like her John Lennon sunglasses, but there’s her crepey neck to consider. Ellen Page would be perfect! We’re so much alike, both being anti-heroines. But can a twenty-three year old actress pass for a grandmother? Damnit! Probably not. Unless…someone like Spielberg directs. Then the budget will be huge and makeup costs will seem minimal. Keep her in mind, Kat.
Diane Lane! That’s it! She’s gorgeous. She can act. She has a great body. It’s like we’re twins separated at birth.
Cecil B. DeHitler’s literal way of clearing his throat finally penetrates my happy place.
Fuck! Who do I have to sleep with to get out of this book trailer?