Blurg.

So I flew in yesterday. I've never flown Virgin America before. I'm like a Virgin America... newbie. I think the typical human would have found this flight incredible. Everyone gets their own interactive TV screen. I had bought the latest issue of Psychology Today at the airport, thinking I was gonna be able to read during the flight. I read it for five minutes and got super carsick, then spent the next four and a half hours trying not to vomit. I listened to the entirety of their comedy radio station. It had some real gems-- Eddie Izzard, Chris Rock, George Carlin, Bob Newhart, Woody Allen-- and even Monty Python's Cheese Shop sketch. This sketch, to me, is possibly one of the funniest things in the universe. Everything you need to know about writing and performing comedy can be found in this sketch. While listening to this, I played a very primitive Mah Jong game over and over, which I beat only once (there was an "undo move" button on the screen, but no way to push it, so whenever I got stuck, I had to start a new game). But I would say I spent a majority of the flight looking out the window at the mind-blowing view with the streaming Google Map on the screen telling me where we were. When the comedy station tracks started to repeat, I turned it off and discovered I could custom-make my own music playlist. I listened to all the Lady Gaga songs, then a bunch of Madonna, and then the plane landed. This didn't even scratch the surface of my playlist, so I'll have to make it again on the way back. As I was waiting for everyone to get off the plane from my seat in the very back, I was listening to Michael Jackson's "Stranger in Moscow." This is one of my favorites, but it cut out before the best part, then I waited several more minutes in silence. We're a cool species, and we can do some neat stuff, but we sure can't efficiently get on and off a plane worth a fuck.

I waited for Brett and Chris in the baggage claim at the Washington Dulles International Airport in D.C. They picked me up and told me about an elderly couple they saw passionately making out in the parking lot. I realized this is something I have never seen in my life, not even in the movies. And I've seen a lot of things in movies. I've seen a dinosaur eat a man off a toilet, but I've never seen two geezers go at it. Then we met our ol' buddy Jen for dinner at Red Lobster. Jen and I had privately had a falling out on Facebook, in which we said some mean things to each other and one of us defriended the other. But Jen acted as if nothing happened, which I thought was a pretty classy move. We don't need to get other people involved in our drama. Although I had been appreciating the irony of having used a social networking website as a means of severing friendships rather than creating them. The Red Lobster was next to a Holiday Inn. We theorized this is where high-class gentlemen must come to have extramarital affairs. How can a woman be treated to dinner at Red Lobster and a room at the Holiday Inn and then feel like anything less than a queen?

We then headed back to Dulles and collected Priscilla, who'd taken an AirTran flight in. It seemed like her travel experience was not nearly as pleasant as mine. I've never even heard of AirTran. I imagine something like a bus with wings. Loose chickens flapping around, etc. In the approximately two-hour drive to Waterhole Cove in Maryland, we somehow conceived of a pretty solid movie idea involving Jack Nicholson and a Hasidic Jew (possibly a rabbi?). I don't want to give it away, because we haven't registered it with the WGA yet. I also made a game of suggesting outrageous cameos for myself in the movie. But sometimes Brett will sigh heavily when I make a joke, like I'm being this huge pain in the ass. I feel like he should just accept the joke in good humor, or one day, I'm just gonna stop talking altogether. I'm a human being, with hopes and dreams. I've had a unique journey through this life, and my vocalized thoughts are a beautiful gift. So if I think it would be a boon for this movie to open with a scene of Dolly (Priscilla) receiving a fencing lesson from her wheelchair-bound instructor (me), that suggestion should be given the same open-minded appreciation one would devote to any other, more "typical" idea. I mean... shit. We're making art here, right? Is that still the plan?

Waterhole Cove is a bitchin' place. I'm staying not at the main house (where most of the film will be shot), but at a separate house further down the property (Harry's house, for future readers who have already seen the film). My room has a door that leads to a creepy attic, where I presume an angry hobo lives. But we put a small pant rack or something in front of it, so I should remain relatively unmurdered throughout the rest of production. Walking to this house in the middle of the night is pretty terrifying. The wind against the trees sounds like bloodthirsty drifters who've wandered on to the open property looking to relieve their aggressions on another human life. And when I reach the door and open it, my body is engulfed by moths who I presume are trying to beat the shit out of me in hive form. And the pitch black darkness-- I need to remember to get an eye patch next time we go to market. This is why pirates wore eye patches. You keep one eye covered for a while, so when you have to go below deck, you can take off the patch and immediately see in the dark. You lose depth perception, but you don't really need that to do things like sail ships, kill innocent merchants, and make love to unwilling participants. Yo ho!

Today, we headed into town to get some stuff at Graul's. This is the market in town. Being in a new town, you see things that are strange to you, but regular to the local folk. As we killed a little bit of time loitering, Chris noted, "We're kinda like a gang." And he was right. We were like a gang. The name of our gang is the Cruisers. When Brett had to stop at a different market to buy diapers, we all went in with him, because Cruisers roll together. Then we all got ice cream, because Brett said he had seen a good ice cream place. Chris got Minty Moo, Brett got coconut, Priscilla got some homemade toffe thing, John got chocolate, and I got key lime. Then we walked down Talbot Street, eatin' our ice cream cones and eyeing the fucking townies. No one tried any shit, so no blood had to be spilled before we climbed back into our rented PT Cruiser. But we'll be back. Because it turns out we actually went to the wrong ice cream place.

Later, we had a read-through of the script. It's sounding really good. Brett apparently just knocked this thing out right before shooting The Comedian at The Friday, and it's really solidly assembled. I can already tell the performances are gonna be off the chains. I don't really have much to say about this read-through, but I had to mention it, because it's one of the few things I took a picture of, and Priscilla mentioned that people like pictures in blogs. I know this is true, though I typically enjoy writing blogs and articles that are just text. Part of me feels like the text should speak for itself, and any imagery I add is a sort of contamination of the language. And I am so not interested in the readership of people who will look at a long thing of text and be like "fuck that." No no-- fuck you. But I guess for the purposes of this communal movie blog, a few fucking pictures are in order.

Like, during the read-through, John built a device that will automatically simulate the flickering glow of a fireplace.

That's pretty awesome. We're making a movie. Without supervision.

-Diego