When asked by Vanity Fair if he gives his zombie actors any direction, George A. Romero said:
I find that if I make any sort of physical movement when I’m talking to them, they’ll just imitate that exact movement. It’s more fun to let them invent their own things. When I’m directing zombies, it just makes more sense to trust their creativity. All I ever say to them is, “Do your best dead.”
On the list of things I want to do in my lifetime, being a zombie extra in a film is very close to the top.
“SATC2 takes everything that I hold dear as a woman and as a human—working hard, contributing to society, not being an entitled cunt like it’s my job—and rapes it to death with a stiletto that costs more than my car.”—Lindy West, film critic
"All we need is a screwdriver, a screw, and a hammer."
And with that statement began our adventures in bottle opening. Seperating us from a delicious bottle of Pinot Grigio was a stubborn cork. The problem: no cork screw. Deshawn and I were forced to get creative. It was time to MacGyver that shit.
Yes, this really happened.
Why we could find all these random utensils and tools, and not a fucking bottle opener, is beyond me.
I cleaned out Milo’s bowl tonight and placed him in a cup while the conditioner dispersed in his bowl. 15 minutes later, I go into the dining room to place him back into the water, and he’s no longer there. It’s completely empty.
"Deshawn, did you put him back in his bowl?"
"Wait. WHAT? Are you hiding him?"
"Why would I do that?" He goes back to eating his rice.
Now, I’m in panic mode. I run with the empty cup into the kitchen. He’s not in the bowl. Deshawn is right.
Where is my fish?
I run back into the dining room and look at the floor. There is Milo. Flopping helplessly on the floor. I start screaming and jumping around. Completely irrational at the moment.
"DESHAWN. Come get him. You have to get him," I yell. He calmly sets down his bowl of rice.
Deshawn scoops him up and runs to the bowl. My hero. There is no movement. My fish is dead. He jumped out of the cup, flopped to the floor - a fish suicide.
I ask him to flush Milo for me. I can’t. I’m freaked out. Suddenly, Milo starts moving, swimming sluggishly around the bowl. It’s a fucking Christmas miracle.
Except I’m pretty sure he is forever changed. My zombie fish. He barely swims, and he won’t eat.
SO PSYCHED! Tonight Joss Whedon directed Glee, and now I just happened to stumble upon the greatest (musical television) episode ever on Logo - Buffy’s Once More, with Feeling. I’m kind of geeking out right now.
After being reblogged by Genderqueer, The Gay Aggregate, and Pansexualpride, I now have 2x the amount of followers on my gender blog than my personal one. CRAZY. I had originally planned not to update the blog post-grading, but now I’m not so sure anymore.
For shame! I almost forgot that this weekend is Norfolk Greek Fest. It’s an annual tradition that I share with my loves Dylan and Nikolai. We’ll drink, we’ll dance, we’ll laugh (a lot), and we’ll check out Greek boys. And most importantly, I’ll eat a ton of this:
My Bodies in Transition final project. I got a B+ which I’m actually super stoked about because, before I turned it in, I was like: “Man, I could do so much more with this if it weren’t for the shit ton of boring exams I have to complete instead.”