Thursday, March 31, 2011

trying to get in a film

Last night they were filming outside a house on our street. It seemed like a large operation, there was a crew of about 40 people, 6 or 7 trucks of equipment, and a group of passers by who had stopped to watch. As I cycled home past the 'set' (film term) I let go of the handlebars and put my hands in my pockets, cool as a goddamn cucumber, imagining the director's gaze following me, instructing his people "Her! Get me her! She's perfect!"

When I was twelve I played a maid in a godawful 'youth drama' production of Nicholas Nickleby. For my audition piece I chose to recite Humpty Dumpty, but forgot the words. This role (which I was offered only because the original maid dropped out), is the height of my acting career to date, but last night I was feeling optimistic.

Luckily we didn't have any milk in our house so I volunteered to pop to the shop to get some. I walked, uncaringly, straight through the hoards of people who had gathered to watch the shoot, taking long determined strides, yet appearing completely nonchalant, (like a nonchalant antelope - a nonchalantelope, if you will,) thus proving to the director my ability to exercise sheer control and professionalism in a situation that would render others hysterical.


They shouted "action" as I passed so I kept my pace for a bit in case they were filming me, because obviously I didn't want to ruin the shot. As it turned out they weren't filming me, so I casually dropped my shoulder and doubled back to watch. They were filming the house; a little girl opened the front door and shouted back "it's no-one" and then looked around the garden. Then a man behind the camera waved a red jumper in the air and the girl started screaming and ducked down covering her head. I see two possible interpretations: either the jumper was made of wool, which she is allergic to, or some goblins with switchblade knives and broken bottles will be computerly added afterwards.

So wondering why I still hadn't been approached by anyone asking me to be in the film, I went off to the shop and got the milk, all the while practicing my articulation (tip-of-the-tongue, lick-of-the-lips, piece-of-the-pie, etc.). On the way back I stood and watched this little girl doing more screaming. I had forgotten to wear my watch, but I pretended to look at it anyway, demonstrating my general acting skills, my versatility regarding green screens (the watch could be added afterwards), in addition to implying I had somewhere more important to be. Then I sauntered slowly home, making sure they could see which house I lived in.

They did not, as it happens, turn up at the door asking me to be in their film. I went to bed thinking that ultimately this was for the best as I wouldn't want the burden of fame.

But today, i found a piece of gold tinsel stuck down the leg of my tights. This actually happened for real, I did not make it up: tinsel? Tinseltown? Coincidence? (co-tinsel-dence?) I think not. I am taking this as a sign that in fact I am destined for stardom. Next time I will be more aggressive, perhaps just keep running in front of the camera until they let me be in the film.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

the upside-down effect

Overwhelming feelings of restlessness, claustrophobia, entrapment and stress are causing me to feel stagnant and frustrated. To fix this I decided I needed a drastic change, so I have started sleeping upside-down in my bed. Deceptively simple, but it is working surprisingly well, - I feel like I am on holiday from the normal end of the bed. I find myself quite excited when it is bedtime and I remember something is different to how it usually is, like when you tidy your room or your walls get painted or you get a new duvet cover.

However after a week this simple solution has lost some of it's golden glow and in fact seems ultimately dangerous for my health. I keep waking up and smacking my face against the wall because I am facing the wrong way. The lack of headboard is causing me to push the pillows off the end of the bed in my sleep, so I frequently wake up on my face, (presumably after an abandoned attempt at rescuing the pillows,) which makes my eyes swell up so i look like ive been stung by a bee and taken a bad reaction. The change of sleeping environment is causing extremely vivid, often violent dreams from which I wake up completely naked in a cold sweat. Yesterday I woke up with the most terrible pain in my neck that rendered me immobile from the shoulders up (except for blinking) for the whole day. Not only did this put me in a foul, bear-like mood, but my inability to turn my head resulted in a few close encounters with the 49A on the cycle home.

I am beginning to reconsider my solution. I think I should just get a new duvet cover. Maybe a Harry Potter one.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

every home needs one

THINNER! FASTER! SLIPPERIER! iPad2: what's not to love?! I feel a bit sorry for the iPad1 - it didn't last very long, (although ultimately I feel both products are ridiculous and just asking to be sat on.) I wrote a poem evoking a presupposition of the relationship of iPad1 to the iPad2.
(To be read at a solemn yet tasteful ceremony by Bill Murray, who will take me to dinner afterwards.)

By Sarah Gordon

O, Thinner! Lighter!
Faster data transfer capabilities; eternally enshrin'd
in thy gilded semblance
thy youth and affinity
cite my own mortality;
I dare not chide:
I am old and fat and slow,
Discarded like so many a redundant Apple product
Lo! Flame retardant, bulletproof, vegan, presumably,
Made from nought but recycled teabags
and hedge clippings, probably;
My wretched despair lies with me, at the back of the cupboard
We each but half of a whole
Together could, perhaps, make one

There is of course a gaping hole in the market, which I think needs addressed:

Have you eaten any pancakes today? Quickly! Eat some!

Friday, March 4, 2011

rite of passage

I decided at a very young age that my first official act as an adult would be to purchase a jar of Nutella and eat the whole thing in one go with a spoon. I attribute this to my ruthlessly restricted access to the delicious substance as a child. Now at the tender age of 22, and nearing the end of my time in the bubble of education, the word 'adult' is looming over my head. I imagine it like an Acme anvil in the Bugs Bunny cartoons, except the adult anvil is made up of loads of important documents, bank statements, insurance forms, account details, mortgage documents, pension plans, the sort of things I will definitely lose, which will cause me to get into loads of trouble and not have any money or proof of existence.

Thank god for the Nutella loophole.

I am comforted, firm in the belief that I am exempt from adulthood until I have completed this gluttonous act. So I don't ever buy Nutella, just in case. Best not tempt fate.

Congratulations, you are an adult