I sat in my pajamas from Saturday until Monday morning. They were warm and comfortable flannels even with my german helmet protruding from the crotch everytime I stood up straight. Thank God for the booze I consumed over the entire weekend for it kept me hunched over just enough not to show it off. I wasn't trying to draw pity. I wasn't doing it because I had watched "Leaving Las Vegas" the night prior to the pajama incident. I had heard a cool story that had stuck with me for years and I had never really had any reason to try it myself . Until now...
The story goes like this: When James Cameron was editing Titanic he had easily spliced together his six hour opus in record time. His vision had been so precise to what he had captured that he could play every moment out in his head before he even touched the editing bay. Then when it was time to piece together something as simple as the opening credits, he lost it... He and his editors could not come up with a powerful opening for the film. They sat for a week trying different things and just could not come up with anything that he felt was "perfect." After two weeks he had become completely frustrated. That Friday night, the editing team had left early and James sat.... And sat. He ran to the local liquor store and picked up a fifth of my favorite, Jose Cuervo. He went back to editing room and began doing shots, watching footage, trying to let out a little steam. The next morning, his producers and assistant editors entered the office to find James passed out in his chair. The bottle nearly empty and the playhead at the end of a clip. The producer noticed it and started the clip.... It was the opening credits Cameron had drunkingly cut together. Cameron had to be woken up, where his producers gave him an ovation. Cameron had no idea that he had even cut the clip. It was the one that made the final cut and he had no idea he had even done it.
OK, so now that the story has been told... I thought drinking myself into a stupor would allow me to figure out what the hell I was going to do about my movie. By Sunday, I didn't know my name let alone have any idea what the hell I was going to do. This drinking myself into problem solving mode had been a complete waste of time. Monday, I was showering.... Cleaning the funk off. I began shaving and realized that my double chin had gotten a little bigger... I tried to smash it back in and hope that it stayed, but it came right back... My chin had gotten bigger, overnight and I really had no control over it apparently... I had been working out at the gym and watching what I had been eating for over three months now... All that just to prevent the chin swelling I was disgustingly looking at this second.
Then the 'James Cameron' moment came.... I want say that I blacked out and when I woke up we were watching the finished product of our porn.... Actually the very opposite. I had just come to the realization that my "Option A" plan for the XXX film would never in a million years work. Just like my chin, all the preparation and prevent tactics in the world would not help... My dream of importing Gauge and other talents was exactly what I said it was... A dream. This was my first movie without Los Angeles, without Zak Wylde and without the normal $15,000 budget. I should aim lower.... That's it, call a meeting.
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