The original point of the column was supposed to be about film. It quickly devolved into my still-standing obsession/affair with the Pioneer Theater.
That said, I wrote this when I realized I forgot to do a column on the Thursday before it was do and editing something else.
Rather than venture outside to do something productive last weekend during that frosty downpour, I decided to conduct a scientific experiment. What happens when you mix a strapping young lad with defining facial hair, the SciFi Channel and, what we’ll call, “Improvement Juice” mixed with Coke? Here, I present to you the minutes I may have taken while under the influence of truly horrible made-for-cable zombie movies.
7:51 p.m. John really likes this idea. He likes it so much he celebrates with some “Improvement Juice” and Coke.
8:00 p.m. Ran out of Coke.
8:05 p.m. Run to bodega. Buy Diet Coke, also six pack of Brooklyn Lager. Tell cashier my idea.
8:06 p.m. He’s very confused and says he worries about me. We bond.
8:20 p.m. Begin playing Guitar Hero. I rock out to “Ziggy Stardust.” Am surprised at amount of coordination I still have, but attribute this to the “Improvement Juice,” now with Diet Coke.
8:59 p.m. John is in a happy, warm place.
9:00 p.m. “House of the Dead 2” begins.
9:02 p.m. Sexy co-eds are being sprayed with water. Frat boys laugh. Sid Haig is in this movie as a mad scientist. This is the best film ever.
9:14 p.m. I was so, so wrong. More “Improvement Juice” is immediately poured, this time without the Diet Coke.
9:20 p.m. John is in a very dark place where only demons and my editor, Vadim, exist.
9:32 p.m. Sticky Fingaz is in this movie. How bad can this be?
9:50 p.m. Eight soldiers fight one zombie. All right, this is getting better.
9:52 p.m. Zombie inadvertently kills two soldiers. Pour more “Improvement Juice,” this time remove Diet Coke.
10 p.m. Movie is not over yet. Depression sets in. Open a Brooklyn Lager.
10:03 p.m. Open another Brooklyn Lager.
10:10 p.m. Open another Brooklyn Lager
10:11 p.m. Wonder if I’m taking this too slow. Fat soldier is eaten alive by zombies. They steal his heart. Gives me an idea for Valentine’s Day.
10:30 p.m. Half a handle of “Improvement Juice” is gone. Open a Brooklyn Lager.
10:48 p.m. Why am I still awake? How am I still awake? Jesus.
10:57 p.m.IT IS OVER.
11:00 p.m. Play “guitar hero.”
11:02 p.m. Go to bed with plastic guitar still on. Wake up uncomfortable, but not surprised, early Sunday.
02/16/06, 11:05 p.m."Goddamn it, John." — Vadim, my editor.
02/16/06, 11:06 p.m."Please write faster." — Sam, copy editor.
Perhaps after reading these notes I hastily compiled under the avenging eyes of our local copy editor, I question what exactly I figured out from this experiment. Did I improve the quality of life at NYU? Did I discuss GSOC and make the same comments we’ve made for the past two months? Did I prove that I’m a sad, lonely film editor with no social skills? No. I proved I fucking rock at “guitar hero,” and I know how to fucking party. This week, “Rottweiler” is on at 9 p.m. You bring the “Improvement Juice,” I’ll bring my love.