not a fan

12 October, 2007

Almost a month ago I mentioned that A. and I had been approached by some people filming some sort of pilot to appear as extras. we signed on, assuming nothing would come of it, and then got a call this week and did our first filming last night. All we really had to do was sit at the bar and periodically look in a certain direction while the cameras were going while still drinking and conversing. Everything about the project (temporary title, director’s name, even the film company) stays off the google radar, so I won’t be naming any names since they’re probably not real ones anyway. It was fun and they’ll want us back, apparently. I wore my own sweater since if I’m going to be on tv it had better be in something no one else has. I also ordered the mussels in red curry sauce from The Pub’s fall menu, and those were superb, so a good enough night made even better because I’d had a 4-hour nap that seems to be helping me get over my ear infection and antibiotics-induced ennui.

What I really wanted to talk about (and have been too tired and offline to actually discuss) is how much I’m realizing I don’t fit in with certain parts of the dominant culture. In the past and in my past blogging life I’d have considered this a geek thing, that I’m not a fanboy and thus I can’t remember all the characters in some X-Men story let alone what issue number that story might have held. Last Monday, though, A. and I watched the Bills vs. Cowboys football game, certainly the most exciting and engaging one I’ve seen in my life. And while I vaguely care about the stories and can retain little facts like that the kicker has only ever made a 47-yard field goal in an actual game before, I just don’t get into it in terms of fan ownership. I can’t think of much of anything that makes me so excited I can’t resist, though I can spout off facts about all sorts of things. I keep trying to prove myself wrong, but it doesn’t seem like the same thing that I got so excited to see there was a new Emma Donoghue novel that I snatched it right off the library shelf and smiled to myself. I mean, everyone knows I adore Bill Nighy, but I had no trouble waiting for Notes on a Scandal to show up in my Netflix queue and I don’t have any plans to see Underworld 2. It’s not that I lack passion, just direction or intensity or something. I’m thinking about this still, but I’m not sure how I’m alien as much as that I am.

I’m also thinking about blaming the antibiotics and exhaustion for this being an intensely boring post, but all blame probably lies with the author here.


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