I had a meeting to pitch shows today. Reality shows actually. To say it was a meeting is pushing it. I basically sat there because I get bored at meetings like this. I don’t try to be bored but the facts are you know what I’m pitching (we’ve exchanged words), I’m really bored talking about it (I stay excited for an idea until another one comes along), and, within ten minutes I’ve already said what you already know and what I’m really bored talking about.
So, after my opening pitch,
“It’s a show called Rock Throw. I throw rocks at people until they bribe me for death. The last one alive wins all that stuff.”
From this moment on I’m pretty much useless because I’ve explained it. That’s why I have a partner. He does the heavy lifting. But does that stop them from wanting to talk more to me? Nooooo!
“So, as the creative force behind this show what are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to say, Trevor, that I throw rocks at people until they bribe me then, whoevers left alive, wins!”
Didn’t I say that in fewer words twenty minutes ago? I’m not afraid of fleshing out the show, as folks like Trevor say, but pay me. The idea is free; the thinking it through costs.
But, even as testy as I can be (okay, am) we still got through the meeting with a little interest (that means they saw I had rocks in my pockets). After that some friends went to lunch and the conversation turned to gross things. Now this wasn’t just my usual gang of Scott, Fred, Bob, Davy, and myself (The Filthy Five), as a matter of fact, none of them was there. It was a mixed crowd of people.
I don’t know what it is but people often feel free to say some weird ass shit around me. And, truly, I’m not always in the mood for it. But, I play along even though it’s so boring. It’s like having a meeting with a writer who’s trying to shock me. You’d have to have a story about snorting your father’s knee cap off your mother’s tit to even have me sit up.
During this normal gross stuff I’ve been silent. I know I’ll have to say something but I don’t want to go too far. That’s never good. But, when it is my turn, the next words I want to hear are,
So it’s my turn. Everyone’s watching. I smile.
“Finding a pubic hair on the soap.”
That’s about stage 3 of 10 for how gross it’s been. I see the people thinking that I’ve lost my nerve.
“And it’s not yours.”
This one doesn’t give me any more gross juice but there’s a lot of pointing around the table in that ‘I hate when you do that’ style.
“And you live alone.”
We were out of there in three minutes.
Now I’m off to enjoy the rest of my day.
Make sure to check the soap.