WRITINGNLIGHTING
“Good friends come and go. Enemies accumulate.” That was the quote at the bottom of the first handout in the first class in writing. We were also informed that we had a task to write a fifteen minute script and the chosen one would be the midterm film project for the class.
In the lighting for film and video class we were informed that we would be grading ourselves. The instructor was balding and had a long braid down his back and he really didn’t care about much more than his paycheck. I was driving a taxi 60 hours a week and going to some form of school for another 40 with a bunch of kids that thought giving themselves their own grades was really cool. I still believed that I was getting good information. We got to pull cables and set up three point lighting.
In writing there was the exchange of ideas. Spike the black kid wanted to do a script about robbing banks. Brian was writing a script about people running their entire lives by shaking a magic eight ball for every decision. Ben wrote about a vengeful Vietnam Veteran becoming a serial killer and eating his victims. Elvis was writing about an alien abduction where Jesus was on board the spaceship the abducted heathen was taken to and afterwards became an evangelist. Betty was working on a script about Shake and Bake, a recipe for chicken and how easy it was to help if you were a kid. Veronica wrote about her time in the army and sexual harassment by officers and the revenge of killing them. Woodlee wrote about his fascination with Judy Garland and Sugar the diabetic computer whiz had robots injecting him with insulin and falling in love with his body. Paul, the other black kid came up with the premise of being trapped in an art school that taught nothing but the art of graffiti and how not to get caught. I wrote about reading Walt Whitman loudly at train stations as a way to pick up chicks. Winter Park had a really nice train station I discovered while driving the taxi.
I worked the taxi until six o’clock in the morning or thereabouts. Weekends I had the opportunity to go back to the apartment and get some sleep. One Sunday morning very early on I learned an important lesson. After driving all night I stretched out on the couch I owned in front of the TV I owned in the common room and watched a little TV. Elvis came into the apartment after church and I was groggy, “You’re Drunk!” he said, “You’re disgusting.”
“Give me a break, Baloney Boy. I worked all night.” He got me—I lost it. I was a bit harsh but I knew that he was in on trying to get me bounced out of school like he did Tuck and his pornography. I also knew I had to find another place to live even though the lease was in my name. Elvis said his father would cover the security deposit when he got back from Algeria. I figured he must have worked for the CIA so I couldn’t ask the kid to leave. The taxi business was giving me enough money I thought I could do it on my own though the hours were taking a toll. It was also separating me further and farther away from my classmates but keeping me in touch with the darkness of the night and the reality of the real jungle.