Mushka Water screening

The rain stopped, the sun climbed over the clouds and gazed sunshine over our little part of the world. My phone rang and I spoke with my firecracker friend - she's "pulling into the estate". I left the yoga temple - charged with 15 minutes worth of tai'chi, slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked up the hill. The silver Toyota Supra's engine blared like a lawn mower and my ex greeted me with her patented closed-lipped smile. She wore a fur vest, tight jeans, platform boots and big dark sunglasses. She'd make a great octopus I thought as she made phone calls, searched for items in the back seat and drove the car down the hill. Her intensity was palpable, jittery, caffene cubed. I buried myself in Greg Bear's collection of short stories, staying out of view of the spotlights, booby traps and hair trigger land mines that can be set off with the wrong look, the wrong word or the wrong intonation. While still on Main Street, I triggered a mini explosion by suggesting a left turn. I tried to hide in the big book but that didn't work. My silence was perceived as sulking so I finally spoke, calmly and with a smile: "Hey, you over-reacted a little, no biggy, just chill... relax." Some more tree shaking occured but I remained undisturbed, unaffected and the storm soon dissapated. Unable to find enough heat in my emotional ocean, Sunny's tropical storm disappeared. The rest of the drive past by uneventfully. We found the club, parked, ate some food in the car and walked the couple blocks to the screening. We walked through the door and were greeted by a guy in black. He sat in a chair and had a little table in front of him. He held up his hand with his thumb and index finger an inch or so apart asking for IDs. Oh yeah, I think to myself, they have a bar here. I shake my head "I don't have my ID with me." He sighs subtely and signals with his index and middle finger to come in. We walk thru a bar, up a flight of stairs, thru another room with a bar and into the back room where the screening will take place. There' s a big bar back there as well. There's also couches, boothes, tables and some black chairs. I glide around, chat with some friends from Ojai and exchange greetings with the director, Cameron and a couple of the actors. Finallly the movie begins. It's all unexpected because I had no expectations. The scene I am in happens within 15 minutes. Quite a surreal experience, seeing myself up on the wall and hearing my voice over the sound system in a room full of mostly strangers. I'd never seen any footage of this film and did not know what it was about and yet here I was - in it. The shoot took place a year and a half ago so I couldn't even remember what I had said. The movie ended and left me feeling exhilerated. I think Dr. Christopher Hyatt might get a kick out of this flick. He says something in one of his books that could have found a place in this film's dialogue. It goes something like this: The majority of human drama/conflict/suffering seems to be a consequence of the proximity of the waste organs and the sex organs.