Me & Simon Baker: The Big Pitch

It's 5am on Sunday morning.  I've been asleep for 6 hours.  I just awoke from a terrifying dream.  Was it about goblins, the boogeyman, Michael Myers, a horrific earthquake which leaves LA as an island off the Pacific Coast?  No.

I was pitching my spec script (the one which was selected as a finalist in THE BEVERLY HILLS FILM FESTIVAL Screenwriting Competition earlier this year--thought I'd throw that in there) to George A. Romero and Simon Baker themselves...together...just the three of us.  Me & Simon Baker.  The one where "Michael" fights zombies w/ Simon Baker as they cross the US to find George A. Romero cuz he'll know what to do.  Add in touches of The Wizard of Oz and *voila*, there you have it.

There.  Simple.

Well.  Here's the rub.

It all started out great.  I was eloquent.  They were involved.  Then I began falling into descriptive minute details.  Then I began using the terrifying, "basically" to begin sentences...A LOT.  Oh Lord.

But I had them.  They were intrigued...until Simon began heating up a Tupperware container of mashed potatoes.  Then George took out a notebook (not to take notes on my piece).  Then Simon began to fiddle with the volume and station on some old blue radio nearby.

"But wait, guys!  I'm only about a 1/3 of the way through."

And it was true.  Michael and Simon had only just begun their road trip to possible salvation.  Their bonding was just getting going.  Sure introductions were complete, but the mortar had not yet solidified.

And then the desperation became tangible.  I moved back and forth (physically across the room), to George, then Simon and back to George (even once putting my hand on George's knee--not in a sexual way, but in a "please hear me out" kinda way).  Oh Lord.

Then Simon bent down to pick something up in front of me and I stared.  Not at his fine rear like he suspected, but into blankness.  I think I was defeated.

Now, before the pity party begins and I hash out my actual waking hours elevator pitch (thanks Julie Gray), let me tell you the real fun.

I was in the garage of one of these guys.

We were just hanging out.  We were chillin'.  We were drinkin'.  We were buds.

As I told them about a "damaged and neurotic Michael who was known @ all the horror conventions", they nodded, laughed and pointed at me.  They knew who the thinly-veiled "Michael" was.  They got it.

When I talked about Sharon and Clay (two supporting characters who in real life played "premiere" zombies in 1978's Dawn of the Dead), George talked about them too.  We all were buds.  We knew one another.

But then remember, we were in a garage...with old time radio rebuilding projects and microwaves for mashed potato re-heats and dozens of other potential distractions.

I lost them...

It was all so terrifying, gratifying, un-nerving and unreal.  But for a moment, I was just pitching a--shall we say--FABULOUS idea to a couple of enraptured old chums.

I still dream (and have for sooooo many years) to be in Romero's circle.  Ever since I was a little kid, battling zombies in my dreams--back when those dreams were not fun, not inspiring, but truly disturbing, I wanted to work with the man.  I guess because he was able to conjure such demons and horror...so lasting and powerful that I literally had to "bar" the bathroom door when I was a kid...anytime I was at my most vulnerable--either in the shower or on the toilet.  His stuff worked, and BY GOD, I wanted to be a part of that.

This nightmare (and I don't hesitate to call it that) has rejuvenated the blood.  I gotta clear up my pitch...weed out the muck and get it ready, cuz the chance to use these convincing words is almost upon me.

One final thought.  I cheated on my sugar (certainly worthy of an entry on my "Great Sweet Cut-out" blog--@ another time) by having a soft serve ice cream cone last night.  It was good, but I felt lousy afterward.  Hmmm...a connection to this vivid dream?  The instigator?  Meant to happen so I could clean this all up?  We shall see.

But for now...stupid ice cream--thanks, and I hate you.