This movie is going to kill me very slowly and painfully in a way that the Swedes could never have pulled off, much less dreamed of in a thousand and one frozen Swedish nights. Every decision to save money or "increase productivity" has exploded in production's face and then been thrown at the crew like shit thrown by a psychotic pack of monkeys, aka the assistant directors and PAs. I am going to explode soon and heave a lens into someones cranium. I am going to explode and burn one of our overpriced trendy locations to the ground. I am going to explode and then consume the explosion and watch it turn into an ulcer and an even more severe reliance on alcohol. Good lord, I am a small cog in a vicious machine that spits out crap while consuming all that is good and pretty in the world. "Shrink," a movie about people who make movies written by a thirty year old boy who can't tuck his shirts in but still ties a double Windsor every day. What. The. Fuck.
In happier news I went surfing before our night shoots twice and even slept on the beach for two hours and woke up with the sun. I also successfully completed a really nice late drop into a head high wave and then smacked the shit out of the lip. I think I finally kinda sorta know how to surf. God is in the little moments of joy that mean nothing to anyone but you.
Peace out, bitches!