Freudian Slips Irony Oscar

It’s that time of year again! The grand time full of pomp and circumcision to announce the coveted winner of the 2nd Annual Freudian Slips Irony Oscar. The invitation-only ceremonies for faithful Freudian Slips blog readers is traditionally held on Festivus Day, the day before the day before Christmas. If you haven’t been following the mega dittos press coverage, the awards ceremony was held again at Smitty’s Opera House, an abandoned amphitheater of a struggling playwright located at a blip on the map known as Newfield, NJ. My props to the Board of Directors and the non-consensual volunteers, who ardently held scalpers at bay and kept ticket prices under a single dollar.

Finger sandwich appetizers lavishly displayed with Little Paper Pink Umbrellas filled two rusted folding tables. An average three cord cover band got the modest crowd whipped into an eating frenzy. When a moth-riddled red carpet was unfurled by two ex-carnie roadies, the paying guests knew it was time to retreat to their splintered wooden seats. Only since the one-man play, Defending the Caveman, has a stage looked so prehistorically baren.

This years emcee, the multi-talented Pax Romano, danced his way onto the stage reminiscent of the Café Life scene in the movie Rent. Pax did not disappoint with his uncanny ability for improvisation during the many lulls when there literary, I mean literally, wasn’t anything to do or talk about. Pax, who agreed to emcee for the modest upkeep of a new tuxedo and a quart of Lady Sara’s famous potato salad, gingerly removed the nominees from the see-through, albeit sealed, Ziploc storage bags. Balcony guests strained to hear Pax’s muffled voice, who wrestled with a faulty microphone and poor spotlighting all night long.

As the nominees were announced, screams from the peanut gallery filled the amphitheater. Carrying a dustpan and broom, an elderly janitor gave an Academy-award performance catching field mice, which caused all the commotion in the first place.

“Cue the mice again.” slyly whispered Joe Tornatore off stage.

Pax’s outstretched hands quieted the scared-of-rodent crowd. He shouted, “The nominees for best blog posting on Freudian Slips for the year 2005 are:

The Familiar Stranger, by Joe Tornatore. An introspective Dinner with Andre meets Guess Who's Coming to Dinner affair.

Going Postal by Joe Tornatore. An unsuspecting patron’s folly mailing packages through a clerk impersonating a Nazi.

Hoosier Daddy? by Joe Tornatore The chronicle of a naïve vacationing lad who unwittingly visits a gay bar in Indiana.

Hindiana Jones by Joe Tornatore, a comedic peek inside the insignificant world of background acting on the movie set of Kank.

Armenian Cheese by Joe Tornatore, a cheesy Seinfeldish snapshot of ordering American cheese in a deli taken over by foreigners from India.

A tiny boom box played a synthesized drum roll for all to marvel. Without the buffer of security guards or entourage, Joe Tornatore squirmed nervously alone in his Director’s chair to the right of the stage. Regardless of the matinee time start, this could only be Joe’s night. Begging for a winner, the blogging crowd stood at attention one last time. The high decibel roar proved hard to differentiate the mocking chants of Hindi from Indy, India from Nazi.

Pax announced, “And the winner is…….Going Postal.

The sound of one hand clapping and three timely helium balloons released from the orchestra section stamped Going Postal as the resounding winner. Free ribbon-wrapped copy of Going Postal was circulated up and down the aisles to adoring fans. Only one rogue US Postal service worker mildly protested the Oscar winner by tossing an egg onto the foot of the stage. The egg seemed staged to Joe Tornatore so he took it all in stride to the podium. Joe, who avoided egg on his face for the second year running, bowed to the crowd before the curtain literally and figuratively fell down.

“Viva Freudian Slips.” hailed Joe.

*Needless to say, so ends my first ever fictional blog posting on Freudian Slips. This is my last post of the year. See you all next year.

Holiday Tips

Based on personal experience, Joe Tornatore’s Indispensable Holiday Tips Never Shared in Good Housekeeping Magazine.

1)Before you buy a monstrous fresh killed turkey, first make sure you have a pan that Tom Turkey can fit into.

2)When flour goes bad, never discard of it by pouring it down the sink then turning on the water faucet. You will make cake batter bigger than the kitchen and your mega horsepower garbage disposal will clog.

3)Never store candles alongside Christmas trees lights in a cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof attic. You will encase the electric wiring of your tree lights in hardened wax.

4)Sit your mother, who lives on piped oxygen, far enough away from a crackling fire.

5)If you have reduced yourself to using cheap uninspiring Holiday Christmas cards, hold the inspiration of waiting at least seven years before finishing the box.

6)Standing in a return line in a department store the day after Christmas has nothing to do with your spirit of giving.

7)Only serve fruitcake to your worst enemy or at best your least favorite relative.

8)Gyms that get overcrowded in January due to New Years Resolutions will be ‘regulars only’ after Valentines Day.

9)After you’ve cooked all day preparing a holiday meal, keep an extra place setting handy for the guest who didn’t bother to even RSVP then shows up late.

10)Regardless of your wife’s protests, hang outdoor Christmas lights the first warm day after Thanksgiving.

11)Never try and cut your own hair before a major holiday. If you do, hide all of the cameras in the house.

12)Never serve nuts to guests before locating prerequisite rarely used nutcrackers.

13)And never ever answer the door to Christmas carolers carrying snowballs.

Scene for Sore Eyes

Where: On location in the kitchen of our home.

When: December 4, 2005

The scene: Take one middle aged father, who introduces the generation gap to his eleven-year-old son.

After returning home from filming as a background extra in the movie Kank, my son’s curiosity got the best of him.

“What did you play in the movie?” inquired Jimmy.

“Well, we filmed at a train station." I said. "Oh, since you're an avid skateboarder, you’re going to love this coincidence. I played an actual skateboarder for a scene.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard.” snapped Jimmy. “You’re a 43 year old man. You don’t even know how to skateboard. I bet you don’t know what a half pipe is. You probably made a fool of yourself. And I don’t know what those movie producers were thinking. Safety is first. They should have hired stunt men to skateboard around trains.”

I allayed, “That’s why they call it acting, son.”

The kid steals every scene.

Tis the Season

- tis the season in 2005

Our family room is the signature of the first floor of our home. It is a spacious living area with 25 feet seperating ceiling from floor. The room is not without its decorating challenges. For instance. finding the right artificial tree that doesn't look pygmy and lost in the room took years. For pennies from heaven, this artificial beauty fell into our lap this past summer. The tree stretches 11 feet from the top ornament to base. I needed a few minutes of agility on a sturdy ladder just to lasso the lights around the treetop. The results were breathtaking. I gradually regained my breath, however, to enjoy the tree's splendor.

Regular readers will remember the unusual circumstances of how this tree wound up in our home. Curious newbies are welcome to archive the story called Plain View Can be a Two Way Mirror here.

Happy holidays everyone!

The World is an Oyster

Freudian Slips has been online for over a year and I have yet to post a single story of fiction. My personal life is chock full of irony so I haven't found reason to fabricate stories from conception. By the same token, I have been reluctant to post some of my more outrageous experiences here for fear of reader ridicule. This is another Twilight Zone story, as my friend Keith calls them, that owns a familiar plot in my life.

Engineering your own desired outcomes is an acquired skill. It is rarely taught and may be more difficult to explain. Previous posts have talked about the concept and illustrated how this engineering has influenced my life. What I am about to describe may be my most vivid example. Herein lies proof that desks are meant to write about and not just write on.

My wife recently came up with the great idea of adding a personal computer to our son’s bedroom. I supported the idea. I found enough computer components laying around the house to make an integrated PC. With all the creature comforts in our children’s bedrooms, there were space considerations. My measuring tape retracted like a Jedi light saber across his bedroom carpet. I figured out a scientific method to retro-fit a small student desk that would not interfere with the sling of the fold-down attic steps. Respecting the picayune measurements, I scanned circular ads and clipped coupons. Every good storyline needs conflict so enter my wife. After my time and energy went into the project, my wife decided she doesn’t want to put out the money for the desk. Let’s just say we had a little discussion about marionettes and puppets. We totally abandoned the subject, the store sales on desks expired, and the computer components lie in a heap like an unassembled Star Wars droid.

On my way out of the house the following Sunday, I started to think about our four-legged impasse. I hate being a puppet so I put a positive thought out in the world with no strings attached. There must a better way than arguing with your wife over trying to carry out her own dag gone wishes. I told myself that in my travels, a one hour round trip, I would find the right desk to fit our needs.

The first half of the trip was uneventful. On my return trip home, the desk stayed forefront in my mind but I felt like I needed a sign. Driving about 32 mph in a 25 mph residential zone, my neck crooked to eyeball a desk put to the curb. I would like to take this time to apologize for the skid marks I left in the road. I swung the car around to get a better look at its size, condition, color. When you are dealing with my wife, beggars must be choosers. I jumped out of my car and nearly skipped-tootle-loo-my-darling to the desk. Touching the desk, I was pleased to learn that it wasn’t a mirage. It was a student desk within specifications, in perfect condition, and it matched the woodgrain finish of my son’s bedroom furniture.

The way the stars lined up for me caused me both joy and confusion. Surely, this desk was not trash. The lack of wear and tear alone convinced me otherwise. I tempered my glee and rationalized its lone position by the curb. I arrived at a logical explanation and knocked on the front door of the home.

An elderly lady answered the door and she looked more confused than me.

“Good morning.” I greeted. “If you’re setting up for a yard sale, I would like to buy that desk.”

“Yard sale?” the woman mouthed back. “That desk is trash. You can have it.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” I spouted in a dash down the driveway to claim my prize.

After compressing the backseat cushions, I got the desk to fit in the car upside down with about an inch clearance. If I had not just dropped off my daughters, I wouldn’t have had the room to transport the find in the first place. Twenty five minutes later, I carried the desk into the house and placed it in the foyer. My wife could only give it her stamp of approval.

“Sometimes I surprise myself.” I admitted to her.

no assembly required

The Last Word

A strange coincidence occurred while I tweaked the closing sentence of paragraph #15 of my short story Dear Great Grandchildren.

"It seems euphemistically apropos that we now publicly view private life through transparent Microsoft Windows founded by Gates."

In the clang of my peck and paw typing, what do you think happened? I got besieged by a Pop-Up window that relentlessly prompted me to buy a $149.99 registered version of Microsoft Word. It is hilarious to describe the downright nuttiness in writing about what was simultaneously happening to me. Art was imitating life and this was no form of flattery. If there are any probability majors in college reading this, run that irony by your professor. I guarantee you the professor will be reading Freudian Slips every morning with breakfast coffee.

Truth be told, the Pop-Up window did not arrive as an electronic billboard without advance warning. Let me explain how I thought I took care of the problem. My two month old computer came with a 60 day trial software of Microsoft Word 2003 and its expiration occurred at that very second. Now I don't go through life eating sand for a living as an ostrich. A case in point, I had already acquired and installed a stand alone copy of Microsoft Word 2002 to stay ahead of the game. Inexplicably however, my version overrided the permanent version. The only other option to remove the Pop-Up overtop my unfinished work was to hit a kill switch. The detonator icon of the kill switch included a blase warning that some features of Microsoft Word would no longer be available. I reasoned that having most of my 2002 Word product was better than nothing at all. Naturally, I did what any mouse running through a maze would do - I hit cancel to save $149.99.

I returned to my Great Grandchildren essay with one exception. Bill Gates froze not some of the features but the entire document. He was keeping his Word while not keeping his word. I couldn't do a damned thing not even finish the paragraph that acknowledged Microsoft products revolutionizing the world. I was ready to open up my own Windows and scream! I closed out of my unfinished project jeopardizing losing unsaved work. I opened a randomly selected document out of the My Documents folder and the dreaded Pop-Up extortion menu returned. I hit cancel. I opened several dozen of my older text files created under Microsoft Word for Windows 1997. All were locked with the key thrown away. Who can invade your home never through the front door and always through windows? To borrow a line from the Family Feud game show, survey says: Bill Gates.

I am not a conditioned monkey but I got to admit that I reached crisis mode and actually removed my credit card from my wallet. I was fully prepared to buy online the rights for Bill Gates to open the gate and unlock the personal documents on my computer. I took a deep breath then hedged on the impulse purchase. The problem withstanding, I tried in vain to outwit the genius Gates himself. I called the electronics store where I purchased the computer to quiz tech support.

I vented, "Is there any way I could get out of this controlling nightmare cheaper than $149.99?"

"Yeah, you could buy a student version for $69.00."

Seeing my way out of the technological problem, I jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, I'm willing to do that. Do you have any in stock before I take a helicopter to your store?'

"Sure we do but I got to ask you if you have any students in the house?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Two more children and I got them by the half dozen. Is your heliopad on the roof?"

"Not so fast. One of your kids will have to punch in their college identification number to register the product or you will be unable to finish the install process."

"Are you freaking kidding me?" I vented. "None of my kids have even been to a high school prom. Since when is a student college level only?'

"Not my definition." replied the good cop about the bad cop. "Bill Gates runs the show over there at Microsoft."

"You're telling me." I agreed. "Gates is on my computer right now running the show with a Mr. Freeze gun! It's a virus. I type Bill Gates name and his money grabbing Pop-Up screens make me sick to my stomach. That's a license to ill, if you ask me."

Bill Gates always gets the last Word.

To Grandmother's House He Go

This week a six year-old Indiana boy died in a freak automobile accident. Joshua Woods was hit by a plane! On his way to grandmother’s house, Joshua never made it. The rest of his family barely survived after being pinned underneath a Boeing 737 that skid off the runaway at Chicago’s Midway airport and entered a residential area. Crash investigators are still determining the cause but bad weather is thought to have been a factor.

With only two weeks left until Christmas and with snow blanketing the ground, little Joshua was ironically singing along to Santa Claus is Coming to Town when a deaf roar preceeded the fatal impact. Life is a gift and Christmas should be filled with gifts but tis not the season for Joshua. Life can come up short. Because the plane didn't, Joshua's life did. To grandmother’s house he will never go again.

Stiff Competition

Background acting and networking on a movie set are not mutually exclusive of one another. Bear in mind that casting is stiff competition. The thought of networking has yet to occur to me because I barely have a big toe let alone foot in Hollywood’s door. That is why it came as a pleasant surprise when an influential person on the set of Kank, gave me the heads up about a movie slated to be filmed locally then asked me for head shots.

“Head shots?” I rattled alone in the psyche of my head. I immediately flashed back to the same pictorial request in a hilarious episode of HBO’s series Entourage.

Let me back up. When I completed my application for my casting company, I included recent pictures that had my head in them. I have come to learn the importance of industry standard size head shots but I am left scratching my head how microcephalics even get interviews. So I found myself in a Freudian Slips predicament where I needed freaking head shots and pronto.

I have heard of two ways to approach a head shot layout. If you have good features or a distinguished look, give them the head accompanied by a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. If you aren’t GQ material or a former Homecoming queen, there is a school of thought to have fun with your head shots vying for roles left of center.

In my personal search for head shots, I have determined:

a) Thanks to the thankless job as family photographer there are few pictures of myself on the planet.

b) Among the small collection in earthly existence, there truly aren’t many good pictures of yours truly.

c) Forced to study the imperfections of myself, I am unsure whether I would hire myself even part time to stand in front of my last unbroken mirror.

By the looks of it, choices are hard in life. With that being said, I narrowed my portfolio down to one complimentary picture. I solicited input from my loving wife, who wasted no time declaring that I looked a crouton short of a Caesar salad! Warts and all, I went back to the drawing board. In my selection process, I opted to concentrate on who I am rather than appearances. I decided on capturing comedic value. Perhaps, I took the term “head shots” too literally when I picked this pose but there is no denying that I seem to stand out among the stiffs.

If this acting hobby doesn’t pan out, I may consider trying to catch airtime answering the phones for telethons.

From the set of Invincible, Joe Tornatore, putting the heads in head shots.

The Primadonna of Cheeses

This wasn’t the first time my mom turned me onto something cheesy. In her generous way, mom bought me a block of Primadonna cheese. I had never heard of this cheese but mom has been around the block way longer than me.

Joe Tornatore’s kitchen has been experimenting with this robust nutty tasting cheese to everyone’s delight. A cook only cooks food to eat it but a chef cooks food for the passion of the whole experience from preparation to digestion. So I shredded Primadonna cheese into chicken and broccoli rabe wraps. It wasn't just Gouda, it was great! It is easy to work with and by gosh I can cut the cheese with anyone. My real find though was using it as a topping on breaded chicken cutlets. Kids, don’t try this at home without parental supervision. Not only did the topping offer wonderful red and green colors but it woke up the sleeping chicken with panache. As my hungry wife stood looking over my shoulder as I prepared the dish, I couldn’t help but muse that a cheese had been named after her.

Primadonna cheese cannot be found in every deli case but if you look hard enough you will find it. The $16.99 per pound price may set you back unless you fortuitously run into my mother while shopping. If that be your lucky day, then the cheese and the rest of your groceries are free.

I have included the recipe. If you know how to make breaded chicken cutlets, rid yourself of boredom and skip down to the topping portion of the recipe.

ZESTY ITALIAN CHICKEN CUTLETS By Joe Tornatore

1 – 11/2 pounds of chicken cutlets 8 ounces or more of Italian flavored bread crumbs 1 egg ¼ cup or more of vegetable oil ½ clove of minced elephant garlic 2 ounces of Primadonna cheese splash of white wine or cooking wine 2 tablespoons of salted butter ¼ of finely chopped habanera pepper 3-4 leaves of fresh basil

Cut chicken lengthwise into fillet cutlets. Scramble egg and dunk cutlets into batter. Coat battered chicken with Italian flavored bread crumbs. Pour vegetable oil into frying pan on medium heat. Add minced garlic to frying pan. Cook garlic until it sizzles then leave it in the pan. Fry breaded chicken until golden brown on each side. This takes approximately 7 minutes per side depending on thickness of cutlets.

While the chicken is cooking, it is time to prepare the topping. Cut or shave 2 ounces of Primadonna cheese into a mixing bowl. Add splash of white wine, butter, chopped fresh basil, and ¼ teaspoon of habanera pepper to a small mixing bowl. Do not add too much habanera. You can always add more later to taste. Stir.

After the chicken has been cooked, melt the topping ingredients in the microwave for less than a minute. Stop microwaving when all ingredients have melted. It should yield a creamy consistency. Taste. Before it cools and settles, drizzle the medley sauce overtop breaded chicken cutlets.

Serve hot to freeloading guests.

Hindiana Jones

Background actors are rarely selective of their movie roles. So it didn’t take much more than a call from my casting company to my cell phone last Thursday to reel me in.

The foreign movie is KANK, an Indian film starring two of the country’s biggest actors Shah Rukh Khan and Rani Mukherji. The plot focuses on the romance of Jai(Shah Rukh Khan) and Shalini(Rani Mukherji) who are both married to other people. Indian audiences traditionally demand their movies to draw from elements of song and dance. Bollywood, a blend of Bombay and Hollywood, has been infusing the movie industry in India with a departure from tradition.

30th Street train station in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania provided the backdrop for the Grand Central Station set. The movie set had rented an entire rail station but we were not alone. Police on the scene and barricades holding back a frenzy thong were the first indicators that these actors were world renowned. I brushed the early morning sleepies from my eyes and gave my name upon my arrival at the station. About ninety extras waited in a cattle shoot before we were handed an adhesive sticker identifying us as EXTRA, DHARMA PRODUCTIONS. The status allowed us to be herded passed the security checkpoint and unto the set. Now part of the cast in a caste system, could this acting gig be very, very good to me?

Idling in the staging area of the train, I started to ponder what language is spoken in India. A group of extras playing Trivial Pursuit nearby did not make my trivial pursuit a long wait.

“What is the primary language spoken in India?” echoed a Trivial Pursuit reader.

My ears did not deceive me. “Hindi.” was read off the card.

Like rubles in the sky with diamonds, the bi-lingual Hindi and English speaking crew voiced excitement over the forecast for snow while the actors had all they could handle in the cold wintry outdoor shoot. As far as the non-weather related stars, let me say that Shah Rukh Khan and Rani Mukherji are both breathtakingly beautiful and gracious. In fact, the entire film crew was pleasant although difficult at times to understand. When my eyes saw the diminutiveness of the star actors on the movie set, I knew I was going to be huge in India.

On the set, our roles were handed out to us. I played a New York City train passenger. If my role sounds less than glamorous, realize that everyone played a train passenger. The only difference in roles was if you were boarding, disembarking, or stuck on a train for whatever scene being shot. They piped background Indian music in one scene and select extras had to comically dress in blue for the musical number. Since I followed the casting company’s instructions to the letter of the law, I came prepared for a costume change to bright blue. I was rewarded, I think, with a part in the number. Egad, I almost glowed in my winter hat, gloves, and sweatpants. When the crew cruelly added a blue sweatshirt and blue skateboard to my ensemble, it was no surprise that I got ‘Papa Smurf’ catcalls from the other fun loving extras. Twenty four hours earlier my life was status quo but somehow I found myself a blueberry ripe for the picking in a musical number of a foreign film!

While we were filming a scene on the platform of the tracks in regular clothes, Shah Rukh Khan’s jaunt around the concourse with his handsome travel bag reminded me of Hindiana Jones in a complimentary leading man way. Between the roar of the trains and the heavy accent of our instructors, it was reasonable to suggest that we had just finished a single take of many more to come. So we were told to return to our marks and not move. About fifty actors held their exact positions waiting for further instruction. Frozen in time and space, the background actors made it look like the Earth had stood still. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the movement of a man not wearing a KANK crew jacket. The infiltrator actually walked up to the extra playing my wife and I on the set.

“Is this the R5 to Doylestown?” he asked in baritone innocence.

“No. This is a movie set.” answered my pretend wife. After he did an about face, we giggled endlessly as only newlyweds could and that is how the R5 to Doylestown became our wedding song.

I got in some choice scenes with the lead actors so my fate now rests with the mercy of the editing floor. Allow me to set the stage. I had three scenes that I actually had physical contact with the lead actors and let me go on the record by saying that two were not entirely my fault.

Gaffe #1. While my wardrobe changed from a backpack traveler to Smurf skateboarder all of my scenes were filmed on the concourse. The actors moved in between extras on the concourse. Scratch that. The actors moved in between the extras skillful at the moveable furniture role before them. I seemed to Helen Keller it by getting in the way. One scene called for me to walk over power cords, around a bucket that caught melting snow, over a floor track that swung the camera around for a panoramic view, then end with sidestepping the lovers embrace in the middle of the concourse with all of the above accomplished while I stared straight ahead. I moved with fleet footed agility through the obstacle course but my sidestep cut it too close and Rani’s pocketbook swung right into my gut. Thankfully, the camera was positioned on the other side of the action and it obstructed not only the view but my cower too.

Gaffe #2. During this scene, 75 extras approximated the hustle and bustle of a transformed Grand Central Station. Our movements were loosely choreographed. I had to walk a straight line as the leading lady frantically ran to catch the train. I was told to exit right of the set once the moving camera and heroine of our show got close. Shah Rukh was to occupy the spot where I vacated to board the train. Like the pocketbook caper, this too is Oscar material for background actors who usually appear as unrecognizable blurs far away on the screen. I needed my cameo to go off without a hitch. The first take went well. Into our second take, however, I aptly moved to my right without noticing that the debonair Shah Rukh setup in a different entry spot. He was to take my spot on the set not the sidelines. I must have felt like a big linebacker to him because when he bumped into me he muttered, “Aye.” Thankfully, he caught the train because my underwear was starting to feel skid marks on the track. Shah Rukh must not have harbored any hard feelings because he let me hold his lit cigarette between takes.

Gaffe #3. On another take, the gorgeous Rani runs the length of the track searching for someone or something. extras weren’t given the details so I had no clue whether she lost her puppy or way home. As luck would have it, Rani ran right by me clutching unsuspecting Americans. She didn’t touch me on the first take but on the second take she jerked my elbow. I must have looked really surprised as an unsuspecting American but I adopted the Misner school of traditional acting by giving her a bewildered look. Misner might have called me a natural although acting had nothing to do with my primal reaction.

Smurf impersonations and gaffes aside, a funny thing happened on my way to the public restroom on Saturday. As I climbed down the steps leading back to the station, I saw a crowd of salivating fans behind the roped off barricades.

A face in the crowd yelled, “Look, here comes an actor.”

Of course, I turned to look for celebrity but the voice meant the designation for me in the most liberal of terms in cinema history.

“What can you tell us is happening up there?” asked a young female devotee.

“Ugh me? Well, I just had a scene with Rani. She ran passed me and grabbed my arm.” I outstretched my coat. “She touched me right here.” I offered my arm to the crowd. I whipped them into frenzy and they all felt the leather of my coat and eked incredible “Ooohs and Aahs”. Eventually, they even returned my arm to its rightful position in my socket. Since I almost barred dismembership, let’s just say I won’t do that prank again.

I filmed for 21 hours this weekend on this film and the train never left the station. I can’t wait for the release in 2006 to see how they transform this Indian film into a departure.