We've been working out plot details, trying to get a script out on paper, and there has been a lot of discussion about the focus of the piece and the style of action movies.

Today I was doing my usual reading of the tech and design blog Signal vs. Noise from 37 Signals (also the developers on Backpack, which we use for internal communication at NWA). I found this very interesting little piece that talks about how several film makers go about the same process - with the concept of the MacGuffin - the object everyone is after that drives the action.

check it out.»

Keep it simple - and even vague - but always important. Let the audience fill in the details. I like it.

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Eric's Assigment 1.2.2006 by Michelle and Ben:

plot points for the section you are writing next [we came up with these in last week's rehearsal, remember?]:

we have left off with Daisy’s brit punk band…

next there is:

sudden violence and fighting

a secret rendezvous or two (two would be better)
- during this secret rendezvous or two, “hidden” people (probably harry and daisy) are watching
- this section includes the “17” scene

harry turns out to be a bad guy in a surprise twist
with
more violence and fighting

daisy falls in love
- during bar fight scene, which also includes daisy/bad guy “date” (bad guy is an extra)

an apache dance

clarence brings daisy back to life

this section should also include:

- someone using British accent as code (lift from co/lab)
- someone dies by papercut
- white paint
- a shoe box sighting (not a main focus)
- a boom mike
- an unexpected source of light
- rhyming couplets
- green shoelaces

- And the following pieces:

-----
He takes out his false teeth, picks a piece of lettuce out of them, puts them back in. Looks around furtively.

-----
Getting the biggest Bang for your Buck
Is like
The Biggest Bang for your Buck there is.
I’m all about value, baby.
You are a gem, baby, reasonably flawless
Like a yellow carbuncle bought at a flea market
That turns out to be worth more than 50 dollars.
You are smart, and pretty.
And those are qualities that I like.
Also, you have great fashion sense.

--------
Daisy: That was beautiful.
Bad guy: So. You wanna be my girlfriend?
Daisy: I thought we already established that when I told you I was paying.
Bad guy: Oh. Okay.

-------
A woman passes them, walking quickly. She is wearing a camo hunting jacket, carrying a digital camera, and smoking. She bumps into [someone’s] shoulder.

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by Scott R. Kellogg (Threadless.com)

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What are those crazies at New World Doing? They post rambling blogs that don't really make sense. We can only trust that they're not sitting around, slinging insults at each other, playing with scissors, and eating sunflower seeds.

Rest assured. The script is being worked on. Eric has been writing madly--pulling ideas from the Co/Lab as well as the nether regions of his brain. Right now, the script isn't available for public viewing, but I'm prepared to give you all a look into the current process.

Last week, Michelle, Eric, and I (Emily is still stationed in Minnesota and Adria couldn't make the meeting) assembled at the New World space to come up with an outline for the show. Eric had made a list of crucial events (things like "violence and fighting", "!!daisy escapes!!", "a car crash", etc.). We gave ourselves five minutes to tape all of the events onto the wall. After some frenzied taping and near-collisions, we stood back to admire our work. We talked through the plot that we saw developing on the wall, discovering how the story was moving along the way. No one person knew everythign that was going to happen, but everyone could explain some details (like how your relate "a non-violent victory" to the "buckets of blood" card, and how that fit into the larger plot). This sounds crazy, I know, but it was surprisingly easy to find a defined and interesting plot amid the confusion. After looking at the mess, Michelle wrote a series of rules for Eric and sent him to draft the first section of the script.

Today, Eric, Michelle, and I met again to look over what Eric had written and search through the scripts we received for the Co/Lab and cut out pieces--literally, we attacked them with scissors--of the scripts that we wanted to include in our final show. We then pasted some of the bits we liked into different parts of the rough outline we'd created on the wall last week. The outline grew clearer (or more obnoxiously complicated, if you ask Eric--the one who has to piece it all together). Michelle and I wrote another assignment for Eric and sent him to write the next section of the play by Thursday, when we'll repeat today's process and move along.

This all sounds crazy. It is. And I think it might work (boy, isn't that becoming a mantra in at NWA?).

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I got this off All Music Guide:

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Clarence "13"X: (From Wikipedia)

Clarence 13X, born Clarence Jowars Smith (February 22, 1928–June 13, 1969) in Danville, Virginia, is considered the founder of the Nation of Gods and Earths, and is referred to by members of that group as Allah or The Father.

After serving in the Korean War, Clarence joined the Nation of Islam after learning that his wife had converted to the group. He became a member at Temple Number 7 in Harlem, New York where Malcolm X was a minister. (The 13X indicates that he would have been the 13th person named Clarence to join that temple.)

Clarence would be well-known there for his martial-arts skills, and speaking ability, leading him to become a member of the Fruit of Islam and a student minister. However, he would begin to question the NOI teaching of Wallace Fard Muhammad, who was believed to be Allah. This was on account of the NOI teaching that Allah existed apart from man, while the Nation of Islam lessons clearly stated that the Blackman was God.

Clarence 13x was reprimanded by the Nation of Islam, and he left the organization, changing his name to Allah in 1963. This led him to preach his own version of NOI teachings in the streets of Harlem and, later, other cities, attracting supporters among the youths attracted by his speaking style. Smith used the Nation of Islam's teachings to teach that any man could become God through living a life of righteousness and that people of other races could similarly become civilized people.

In order to spread his message, he devised systems reminiscent of mystical traditions, which he called the Supreme Mathematics, a series of principles attached to the numbers 0–9; and the Supreme Alphabet, a series of principles associated with the letters of the Roman alphabet. In this system, Islam is less a religion than a numerology that can break down ordinary words through linguistic gymnastics.

Clarence 13X was assassinated in a Harlem housing project in 1969. Following the murder, which remains unsolved to this day, any vestige of hierarchy among Five Percenters entirely disappeared, but his teachings were maintained and disseminated by his early students.

Five Percenters teach that the spirit of Clarence 13X, or the Spirit of Allah as they term it, will live on as long as their message is being spread.

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Before doing any espionage or silent tracking, please remember to turn off your cell phone.

*If you've been to the movies recently, you may have seen some of the cute 20 second clips they have created to make people turn off their cell phones. One example is a bunch of penguins rocking out on this iceberg and the song comes to a big climax, there's a grand pause, and ... someone's cell phone rings and all the penguins get pissed off. I think this only works because people like penguins. Nevertheless, we could do something like this: Ben is doing something evil onstage. Michelle is following him, perhaps about to deal a fatal blow when: HER CELL PHONE RINGS. Ben turns around and captures her! AH! Lesson learned. We could do this before Lysistrata performances for advertisement/turn off your cell phone reminders.

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Look. Okay. But you have to promise not to tell Pickles. Things might become awkward.

Clarence knew Pickles. Well, they had Bio together. They sat a couple people apart every day. Clarence was following Pickles. Not following. Just watching. Oh, not watching, that sounds creepy. She was looking at him-- for a second, you know. She was in the Brew. He was there too. On the couch behind her. She kept sneaking her head around, pretending to look for someone coming through the door. He was sitting next to some skinny slut and they were discussing something. She didn't know. They had a plan. It sounded ... devious. They were going to steal something. A box. A shoebox. Clarence thought they were going to steal shoes. She doesn't approve of stealing. But she realized that Pickles had needed knew shoes for months now, his old ones were practically worn through on the side and-- oh god. She had it bad. She didn't know what to do. So she

grabbed her purse and went down the street to the shoe store. She wandered up and down aisles, moping and sighing. A salesman asked her if he could get her a pair of shoes. She said, "Yes. Those red ones. Size 7 1/2." But before he came back, she had seen a pair of green shoelaces. Pickles had green shoelaces. She could buy them and then start up a conversation: "hey, i see we have matching shoelaces." She knew it was a sign. But as she reached her hand out for them, her brain realized her purse only contained 83 cents. She had spent 2. 49 cents at the Brew on her large Italian soda. And the shoelaces were 1. 99. Damn. Her fingers, however, had not made this realization. They closed around the shoelaces and stuffed them into her coat. Her feet pushed her down the aisle and out the door before her morals could protest. She was out. She was free. She had the key to Pickles' heart.

Clarence had been too scared to wear the shoelaces, lest Pickles notice and then realize that she had it bad for him. However, she cut one short and tied it around her wrist and pushed it up under her long sleeves. No one even dreamed she hid a green shoelace sign of love on that dreadful day when she followed Pickles to that abandoned building. She just wanted to see if he was meeting that girl again. Then she would go away. She wondered that Pickles had never noticed her follow him all these times-- then again, she was extremely adept at disguise. She had an almost magical skill at not being seen. She noticed that Pickles was disappearing up a staircase she had never seen before on a street she had never been on before. She didn't know what to do except what she had been doing. She went up the staircase. She saw Pickles in one room, but it was too small for the both of them (he'd definitely notice her) so she went on to another. In the room was a small bed, on top of which was a shoebox tied with green shoe laces. She knew it was meant for Pickles. She should hide. She should run away and pretend
she'd never been there. She should tell Pickles it was in here. Oh, What was in the shoebox? What was Pickles so desperately after? She grabbed it and moved to take off the laces. She heard Pickles move down the hallway toward the room. She ducked under the bed with the box and saw Pickles' worn-through shoes enter the room and shuffle around. He muttered something about, "Never dependable," and he was gone. She was stunned. What had she done?

She spent 3 hours that night debating whether or not to open the box. When the cops asked her what she had been doing all night at her house, she said, "Studying for my Bio exam." They asked if anyone could confirm her alibi. "Um... no, I don't think so." No one believed her alibi the next day when they found out she failed her Bio exam.

And, yes: She peeked in the box.

And, finally: no that wasn't spinach. She's allergic. Deathly allergic.

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