Warriors of the Wind

I’m lost in a moment and I can’t get out of it—I’m stuck in traffic. Artscape is happening. There’s no one moving and I’m stuck. I’m going to lay an egg—real. Not really, but I’d be in trouble if I was. Instead I’m merely impatient and waiting to get home and listen to Chinese people talk and fight in the adjacent room as Da Boss “gets his rest” and I edit my movie. I mean his movie. Shit. You know Sonny and Cher? We’re not like them: never married, both alive, never had a number one hit. Maybe they didn’t either. Is it worth looking up? No—I’m still stuck in traffic. I could’ve had a baby chick by now. I’m trying to find a new way to get out of this moment that which I can’t get out of. MOOD.

There are more inter titles to apply to the “Time Waits for No One” segment: “THE CROWN,” “CLUB K,” “PRISONER OF THE DESERT,” “MARIJUANA MAKES MY DAY.” That last one gave me pause. Really, Da Boss? I asked him that, I said that to him: “Really? Da Boss?” I was disappointed. But I could tell and smell. “Don’t you smoke every day, too, Monica?” Uh, duh. Qualm? “So why do you have an issue with me smoking?” I told him he should be working on his next script or organizing whatever he’s shooting now (he won’t tell me—says he’s superstitious, I think he’s just being paranoid). I told him he should be working on that new piece of music for the upcoming feature film version of his 2020 short Orange You Glad I Said Banana. He jumped up and paused the Chinese people fighting. “How do you know about that?” We talked about it last night. Remember? “…Right.” He went back to his Shaw Brothers movies. They really do sound kind of fun, though…

I’m not sure you have to be an avid moviegoer or watcher to make a good film editor. Da Boss watches everything and he’s loved all of my work, and so I asked him, Qualm? No, he said, it doesn’t matter—as long as it works out “in the edit,” it’s all good. It doesn’t matter. “Actually, do you know how to operate a camera?” My wing can’t crank fast enough, but I can fit inside of the black curtain behind it if you need a living viewfinder. “…okay…” Da Boss always gets quiet and a little scared whenever I intimate my age, but I think he’s just feeling his. Come on, get over it, I met Elizabeth Bathory, she was perfectly nice to me, why are you still crying? He’s not the only one, to be fair—I’ve lost plenty of jobs due to my advanced age. But all of those years have added up to experience, not decrepitude: I was there, I will be there, and I’m still here.

Da Boss asked how Artscape was. “Wet.” So are you going to finish the titles tonight or tomorrow? “Next week.” Uh… okay… “Stop jumping up and down it’s jostling the hard drives.” I’m going back to watch martial artists kick the shit out of each other. “Cool…”

AH! No. This is Monica, I’m back in control. As long as I’m editing this movie, THIS COLUMN WILL BE IN MY VOICE! I WILL NOT BE QUOTED IN MY OWN PIECE! THE “GHOST-EDITING” IS NOT APPRECIATED, MR. BOSS! I WILL BE SPEAKING TO AND ASSAULTING YOUR MANAGER THIS AFTERNOON.

—Follow Monica Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits