Right now, I am standing freshly showered in a moderately fleabag motel in Mississippi, listening to the rain spatter right outside my door at 3 in the afternoon. I have Quicksilver Messenger Service wheedling away at a slow-mo heroin version of "Who Do You Love" issuing from my laptop.It looks and feels like an Sundance movie, right before the really bad drug deal is about to go down, though I expect the laptop would be traded for a clock radio, upon which Quicksilver Messenger Service would still be playing because everyone knows everything is highly anachronistic in the South at all times*. I would probably have longer hair, be 30 pounds lighter and have a jacket with fringe on it in the movie.
I'd be waiting for a guy named "Chico" instead of my friends that are going to pick me up in a bit to go to a rather posh engagement dinner. That green backpack would be a vintage suitcase, perhaps fashioned from of rattlesnake hide like the brand new house on the road side QMS are moaning about.
OH - I almost forgot the real-life Sundance movie detail - I am in room 13, a subtle omen of the bad drug deal about to go down. Each of the rooms has a heart shaped plaque on the door with the number painted on it, yet mine is mysteriously scraped off, perhaps hellhounds on the trail of a previous tennant of this unlucky room tore it off in a fit of picque while said tennant was getting showered in preparation for his own drug deal/engagement party.
*When music in a film is audible to both the characters and audience, it is referred to as diagetic music. Under the tenets of Dogme 95, it is the only music allowable in films. The viability of such tenets are undercut by Dogme-titst Lars Van Trier making Dancer in the dark, a full bore musical starring Bjork only 5 years after making a name with his vow of cinematic purity
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