The first time is always a little scary

So there's the usual amount of performance anxiety associated with an inaugural post like this; the sort of "shoot, I hope I don't screw this up and look like an idiot in front of everyone" fear that is usually reserved for chainsaw jugglers, game show contestants, and the odd politician.

But then I remember who I'm talking to here, and the fear melts away like Richard Simmons' dignity during a taping of the Late Show with David Letterman. "These guys are my boys," I remind myself, "my homies, they'll understand." (Except I don't really say "homies" in my head. Even I know I can't pull off street talk, even in private.)

And yet, here I am, a full two paragraphs into this, and I still haven't decided what to say. In the absence of anything really substantial, maybe I'll just share the dream I had the other night that has caused me literally minutes' worth of reflection.

I dreamed I was directing Jurassic Park IX: Dinosaurs on Patrol, except in this version it was the dinosaurs who were real, and the humans were CGI. I was on a giant green screen stage, trying to film a scene wherein a T-Rex was to come in and eat a human. The lighting had been set, the stage was quiet, and I yelled "Action!"

The T-Rex came stomping in, right on cue, roaring and snarling and generally causing a ruckus. He stomped over to his mark, opened his mighty jaws, and was about to devour the human, when he suddenly stopped. He leaned back on his scaly haunches and shook his head.

"No, no, no," he said, talking for all the world like Michael Caine. "It's just not working. Can we cut?"

"Cut!" I yelled, and walked over to him. "What's the matter, love?" I asked. (Apparently I was British as well in this dream)

"Well, just look at it," he said, gesturing towards the 'human' he was supposed to eat. "It's not really a human, is it? I mean, it's just a bloody tennis ball on a stick!"

"Of course it is," I nodded. "That's a reference point so we can CGI in the human later."

"That's the real trick, isn't it?" He huffed, attempting to light a cigarette with his tiny, misshapen forearms. "You're not giving me too bloody much to work with here, are you?" He flailed his arms about, indicating the green screen set, and scattering ashes here and there.

"You're supposed to be an actor," I said, "use your imagination."

He turned to the makeup girl, who had appeared to remove the sheen on his forehead. "Use your imagination, he says," he laughed. "Can you believe this?"

The makeup girl wisely kept quiet. The T-Rex turned back to me.

"Look, mate, I've worked with DeNiro AND Pacino, so don't presume to tell ME how to bloody well act!" He grunted angrily and stomped off to his trailer.

I woke up shortly thereafter. I remember feeling angry that he was putting the production behind schedule and possibly over budget. Lord of the thunder lizards, perhaps, but that's no excuse to be a diva, am I right?