Yesterday I got called onto the set for some "spinning cells" shots -- where one gets filmed in different positions without speaking. Shots that may or may not get dropped into the film. So I found myself leaning against the sink in Anselm Hollo and Jane Dalrymple-Hollo's kitchen, with lights and thingies being adjusted all around me (the terminology is great -- C-47s are clothes pins, jokers are shades, the 200 is a kind of lamp, etc.) having the odd experience of pretending to read a book -- a cookbook I had been handed. I read, like most of us do, all the time, so it was really unsettling and not easy to pretend to read. Why didn't I just read? Well, my head needed to move just a bit during the shot -- like I was pouring over something I was interested in (was how I interpreted what I was asked to do). While I was pretending, Ed (Bowes -- the director) kept saying, "good, really good, beautiful..." Which eventually, as I sunk into the thing, had me imagining some ghostly entity standing nearby as I read for real, say, Rebecca Brown's The Terrible Girls, and whispering "good, really good, beautiful..." And how at times its almost like that -- reading I mean: good, really good, beautiful...