One Too Many Mornings - a new comedy.

I feel like a super tired spy. Most of my days since the announcement have been spent setting up rendezvous and delivering discs filled with information to strangers, and then waiting. Yesterday, I was in Mount Washington looking for a street that sounded like a Turkish brothel. Those of you who know me know that I am constantly getting lost. I can produce a movie, but sometimes I can’t find my way home from the grocery store. The road decided to split into a street and a “CT” (which is still a street, more of a trick street), which then morphed into a entirely differently named street. Of course, it started pouring rain. The inside of my car steamed up. I had to remind myself I was making a movie.

Then my secret mission continued. After going up and down the street for another ten minutes I found the drop off. I parallel parked on the hill, not an easy task. I was two hours early. I call this my buffer time. I know I’ll be on time if I’m an hour early. And you never know with the traffic in Los Angeles. I called my contact. I said, “I’m pretty close, if you want to watch One Too Many Mornings early.” They were available. I confessed that I was parked, right outside. I found myself at the side door ready to meet a stranger, and hand over my proverbial baby. I noticed some garden crocs on the doorsteps. The following thoughts pass thru my head: “Oh, wow – they garden – our movie’s not about gardening – they’re going to HATE it.” The door opens. We partake in small talk—and I go back to being a tired spy. Over-analyzing each word that comes out of their mouth. What does that mean? Do they understand the current market? Do I understand the current market? Is that a South Park poster on the wall? Yes.

The wait: I find a local coffee shop and I setup more secret meetings—just like this. Figuring the time—the place—the stranger. And I remind myself I’m making a movie. I remind myself it has been a dream for many years to make a feature film. I give myself the benefit of the doubt. It might be harder to be a filmmaker than actually being a spy. I look at the girl next to me, whose worried expression is how my face feels. Is she a filmmaker? Maybe? I think of all the tired spies across the country and how loving your movie makes you crazy and paranoid. And I remind myself I’m making a movie. -ad

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