BACK ON THE FARM
I saw my neighbor, Noman, today. First thing he asked was if I had seen Hudson in New York. Some of you may remember from a few weeks ago that Hudson had requested being on the guest list for the New York show.
I had, in fact, seen Hudson.
During the previous X-Mas holidays Hudson had suddenly taken off to New York, supposedly to become a model. However, Hudson was not big buddies with the truth. When I saw him at the show in New York I was informed that he was now studying to become an actor. Hudson was already considered to be an excellent "actor" by anyone who knew him. Maybe he had found his true calling.
The added complexity was that Hudson had changed his name and was now "Clark." Apparently there were too many "Hudsons" trying to be actors.
"Clark," I said. "Like Superman." Hudson looked at me quizzically. I realized that Superman's secret identity was a better kept secret than I thought.
Hudson, er… Clark, was at the show with two of his friends from NYU. They were documentary film makers who wanted to meet with me. It seemed they were making a film about music people who had decided to escape the urban life and continue their careers in a country environment.
I could easily see that I would be a perfect candidate for such a film, sitting on my porch, iPad in my lap, surveying the farm from my rocking chair. Unlikely.
But that was not the deal. Hudson was aware that Les Claypool was an acquaintance. The film makers had tried to contact Les for the film but had gotten no response. For those who may not know, Les now operates a winery, Claypool Cellars, in addition to heading up Primus. They hoped I would give him a call and persuade him to consider being in the film. Hudson had talked his way into a role if it got funding. To get funding it needed celebrities. My job was to help land a celebrity. Hudson's request for guest list inclusion suddenly made more sense.
I had to remind them that moving to the country was not a promo stunt. Artists who lived in the country cherished privacy. People don't want to be asked to explain why they prefer not to explain things.
Truthfully, I don't know Les well enough to call him anyway. Now if they had asked me to contact Thomas Pynchon, that would have been different.
I had, in fact, seen Hudson.
During the previous X-Mas holidays Hudson had suddenly taken off to New York, supposedly to become a model. However, Hudson was not big buddies with the truth. When I saw him at the show in New York I was informed that he was now studying to become an actor. Hudson was already considered to be an excellent "actor" by anyone who knew him. Maybe he had found his true calling.
The added complexity was that Hudson had changed his name and was now "Clark." Apparently there were too many "Hudsons" trying to be actors.
"Clark," I said. "Like Superman." Hudson looked at me quizzically. I realized that Superman's secret identity was a better kept secret than I thought.
Hudson, er… Clark, was at the show with two of his friends from NYU. They were documentary film makers who wanted to meet with me. It seemed they were making a film about music people who had decided to escape the urban life and continue their careers in a country environment.
I could easily see that I would be a perfect candidate for such a film, sitting on my porch, iPad in my lap, surveying the farm from my rocking chair. Unlikely.
But that was not the deal. Hudson was aware that Les Claypool was an acquaintance. The film makers had tried to contact Les for the film but had gotten no response. For those who may not know, Les now operates a winery, Claypool Cellars, in addition to heading up Primus. They hoped I would give him a call and persuade him to consider being in the film. Hudson had talked his way into a role if it got funding. To get funding it needed celebrities. My job was to help land a celebrity. Hudson's request for guest list inclusion suddenly made more sense.
I had to remind them that moving to the country was not a promo stunt. Artists who lived in the country cherished privacy. People don't want to be asked to explain why they prefer not to explain things.
Truthfully, I don't know Les well enough to call him anyway. Now if they had asked me to contact Thomas Pynchon, that would have been different.