What Do You Get When You Cross A Kid In The Hall With A Person Whose Job It Is To Make Tiny Sounds In Movies?

Give up? A Dave Foley Artist.

Right, okay.

So Sound Class, Wednesday nights. This, after a nine o'clock start in the morning that involves deciphering the intense ranting of a great, ancient, surgically enhanced prof who thinks Doris Day is the shit and then watching a long movie that somehow takes your nine a.m. and turns it into one p.m. before you can say, "wha happen?"

Inevitably, errand-running and stuff takes up the middle part of the day and by the time seven p.m. rolls around, i'm ready to maybe sit quietly by myself somewhere and think or maybe cook or bake something, which is how I've been dealing with stress lately.

But no! Schedule says: go sit in a class and try to learn very techincal information explained in a confusing way while behind the person lecturing you (and the person constantly interrupting to make something even more confusing) is a moniter with a deeply mesmerizing screensaver on it.

Tonight I was so tired that I was flushed, which is how I get when I'm really tired. But tonight, tonight we got to go to the foley room and practice making sounds. It is quite possibly the best comedy in the world watching your classmates and friends from the engineering booth, crouched in front of a bucket with an old shoe and a rock, staring intently at the screen in front of them as they occasionally hit the bucket with the shoe or the shoe with the rock. Or, you know, whacking a bag of sand with a pipe. And concentrating. Con-cen-trat-ing. Like a three-year-old with long-eye.

Screw working with sound on computers, I want a job hitting sand with a stick in the foley room.