My experience with the movie I'm preparing to shoot next weekend has not been especially positive. And things reached a very low point this week. It would be hard to overstate the amount of hard work, endeavour, and - for want of a better phrase ritual energy that I've expended on getting ready for this movie, my most complex yet. Despite all obstacles, though, it seemed like everything was ready to go, until last weekend, when I was forced to entirely recast the movie (for reasons I won't g ). Even then, though, I remained optimistic. But as the last week progressed, and I received only one valid response to my casting notices, my spirits began to sink, and it began to look as if all that effort had been for nothing. I needed two men wh waltz, and I'd only come up with one.

For a whole day or two, I was completely downhearted. I felt almost angry at fate; so much of myself invested in this movie. I could not have made a more earnest effort to make it work, and yet it looked like I was going to be shot down anyway. A as embarrassed too; I might have to tell my crew of eight not to show up, to tell the Treasure Island Authority that I wouldn't need the location after all, to beg the production-insurance company to refund my premium.

More than anything else, I was dissappointed and discouraged about film-making. You're so dependent on other people, few of which have the same level of committment to the project as yourself. If I couldn't make this one work, how could I ever re callly pursue my long-term goal of being a professional film-maker?

There was really only one option left, other than canceling the movie, and this last option was a slim shot at best. I could both direct and perform in the movie. The obvious problem was that I'm not a dancer, have never waltzed before, and, in fa ve at least two left feet if not more. On Wednesday evening, I was pretty much unburdening myself to my therapist, and overall feeling very sad and sorry for myself. And, to be honest, I think my therapist was feeling bad too - a bit guilty, since my nal cast, the cast that I'd had to part ways with, had been reccommended by none other than my therapist.

As it turns out, my therapist can waltz. So in a tale suited to the best annals of do-or-die film-making, she spent a good portion of my session teaching me how to waltz. I have a horrible sense-memory, and came nowhere even close to doing a respe waltz during our session. But I wrote down the precise sequence of movements in my notebook, and practised at home that night. And I've been practising ever since. And you know what, I think it might work! All will become apparent tomorrow when I me co-star. This too is a rather hilarious situation. My co-star thinks that we're meeting tomorrow so that I can audition him. Little does he know that I've already cast him!

Performers on stage during the Castro Street Fair last week. Believe it or not, this is actually milder of the two big street fairs. The previous weekend had been the Folsom Street Fair - hundreds of thousands of people, many in nothing b ther chaps and harnesses. I didn't go to that one, but since I live just up the street from Castro Street, it would have been churlish for me to avoid the Castro Street Fair.

It was very hot during the Castro Street Fair, so even more flesh than normal was on display. I remained firmly ensconced in my t-shirt.

A view of the Castro Street Fair, looking up Castro Street