The Inevitable Nervous Breakdown

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standin' here outside your door, I hate to wake you up to say goodbye. But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn. The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn. Already I'm so lonesome I could die. So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you'll wait for me. Hold me like you'll never let me go...oh oops. That's a John Denver song! Sometimes I get my life confused with lyrics from 70's folk singers.

I guess it does make a little sense. Except my bags aren't quite packed yet and I'm not taking a taxi or leaving on a jet plane. More like the Chinatown Express. But the sentiment is the same. Ah, John Denver. You spoke for us all when you sang those words. I'm getting ready to make the long journey north. I haven't even left yet and already I'm so lonesome I could die. All right! Enough folk singers!

But seriously, folks. I am pretty nervous. I'm going to be up there New Year's Eve and I just got finished watching "When Harry Met Sally" and envisioning myself strolling the streets of New York trying to pretend I'm happy to catch up on my window shopping...alone...on New Year's Eve. And I'm wondering where my Sally comes in. When do I meet the friend that can save me from eternal lonliness in the city that never sleeps. It takes me a long time to get comfortable in a city and this time I don't have the safety net of school or friends to help me. I mean, I have a few friends but no one very close. And they're just guys. I don't know where I'm going to meet people who will want to be my friends. I feel like a kid on the first day at a new school. And it's worse than that! At least at a new school all the kids are eager to find out who you are, where you came from. You have a modicrum of mystery hanging about you. In New York no one's going to care that you're new to town. New people arrive fresh off the boat every ten seconds. I feel like I just might be the brunt of some horrible newbie practical joke; like in every movie I've ever seen when a small town girl comes to the big city to make it and instead gets kicked around by fate. Of course in those she always maintains her sense of hope and optimism and some how it all works out for her. I don't expect to be so lucky. I mean, luck can only carry me so far. I've been very lucky up until now. I've gotten a job and a place to live without even lifting a finger. I got an internship with only your average amount of input. (okay, I did have the trip from hell getting to the interview but that's only part of the comedic exposition. It's not the actual obstacle I've got to overcome. It never is.)

And so I'm left wondering if this all came just a little too easily. Will I really be given the chance of a lifetime and end up with the penthouse, the dream job and the boy after learning a valuable life lesson about the good that comes from hard work, creativity and a little hope? Or will this end like The Jungle, where he faces one hideous, life crushing blow after another but has to survive. And what about the friends? When do I make those?

The End of an Era

I think I lost a friend today. My best friend of eight years and I have decided to seperate. We've practically been a lesbian couple in the last year or so. She accompanied me to IKEA, helped me put furniture together, found me jobs and counseled me through countless family issues. She's been the first person I've called when I got a job, quit a job, did something stupid, did something smart, broke up with a guy, slept with a guy, got in a fight or saw a new movie. She brought me flowers, little gifts, crossaints, made me tea, brought me sugar.
We dared each other to do ridiculous things in the name of entertainment, helped each other up when we fell, took revenge on stupid fat cows and hated the same people. For eight years she has been the most loyal friend I could imagine. She wanted to chase my ex boyfriend down the street when he pretended he didn't recognize me. I pulled her off stage when Jean Marie caused her to fall down. She cheered me up when my family and my life was falling to peices. I drove with her to Pittsburgh to meet and then end the love of her life. (Certainly not the last.) I have admired her sense of fashion, taste in music, daring and playfulness since I met her. She's the one who regaled us with stories of her European friends on French nude beaches and museum openings with famous people. She is the one responsible for my job at the Kennedy Center and subsequently my job with the Super Bowl. I owe her so much. Without her I would not be the person I am today. She opened my eyes to a world that I would not have known without her curiousity, aesthetic and kindness.
Despite our problems I always thought we'd be in for the long haul together. I imagined us sitting on a patio with our kids playing in the yard, laughing over a cup of tea about our crazy youth. Instead I think we've come to a parting in our paths. I'm moving up to New York soon and she will be coming up shortly after but New York is like a river. You never step in the same place twice. My New York experience will be different than hers, and that will only seperate us further over time if we don't share the journey.

I've been afraid of this parting for some time. I knew we were both contemplating a seperation after our disasterous trip in New York. Part of me is glad. I will finally get out from under her stylish shadow. She's been like a big sister to me and as much as I've envied her I feel like it's time to step out on my own. It's time to make friends with people not through her. All of our coolest friends have been met through her friendly advances. They're hers and I'm just lucky enough to tag along. I'm ready to quit that. I'm also ready to develop my own style without her help. She's usually right but sometimes I feel like I can't make a decision on my own without discussing it with her first. I don't feel like a complete person when I can't make up my own mind. I feel like a leech. I can start fresh in a new city with new possibilities.

But at the same time I can't believe I'm going to be losing that friend who knows me so well she can guess what my move will be and the person I know so well I can anticipate when she's going to tell that story about us on the train to Amsterdam. Or any other story. I can tell what she's thinking so often and know how she'll react to something so often that sometimes I stop myself from speaking because I don't want to hear her reaction. I know when she's feeling uncomfortable in a situation or when something reminds her of an unpleasant memory. It really is like an old marriage sometimes.

And sometimes I don't know what she's thinking at all. Sometimes when I'm being my most honest she surprises me with a reaction I had hoped we had moved past. That's when it gets me, when she's been offended by something I've said and I haven't even realized it because I thought we were on the same page. I think that's why we need this seperation. Because sometimes she can't see when she is being stubborn and hurtful, and when her pride is getting in the way. And because I don't stand up to her and say what I think. And because she gets hurt so easily by things I don't realize I've said or done. I can't take such prideful sensitivity any more. I'm tired of tiptoeing around. I'm tired of not saying what I think because it might hurt her or that we might disagree. I don't feel strong enough to withstand her reaction when I disagree.

I know this is one sided. I can't see both sides anymore. I'm tired of doubling back on myself to make sure she doesn't disagree with my thoughts. I'm too hurt by what she has said to me and by what this separation means. I'm ready though to explore what the world is like without her.

Maybe some where in the future we will come across each other and begin our friendship again. Start fresh. I'm not good at giving up both hope and a friend in the same night.

Updates

The Kennedy Center Honors didn't stop when I quit writing. After what seemed like hours I got to go down to the gala. I had been packing boxes and pulling up taped wires and contemplating rebellion and why I shouldn't be forced to do what I was doing, I was the receptionist for God's sake! Not a bloody PA. Although I was, sort of. I just didn't want to be one then. I wanted to go mingle with Washington's finest. Finally my boss let me go and I ran so fast I almost tripped on my wedges. I wasn't going to risk him calling me back. I got some drinks and hung out with the production crew who ended up shutting down the place at the free bar. Trust a TV crew to find free booze and not let go. We "mingled" a little, if you can call it that. The foyer was so jam packed with tables that no body was sitting at and no place to walk through that it was pointless trying to get to the honorees. Besides, all the good famous people were already gone. I wanted to see Dolly or Steven or Tom. Not even Josh was left around. Disappointing, since Sam, Aja and I had hatched a plan to get Josh to come hang out with us, younger people. I did say a shy, five-year-old's hi to Aretha Franklin who was sitting down fanning herself at a table that we inched past. I think she said hi back and I didn't know what else to say. Cee Lo from Gnarls Barkley said I was sexy as I passed him. I said thank you. He was definitely on something. But I did look sexy.

Anyway, that was basically the end of it. I came in on Monday and helped the Production Coordinators finish boxing things up and waited for the vendors to come remove what we had rented from them. Soon it looked like a dance studio again. It was hard to believe what once went on here. It would have been sad if I hadn't been so exhausted. I went home and straight to bed. I wasn't doing Christmas in Washington like most everybody else and I had an interview in New York on Wednesday. I would have liked to have written about the day before it and my nervous trip up to New York, getting lost in Maryland as I tried to take Route 1 all the way and avoid boring highways and ridiculous tolls but I was too busy doing it. So I'll just relate to you the outcome. I had my interview at Tribeca Productions and looked at places to live with Aja. It was exhausting and not very productive. We came back defeated and irritated. We're going to look for seperate places.
On Friday, the day after we returned I got a call from someone in New York. I didn't know what it could be. I thought it was a rental person returning our calls. It turned out to be a job offer from a company who would be filming the Super Bowl. They had gotten my name from a lady I had worked with at the KCH and wanted to know if I would like to be their office PA in New York while they were in Miami. It would be a five week gig. I was dumbstruck. I had no idea this lady would have been so kind as to has passed on my information. It was one of the sweetest, surprising gestures I have ever received. (Except maybe for the person who paid my toll on the Pennsylvania Tollpike because I had no cash left. Thank you. ) I told them I would love the job after thinking about it for a minute but that I was waiting to hear back about something else so I wasn't certain wether I could or not. She said she would write my name down as though I was, just in case.
Now I have a bit of a delimma because I got a call from Tribeca last night saying they did want me as an intern. Great news lately, right? Then why do I feel so confused? I'm worried because I've got a paying job in a field related to the one I want and a non paying learning experience in the field I do want to be in. If I take the paid job will I forfeit the chance to work at Tribeca? Will this set me up for more television jobs when what I want to do is film? And is the Tribeca internship even what I really need to get where I want to be? Will they be kind enough to let me work around this schedule? Now that I'm writing this I feel like a complete jerk. How many people would like to be in my position right now? I have a paying job in a very cool city, one that I didn't have to lift a finger to get and an internship with a very prestigious film company. I'm going to quit complaining.

Cinderella at Someone Else's Ball

It feels like a grown up version of prom here tonight. Everyone is dressed up in their very best. The men in tuxedos and the women in elegant (black) dresses. I was not told about the "black" dress and so I wore the only dress I could find in my closet last night at 9:45 p.m. It's baby powder blue and one side is "ruched" meaning it is sort of gathered on the side. I altered a more boring version of the dress to make this one. I have on my cream colored 'sculpture' wedges. I look pretty good and I feel even better. Everyone has been admiring my dress.
I just went down to the stage for the Andrew Lloyd Webber segment. I wanted to be down there when Josh Groban got off stage. And to see him sing. I don't really love his songs. I wouldn't buy a CD and listen to it all the way through. But I love his voice. And Sam and I have a bit of a crush. I also have a bit of a crush on Sarah Brightman. When he came off he stood right by me and it was hard to breath. And then, after everyone went on to take their bows and came back off I got to see Betty Buckley and him and Liam Neeson. Wow. Liam. He looks pretty normal in real life. I would have just passed him by. He stood there looking a little lost. As I walked back towards the elevators, ending my magical moment back stage I passed by Shania Twain who my mom would like me to have pestered. I refrained because she looked a little orange. And dried out. And because I'd like to keep my dignity, even if my mom doesn't care.
I came back down when I had another moment and stood steps away from Reba who I think is totally cool. And she lived up to that. And Reese who is so tiny in real life. She was so delicate and sweet looking. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I take back ever thinking she looked weird and that Ryan was the better looking of the two.
And now I'm back in the office, packing up supplies and regretting my wedges. But it was all worth it for those ten minutes backstage.
And watching Jessica Simpson dig herself into a bigger hole of embarassment. She messed up somethingg during her song, 9 to 5 and started holding her stomach. I thought for a minute her top had fallen down but now I think it's just a nervous stomach. At the end she aplogized for being so nervous and nervously skipped off the stage like a five year old. What a dumbass. When she came off stage, one of the PAs told me just now she goes "FUCK" and started crying and runs off. Reese had to hold her hand during the bows. Iloveherevenmore!!
This event makes me want even more to be a success. I want, not to be on stage, but to do something. I don't want to do any more award shows. I want to be at the award shows. Even if I'm not winning or being honored. I just want to be a part. Not just the receptionist. I need to be somewhere. Will the way I've begun help me get anywhere? But I feel so ordinary. All these other people had such beginnings. I feel as though I'm completely ordinary. As if no one has ever noticed me in a way that might lead someone to think I had such potential. Or any potential for that matter. I think I might have a wee touch of jealousy and depression soon. I don't want to be the person who is helping the creative people acheive their goals. I want to be the creative person. I want to be part of a really great team. I want to be recognize, in any arena, for my creativity. Do I have enough stories to tell and enough drive to do it?

Oh, and by the way, Josh is the nicest person imaginable. It doesn't help my crush any.

I can't tell you what day it is or what hotel I'm staying at but there are two trees involved

Last night I went over to Kramerbooks to get some reading material. I was staying at the Doubletree with Samantha, the director's assistant as I had to be back in the office at 7 am. The Doubletree is a few blocks away from the Kennedy Center and that means my commute is much less than the hour it usually takes.
I wanted to get back to my room by ten if I could, which meant I had thirty minutes to park, pick out a book, pay for it and then get back to the hotel by Foggy Bottom. I drove around Dupont about ten times, like a crazy person who does the exact same thing and expects a different outcome. There were young professionals out everywhere. There were groups of them walking and laughing down the street. Some of them were dressed up. Some hurried along with their cellphone pressed to their ears. I couldn't figure out why there were so many people out. Were they all coming from work? Why were they here and making my trip more difficult? Then I finally realized today was Friday and these people were going out. It's pretty depressing when you forget it's the weekend and you can count on one hand how many times you have been outside or seen your family. It's even more depressing when you realize your weekend will also be spent indoors, in the same room you have been in for the past three weeks. It only slightly seems like a light at the end of the tunnel when you realize this job will be done on Monday. I like these people. I like working on this show but I'm ready to be done. And then, without a pause I go up to New York, which I think will be fun but will also be nerve wracking and exhausting.

p.s. Sorry about the post from earlier. it was a late night. Something that the cleanliness and comfort of the Doubletree took care of. I love down beds. I'm a new person.

12 hours and counting

I got here at 7:48 am. It is now 7:48 pm. I have been outside once. It was beautiful. Windy and wet but warm and the sky was full of clouds backlit with silver sunlight. It was my absolute favorite weather of all time. I saw it for two minutes. I wanted to run through the streets and sing joyfully. Instead I headed back into the recesses of the Kennedy Center. I need help. Please, help me. I can't do it anymore. I'm about to throw up. I want out. I give up. I give up. I don't want. I want I want I want. Sleep Sleep. No more white walled purgatory. Last night I dreamed about the phones. I DREAMED ABOUT DROPPING CALLS. This is not normal. I can't. I'm going to go puke in the bathroom. Goodbye.

Oh! The Agony! And the Pleasure

The telephone rings.
The phone lights up. An icon blinks insistently.
The elderly volunteer faulters. Her finger hovers over the phone, the earpiece clutched in her hand. She looks at me hestitantly.
"Go ahead." I say. "Press the button next to the line. The one with the phone icon."
She presses it and whispers, "Hello. Kennedy Center Honors."
Again she looks at me.
"Bill Urban? Yes. One moment please." She places one hand over the recceiver and in a stifled, stage whisper she asks, "Where is Bill Urban?"
"He's at his desk," I patiently answer, "Extension 8-9-0-1." I say slowly for the fifth time this morning. She presses the numbers slowly and then I remind her, "Hit the 'transfer' button again. There you go." She smiles, pleased with herself. The other volunteer looks confused when the phone call going to Bill seems to be a new call coming in. "Don't worry. Remember, it sounds as if it's ringing here?" 'Oh yeah.' She breaths a sigh of relief. 'Dodged that bullet again!' she thinks.
And then we wait for it to start all over again.

This isn't a description of all the volunteers I supervise but a select few who have distinguished themselves by being spectacularly inadequate at a modern convienence known as the telephone.
Some of my volunteers are intelligent, elegant women retired and contributing to the performing arts. Some are working women who take time out of their busy schedule to contribute their valuable time to this place and some are just incompetent. And then there are different levels. Some women take a little longer than others to catch on and some get nervous at first. For some it's like babysitting.

So the list of the talent that will be here includes Reese Witherspoon, Jessica Simpson, Alison Krauss, Aretha Franklin, Cee-Lo, India.Arie, Johnny Lang, Shania Twain, Vince Gill, Liam Neeson (accompanied by his lovely wife, Natasha Richardson) Tom Hanks (and his wife?) Josh Groban, Itzak Perlman and a bunch of Broadway people that sing and dance and I don't really care about. I need to find out where Rehearsal Room #1 is so that I can ask Jessica Simpson if she'd like a Tuna Salad or Chicken Salad sandwich. And to walk past casually when Josh Groban is there and melt into a puddle outside the door when I hear his voice. I don't like his songs all that much but he could just sing arias and I'd put out. (kidding. kidding. Or am I?)
I stole the rider to find out what everyone was demanding. Apparently we have some pretty reasonable guests because the only person who has anything other than the usual tea, coffee, water service is Shania Twain and all she asked for was assorted, easy to find vegetables and fruit and juices and some knifes and a cutting board. No bottles of Cristal, No organic foods, Not even a beer! You would think Jessica would at least ask for a massuese! But she does have her hairstylist Ken Payes. Maybe that's her big request.

Aja has been running around here like she's about to get the firing squad if she makes one wrong move. And I guess she is. She's working for Louis J. Horvitz. The director of the Oscars and Emmys. She's his PA working with his personal assistant, Sam. When Aja met Sam she told Aja 'Everything you've heard about Lou is probably true.' and then proceeded to give Aja a very specific list of what kind of ginger ale and orange cream soda to buy and what time exactly to be at his hotel door..


**NEWSFLASH!!** I just talked to REESE WHITHERSPOON!! She sounded sweet and said thank you. Ahhhh. I can't quit breathe and my heart is racing and I have a dopey smile. I'm never going to be able to be blase about meeting famous people. Not ever.

Working for Bob De Niro (maybe)

I just got an email from a Jesse Liotta (any relation to Ray?) who works for Tribeca Productions. That's Tribeca as in Robert De Niro's production company in New York. I'm going in for an interview on Dec. 6 for an internship position. Shit. This is big stuff. Me, a possible intern for a company like that? It's not just a dream either because I have the email in my inbox. And a cell phone number.
Just for some of you who don't spend half their time on IMDB some of Tribeca's films include: Meet the Parents, Wag the Dog, Marvin's Room, About a Boy, Stage Beauty, the new movie the Good Shepherd and Rent (unfortunately). They aren't just some fledgling company in Gaithersburg trying to start a company from nothing and getting bogged down under the likes of Shylock. This isn't a place where interns pretend to be publicists and casting directors. This place has actually made a movie. More than one! And ones that have made money. Some of which are even very good.
That feeling I used to get in the pit of my stomach at Leon, where I was afraid we would fail so dramatically and that no one would return our calls because they knew we were such fakers is gone. I don't know what it will be replaced with but I hope it's good.
As long as no one plays the RENT soundtrack in the halls I'll be happy. If they ask me about some of their movies I'll just pretend I didn't see that one. Becausee if they ask me if I liked it I won't be able to keep the grimace off my face. But then, again, if I tell them I didn't see it I might end up like Elaine in Seinfeld. They might insist I see it immediately and then I'll have an outburst and tell them I hated it and I won't get the job. Sigh. Delimma!

The Kennedy Center Honors

I'm working in the production office of the Kennedy Center Honors show. The room we are working from is a ballet rehearsal room. A long table cuts through the center of the room. Partitions separate the script area from the talent and production. On the other side sit the production and travel coordinators. I sit in the center. Right now it is sparse and quiet but soon it will grow loud and busy. I will be spinning through it madly. Or so I'm told. I am a PA or a glorified receptionist. I have two volunteer women working for me in shifts. I get to boss them around. They answer the phones and to me. They ask me if they can go to the bathroom and I look confused. They're twice my age, or more and I'm telling them what I need done. It's very odd. Having power is not something I'm ready for. Especially in this field. I hardly know what I'm doing myself. But there are perks. Like yesterday:
As I walked out of the bathroom I heard the sounds of horns and the clash of a cymbal. If I hadn't been in the basement of the Kennedy Center I would have thought the Apocolpyse was upon me. Instead I wondered if this was the music they pipe in to make us feel more artistic, seeing as we're working in a performing arts center. Where was it coming from?
I took a left and followed my ears. Down a corridor was an open door. What words could be more exciting? Down a corridor was an open door. Beautiful music was pouring out. Things are going to happen...
Music billowed out of the room and through a crack in the door I could see a man seated in front of a black music stand. he had a trumpet in his hands. I didn't venture any further, not wanting to disturb anyone, wanting to keep this secret for me.
That is what working at the Kennedy Center is for me. A secret to explore. It is the first building in Washington I loved. Coming across the Roosevelt Bridge and seeing it, white in the light and its golden pillars gleaming still gives me a thrill. To be working inn the recesses of it is like a childhood daydream come true. It is like peeking under the skirt of the queen. The building is so elegant on the outside and always busy underneath. This is part of the reason why I want to be involved in this business, to peek behind and be part of all the effort and to see what goes into the glamour of it, to see the rehearsals and hear the music erupt from people who are doing something as simple as practising.

Ch-Ch-Changes. (Is the worst Bowie song ever.)

The only thing that could make this day lazier is if I had smoked a big fat blunt.
The only two constructive things I have done all day are: 1) Put my new registration stickers on my car and 2) almost complete a crossword puzzle. And listing that as something constructive is really stretching it (incidently, who is the former netman, Nastase?).
And I did agree to work as the Assistant to the Production Coordinator for the Kennedy Awards. That was productive. Although all I really did was call them back. Aja recommended me and gave them my number.
See, that's why I'm moving up to New York with her. Because she finds me jobs. I don't have to actually do any work.
For the past week I've been trying to build up my confidence to cold-call some production companies in New York and find out about some internships with them. It seems like a fairly easy task but it's one I've been putting off for days. Why? I don't know. I certainly want to work with them and I certainly don't have any other options coming out of the woodwork calling me up. I guess I'm just nervous that they'll be mean and unhelpful. But then, I think, how mean can they be to me over the phone? What can they really do to me? Other than not give me an internship, not much! So I think that and then I don't do anything about it. Well, enough! I am going to do something about it! Tomorrow...Seriously.

Yesterday I got my hair cut in Dupont by my friend Jackie. It's much shorter and darker than it has been for a while. I like it. It has bangs and is shaggy and cute. It even has this cool, tomboy look about it and it's pretty impossible not to look cool in it. Before my appointment I walked around Dupont for a little while soaking up the rainy, cool but not cold fall in D.C. I wanted to keep this memory of it saved in my mind. When I was driving across the Roosevelt Bridge and looking at the Jefferson Memorial and the Kennedy Center on my left I couldn't belive I was actually, willingly giving this up. I love this city. One of my absolute favorite moments is coming around the curve on the bridge and seeing the Kennedy Center appear. I get such a rush from it. And then, farther along, the Watergate building and beyond that, Georgetown's cathedrals.
I'm excited about the changes that New York will bring and the fact that I will be living on my own and hopefully working on films and living my dream, but I can't believe I won't be seeing this on a regular basis. It makes my heart hurt a little to think that these familiar, strange streets aren't going to be the ones I call home anymore. I won't see the chess players in Dupont or the steam rising from the underground vents at the corner of Constitution and 15th in the lamplight, against that formal building. I won't see the familiar, Neoclassical buildings anymore or the rundown edges along the Capital building.
Every move affects me like this. When I moved from North Carolina I couldn't imagine that I would care at all about this grimy, fast paced city but now I've come to embrace the idiocy that makes up Washington wholeheartedly. It's an insane place with incongruities and strange juxtapositions. It's a place where change happens constantly and yet, not at all. Despire all its faults and streets that make no sense I love it and I hope one day when I return it will love me too.

New York, New York. It's a Hell of a Town

I'm getting tres excited about moving up to New York. I'm checking craigslist and checking it twice. Aja and I have met up with Greg and deemed him an excellent future roommate. He's a hairstylist and will begin working in Frederic Fekkai's 5th Ave hair salon on November 1. He's a really nice, cool guy and we're lucky to have him. He's going to be looking for places up there while Aja and I look for places from down here. We're hoping for Park Slope, Brooklyn. I hear good things about it and I don't think I could really live in Manhattan. It would get exhausting, not to mention expensive.
So for that reason, at the same time I'm getting a little nervous about money. Or my lack of it. I've got some saved up and I'm adding to it often, but I won't have as much as I'd like. And I think it's making Aja antsy. She's been asking me about it and I don't know what to tell her, that I'll risk being broke and working two jobs in order to move up there? I don't think she understands how much I am determined to at least give this a shot. And I also don't think I realize how much New York could eat me alive. Or, well, I do. I just don't want to think about it. Because if I think about it too much I'll never have the nerve to actually do it. And I have to do it.
I have to throw myself off that cliff so that I can find out who I become in midfall. If that metaphor makes any sense to you. I have to take this chance and I don't want to take her down with me but I will do whatever I have to to try.
I'm really conflicted though. I don't know where to start looking. I don't know if I should just hope for some random PA jobs and work my way up to the movies that I want to work on or if I should intern in a production company for a while. I don't really want to do that if it will be at all like my last glorious experience. But that might be the best way to get into the work I want. I'm learning about some internships with companies I like and I'm researching restaurants in the meantime. I just don't know where I'll end up. At times that is exciting and at times it makes me want to throw up. But isn't that how you know you're really living? At least that's how I know. The throw-up taste in the back of my mouth.

Thank God for Friends

Tonight as I looked around the booth at my friends I realized how much I enjoy my life right now. I’m definitely looking toward the future but I’m also appreciating the present more than I ever have these days.
It was one of the first times I’ve gone to McCormick & Schmick’s bar and throughly enjoyed myself. When Aja, Sofia and I got there we were soon joined by Mark who had just gotten off work at M&S across the street. We got our drinks and had our laughs at dumb stuff Mark said. My old manager, Erica, stopped by and we giggled over a drunken night we’d had ages ago. She remembers it pleasantly because she is now dating the guy she ended up with. I barely remember my guy’s name but I didn’t want to tell her how unfun it had been for me.
Paul dropped by out of nowhere and squashed into the booth and then disappeared and reappeared clutching a cognac. He expertly rolled a cigarette and launched into South Park’s “The Passion of the Jew,” which had us rolling. Patrick from the bar gave me a wave and Sofia asked how long I had worked here. “A couple of months.” I replied. When we left John, the flaming waiter from M&S gave me a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “When are you going to come back to M&S?” John asked. “Never.” I thought to myself. “I’d have to spend too much time with this fucker.” I joked, pointing to Mark. Patrick gave me another wave as we headed out the door.
I’ve never really loved Reston and I’m ready to move out of here; but lately it has been much more fun. It definitely helps that I can drink now and it also helps that I’ve worked in Reston my whole life. And as much as I hated the time I spent in McCormick & Shits I now have a bunch of people that greet me whenever I go by. And I have a group of friends who make going there fun. My friends Aja and Sofia definitely make the experience of crappy suburban bars more enjoyable.
I’m trying not to think too much about the future. I want to live my life now, not later. But I couldn’t help hoping that Aja and I will find in New York what we’ve only recently found here—friends who make dingy bars and cheap beer fun and interesting. It’s like the college group I never found at Mason. We can have a big laugh together and hang out later and see the same people over and over but because we’re together it’s more fun. I never found it at Mason or at Tower. I never found it at Expulsion and I envied it at Shepherd. But now I’ve finally started to find my group. Some of them are moving up to New York thankfully. I don’t want to lose it completely as soon as I’ve found it.
They say the twenties are the best years of your life. Or something like that. I don’t want to be in my twenties forever but I am definitely enjoying them while they last. Late nights, shitty jobs, cheap beer and good friends.

A Day in the Life of the Unemployed

I woke up early to my cellphone ringing. Instantly the lion I had been talking to was replaced with a tangled seafoam green duvet. I couldn’t get my cell phone open and accidently hung up on Aja. After a few more attempts we reached each other. My voice was groggy to her vibrant one.
“Yoga this morning?”
“Yeah. Fine. Okay.”
“I’ll be there in a few.”
I sank back down into the pillow, anxious to find the lion again and reassure his sad, elegant face that I wasn’t giving him away. The alarm on my phone went off and I resigned myself to waking up.
Julia was already gone when I went into her room. I thought she might be late for work but it seems she woke up and got dressed so silently I didn’t even hear the usual hairdryer that rips me from sleep with its angry whirrs. The shoes we bought yesterday to share for work were in the middle of the floor in the hallway. I tripped over them and wondered why she didn’t bother wearing them. It was a mystery that I wanted answers to but one that couldn’t be solved at such an early hour. My brain isn’t into cognitive thinking at that hour. I got dressed in some clothes I stole from Julia’s room, finding my old powder blue sports bra on the floor, some mesh black pants in her closet and a long, bright green tank. I admired my color scheme as I pulled the green tank top over my head and it came to rest on the blue bra. A crescent of the bra showed and complimented the green tank. I always work out better if I know I’m well dressed.
I stood outside eating a plum, and as the juices ran down my fingers I called Aja to tell her I’d meet her at the gym and afterwards we could take my car to get an oil change. For the past couple of days the oil light blinked on at every sharp turn. Low oil gets me nervous. I destroyed my first car like that.
At yoga I took my place beside Aja on my mat and focused on my breathing as we went through the motions. I always forget to breath consistently and end up with a headache. The yoga room is a large studio on the top floor of the Y and it has a wall of windows that looks out onto the parking lot and across the street to the Target. I watched the cars drive past, and the people in the Target lot, and felt superior to them because I was doing something good for my health and my spirit, while they were polluting the air and consuming cheap commercial goods. The view is great for thinking like that. I could hear the aerobics class in the next room and the instructor barking out her chipper orders. I felt better than them too. They were just getting a cardio work out. I was concentrating on my breathing and slow movement to relax and strengthen my body. This wasn’t just about losing weight. It was about losing the tension of daily life too.
I wondered about the moves as we eased into them. I wondered if yogis really had stood with one foot on their thigh, their hands in the prayer position over their heart, balancing on one foot on a mountain for days, like I remember hearing at a temple. Or maybe it was one of their many gods. I don’t think ordinary yogis could ever do anything quite like that.
The guy next to me was struggling with his breathing and when we faced left I watched his hairy legs bulging out of his shorts. At the end of class he walked out with his shorts pinched between his ass cheeks. Gym goers like that gross me out. Extra hairy or sweaty men who go to gyms and exhale their breath in short little bursts and execute their moves with a certain flair that they think gives them finesse in the art of yoga. He was probably a very good person but he was ruining my peaceful yoga mindset. I had to get it back before the end of class. I watched a pregnant woman in the back of class. Whenever we did twisting moves she meditated. I wondered if too much twisting would wrench the baby loose. There are so many things about pregnancy that I don’t know.
After class Aja and I drove my car to the auto shop and then went to get coffee only to find that our local Starbucks was closed for renovations. We couldn’t get our coffees and read magazines like we wanted. We went to Einstein Bagels instead, which was fine with me since I was hungry for something other than a pastry. Even my everything bagel with plain cream cheese didn’t kill my healthy yoga buzz. I went to the bank and deposited cash and checks that added up quickly to an amount that makes me happy.
When Aja dropped me off she came in for a cup of tea and we looked at apartments in New York on craigslist and suddenly that amount of money seemed like nothing. I tried to hide the nervous sense of panic that I got from the thought of paying $600 a month for rent and needing money left over for food and other things and not yet having a job but it wasn't easy. Aja had to talk me down from a figurative tree.
Money is the quickest way for me to lose a good health vibe. I start feeling grabby, like I want to snatch any loose money or coins that might be around and hug it to my chest for safe keeping. I get a little short of breath and start plotting how to get more, like a modern day Rockefeller. I imagine myself as a shriveled old man, shrewdly calculating how to squeeze a few extra pennies out of my workers’ wages while sitting in my high wingback chair in a massive, shadowy office. Or, I imgaine myself as one of the children of Rockefeller’s workers who goes around collecting coal from the gutter and wearing a ratty dress that is grey from wear. I shouldn’t have read ‘The Jungle’. It gives me too much fodder for my imagination.
I just finished doing my writing for the day, and am about to commence making grown up phone calls so I can begin earning money that will just go to renting an apartment in New York City where I hopefully will get a real job and blow this popsicle stand.

The Beginning of the End

Well, the fateful day I've been expecting has arrived. My boss called us all into the office and sat us down and began a spiel that I couldn't quite understand. His French accent and way of saying things that he's not really meaning gets me confused. Are we shutting down? Are we out of a job? Did you just say that I didn't work hard and he couldn't get to know me? I'm sorry. I'm confused.
So, I guess this is it. The end of this career path. And the funny thing is, I had just gone from being pessimistic and ready to quit to being a little excited and ready to continue to now being resigned. I had just gotten excited about maybe moving up to Montreal to do production up there when before I was ready to move to NYC with my best friend and try my luck up there. Seriously, I was going to give my two weeks today anyway. It's still disappointing though. I wanted this to work. And now I have to clear out my computer and get my stuff together and tell all my friends and the people I had contacted about this movie and tell them it's not happening. Or, at least, it might be happening but we won't be involved. I'm kind of glad not to have to clean up this mess or continue with it any longer. I want a job where I know what I'm doing and where I'm doing something I'm capable of at this level of experience.
This was getting exhausting and frustrating. When all I wanted to do was relax after school and consider my next move. It just seemed too much and I never trust things that are too much.

Happy Birthday Boss!

Today is my boss' 30th birthday. I worked from home today, finishing some stuff up. It was convienent and nice to be at home. But I came in for cake and champagne in celebration. My friend Aja came as well, to see my lovely surroundings and meet my French boss.
We blew up balloons, lit candles and toasted his 30 years. He gave a speech and we all ate cake. And finished off a bottle of champagne and then opened a bottle of wine that I had brought for our business trip to Montreal. Unfortunately they couldn't take it with me and so we saved it for a special occasion and now I am drunkity drunk drunk at work. Nice. Real professional. Way to go. Ah, whatever. I should come to work more often in this state. It would make things more interesting to say the least. Hmmmm. Sounds like a plan. Sounds like a plan to get fired. But at least I wouldn't care so much. My boss just walked by and I didn't care that I was blogging about being drunk at all. Excellent.

Doing the Good Girl Rebel Dance

When I was in high school my teachers would occasionally start lecturing us on 'How To Get Into A Good School And Live A Happy Life'. After awhile I started tuning them out and thinking to myself, "I can figure this out for myself. This formula can't be the only way."

Now, my boss has been spontaneously lecturing us on "How To Get Financing For Movies". It's annoying because it will just be a normal conversation about our status and then he will launch into it and I'll feel ambushed while trying to keep my face in a listening/agreeing expression.
And the thing is, I've read a lot about making independent films and getting them made for little money. I'm not saying it's easy and you definitely can't get the same actors you can with money(unless the script is really good or your brother happens to be Spike Jonze), but you can get it done. And if you are lucky enough to get it into a festival you can get some distribution for it and make some money back. And you can build on that. Wes Anderson made his first movies for very little and was able to parlay that into more ambitious movies. He even did it with very little experience. DIY movie making is super hot right now.
So when my boss begins lecturing about movie making I start to do the good girl rebel dance. I keep my smiling expression on but slowly start thinking about how I would like to get a movie made and how I would use my friends' talents to help me out and that it COULD BE DONE! I KNOW IT! And then I start wanting to run out of the room shouting lalalalalalalala but instead I mutilate whatever is within my reach.
Maybe we'd get somewhere with it. I have enough confidence in my friends' creativity and my own. I know it's a long shot but it's something that I know I could be passionate about. More so than this pyschological/thriller/drama stuff that is so tired. I know that he is trying to make a big budget film here but I wonder if maybe a smaller one would have better success. It could lay the groundwork that is necessary for larger ones to come through. I know that larger ones could move like a glacier and create nice smooth patches for smaller ones but sometimes I think that smaller ones are better because they're like leaks in a dam; they go unnoticed until suddenly they're a multitude, instead of one giant one that crushes everything in its path. Besides, who gets excited over the next MI movie? Very few. Who gets excited over Junebug? Everyone. That's what I want to be part of. A creative force that invigorates the people around us rather than a vacuum that sucks all the creativity out.

The Road Less Travelled Gets Me Lost

I got to work today and our phones had been cut off. Thanks, Shylock, for not paying the phone bill. Why does this blog seem to have become all about his failings? I honestly don't care about him at all but he seems to weasel his way in.

Lately I've been thinking about writing more and more as I've said. I went back and began the re-edit process on my first (and so far only completed) script. I have new ideas all together and I'm hoping to salvage some of it and start new. Similar plot, new twists.
I was working at the Tavern and wondering whether I should just do that and write. Just work an easy, non time consuming job and write in my spare time. I like working at a restaurant because it inspires me. You come into contact with such different sorts of people that all have stories and act so differently while doing a basic thing and it makes my hand itch for a pen and paper. I've started carrying a notebook around with me to record little moments.
And at the same time there is a pull that says I should stay at a production sort of job because it will help me in the long run. Contacts and all that sort of thing. I know that is the responsible way to do it but since when have I been responsible and done things normally?
I'm always trying to figure out a way to worm out of the straight and narrow path and take the path less traveled. But it doesn't often help me. Oh, it might be pretty and interesting for a while and in the distance it's golden green but as soon as I start down the path I get stuck in mud and ruin my favorite pants and then get tangled up in briars that scratch my arms and cheeks. And after awhile I'm lost and the sun is going down and I'm hungry and wet and dirty and just want to find the path that has all my friends on it to keep me company. I've done this so many times before that now I can't tell which are the real roads less travelled that would 'make all the difference' and the ones that are dead ends.
So, I'm stuck not knowing which way to turn and what to do. The sad thing is, I'm only 23. I shouldn't feel this rushed to get things done. Earlier on in the summer I was full of optimism about the possibilities and now I'm just confused by too many. I think I can trace it back to this job and the possibility that it won't work out. I'm okay with that. I have other options that I would like to persue. But what if it does work out? Will I be stuck here for ages doing something I don't like just for the opportunity to do something I do? If we do continue should I continue too? I mean, we might get the chance to move up to Toronto, which would be awesome, but do I want to continue with this company even if it is in Toronto? And is this even a question to get stuck on, seeing as it might not be fulfilled at all? And what if this job gets me stuck in a life I hate but I'm too afraid to change it and I've missed out on all the freedom of taking other paths and travelling to different countries? I'm jumping the gun already.

Jealousy

My co workers, Indieflickers and Christy, are going to Montreal on Wednesday. They are going to be put up in a gorgeous hotel and then meet with the VP of Production for a Montreal based Production and Distribution Company. We are hoping to close a mutli-picture deal with them. It will mean big things. I am hoping it works out.
I am also green, green, green. I don't know why they get to go and I don't. I want to go to Montreal!!!!! I want a free hotel stay in a beautiful city!
Indie and I were talking about it and we can't figure it out either. Is it because the two of us are only 23 and Christy has business experience from her real estate days and is older? Is it because my boss doesn't think I'm working hard enough? Was it because I was absent on Monday when he decided we were going and I just missed my chance?
I'm more resigned to it now but when they were planning it all out I felt like the little kid who got left out of the fun. I was trying to hide the fact that I was so jealous I could cry behind the fact that it's good for the company. I do want us to get this deal but it was really hard to pretend I didn't want to go. I did make it evident that I want to go on whatever trip might be up next. It may just be to Tokoyo to talk with the video game guys he's been dealing with. If so it would definitely beat going to Montreal (as much as I'd like to go there one day).

And now that they are sitting around having "Exec 101" I'm a little glad I'm not going. Sitting in meetings isn't my style. I don't pay attention well. I don't like talking business. Still, it's Montreal and a big deal. I'd love to be part of that big deal.

There's a great deal of pressure on them from our boss. He's lecturing them on what to say, what not to say, how to say things, what we want and even how to walk and look them in the eye. It really is a crash course in being an executive.

That's the thing I kinda like about this job. We came in as interns and in two months time we've become Associate Producers. We skipped right over the PA part of it. We might still have to play PAs later on, during production, but this stuff is great to put on my resume. Imagine, I can say that in the course of one film I started as an intern, helped to set up a company, ran PR and became an Assistant Producer. If we get this movie made I can get a decent job anywhere if this company doesn't continue.
I'd like to work on a set but there is always time for that. I'd like to write my own stuff but I have to keep reminding myself that knowing people will help me when I do write my own stuff.

Frankly Mr. Shylock

The blog entry in which I take classic Smith lyrics and change them around to suit my needs.

Frankly, Mr. Shylock, this position I've held
It doesn't pay my way, and you corrode my soul
I want you to leave, we will not miss you
We want to go down in celluloid history

Frankly, Mr. Shylock, I'm a sickening wreck
I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
We must move fast, you understand me
We want to go down in celluloid history, Mr. Shylock


Fame, Fame, fatal Fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still you'd rather be Rich
Than righteous or holy, any day
Any day, any day


But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
Writing my stories about the human will
I want to live and I want to Love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of


Frankly, Mr. Shylock, this position I've held
It doesn't pay my way and you corrode my soul
Oh, I didn't realise that you liked young girls
I didn't realise you liked such bloody awful girls, Mr. Shylock


Frankly, Mr. Shylock, since you ask
You are a useless pain in the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
Still, I must speak frankly, Mr. Shylock

Oh, give us your money ! (please)

I Wanna Write!

All I want to do anymore is write. That's all I've ever wanted to do but lately it's becoming my waking hours mantra. I wanna write. I wanna write. Gimme a pen and paper. (or laptop.)
I haven't been able to take the time to do this lately, and now I have the feeling that the pipes, which were stopped up, are going to start leaking soon and then burst. I know people say if you really loved writing you'd make time for it. I'd like to explain to them my schedule, and then ask where I should find the time to actually write. I'd like to fit it in somewhere but it doesn't seem to work. So I'm reduced to writing on scraps of paper or in odd moments at the Tavern when no one is around. I feel like everywhere I arrive at I'm just catching my breath and once I've done that I have to run off to somewhere else. I can't get my thoughts together.
The whole reason for working at this company is so that I get some experience in the film industry. I want to write screenplays. That is what I love and getting some experience made sense to me. Getting someone to read my work, because I've worked hard for them and I've got connections, also seemed like a good idea. Half the battle is finding someone who will consider reading it.
But now, I'm so busy with my two jobs that I can't find the time to write. How am I supposed to write the scenes that are floating around if I can't find time?
The reason I hope we get these deals closed is so that I can finally get paid here and quit the Tavern. (In addition to getting our movie made.) That would free up my nights and weekends and allow me the time I need to write. I just need 30 minutes a day but I haven't been able to find a whole 30 minutes.

Whew. Thanks. That gets it off my chest a little. Now that I've vented I actually feel like I could do some writing. Thanks.

Next Time Just Copy It! or, how to screw up and still come out on top

Today while sitting around in the production office I stole someone's Washington Post against my better judgement (i.e. against Aja's advice). I knew I shouldn't steal the paper, especially because it was the Executive Producer's, Jack Frost. I just wanted to do that crossword puzzle.
I've become obsessed with doing them these days. I don't know what it is. I just want that challenge and relaxation that comes from using your brain in that way I guess. It's like the way joggers find jogging relaxing. Or so I've been told. I don't jog.
Anyway, Aja said I shouldn't take it because even though Jack Frost is an easygoing guy people can get crazy about their crosswords. If I had known he was actually going to do it I wouldn't have touched it. But I really wanted it!
So I took it and did the crossword, or as much as I could. Then I used Wikipedia and Google to help me do more of it. I didn't finish but when everyone came back for dinner I folded it up and put it back. I didn't think he was going to botherr with it so late in the day.
Apparently he had been looking forward to the crossword all day because around 10 p.m. when things were winding down and he was back in the office I heard some grumbling. Then I heard more from the coordinating producer. "Some asshole stole our paper and did the crossword!!" Jack said, " I can tell it was someone young" and my eyes got wide. Oh shit! I thought. I get a sweet gig like this and then go and screw it up by stealing the producers' crossword.
I piped up before they could sleth out who it was or before one of the other PAs let it slip that I was doing a crossword earlier.
"I'm sure there's an extra paper in the hotel lobby. I'll go check for you." I went to the newsstand in the lobby and paid for a 35cent paper with a $50 dollar bill. It's all I had. I came back and said it had just been sitting around and the crossword wasn't done. Jack thanked me and asked me to make a copy for the coordinating producer. I not only made three copies of Wednesday's crossword but Tuesday's too and then I cut them out and stapled them together to make a handy little crossword puzzle booklet. Lynn and MF and Jack were all so grateful and Lynn told me I was amazing. I just smiled.
When Aja and I left we doubled over in laughter about my screw up and how I walked away from it like a shining star in their eyes. I was awesome! How did I screw up and still manage to be awesome? That never happens to me! I screw up and then can't fix it. I never screw up and fix it so well that they think I'm awesome and don't even know I screwed up. I should take this approach more often.
I felt a little bad though. Aja had lost a key the night before and was freaking out and told her boss. It wasn't terrible but she felt guilty and irresponsible and it was all an accident. I steal a paper and get away with it and they think I'm awesome. It's not fair. I know. Especially because Aja got me the job and told me not to take the paper.
So, I've learned a valuable lesson in film production already. If you can get away with it go ahead. But fix the problem and make it ten times better. If you can't get away with it without getting someone else blamed for it I would fess up. I don't want that on my conscious.

Behold My Future...

Today I am working with my best friend of all time at a production in DC. We're right by the White House in the Hotel Washington. She's the assistant production coordinator and I'm a PA. Basically I've been running around for her today. I refilled her coffee cup three times and printed fifty copies of production schedules. I searched out black 24" bar stools for under $50. It was a desperate search until the coordinating producer decided to just chop the legs off the one we had rented and buy it. I made lunches for people who were stuck in the "truck"--the truck that basically works as the studio away from the studio. It's a dark, whirring, beeping trailer full of screens and buttons and wires that emanate from it, keeping it alive. I've hung out there before and watched as the TD (technical director) decides which camera gets screen time when. It's the work behind the screen that happens so effortless you don't even realize it when it's going well.
We are working in what is normally the restaurant part of the hotel. It has been turned into our production office until Friday. The hotel people come in and set up our meals and run our cords through the lobby so that we have internet.
It is a busy, bustling place full of problems and problem solving on your feet. People mill around asking questions and the nextel walkie talkies beep and chatter. I love it. I love making snap decisions and just making it work. I love it when things just click. This is what I hope our production company will be like in a few months. And I hope it will turn out like this, a bunch of people all working towards a common goal and trying to get things done on time and under budget.
It's all the things I love about waiting tables and none of what I hate. I love the comradery that exists on the set and the environment.
I want to do this for a long long time. I hope it works out with this company that I'm going to be working for because I want this feeling to continue.
I can just imagine how crazy a film set would be. This is just a few days and it's already a little harried here. A film set lasts for weeks and relies on many more people. If we interns are still running the show as we are now and not your typical PAs it will be quite interesting.

Getting The Best Of Shylock

We are sneaking out of Shylock's tenuous grip like a ship slipping out of harbor in the dead of night. The Boss has figured out how we can avoid having to deal with Shylock's shifty shit without getting his lawyer hackles up and getting sued.
Hurrah! I feel like we should pop a bottle of champagne and celebrate. We can finally do some work around here and get results and deals signed and actually get paid! When the Boss was telling us what he has figured out I could barely contain my excitement. I think we all were. I know the Boss was.
There might even be a move to Toronto in store if we're good girls and get the work done. Wow. Toronto. I'd move there. It sounds cool. And cold but cool too.
I just hope we get a chance to actually do some work and get paid for it. No matter how we do it.

Astronauts And Shooting For The Stars

As I was driving to work today (paying for my own gas) I was of course listening to NPR and they mentioned the astronauts up on the space station doing some repairs outside of the ship. It reminded me of when I was a little kid and I thought about how distant astronauts seem to me (and not even literally!) It seemed like that job was so unlike anything I could ever imagine. It seemed like they were just the little cartoon drawings you see in children's books of unusual jobs. A smiling face in a space suit with his helmet under his arm, standing next to the crane operator and the doctor wearing a white coat and a stethescope.
On NPR they had a little clip of the astronauts talking to each other as they worked. One was choreographing what was going on outside and they were joking with each other. It reminded me of me and my co-workers and it made astronauts human to me in a way that not even a movie like Apollo 13 could. Astronauts are people too! I thought, even though their jobs are so unusual, they are up in space with the same feelings and thoughts we all have. It was a revelation and I continued driving and thinking about the workforce which was made up of people too. You hear about vague terms like 'the workforce' and you don't exactly remember that the workforce is a bunch of people. In fact, it's practically everyone I know.
Then, after the astronauts a report came on about HP the computer company and the internal scandal and problem their board is having. Their board leader is having to step down because she authorized an investigation that turned out to be illegal. That reminded me of how little I know. If the head of a major company like that could screw up and make mistakes like that then what about me?
I feel like every decision I make, even ones that don't even seem like decisions, like what I tell a publisher about my boss will turn out to be wrong and I will go down in a blaze. It really makes me nervous. I don't know if it's just because I'm new at this or if it is something I will always feel. I don't want to be nervous about every decision I make in the workplace. This is why people are so unproductive and stay in stagnant jobs for so long. This is why big companies have such poor motivation from employees. I feel undecisive. Its so weird but when it comes to creative decisions I have no problem coming up with a solution and implementing it. It's just this office/legal/financial stuff I have problems with. I always feel like I'm going to make the decision that is either illegal or costs the company millions to correct. It's official. I should never have a desk job ever.
I wouldn't be having one if this weren't an unusual internship for a film production company. I never expected to sit at a desk for hours and have to call people and pretend to be knowledgeable about PR. I thought I'd be laying cables and getting coffee. I thought the extent of my responsibility would be to make sure the talent was there or picking up mail. I'm not ready to leap right into this stuff. I actually would rather laying cables.
Not that I hate the opportunity. Don't get me wrong. I know this is a great opportunity for a person just walking into the film industry like this. And I eventually want to have my own production company so seeing one begin from the ground up is a great chance for me. I guess I just expected the hard labor of filmmaking first and this end of it when I understood that part a little better. Well, if I put in the hard work now I'll get the chance to be a normal PA on the set sooner rather than later. That's what I'm hoping at least.

In Memoriam

Today I drove up Rt. 7 and listened to the news on the radio. The same thing I do every morning at 10 a.m. But today it was different because today was the fifth year anniversary of me doing that on 9/11, terrified out of my mind.
Five years ago I was driving up Rt. 7 after being let early out of class because two planes crashed into the World Trade Center and it wasn't just some dumb two person plane that got lost like I thought at first.
That was my first thought when a girl arrived late to my Geology lecture and told us that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center building. My professor turned on the news and we saw that a second plane had crashed and it went from being a sad accident to a sick joke. How could this happen? How does something of such magnitude happen to us?
And then we left class, shaky and in the rain, to drive home listening to the radio and not knowing anything. And not being able to believe anything because you can't see it for yourself.
I listened to "Eliot in the Morning" and heard about the Pentagon and then I heard about a package being left on the Capital steps and I thought, "This is it. This is the end. There will be no more America. They have taken us out. What will become of us?"
And I was reminded of the panic people must have felt while listening to Orson Wells' "War of the Worlds" and actually believed aliens were attacking. Because it felt that surreal. It felt as though I should be looking up looking for planes overhead while I drove panicked and uncertain down Rt. 7.
I arrived home and my father was already there. We sat and waited and watched over and over and over. The planes crashing. People's shouts of disbelief that what they were witnessing was not just some CGI blue screen effect. This was real. About as real as it could ever get. We are so immune to the firey effects of blockbusters that I'm sure seeing it for real you don't know whether or not to trust your senses.
We watched as the towers came crashing down, a wave of dust and debris and steel bars bending as easily as seaweed. People leaping from shattered windows, hoping against hope that this would somehow save them. Would I have jumped? Or would I have hoped that by staying in the building I would somehow be able to ride it out like a surfer on the debris? How do you come to that conclusion that this action will be better than what is waiting for you, the uncertainty they felt.
We watched it over and over until I thought I would be sick.
My sister came home from school and we remembered it was her birthday. She was 14. We went out to dinner at Ruby Tuesday, the only place that was open, just to escape the television. She stayed home. She didn't want to leave. We came home and returned to our vigil. I couldn't bear it anymore and went upstairs to watch 'Stepmom.' There was a shot of the New York skyline and the twin towers. I thought about how much had changed in a few minutes. We would never again see that skyline in the movies. And the ones that we did see it in would only remind us of what used to be.
The next day as I ws driving to class I couldn't believe that the pavement I drove on could be so normal and gray. How did it not rise up and cry? How did the trees wave so calmly as if nothing in our world had changed or the stoplights continue to change their red-yellow-green cycles and not blink red-red-red as if in panic. Why did the cars drive in their lanes and not stop, resist the repetition of daily life and stand wailing? Were the people in them crying as they drove, like me? Trying to see through a wave of tears and mantain a sense of normalcy that driving dictates. How did the world not collapse for a few minutes, in on itself and grovel underr the pain? How did it go back to being normal? This is what I want to say.
It's been five years and things have gone back to normal, almost. Until I remember our government and how things changed and how they have used that fear to lead us down a path that frightens me.
I am proud of the people that came forth on that day and for how this country reacted swiftly to a tragedy that affected us all. I am terrified by the people who used this to push a hateful ideology. I am afraid for my country and I am proud of it in moments. I couldn't live away from it and I dream of escaping it. I love it in its details. I hope the best for it. I am afraid of flagwavers. I wonder if that makes me a terrible person because they disgust me and make me nervous. Does that make me unpatriotic? Am I abandoning those people who died so needlessly?
Everything has changed. And yet, nothing has.

Shylock Strikes Again

We anticipate his arrival. We pretend to be very busy and hide all the actual work. We sit at our desks and as the hour approaches we watch it pass. "Where is he?" we wonder and then, just as we think it's safe...Shylock enters the office. With his little hunched shuffle and paunchy face. "Can he smile?" Silverscreen wonders, "or is that just a reaction to some shifty deal he's working out to screw us over even more?"

That's obviously why he started this company. Not to actually make movies but to terrorize interns. Why else would he hole us up in this scummy little office and make us haul out trash, buy us the bare minimal of office supplies and then bother us with ideas about contacting Jane Fonda? That's why he prevents us from getting a studio deal and wants us to hire the trailer trash he wants to represent. Can you imagine this playing opposite this? Why else would he pester us about checking our Dell laptops in case they're the exploding kind? I told him in response to that statement that laptops catching on fire would be pretty exciting.

Yesterday he unleashed a new form of terror on us. Just as we did to Cuba and Isreal did to Palestine or Lebanon, Shylock is putting an embargo on us.
Maybe that's a little overdramatic, I was listening to NPR as I drove here to work. As I drove here to work. Let me specify. We are interns. We don't get paid. That's fine. I'm just learning the business and don't expect to get paid like a pro. But now Shylock has stepped it up one. He's not paying for anything. Nothing. Not gas for the interns to get to work, not food for the interns to eat and most detrimental to our company--he's not paying for office supplies. How are we supposed to mail scripts to the actors we want to get, or offers to their agents if we don't have any money for it? How are we supposed to do anything?
What pisses me off the most isn't just that he's not paying us gas money and it is costing me money to work here, but that we could have a deal already. A major studio deal, if Shylock would step back and take a pay cut for now! It wouldn't be a permanent thing. It would just be until he understands the game a little better. Then we could bring in a producer who does know what he's doing and get this deal closed and then Shylock wouldn't risk losing everything. I don't think he knows he's about to lose it all but he is. Our director isn't going to sit around like this for much longer and neither are our actors. But Shylock won't listen to a word we say. Us interns are too young obviously to know anything other than what boy band is currently hot. Nevermind that I'm sending out press releases and talking to the media like a PR queen. Nevermind that Indieflickers is talking to agents and getting our cast together like a bloody professional and Christy is working her ass off as a real estate agent and getting her work here done while moving into her new house and being sick. Obviously you need to talk down to us. Otherwise how would we know who the boss is?

The Intern

I'm feeling pretty fortunate about my job. I really like that we get to be creative and are free to do whatever we really want. I can write this blog. I can look at IMDB and pretend it's actual work. (Looking up who was in what movie is very important to me. I need to know.) I can read all about Suri Cruise and Kate (not Katie) Holmes' escape attempts. Oh, US Weekly, how is she supposed to run away if you publish her route? And is it really necessary to interview people as to the possibility of a helicopter landing on her lawn to whisk her away? Don't you have more important things to ponder?
But one thing that I do not enjoy about my job is translating. My boss is French. He is fluent in English but you wouldn't know that if you read what he writes. He is a novelist and a screenwriter. It would be nice if he could do this in English. But he can't. And I get to do it for him. Right now I am slogging through a novel that was originally written in French and then sent through what I can only surmise was an online document translator. As I was an English major it fell to me to go through and change things so that they make sense in English. For example; "It had its way with him of admiring or of scorning the things and could give you the insane laughter, to make you fall to the shift."
-translates to-

"He had a way about him of admiring or scorning things that could make you laugh hysterically and fall to the floor."

I get to go through and change all those sentences. And I do mean all of them. Every last one has at least some sort of edit. My boss doesn't seem to realize that and wonders why I've only finished 9 pages of a 78 page document. Oh my god. This will be my hell. I might as well call myself Sisyphus.

What does this have to do with film production you ask? So do I. I guess it has to do with my boss' business and this is part of it. He's a writer/screenwriter/director and a lot of what he turns into screenplays is what he's already written as a novel. I don't know where this one is going. Maybe because I only see it in the very rough draft stage it is now I can't see the good of it. Maybe that will change. I hope so. I would hate to think that I have wasted two months translating something that is so bad it will never get published. Who knows? Maybe those French like novels like this.

odd-jobs for me!

After having dinner with an old friend I stopped by Tower Records on my way home. Ah, Tower Records.
I worked there for a year and a half. My last day was December 25, 2005. When I started I was intimidated by all the 'cool music knowledgeable people' and it took me ages to pick out what to wear every day. After a while I realized that a bunch of them are dorks, but nice ones. I started wearing whatever I wanted and being a cool dork too. And then, after a while I got tired of it. I got tired of running a cash register that belonged in a museum and having to pretend that the new Limp Bizkit CD was worth $18.99. And I was tired of making $7.25 an hour.

Stopping by today made me remember the good parts about working there and started me wondering why I left. Sometimes I make dumb decisions that I later regret. Leaving Tower is one of them. Not the biggest one but a regret all the same. I regret leaving because the job that followed sucked so badly that I contemplated running into the street to end it. I didn't think it would that bad.
I mostly quit jobs because I get bored easily. I stay for about six months and then move on. I stayed at Tower because for the summer I was on an on-call basis. And because of this I have quite a resume.

1. Appalachain Spring- I was 15. I got to box up crafty, expensive things for the Christmas season. What fun.

2. Painting Hebrew prayers onto prayer shawls- I worked for this woman that my mom worked for. My mom made the shawls and I painted them. It was weird and only lasted for a little while.

3. Moto-Photo- I worked there for quite a while. I wasn't very good and got yelled at a lot for fucking up people's precious memories. The good thing about it was I could wear whatever I wanted and listen to whatever music I wanted. And the people were cool.

4. Books-A-Million (formerly SuperCrown)- When it was SuperCrown it was easy going and cool. All the artsy kids worked there or at Micheals down the street. When I started working there they had all left and it was slowly becoming Books-A-Million. Not so much a bookstore as a catch-all for tacky knicknacks and Thomas Kincade calendars. I almost got fired several times for reading too much. I'd go and hide in the kiddy section to read. Putting a book addict in a bookstore is like making a drug addict a dealer. Not smart.

5. Cosi- coffeeshop for the masses. They're becoming the sandwich and pizza version of Starbucks. I worked there off and on for about three years.

6. Auto Shop- I answered the phones and tried to understand the mechanical jargon my boss threw at me. He couldn't seem to understand that I don't know what a catalytic converter is or where it goes.

7. Back to Cosi- I can no longer tolerate wearing black except for work purposes. I like how it looks but I CANNOT DO IT!

8. Tower-see above

9. McCormick & Schmicks- Otherwise known as McCormick & Shits or Muck & Suck. I thought I'd like making money. I hated it and I hated having to wear black. I hate hostesses. They are stupid and vapid. Or at least some of them. I hated, hated my boss. The moment I saw him I thought *cough cough* douche *cough* and I was RIGHT!

10. Tavern on the Lake- Much better. Working here was like getting into heaven from the purgatory of McCormicks. Except for the whole "I dated my co-worker and now we ignore each other" thing. But other than that it's great. Tiring but great.

11. My film production company.

One day all these crazy jobs will be behind me and I will only have a memory of a day where I worked crappy jobs for little money. I hope.
I think it should be mandatory for everyone in this country to work as a waiter/waitress or retail person. Like some countries have mandatory military service. This would teach people that 10% is not okay. And neither is being dismissive of your server.
I hope I will never be. I hope that even when my menial jobs are in the distant past I am still polite to my servers. Because I work hard at my jobs and just because I'm a server doesn't mean I can't be the next Sofia Coppola. Watch out.

I'm Going For Broke

Some people might say "you just started this blog. You should go slow so you don't run out of steam too quickly." To them I say, "Fuck you." I'm going all out and if I fall flat on my face just before I get to the tickertape then too bad! Cause I'm not much of a runner anyway.
I think I just over-extended that metaphor.

I started this internship back at the end of June and ever since then my mom has been bugging me to start journaling this. Mining the goldmine of shit that is my life. So I will begin at the beginning.

It was a dark and stormy night...

There were once four young, eager interns. They were eager to begin their careers in film and eager to make their mark on the industry. We had Indieflickers, a talkative lesbian with a quick tongue and big heart who gets excited at the thought of her favorite actresses and movies; Euroboy, an artsy, young-faced intellectual who has seen the world and all of its dark sides too; Christ with a Y and me, a girl with a pipe dream about the silver screen.
The first day we sat around in a grimy office building without AC or chairs and talked. We didn't know what was in store for us or even if it was just a big joke. We looked at the cheesy movie posters and wondered what our future held. We talked about our favorite movies and what we did before coming here and how our interviews went. We compared notes. We became instant friends.
That friendship would come in handy over the next few days when we cleaned out the office, put together desks and chairs and office dividers and wrestled with phone companies for phone service and internet service.
Unfortunately Euroboy had brought back an illness from Paris with him. He left us after about a month to get better. I still miss him.
Indieflickers took over casting and got to call her favorite actresses' agents and chat with them and send them scripts. When she hangs up the phone we shout and dance around, amazed that these people will answer our phone calls and even call us back. We can't quite believe it's happening.
I was sad to see two of my favorite actors (Johnny Cash and Chaucer, anyone?) get dropped from our "Wall of Talent" for different reasons. I wanted them here so much but when we were talking about it I couldn't believe that either of them might be considered so I didn't even allow myself to think it.
Sometimes I want to pinch myself. How did I get involved in this? Was it really as easy as answering an ad in Craigslist? Will it really happen? Will our own personal Shylock* stand in our way as we work towards a studio deal because he doesn't know what he's doing and won't take a percentage cut so we can hire someone who does? Will I have to break his knees? Will this company fall apart and I'll have to start all over again or will I be able to stay with them and maybe get my own movies made one day? And will they ever pay us so I can stop working nights as a waitress?
So many questions. Stay tuned to see if they get answered.

* no insult to any Jewish people out there. I'm not like that.But he really is Shylock in the flesh. Complete with iambic pentameter and everything.

The Definition of Humility

"When you are older you will know that life is a long lesson in humility." -J.M Barrie

Well, it's been a few hours and that means I'm older. Old enough to know that life is a long lesson in humility.
That email problem I was having? Turns out I was having problems because I am a stupid, computer illiterate person and don't know how to fill in 'reply to' boxes with my email address. After berating the guy at the help desk who was NOT being helpful I found out it was my fault. I berated him. I told him "I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE ASKING ME AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO FIND THIS INFORMATION. Why do you not get this?" I had asked him to treat me like an idiot. I was expecting some very simplified like:
"Type such-and-such. Now hit go. Now find the box that says 'cPanel' and type in your code. The code will be your name and company name."
Instead he has the gall to go and treat me like an intelligent employee who has been using computers all her life. How dare he!
I should have known not to be rude because it will only come back and bite me in the ass. I very rarely resort to rudeness because I think you get more results with honey than vinegar as the old saying goes. I'm the one in the office that everyone in the office makes call Verizon because I can sit through their idiocy and still sound as though I'm smiling. I never resort to rudeness because my years as a waitress showed me how uncalled for it is. I feel bad.

Now I have to send messages to people that I want to get publicity for our company from and ask them very politely to "please let me know if you are interested." I don't want to bother them but I don't know if they responded back to me or not. I feel very tiny and inconsequential right now.

In France it is 7pm.

In France it is 7p.m. and therefore it is too late for me to call my boss' publishing house and try to struggle through French accents in order to find the person responsible for PR and tell him that my stupid e-mail isn't letting people respond to the e-mails I sent them.
My e-mail isn't letting people respond to me and therefore I don't know whether the press release I sent out to the cyber world was read and appreciated by anyone. I'm feeling very small. The guy at Technical Support keeps asking me to give him certain information like my cPanel login details and when I tell him I don't know what a cPanel is, much less where to find the details he sends back another email full of jargon. It's like trying to get your computer fixed by a robot who knows much more than you and can't understand why you don't know how to read his print out that is in binary code.
And so far today all I have accomplished is setting up this blog to talk about my job in a film production company and going with my co-worker, indieflickers, to the Corner Bakery for lunch.