You Gotta Have Class

Sometimes I wish I were old and my life were laying out before me and I could look back at things. I'm watching "Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid" and was reading about Robert Redford and Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. They are three people I really admire, not just because they're famous and talented actors but because they didn't let that define them. They seem to have led full and interesting lives because they didn't think that all they were worth was as an actor. They found other things that also were important to them and let that lead their lives. But my guess is that the money they earned from the movies gave tthem the capital to do that. Man, what can I do to get some capital? And why the hell can't I stay on course? I was supposed to be talking about how much I liked those three but now all I can think about is if I could make it as an actor. Maybe I'm charasmatic enough to let things like looks not matter. Or maybe I'm secretly quite talented. Probably not. Or at least not enough for movie standards.
And then I think about writers I admire and the young generation like Jonathan Safran Foer and the older generation like Joan Didion and wonder if maybe I'm a good enough writer to at least get a book published. And then I hate myself for wanted to sell my passions for cold hard cash. But that cash doesn't seem so cold or hard when I could use it to keep me warm and have a nice place to live.
Then I just think about how much I like Joanne Woodward in "The Long Hot Summer" and I wonder if maybe I could a classy dame like her when I'm older. That's what I'm hoping for. Money or not I want to be a classy old lady who doesn't give a shit but is also compassionate, intelligent and kind. Maybe I'm projecting. I don't care. That's what role models are for after all.

Lost New York

I've loved New York since before I realized it was a place to love. When I was 5 I was watching Sesame Street and I asked my parents if we could move there. They, thinking I would forget about such an outlandish idea immediately agreed and I was so excited. Soon I too would be sitting on those steps having conversations with furry animals and adults who were only there to educate and encourage. Maybe I could even get Oscar to be friendlier. Or I could find out exactly how he lived in such a confined space. Was the garbage can just an entryway and his real home was underground? Or was it like Mary Poppins' carpet bag? I would be in the know. Obviously I cared very much about the community aspect of Sesame Street, and I can only conclude that my five year old self understood that Sesame Street was a microcosym of a real New York street where all sorts of people from different walks of life passed by. Obviously.
Anyway, as you might suspect the whole move didn't quite work out. I blame the fact that I had younger siblings for somehow influencing my parents in their decision not to move into a city apartment, but I've always been a little disappointed that I didn't grow up in the city. Of course lots of people will cite statistics showing that a kid growing up in the city is exposed to all sorts of risks and bad influences, but when I was fifteen and reading 'The Basketball Diaries' or 'Frannie and Zooey' I felt differently. Not that I wanted to become a drug addict or anything, but I wanted to escape the boredom of a small town and the placidity of that life.
Now that I am here I still wish I could be experiencing New York. But, as usual, I'm living in the past. I wish I could experience the New York of yesteryear. I want to know the world of the avant garde poets and playwrights in Greenwich Village, the excitement of social change in the Lower East Side and the immigrants who made this country. I want to know the diners and coffeeshops of New York during World War II and the air of glamour during the fifties. The radicalism of the liberal 60s a and the party scene of the 70s. I wish I could really know what it would be like to see New York through all those times. Through the good years and the bad, the transitions of the neighborhoods and watch the kids of immigrants grow up.
Lately a new era has sprung into my mind as something to have seen in New York. I never really considered it before but it definitely has had an influence on how I perceived New York as well. The Eighties. Ahhh. Was there ever such a strange decade as that? I wish I could have seen the East Village in all its day glo glory. To meet the young musicians, filmmakers and artists that came to its streets dreaming of fame, beauty and freedom. To hear the music of Arthur Russell in the early dawn after an all night party and to feel the rush of punk music at CBGB. Or watch the rise of Jean-Michel Basquiat and an unusual form of music called hip hop. And can anyone forget the fashion? It seems to me that the clothes were just a joyful embrace of the ridiculous. None of this hipster pretention. It was all pretty crazy. My perception of what made the East Village and the Lower East Side so cool at this time was that a lot of people who were the social outcasts of their hometowns moved to New York to be with others like them, and the excitement of finding likeminded people spilled through. I know a lot of tragedy has since ended some of the exuberance of this decade. AIDS and drugs made the world look bleak and garish in the harsh light of reality. But at the same time, the pictures I see in the books I've been absorbed by at the bookstore make me wish I could have been a part of that crazy, free for all scene. Where it was all about the aesthetic and the fun. New York these days seems watered down in comparison to the life of the party it was then. Too many kids pouring in from all over trying to get a taste of the big city and all it has to offer. I'm one of them. But I wish that just for a little longer, just for my sake, it could have remained the city it was then.

Homesickness is a disease.

My sister and her best friend came into town for a vacation that totaled about 36 hours. In that span we took a crazy trip from LaGuardia in a cab, shopped at H&M, hung out in the East Village, made friends with my local cute coffee providers and movie renters and made a general mess of my room. We spent an inordinate amount of time lying in my bed and being silly and now I miss them more than words can express. It almost makes me want to give up on this crazy thing called New York and revert back to simpler times. I do like it here but nothing can replace the simple joy I find in getting lost in Queens with my sister because we can't figure out the bus system/are too poor to afford the bus so we decide to walk from LaGuardia, over the pedestrian bridge and to the subway. A beautiful day, oddities in Queens and a couple of cigarettes are all we need to have a strange bizarre time together. I wish she were here with me. This whole town would seem small and we would be unstoppable! I can't write about this anymore. I risk crying at the coffeeshop and embarassing myself in front of the cute boy the girls decided I should date since they both have boyfriends and don't live here. Not a good way to begin the relationship.

The ONLY way to see movies

Tonight I forayed into the wonderful world of movie premieres. It really is the only way to enjoy a movie. If you have the means I highly recommend it.
My roommate's girlfriend had the tickets and couldn't go so I invited my new friend Lynne to come with me. It was the movie Reign Over Me with Adam Sandler, Don Cheadle, Liv Tyler, Jada Pinkett-Smith and Ryan from 'The Office'.
When Lynne and I were walking to join the line of other lucky ticket holders we were stopped right in front of this blakc SUV and out climbs Liv Tyler in the midst of the flashing paparazzi lights. We continued on after she had been ushered past and joined a long line of young college aged people like ourselves wondering how we had gotten there. We were given green slips of paper with numbers on it in exchange for the ticket I brought. I was worried that we would be kicked out because we weren't "officially" invited or anything and it said they'd be checking ID and reservations but neither happened. It makes me want to sneak my way into some of the events my boss gets invited to. After waiting in the cold for about 50 minutes Lynne and I were given tickets in exchange for our green pieces of paper and told to go towards the theatre. And then we were told to join some other line, and then finally we just cut with all the other people who were told to enter the theatre. As we made our way down to our seats we passed by Liv talking to some man, looking utterly gorgeous and serious and little girlish even though she's a mature, grown woman. There's just something little girl innocent about her. It's adorable.
Lynne and I were seated in the front, great seats really, not too far from the stars. We tried to stargaze without straining our necks or looking like the other audience members, who weren't shy about trying to get a better look at people. I saw Will Smith and Lynne saw the back of his head. I saw Tim Robbins but there was no Susan in sight and I think I saw that dumb Howie Mandel looking like just another douche. Maybe Steve Guttenberg. But I don't know. I'm just glad I saw Liv.

Anyway, the moral of this anecdote is: Movie Premieres, while a great and free way to see a movie are not nearly as cool as they might seem. especially if you're low on the totem pole. Then you're just going to get the run around. Nobody gives a shit about you. Understandable I guess but still kind of sad in this day and age.

two fun things to do

These are my two newest favorite websites. Ze Frank and Smith Magazine. Check them out!

The Chinese Really Know How to Rub It In

I was reading the BBC and came across this article. Apparently some rat poison manufacturer wanted to name its product after a Chinese official indicted (or whatever the Chinese do to you) for bribery. Because he was bad for society they wanted to name something else bad for society after him. So you'll be all like, "Yo! Hand me that Zheng! I've got some rats to kill." And then stop and remember that bad official who also tried to cause destruction. Can you imagine if we did that here in the United States? Instead of stadiums named after people or companies we'd have sub-machine guns named MCI/WorldCom. Or kitchen cleaners named Scooter Libby. It's tagline could go something like this: 'For when you don't care how the mess gets cleaned up, you just want it taken care of, reach for Scooter Libby." It'd be a crazy world.

comedy club cocktail waitress

I started my first day at the comedy club last night and finished it in the wee hours of this morning. I got home at three a.m. after having ridden a bus five hours from D.C. to NYC. From Chinatown I went directly to work and had to bring my bags along with me. I didn't have a minute to spare, in fact I was late. I watched the other servers for a few minutes, looked over the menu, was given a quick tour and then thrown overboard on my own. I had the smaller room for two shows and if you ever want to learn something quickly, I recommend just being thrown to the sharks. Cause you learn pretty quickly. Let me tell you. (Tell me what? I always wondered.)
I was exhausted by the time I left and I had to be at my internship in six hours. I dozed a little but mostly I channelled stand up comedy. After about seven shows I have almost all of their routine memorized. There's about eight comics that perfom a night and they do back to back shows. We have shows running simultaneously in two rooms and sometimes they'll get off stage in one room and about ten minutes later they'll be on stage in the other room. It's amazing to watch them do this, but also fairly repetitive. Some are pretty good at making it seem almost all spontaneous and stuff but even that is pruned and changed around but basically the same. I can tell you all about Xycine's husband and his curious pronunciation of 'guppies' because he is from Amsterdam and apparently 'all the children had herpes' and how he went to Morrocco on his honeymoon and was always checking his cell phone for BBC updates because he was a gay, Jewish American in a Muslim coountry. Or James' joke about having a white girlfriend with a black ass--no she doesn't have a big one. It's flat. It's just the color black. Or....well it's already kinda old.
I don't know if this job was such a good idea. I'm not really one to force people to have a two drink minimum or interrupt them while they're listening to a comdiean. And that all the waitresses are going to be the type of girls who used to do theatre and might possibly have moved her so they can be actresses or something. They were friendly and everything. I just don't imagine that we'll be best friends. They were loud and I was shy. The bar manager I think secretly wishes he were up on stage with the comedians because he's always trying to tell these jokes that everybody ignores. Things he thinks are funny but really are just sad and pathetic. Like when he told me alcohol is his friend when no one else wants to be. See, coming from the right person that could be funny. Tired and used but funny. From him it's just sad and a little weird.
I doubt if anyone here is going to be the next Seinfeld but it is definitely interesting to learn what this world is like.
I don't know how long I'm going to work here. I have a couple of other jobs I'm going to check out. One is the Tribeca Grill, which is right under the production office. It's quite nice and I'm going to try really really hard to make a good impression on the manager so he'll hire me as a hostess.

Internship a Success

Did you ever have a special place to go when things seemed rough as a kid? Mine was a little corner in my parents' closet when we lived all lived in an apartment. I had my notebooks set up and could spend hours sitting under the hanging pants and skirts, writing and escaping my younger brother and sisters. It was a relief to crawl under there and get away from it all. That was like a safe place, where the realities didn't matter.
Now that I've grown older my need for such places has lessened, but since moving to New York, and especially after I moved into my apartment in Brooklyn, I've needed a place to get away from it all. I like my roommates but the actual apartment makes me desperate to get out. It's dirty and dusty and cluttered and smells of cats. I like cats, well, I did. I like these cats too, it's just a little much for me. All of it is. I never realized how much I need clean, organized spaces. I thought I could put all that aside in order to have a cheap, moderately cool place to live but I can't. Every morning when I come down for a cup of tea I fantasize about being elsewhere. And now that I've started my internship I've found that place. That safe place where things go according to a system, dishes are clean, the refridgerator is neat and it doesn't smell of cats. People are dressed well and friendly. Celebrities drop by (sort of. Kate Winslet, my Kate, was here for a reading but I didn't get to see her.) and everyone is efficient but easy going. Making a cup of tea in the morning I breathe a sigh of relief. I would stay here all day every day, running errands and getting coffee forever if they'd let me. As it is I'm only here two days a week. I hope someday the rest of my life fits as well as this aspect of it. I can't imagine things going that smoothly but I can hope. It is my version of the American Dream.

"Let's Face It, A Bit of A Crush, Actually"

I've never cared that much for the French. Not that I have lots of experiences with them, they've just never really crossed my mind as a civilization to give much thought about. Perhaps it's my aversion to anything popular but I've never cared that much about going to Paris either. The whole romantic aspect of it and the fact that so many women seem to think it's this magical dream land makes me not care for it much. Not that I'd turn down a trip. I've just never daydreamed about it, except maybe as a European escape. Especially when I think about all the writers who escaped to it and some images I've been shown of it. I'm sure it is a place I'd love, I just haven't given it an opportunity yet. But if they keep turning out young actors like Mr. Gaspard Ulliel above and Mr. Louis Garrel below:



I should plan a trip there immediately. With dimples like Gaspard's, which are so odd as to be incredibly charming, and give the impression that they are only seen when he is shyly smiling, or quite happy; and the cigarette smoking skills of Louis, not to mention their acting abilities in two of my favorite French films, these boys are hope enough for a country that already has 286 kinds of cheese going for it.
Sure, the English boys are cute, and the Swedish boys are pretty, but I wish they all could be French boys...

Oscar Time

Sometimes, okay, really just when Oscar night rolls around, I wonder what it would like to be there. All shiny and done up for that special night, looking as though everything in your life was perfect, for just about four hours, and then going to those parties, where the newly minted celebrities or the old gaurd celebrities show off their shiny new accessories. And then I think to myself, just work a little harder at that screenplay, or why don't you give acting another shot? Just because last time you sucked doesn't mean things will be the same. You've grown up a lot since then, felt new things, become more confident in yourself. That means a lot. Or, keep working hard at that internship, climb that ladder and you'll get there, you might not be the center of attention or questioned about your dress on the red carpet but you'll still be there. Who cares if you're old now and this is a place that celebrates youth? At least you were there!
Yesterday I went to church for the first time in a year. I sat through the sermon and thought about how we store up earthly goods that mean nothing and that the real reward is doing things for others and helping others. Even if you don't believe that doing these things will mean you have treasures stored up in heaven, like the Bible says, you probably understand the truth in the statement. It seems as though this sermon reinforces the thoughts I've had about going back to school and becoming an educator. It would mean I was helping others with my life's work. Pretty noble of me. I'm sure I'd enjoy it and find a lot of fulfillment in it. And then, I came home and watched the Oscars with my roommates later that evening. It was a good Oscars, nothing too exciting but not painfully boring to watch. Ellen was funny and the interpretive dances, thankfully, short. Moves that I thought were good won and the actors and actresses I liked won. Except for poor Peter O'Toole. And Marty won! Finally!
Anyway, as I watch the Oscars a strange feeling of longing comes over me. I'm dissatisfied with everything around me and I want only what I think will be prettier, more stylish, or cooler. It's not a pleasant feeling, but still quite powerful.
So it makes me wonder, is the Oscars almost as bad as the Miss America pagents? Does it make little girls (and boys) want things they can't have? Or is it really just a big scholarship program that helps those who have the goods go places they wouldn't on their own? Does it give them something to strive for, or us something to be jealous of? And it is all so superficial as well, but come on, when you see those girls up there in their ballgowns, don't you sort of wish you were up there, being admired as well? And when you see all those people in the audience don't you wish you were part of it? Just a little?

I know this is mostly daydreaming for some, but for me it feels like a goal. I mean, this blog isn't called Silver Screen Pipe Dreams for nothing. Just like some little girls grew up watching the Miss America pagents year after year, dreaming of being up there, copying the waves and the smiles, i grew up watching the Oscars, dreaming of what I would say, if I would cry or give a powerful. conscientious speech, what I would do when my name was called. Even after I stopped thinking in terms of Best Actress or Supporting Actress, I had my heart set on Best Screenplay or Adapted Screenplay. I was certain I could do it. And now, as I consider whether I'd rather be a professor somewhere and give up these pipe dreams and move on, I see these people who've been able to do it and wonder if I could too. And I also remember the passion of that younger girl and wonder if I'm becoming too adult to follow my dreams or if those dreams really were childhood and have nothing to do with what I should actually be. How do you know when those dreams from childhood are worn out and need to be thrown out, or when they're where your future lies?

Blueprints and Refried Movies

So Blogger has been asking me to switch my blog over to their new, improved version for some time now and I finally did because it was the last chance I'd have to do it. And once I had I found that I had about 16 comments waiting to be aproved. There was a little icon letting me know. I had forgotten I set it up so that comments have to be approved. And all this time I thought you people didn't care but you like me! You really like me! Or...well...at least you don't hate me. So sorry to all of you that I sent those nasty messages to. It was my own fault. Just like most of my other problems.

I started at my internship for a very cool production company in the city. I don't know if I should tell you the name...well alright. It's Tribeca Productions. I know I promised you all I'd give you the inside scoop on what goes on behind the silver screen but right now I'm going to have to disappoint you because it's all so damn cool. It's a great building. I could work in an office forever if it's as nicely designed and friendly as this one. Everyone I've met is fairly young and well dressed but not in a pretentious way. They seem very friendly. My first day I had to go to Magnolia Bakery to pick up so cupcakes for a gift. MMMMMM. It's goood. Maybe not the best in the world or anything but still good and sugary.

I got to read the script for the movie we're going into production on in March. It's pretty good. I liked it alright. The strange thing about reading scripts though is that not everything is given to the reader. I'm used to reading fiction and in fiction most everything is described for you. You generally understand the motive of the person, even if you don't know what their tea tastes like as they sip it and pulverize their assistant. In movies too, you are given most of the information. You can read the actors' faces and get an idea of where they're coming from. Or their clothes and understand what this character is supposed to be. Reading a script is more like reading a blueprint. You can look at all the outlines and get an idea for what the finished product will be but you aren't sure what color they'll paint the walls or where they'll hang the pictures. And you start to think of it as a fairly blank, bland building and forget about things like interior design and personal choices. You need to think of it like a blueprint but when you're used to looking at the finished product it's hard to readjust.
So, I was reading the script and not knowing who would play what role or what that actor would do with a certain line and it is very hard to get an idea of what is good in terms of scripts or not. I don't really know what producers look for when they read a script trying to decide whether or not to make it into a movie. If I had to do that right now I wouldn't have picked this movie, necessarily. Nothing is wrong with it, I can tell that much, but it doesn't grab my attention all that much. It's a complicated business I'm starting to see. I can tell when something's bad but not when it's good. I can tell when a finished movie is going to be good or not but being able to tell what will be good seems much trickier. I guess that could be why such crap is made. At least, that might be one of the reasons. The other being the need to make money off of refried stories.

There are no small parts, only small actors

And last night I ran into one of them. I was hailing a cab. One stopped to let somebody out and I hurried up to it. I came between two cars to reach the door. And as I did I stepped right into the way of him:
Looking slightly tired and quite handsome despite his height. He walked into a chophouse by my office as I pounded on the window for the cab to stop. And then I called all my friends who thought I was crazy because they had no idea who he was. "Haven't you seen The Station Agent?" I asked in disbelief. I guess I was the only one who thought it was a great movie.

That's the first sighting I've had in New York. I know it's lame to admit that I was hoping to run into somebody here but I was. I know it's a big place but with so many stylish, glamourous people walking around I always kept my eye out to see if one of those glamourous people was someone worth taking notice of. Nothing except some Dinklage yet. Have you ever noticed how his name fits his size quite well? He could be a Dickensian character with a name like that. Well, perhaps I'll have more opportunity for sightings starting February 13th. That's the day I start my internship at a well known film production center in downtown New York. I think I'll probably end up a silly giggling girl staring up at someone I know so well from the movies and not at all in real life. I hope that if I do see someone i recognize I don't embarass myself. It's hard to think of yourself as even moderately cool if you can't stop staring at someone who's famous cause they can pretend to be other people well. I wonder who I'll see? It's like Christmas!

Again with the life questions

Who am I? What is my purpose in life? What should I do with my life?
Big questions without real answers, I know. But they're questions that have been plaguing me lately. What should I do with my life? I ask this of myself constantly. And also, am I living in the right place? I moved to New York with the hope that I would be part of this exciting city and get to experience a different sort of life. Meet new and interesting people. Right now that seems a little bleak. I know it's because I'm still new here but it does throw into starck relief the kind of life I hope to have and if this is the path that will get me there.
I've also been wondering if television and film is something I want to continue pursuing. I think about going back to school constantly but I don't know if it is just my escape mechanism kicking in or what. See, everything that I attempt that seems hard or insurmountable I drop or run from. The only time I stuck it out was to finish my degree. I knew I could do it even if I was tired of it and ready to be done. Or I leave places when I feel bored and as though I'm stuck. I don't know if this is the best way to live life because it means I never give things the chance they deserve and I never stick things out. But I also tend to think that life is too short to be miserable in a job or place. So my delimma is always whether it is better to stick something out or get out of the mess. And right now that's my problem.
See, I convince myself that this career isn't the one for me, or this school or major or job. I convince myself that things will be better elsewhere. It's the 'Grass Is Greener' syndrome. I'm not that jealous of people per se, I'm just always looking for the next pot of gold in a way. I guess that's the American Dream but I want MY dream, not the American Dream. I can never figure out what would be the best route. I always second guess myself and I always change my mind.
Right now I'm trying to decide whether to try television for a while and then, depending on that, I'll decide about grad school. And that seems a reasonable enough solution. Especially considering that the television job I'm looking for isn't hiring until March through June. And I wouldn't even start applying to grad school until the Fall or Spring of next year. You would think that I could just sit back and relax and wait to see. But no. I constantly have to be weighing the options, considering my next move. I can't sit still.
I think part of this has to do with the fact that I don't yet have a place to live. I'm on the verge of desperation. I don't know where I'll go in about a week. If I get the internship that I was offered I guess I'll really have to find a place. If not I might have to go back to Reston for a little while and decide what to do then. I don't want to have to go back to Reston. I'd like to make a break and stay here and begin to settle in. If I do get the writer's assistant job I want it might take me to L.A., which I'd be fine with. I just need to know something. Usually I take it all in stride and have a sense of certainty that even up to the last minute something will work itself out. But when it means I might not have a place to live and my resources are dwindling it makes it a little harder to sit back and wait for something to fall in my lap. It's like my daydreams are getting caught up in ther real world and the world I thought I knew as real is slowly turning sour.

2 days and no boss

It's Day 2 of my life without a boss. It's ridiculously nice to be in an office and have no supervisor. I know what I'm supposed to be doing and I do that without worrying that someone is micro managing me. Not that the people I work with do that, it's just a feeling I always get when I'm the new person and have someone to answer to directly. I get nervous that I'll slack off too much or not do something right. I guess it comes from often being in a job where I don't directly employ my strengths but am only here as a person who can do errands and answer the phone. I feel that if I were here because of my strengths then it would be different. Don't get me wrong, I like the people I'm working with and I can do the job well, I'm just tired though, of not doing things for which I have the talent. I think I'm a talented person and I'd like to be able to work in an environment where those talents are acknowledged and appreciated. But I feel like it might be a while in this industry before that happens.

Anyway, since I've got nothing better to do and my bosses are in Miami I've had the freedom to watch tv or movies all day long. And I've got a steady supply of TV shows and movies sent to my bosses for their consideration for all sorts of awards, like the Emmys and so on. The other night I watched a DVD of the new movie 'Little Children'. My boss loaned it to me when I said I was going to see it at the theatre. Today I watched 'It's Always Sunny In Philadephia', a pretty funny show and 'Conviction' not quite a spin off of 'Law & Order' but close. It was cancelled, unfortunately, because I thought the show was quite good. I also watched '30 Days' the TV show that was a spin off (but in a good way) of 'SuperSize Me'. It's Morgan Spurlock's TV show (that also got cancelled) about people living different lives for 30 days. The first episode is about him and his fiancee moving to Columbus, OH for a month and living on minimum wage. It was interesting because it felt familiar. I know what it's like to count my pennies and worry about how much I can spend on food. I'm not saying I've ever been in such a tight situation as they were in but I understand the desperation they probably felt at times. And I watched as they both had to get medical attention because of injuries or illnesses they got from the life style they had. And saw their hospital bills. As one man in the show said 'America doesn't have health insurance, it has sick insurance.' If you have a heart attack and go to a hospital you will be treated. But you won't be treated before the heart attack for preventive measures. I am astounded at our country's way of treating the poor and the sick. We would rather shell out huge amounts of money if you're about to die, but won't pay for small things that could prevent the sickness. It just seems like a backwards way of doing things. I want health care reform.

I also watched an episode about a Christian white man living for a month as a Muslim man in America and a conservative straight man living in San Francisco. They were really interesting and sometimes hard to watch but the kind of television I like. It's sort of like a grown up, actual reality tv version of MTV's Made, where kids become something they've always dreamed of through help and hard work. A change comes about in them that is amazing to see. And that's how it felt with these guys. To see the conservative Christian straight guy go from spouting Bible verses about sin to accepting that these people are a lot like him was powerful. I wish more people could have this oppurtunity. And I also wish that people could understand more about the Bible. I was listening to the Diane Reims show a few months back and she had a Biblical scholar on who was talking about his book. He had become a scholar of the Bible because he was a fundamentalist young man and wanted to know more about the origins of Christianity. It was quite ironic, I suppose, when he began to realize that the Bible was modified as it was transcribed by the early Christians. Things that were never part of Christ's teachings got changed around, according to the Christian who was writing it. I'm not saying the Bible is completely a fake or wrong. But I am saying that the Word of God can't be exactly recorded because of the fallibility of man. If it had descended from heaven and photocopied right then, then I would believe every iota it had I guess, but it wasn't. And i can't trust men that changed things in order to have the religion read the way they wanted it to. Somethings became more severe than they might have begun. I do believe in the heart of Jesus' saying and I do believe that the Bible has a great deal of good and that people should try to live life like Jesus because he was full of love and peace and unselfishness. But do I believe some aspects of it? I can't justify some of it with what I feel as a human to be true. That might just be the human flaw in me but I believe that if I live a life that is peaceful and loving towards everyone and accept the fact that I am not perfect and can never hope to be then I think that is what Christianity is all about. There are also some things about accepting Jesus as your savior. I guess I believe those, but I'm not sure how I feel about them yet. I'm not quite comfortable with that. That might be something I'm never comfortable with but I can't say I don't believe in God just because I don't know understand everything he means. I think that Christianity requires some suspension of belief. It is a strange and magical religion and I understand when people say they can't rationalize that. Neither can I. I'm still just figuring out. And I guess that makes me a Christian. But even that word makes me uncomfortable. Can I say I'm a Christian when I feel as though many of the people who also profess this are people I wouldn't want to associate with?

The Fug at Work

Yesterday I commited a heinous error. I let the delivery guy go to the bathroom in...THE OFFICE! I know, I know. Crazy of me. And yeah, he did have neon yellow hair and looked like a clown. Why, oh why would I let such a person despoil our bathroom like that? He could be doing drugs in there! He could be stealing our top secret Prince costumes! Or spying on the Russian Arts Foundation!
At least, that's the attitude my boss' wife seemed to take. She works in the office too. She runs the Arts Foundation. She wanted to know who had let him in and who had let him use the bathroom and then she told me that the bathroom down the hall (that's locked!) is for them. How was I supposed to know? And I didn't buzz him in. That was all her Russian girls. She wanted me to walk him down the hall and make sure he didn't get into any mischef during the fifteen steps down the hall. I sort of made a face because I thought she was being overly ridiculous and because I was stuck behind some boxes and it would be awkward to get out. She asked if I had a problem with this. No, of course not. Why would I have a problem babysitting a delivery clown while he goes to the bathroom? It's not like he's never been in an office building before.

The thing is, it's hard to take your boss seriously when she's wearing brown cordoroy pants with pockets and zippers placed at random, a brown sweater that cuts her off at her stomach and brown boots. She looked like a skinny potato. Today she has on green pants with brown cuffs that actually have a belt to be buckled around the ankles. WHY? As she walked away i almost laughed out loud.
The day before she was wearing black leather pants with lacing up the sides. my God woman! You have a child! I know you're Russain and your people were stuck in the backwaters of 1970s Soviet fashion for a long time and that a pair of jeans must seem like a luxury item to you but let go of the Eurotrash ways! Your husband dresses with more sense than you. I find it morally rephrensible when a man is better dressed than his wife.

And what's stranger still is that she seems like a very uptight, serious woman. I don't know why she feels the need to show off a crazy, wilder side with leather pants but keep the sensible side intact by pairing it with a sweater. Why would such an uptight woman dress this way? It confuses me.
And, it's not like she can't dress or look decent. There's a photo of her hanging in the hallway looking quite nice and well dressed. It looks like a photo taken for a profile in a magazine. And her husband, my boss has photos of her and their son and I wasn't sure if they were the same woman because she looked so much nicer. Maybe not the clothes, I couldn't see them in the picture. Is this a recent fashion decision? I feel like I need to do a daily fug on her. Maybe I will keep you updated on her fashion stylings.

The Long Search

After three weeks of looking for an apartment I'm still searching. And I'm getting a little depressed about it. Nothing's been terrible. Some things would have to be compromised but they were all do able. But nothing that made me want to jump right in. People have been okay but no one that I thought I could be close friends with. And it's making me a little depressed. How is it that I can't find anything? Where are all these people coming from? And it's making me question myself. Am I friendly seeming or do I look like a snob. I know I've been told I do come off as stand offish but only until people get to know me. I'm SHY, people! I'm really one of the least snobbish people I know. And one of the most easy going. I should get testamonials from friends to send along to potential roommates.
It's also making me question where I want to live. Do I want to live in a railroad style apartment in Bushwick? Do I want to pay a little more for a place in the East Village? Is Williamsburg enough of a community that I would feel at home, and are there normal, cool people there or just hipsters? After a lot of consideration I thik I'm going to look mainly in Brooklyn. I'd love to live in the Lower East Side or Greenwich Village but i think for now I'm best off in Brooklyn. Maybe if I had more money or more friends I could live in the LES or Queens or something but right now Williamsburg looks cool and fun and sort of friendly. I'm looking at two apartments tomorrow night and if either of them feel good I'm going to beg and plead my way in. I just am so worried about finding a place in time. Last night I couldn't fall asleep for the longest time because I was worrying over the schedule of finding a place, moving my stuff up to New York from Reston and everything else. It always seems so much more complicated when you're trying to fall asleep.

On a more exciting note, My friend Kiran (and maybe Mike ) are coming on Thursday, so even if I don't get one of the places I'll have a friend for the weekend. Chris and his boyfriend might be down too. And Aja just IM'd me to see if she and Sofia could crash this weekend. I told them that maybe next weekend would be better for me so I might have friends up for two weekends in a row! So much better than going to the Whitney alone like I did on Sunday! These thoughts make the day so much brighter. That and yoga in the a.m. I'm feeling so healthy today. I had such a high I couldn't write a word until after lunch when a hand ful of Jelly Bellys brought me back down to a normal state of nerves.

Weekend Update

Friday: After work I had to move all of my belongings from Flatbush, Brooklyn to Tudor City, Manhattan. I'm staying at my friend's studio while she's in Miami with the Super Bowl. She's the one who got me the job, and now she's letting me stay in her place. I can't believe it. I also can't believe how cute it is. Tudor City is just what its name implies. It is some old buildings built in the style of of English Tudor and comprising a block right by the Harbor on the very eastern side of the island. I can see Queens and the UN building in the hallway of the building. The studio is small, just a bathroom (with lovely porcelian fixtures) a kitchenette and a room. But it has a great view of the park right by the building and the Empire State building and until February 5 it's all mine. I've never lived alone before. Always with someone, mostly my family. I like it so much I might not be able to deal with a roommate.
Anyway, that is not the point of this entry. Let me get to that. I went out to Flatbush and got one of my bags to take to the apartment. I had two large bags and I knew I'd have to change trains and walk a couple of blocks to the building. I didn't want to create too much trouble for myself. I probably should have gotten a cab but that would cost about $30 and I don't have money to waste when I could just make more effort. Before I left I sat down to watch a few minutes of TV, to relax from the hour train ride from work to Brooklyn. As I flipped back and forth from The Daily Show to Vh1's The Fabulous Life of the Ridiculously Wealthy (maybe not the actual name.) during commercial breaks, it solidified a feeling I've been having since arriving here. I really like New York but sometimes I feel depressed because I don't have much money. I know a lot of people in this city don't but when I see things like the $32 million dollar penthouse Ivanka Trump is showing off, that her dad owns and which she hopes to own someday it makes me very jealous. (Not just for me, but I'm not Mother Theresa.) Then I watched the Daily Show and see Jon Stewart who is successful but down to earth and aware of these differences. I can't stand Ivanka Trump's heir apparent attitude.
That was what I was thinking about as I carried my heavy bag through the dreary streets of Flatbush and down onto the train.

Doing something like this, moving from place to place, job to job, worrying about money and what the next step will be is the reality of being a young person trying to make their dreams come true. It will give me something to ground myself someday when I'm looking back, thinking about where I've come from. Even though it's hard now I'd rather take this risks and come out on top than be given everything like Ivanka. I don't think I could get used to that sort of wealth or ever feel comfortable with it. When I came up from the subway to Grand Central and down 42nd St. towards the sweet studio that I could see myself living in someday, I felt as though this is a taste of what success will mean for me. Not huge, but enough to feel happy. And when the day is over and I don't have to carry my luggage around Manhattan I will view these hard days as some small memory.
Once I dropped off one bag I had to go back for the monster bag, the one with all of my clothes. I take an hour train ride and get about a block away from the house in Flatbush when I realize I've left the keys back in the apartment in Manhattan. Sandy, the man who's house I've been staying at had left for Boston that morning and everything was locked up. Dejected I walked back to the subway, went back to Manhattan and went to bed. It was 1 am by this point and the guy I was supposed to meet for a drink thought I had stood him up because along with my keys I left my cell phone. It was not the good kind of stress like the one above, but the kind that makes me feel stupid.

Saturday my mom and two of her friends came into the city and stayed in the W in Times Square. I got up and met them there. Times Square is such a busy tourist trap that winding my way through it I really felt like a New Yorker. It was good to see my mom again and her friends Darcy and Lil are good for her. Crazy women who like to laugh. They came with me to get my other bag in Flatbush and we ate Chinese on the train. They exclaimed over the house in Flatbush with all it nooks and crannies and the tiny adorable studio. We went to a stand up comedy club and loved it. I think I'm going to do more of that while I'm here. I met up with Sib, my new friend that I stood up on Friday and we went to a bar in Williamsburg. I had a good time dancing to old school hip hop and Prince. And then I got lost on the train in Queens. I got home around 5:30 am.

Sunday we went to the site of the World Trade Center memorial. Even though I sometimes think people get overly patriotic and nationalistic when they talk about 9/11 when I'm reminded of the actual horror of the events and see the pictures that documented the day and people's reactions it makes me cry. The nationalistic take on things slips away and I forget that it led to war and Iraq and President Bush and I remember that day.
After that we headed back to Times Square area to see an Off Broadway show called the Altar Boyz. At first I was hesitant. Musicals and anything spelled with a Z where it should be an S makes me want to gag. And stages that are dangerously close to the audience. But Altar Boyz was a pleasant surprise. It was a satire of Christian based pop boy bands and the silly hypocrisy of it. The five boys were great. They sang and danced better than any pop singer I've seen and subtly created their characters even while singing and dancing. We loved it. I think I'll do more of that while I'm here too. After that we got some Italian and then had the requisite Cosmos at a bar. They got a little drunker than I expected and after some embarassment I had to say goodnight. I love them but I can do without three drunk tourists in the city I'm still trying to break into. I'm glad they came though and had such a good time. I wish I knew the city better so I could show them more of it.
And that is the weekend update.

Thursday Confession

It's National De-Lurking Day!! I've 'fessed up to my lurking on other blogs and now it's your turn. So if you've read my blog and not commented, or not commented for a while I'd like to hear from you.
And if you're my mom and need to be walked through how to leave a comment then give me a call, because I noticed that even after the first time I told you how to do it I haven't gotten anything. And I'm your daughter! Not cool, Mom. Not cool.
(I'll see you on Saturday.)

Mannequins and New Jersey Diners

Yesterday I spent an hour calling all the different department stores in Miami (where our production team is headed in a couple of days.) trying to find mannequins that we could rent/buy for our wardrobe department. Part of me loves the challenge of something like this. I get to use my sleuthing skills and track down things, weasel it out of people and generally be my charming self to get my way. It's like playing a very fun character. Part of me hates having to sit through the computer controlled voice operators who speak so calmly and can't actually understand you.
"I heard Juniors department. Is this correct?" "No!" "I'm sorry. Please repeat the department you wish to be connected to."
It's so satisfying to get snippy with them until you realize it's not doing you any good and is probably only making it worse. Finally when I reach one live person I asked if I could speak to the visual merchandising department. Or, if it's a cheaper store 'for the person who's in charge of the mannequins.' And then, inevitably I get shunted to someone who doesn't know anything about it. Or I get told that 'We don't rent them out." 'Okay, well, do you someone who might?" "No." Thank you for your help." Bitch. I started calling costume stores and got the same response. Finally someone recommended some prop stores. At one of the prop stores they refered me to "Jerry." "Jerry" refered me to "Mike Dane" I googled Mike Dane + Miami and found only one number, a home number, which I then called. And called back this morning because the pager number given got no response from him. Apparently the only guy who can help me in Miami isn't into returning calls. Great.

I spent the majority of my day in a storage facility in New Jersey. Matt and I, another PA had to pack up various things to be shipped down to Miami and then sit around and wait for FedEx to pick them up. And when I say 'pack up various things' I mean an entire pallet and then use plastic packaging wrap to Saranwrap everything into a nice, unbudgable pile. Once we were finished with that we went to get lunch at the Tick Tock Diner and kill some time. We had four hours.
The diner was exactly what I expected a diner in New Jersey to be. Full of old, affluent Jewish people, business men that look like car dealers or toilet bowl salesmen and big beefy guys. I'm glad somethings live up to my expectations.
When lunch was finished we went back to the storage unit to move the pallet outside for the FedEx guys. That was when we realizd the pallet wouldn't fit out the door. We had a stack of fifteen Gatorade water coolers and had to wrench three out to squeeze it out the door. We just barely made it. Then we stood around for an hour until the truck arrived. After that we headed back into Manhattan. What a glamorous life, television is.

Ifs, Ands & Buts.

I'm torn constantly between my desire for quiet, tea and good books, nice walks and lovely food and my desire to get my voice heard. These days, as I make my way through New York, getting lost at every turn (Everytime I think I know my way to work I find I know nothing at all), I wonder what is better; a quiet life or a busy one? It's like my version of Hamlet's eternal question. To be or not to be. I wonder often, and these days oftener than not, whether my calling is to be a screenwriter and stay in New York, hoping to make it; hoping to get my work seen, much less made. Or I could, after soaking up the city for a while go back to school and teach English at a college somewhere where the $2 beer night at the local bar and the townhall players' new show are the biggest excitements. Both offer a different sort of satisfaction. Both offer a different sort of pleasure. One feels impossible and one feels like a cop out.
This might just be a question that seems important now. I might find that after a year of living in the city I love it too much to think about going back and have too many friends. Or I might find that as interesting it is I can't make a living doing anything I want to do and I can't get anywhere and leaving won't seem like a cop out since I tried and decided it wasn't for me.

So far I like elements of the city and I like strolling down the streets. But I haven't explored enough to know that I love it. And for me love is tied up in friends and so far I feel lonely.

On a more professional note, I made a little trip to the NFL headquarters yesterday. Strolling down Park Ave in my black winter coat and boots and stockings made me feel very adorably cityish. Not that that is very professional, but it was an errand and it was a glimpse at a lovely citylife. There is definitely more of that to follow, if I have anything to say about it.

For a real professional note: I've decided to look at finding writer's internships. I don't know if such a thing exists but I imagine that working for a show's writers would help me decide what I want to do and some clear paths. And it might help me with my writing.