I Hate That Stupid Freud

I've been sort of pining away for some one. I hate that phrase too, by the way. I feel like a corsetted, soppy Victorian miss when it is used. I haven't been pining way. I've been moving on and enjoying everything a lot lately, but sometimes in a sneaky voice I hear, 'It'd be nice if we were still friends. If you could talk to him about his thoughts on Kerouac and your paper.' or something else equally undermining.
Even with the confusion of not knowing exactly why he forgot about my existence (I chalk it up to the fact that he wasn't ready to date after his last relationship, despite his objections to the contrary.) I don't really care anymore, not much anyway, and I think I've forgiven him, in my mind. And hanging out with some old high school friends, gossiping about things we've learned about our former classmates in the intervening years, helped too. I learned some stuff that I had sort of known already but not really acknowledged about him. I'd ignored it because it didn't fit into my picture of things. But now I was faced with it and decided that now I really didn't care about him. (just for the record, it's not something that hurt me, so Aja you don't have to plan any revenges.)

And of course, after deciding that, I go home, go to bed and have a lovely make up dream about him. The kind that makes you wake up and think for half a second before remembering it was just a dream, 'Wow. He likes me again!' Not the sex dream kind, but the sweet dream kind. Those are so much more devious.
That damn subconscious. It always knows where you're most vulnerable, even when you don't. And because you don't know it's there, silently biding its time, how are you supposed to supress the thoughts it can take advantage of? You can't know what it will and won't use.
Stupid Freud and other psychiatrists figuring these things out. Thanks a lot, subconscious!

All Dressed Up

Ubiquitous Starbucks coffee cup in hand, I stood staring at row after row, aisle after aisle of shoes, wondering which ones defined me. Which one would I buy so that another facet of my personality would be revealed to the world? Which shoe would tell everyone I met that I am elegant, but fun, sophisticated but still young? Something classic, but unique. I was looking for black heels for work and a slip on shoe for everyday wear. Who knew there were so many choices when it came to black heels, but so many of them inappropriate for work? All I wanted was a black heel with a certain amount of height, but not too much. I do need to be able to walk, and I don't need to pole dance. One shoe was patent leather, yuck. One had too pointy a toe, making my feet look like long, black weapons. Another was too rounded. Finally I found the perfect pair-- Micheal Michael Kors, the Charlize pump. Elegant and simple. But they didn't have my size. And it was $89.95, more than I had decided I wanted to pay. (It would have used up all my babysitting money!) So I didn't get it.

Then it was on to finding everyday shoes, this task proved to be harder than the black heels. Even more than what heels defined me for work was the conundrum of what casual shoes defined me the best. And whether they would stand up to repeated use. I really wanted a pair of white loafers. Not off white but white. My mom has a pair that are surprisingly cool. I feel like a hip mod when I wear them, or a preppy yachter. But there were no women's loafers to be found, much less white ones. There were some great men's loafers, but again none in my size. So I ended up without shoes.

For years I have been using clothing, music, books and my other tastes to define me. Ever since I began school at Lake Anne in the middle of the sixth grade and insisted on a perm, (looking back, a very bad idea, I'm not cut out for curls) and wore a sweater over my very cool-at-the-time black stirrups. I began a life long quest to define who I was, and how people thought of me based on my clothing. For a long time I didn't want to be defined exclusively through my clothing, and so wore men's trousers and a variety of shirts and sweaters, all trying to achieve a certain rebellion against fashion by devising my own version of the beat look. Obviously what was more important than my clothes was what I read and thought and did. This in itself was a form of dictating how people thought of me in terms of what I wore, as in "Don't relegate me to that group of girls--I'm independent of that, can't you tell by my thrift shop digs?' And of course I still believe that, but I also recognize that the way we look is important to how people percieve us, as unfair as it might seem, it's true. And we can use that to define ourselves, and better understand who we are. So even though I still dress to stand out from the normal suburban crowd at the mall I try to do it in a way that expresses who I am, and what I like.

But as we grow older who we are and what we like, and who we have to become, in the workplace, with friends, everywhere else we might go in life, grows more complicated. For instance, right now I am an employee in a corporation. I have spent years rebelling against the idea of 'business clothes' and 'business casual' because even though the models look so pretty in their Banana Republic clothes it didn't feel comfortable to me. I didn't want to be beholden to a code that dictated what I could and couldn't wear. As long as I thought it was appropriate and clean and neat then who else cared? It felt like a violation of my First Ammendment. Now that I do have a 'real job' I try to balance my love for costume jewlry and unusual clothes with a sense of business casual that my boss can understand. I can't dress in what I feel to be the typical boring work clothes, I wouldn't feel right. But neither would I wear torn jeans, so what is so wrong with wearing what I want?

Women are so often told what we can and can't wear in this world, and we soak it up, we're always so certain that we must be doing something wrong, our hair out of style, the wrong dress, why else wouldn't we have the life we're shown in the advertisments? We let these depictions of life define our roles for us, telling us we should be sexy and also virginal, and smart and also a great mother and stylish and put together, but also free to be ourselves that it's no wonder some people drop out of the race altogether, or some like Britney Spears, go insane.

I can only foresee this continuing, my struggle to define myself as I change throughout life. Who will I become when I get married? How will I dress when I have kids, to show I am cool but still a good mom, but also independent of the stereotypical soccer mom? And where are my role models for aging elegantly? We seem to only have a few versions of old women that we allow slip through the mainstream. Right now it's great to be young and feel free enough to chop my hair into bangs and a short bob like I did on Friday, or wear ridiculously high wedges with my silk trousers. I don't want that to change, but things inevitably do. Growing up allows us to dress in a way we couldn't when we were younger, either because of our parents' censure, our lack of money to afford the clothes we wanted, or our own inhibitions about our bodies. But just when we can wear whatever we want we also start to censure ourselves, either because of work, or the roles we play that seem to dictate a dress code. I don't want to ever forget, as I define who I am as a woman today, and navigate this world as an adult, the sense of freedom and self that my clothes allow me.

Blah blog blag.

Is my dad and Aja the only ones who read or comment on my blog? God that's pathetic. Also, I almost wrote blag. Freudian.

Guilt Pangs

Argh, my grad class professor makes me want to throw up. And I don't mean that she's a scary, horrible person. I just mean that she scares me because I want to do so well, and I want to leave a good impression but I don't think I do. Especially not in the email exchanges we've had so far. When I get an email back from her my stomach tightens and my throat closes up. I feel like a 6th grader again, not knowing my homework assignment, and I'm in grad school. This is the time when I'm supposed to be responsible and adult like, and I'm failing miserably at it. I know I want to go to grad school and I know I can do all this, so why am I doing so badly? Partially I think it is the timing, just having started this new job and also this class might not have been the wisest idea. I thought I was prepared for both the courseload and my work schedule, and they do seem to match pretty well, but I just haven't been able to knuckle down and do the work when I'm supposed to, or I always forget something is due or I think I'll have time for it and don't. It's depressing because I know it's all my fault, but I still can't seem to get it together. I don't want her questioning my abilities or my dedication. I hate that sort of thing. But I'm still scared of her emails, expecting one of them to say, "Meredyth, if you can't do the work required for this class then maybe you shouldn't be in it." Oh god. And I know the other students are probably doing the exact same things I am and that she doesn't hate or think less of any of us, it's just how it sounds in the emails. Last class I did great, she loved me, and the other students seemed just as much in the gray areas I did, but I can't get the feeling out of my head that she's going to think I'm a terrible student who expects her to drop everything and help me out of a quagmire. I feel like a whipped puppy but I'm doing all to myself.

C.R.E.A.M

This blog is supposed to be about work ostensibly, or my every day life. I'd like to do some creative writing, that's the sort of thing I really want to do, not just blog about my day. But I am very busy working out how to be a grown up, and so I haven't had time for daydreaming stories. Siigh. Being a grown up is very complicated, what with the bills, and the automatic bill payments, and the interest, and the APRs, and the loans you can, and can't, qualify for, and the things that keep costing money without me knowing how, or why, exactly. I've spent the day trying to wrap my head around how a budget works, and if I could stay within one. My mom is a very bad money manager, and my father too. I don't like how they manage things but I find myself falling into the same traps, which then become a rabbit hole. I don't want to take that pill, thank you. I just want to dig myself out. I've been thinking about the need for a car and the need for a car loan and insurance for that car. I think I can afford one, but I also need to pay my mom back for things, and also pay off my credit card debit, and also my grad class. Hm. How can I do this all and stop worrying about money, and whether or not I'll have some at the end of the month? It always seems to go this way. As soon as I found the Job and they told me how much I'd be making in a year my heart did a dance. I'd be free from the worry! It was more than I was ever used to making in a month. I could buy things! But then the reality of due dates and collectors set in. And taxes, let's not forget about taxes. Ohhh. Brrr. That's a cold shower. It's very unpleasant to come down off the cloud of cash and to find out things aren't as simple as it seems from so far up. I think I'll be okay, not like the other post about this I had, but more optimistic. I'm not as broke as I thought and my debts really are manageable, but just having to do these things as opposed to the things I'd like to be doing, and along with all the other non-financial things I need to do and usually forget about, is annoying. Even though getting them accomplished makes me feel super productive, it's still not fun.

'Round and 'round it goes...

I'm at work, and using the computer. It's a pretty big deal. It almost makes me as happy as when I got my ID card and didn't have to be escorted through the building everyday. Finally I have internet access again! A million possibilities have opened up! And of course I only go to the same old websites I always have. Siigh. I really should discover some new ones. But I have all the time in the world now, because it's pretty slow around here. I don't mind it though, it's exactly the kind of easy, but still carrying some responsibility, job I was looking for, that would allow me time to do my own thing when I wanted. I like it alright.

There is a long hallway by the windows, on the way to the bathroom. There's no offices or anything nearby it and I strut the hell out of that hallway, striding like I'm Tyra's next little top model. Or Christy Turlington, who already is a Top Model, and ridiculously smart and good looking, two very admirable things.

I get time to study for my GREs, which is a good thing, because they're coming up fast and I wouldn't have studied at all if I didn't have this free time. I take the Literature GRE on Oct. 6th. I'm a little nervous about them because there are a lot of books I have read, but also a lot I haven't, and it makes no sense to try and read all of them on the off chance you'll come across them, but it's also pretty hard to know, from the passages they give you, what book it is. I've been reading the classics lately and I think that should help. Then, on Oct. 27th I get to test my math skills, something I haven't attempted since junior year of high school. The book I'm using makes it so much easier than I remember from school, but at the same time cramming all this stuff in is hard!

My days are so full lately, it doesn't help that my commute is about three hours roundtrip. I'm exhausted by the time I get home. I don't mind taking public transportation at all, that's not the problem. The problem is that I take a lot of public transportation and it takes up a lot of time. I'm thinking about buying a car, not to drive everyday, but to drive some days, like, to my evening class at Mason (I'll save those complaints for another post, I'm already getting annoyed with myself.) And that's a big responsibility, one I've never really attempted before. But I'm anxious to prove to myself I'm an adult who can handle the responsibility. And maybe move out too, that way I'd be closer to work and not killing myself trying to get here, but that leaves a lot of other issues that I'm not sure I'm capable of tackling right now. Here comes another big sigh.

Dear Skulkers,

Sorry I haven't been around much. I started a new job and it takes a while to be allowed to use the computer. I have to have a special card and I should have that by Monday or Tuesday so I'll update lots then, because I have a lot of free time. Besides that everything is fine. Lots of love, and see you soon. -Meredyth

Poor Little Rich Girl

Hello, I hope you had a wonderful Labor Day weekend. I'm still pretty sleepy. Not that I did anything, I just hate waking up to go back to work. Although, I was told that I passed the initial clearance and can move on to my real job soon. Thankfully. It's been pretty boring here, not doing anything. I've been falling asleep while trying to read for class. We haven't really been doing much at my house all week because we're all just waiting for our paychecks to come in. We're holding on and holding out, but it's going to be a close one. Somehow it reminds me of the W.B. Yeats poem, The Second Coming and the line, "Things fall apart; the center cannot hold." As though we were spinning planets in orbit around the house, but the center of gravity, what holds our lives to each other is slowly separating. It has been happening for awhile, just like a dying star, the falling apart of a family takes awhile. You can watch it implode, slowly, a ripple and shudder as the earth moves beneath your feet. And then, you start to notice that things aren't in their right place anymore, something familiar is alien, a feeling you never noticed before, a sense of panic, is there, just under the surface of things. You can feel it when you breathe in.
We've never been broke before, not like this. I've been broke, my sister's been broke, my mom's been worrying about money and it always seems to be slipping through her fingers; but we've never been broke collectively. The kind of broke where we don't go grocery shopping until Wednesday, where I squeeze $25 to make it last all weekend and come up with unusual ways to use what's in the refridgerator, how to get by without eggs. Julia borrows a textbook from a friend.

It's not so bad today, and I know it's not as bad as over half the population. One of the reasons why we're broke is because Mom and Dad paid for my grad class until I get paid, not everyone has that luxury. But, even when I was a kid and we couldn't do something we'd been promised because we couldn't afford it, or when Mom's credit card didn't work at the mall, it never felt quite like this. Not only is half of our family gone now, but so is whatever comfortable life we had. It's not the same anymore, things fall apart.

I just found the most luxurious site. Ohhhh. It makes me hungry. It's about lunchtime anyway. I'm going to go find something to satisfy me. I wish it were the food in these photos though. They make me want to go home and start cooking immediately.

Enjoy the pictures and I hope they inspire you too, or at least just make your mouth water uncontrollably.

One way to kick start that fish, Deim

I have found one good thing about the job so far. SO FAR. I'm trying not to complain or be pessimistic. And this thing is pretty optimistic. Sort of. Coming home from a long, mind numbing day of work really puts me in the mood to live life to the fullest. I want to do everything, see everyone, eat everything and do anything that might be construed as fun or relaxing. Maybe this can be the way I can fulfill the quote I like, "the future unimagined for the sake of the glorious, difficult present." Mmmmm. I want gallons of ice cream, glasses of wine, cigarettes and dancing. I'm so happy to be home that you could convince me of doing any outrageous act. Ahh, to be young and home from work.

Two Days for the Price of One Post

Another day of skulking around the maze of cubicles hoping someone doesn't ask me what I'm supposed to be doing. I played a super fun game on addictinggames.com for a while. And then, trouble. Apparently they can't find my security clearance from my old job to reestablish it. Embarassing questions got asked, questioning my competency and reliability and job status.

Well, not really, but it felt that way. I felt like even more of a fraud; like I had lied my way into this boring place just to steal state secrets. So I had to fill out bunches of paper work accounting for my past 7 years.

Resumed 8/29/07
It is in these moments, when I am filling out resumes or school applications that I am made aware of just how sporatic and unregimented my life is. I tend to think of myself as organized and liking schedules, knowing where the plan leads to. But when I look back and see 3 different colleges, 15 jobs, 2 cities and countless missing phone numbers, addresses or supervisors' names trailing after me that I realize just how impulsive this life of mine is. I always make decisions impulsively. I tend to want to gather the data but then end up just throwing it into a corner and running at the situation with my head down. I think it yields interesting results and stories but might look a little too colorful for this cubicle. It's a bit outside their color scheme. I'm afraid I'll be a bit too outside this color scheme too. Yesterday when I left here I felt physically ill. I think I'm just not used to this sort of schedule, but it's also my fears creeping out and affecting me. I need to remember more often that I have done quite a lot, and know quite a lot more than people give me credit for. I went to Kenya by myself, I visited London all alone. I got an internship working in Robert DeNiro's production company, and moved to New York all alone. I can do anything I want (and I don't just mean that in a girl power sort of way. I'm pretty self suficient.) Just because these people don't know what I'm capable of doesn't mean I have to feel intimidated by beige walls and button down shirts.

In response to Smith Mag's six word memoirs I came up with this minute autobiography: Exuberant families breed stories from messes. That, in turn, led to this poem (which is still a work in progress):


Exhuberance oozes out of them

like oil; rich, smelling of sun, necessary.

From this force of relatives and friends

Messes are beget on the kitchen counters,

in the living room, and bathroom sinks.

They trickle onto the sidewalks

where neighbors gather gossip,

leak out through phone lines,

and on voices carried past the pines.

Slowly, after tears and roars- of laughter fade,

the messes emerge from chrysalis as stories.

And the stories creep back in to fill up the house.

Breeding among the late night dishes in the sink

and bottles left on the back porch,

events catalogued like colorful beads,

from conversations continued long into the night;

they take up their place alongside the silent spiders

and remain; the friendly ghosts of the family.

New Kid on the Block

I started my first day of work this morning. I had an hour long orientation and then a quick tour around the office maze, and now I'm sitting here in an abandoned cubicle feeling like a little kid on her first day at a new school. The girl that I'll be working with for the next couple of weeks showed me around and then dropped me off at this cubicle and left. I read through the packet of new employee information I'm supposed to understand and fill out and now I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I feel a little like someone pulled a Freaky Friday on me and my dad and I've stepped into his world of business casual and gray fabric cubicles. I slink around the makeshift halls hoping no one looks up from their computer and recognizes me as a fraud, or will ask me a question and expect a smart, professional response. I don't know what I'm doing here. Literally or metaphorically. I don't know what my job will consist of and I don't know why I suddenly have an office job. It sort of scares me. Maybe it's the thought that this means I'm one step closer to really growing up. I know I'm supposed to have a real job and yet all I'm doing is sitting in this office, hidden away from everyone and wondering why I wanted to enter the real world of employment anyway.

It's sort of everything I imagined a real job to be-lonely, boring and confusing but not what I actually thought I'd have. Thank god I don't plan to be here forever. It would be soul crushing. Or at least, I think it would be, based on my first day. Maybe after a few weeks I won't feel like the new kid no one wants to play with at recess. But will I ever feel comfortable here? I hope for that, just to make things easier, and at the same time remaining in a cubicle, not doing anything that FEELS worthwhile for the rest of my life is one of my biggest fears. I've never thought I was cut out for the corporate world and I don't really see that changing. I've always wanted a job that I loved, that I felt meant something. A job like this might actually mean something to someone, but it doesn't to me. I've never wanted a job where I work 9-5 and come home and wash off the 'dust from the walls of institutions,/Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica,/Sift, almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium,/Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows,/Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate grey standard faces.'
(Theodore Roethke, Dolor)
That poem has always summed up what I think of the corporate world, and I know there are great jobs out there and great people who do them in office cubicles but I really don't think they're for me. Office Space, despite its hilarity, also terrified me because I didn't want that to be my reality, and now I find myself counting down the minutes of the clock and hoping not to be seen by anyone in authority because I'm afraid they'll ask what I did all day and I'll have to tell them. "I read sweet juniper all day. "

Say Wha?

I got a job. I got a job. I got a job. Sorry. I'm just a little surprised. I never really thought it would actually happen. I'm not super thrilled about the job but I know I can do it and I think I can do it for at least a year. I'm going to be proofreading things that military men write. Yay. It will pay well. That's the saving grace. I'm going to be commuting down near the Pentagon every single day. Every day. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I have a desk job and have to be there five days a week. At least now that I'll be sitting down all day I can buy some sweet heels and wear them without losing the feeling in my toes. And maybe even a car.

I've also been gearing up for the school year again. I'm trying to take a grad class at GMU this semester. Lots of good reasons, like working on my GPA, getting a good recommendation, getting some experience in a grad class and keeping my brain awake. But, in order to take the class I have had to run around like crazy trying to get all the documents in time so I can register and pay for classes by August 27th. Yup. Monday. (I think.) Wish me luck.

Surprise!

There's a sound in my house that I haven't heard in quite a while. It's a strange, bombastic, deep throated sound. It makes me happy in a way I've never felt before. Joining it are other melodious noises but this one sticks out more for its loudness and all encompassing hilarity. It's the sound of my brother laughing.

Last night my mom, Julia, Wendy, Joong Woo and I went to dinner with Ariel, Graham and Graham's family. We met at an Outback in Centreville. Sitting, waiting at the table, wondering who is joining us at a table for 15 we speculate on the announcement Ariel says she has for us. Is it an engagement announcement? Are she and Graham getting married? Julia threatens to walk out if that happens. Is she pregnant again? We can't believe either of these could be possible and we will be very sad if they are, because she and Graham aren't done with school yet. Ariel and Graham's brothers and mother walk in and Ariel looks beautiful in her dress, and the baby is adorable. Julia's afraid that because she looks so pretty she is getting engaged and she's preparing to be angry.
After they're seated Graham and Graham's second oldest brother walk in and behind them comes someone that looks kinda familiar, looks like a cousin or something, looks like he belongs with this group of people.
I hear my mom screaming and she runs around the table.
Julia and I are dumbstruck, Wendy starts yelling too.
I can't figure out what is going on.
Why is this person here?
Why shouldn't he be here.
It's my brother.
My brother who was in Iraq, and is supposed to be on R&R in Germany.
What is he doing here?
He was in Iraq and now he's here.
How?
Those are the confused thoughts running through my head.
Then it occurs to me that he is actually here now.
I get up and try to fit my arms around him and my mom and Wendy.
We're crying and laughing and stunned at his presence.
It's like when we saw him after boot camp all over again.
My mom is crying and Julia is crying and he's here.

He told everyone he was going to Germany for two weeks and we all accepted it without another thought, but he emailed Ariel and Graham to tell them it was all a lie and he was actually coming home and they planned the whole surprise. He arrived yesterday and will be here until August 19th. That's so long, he's here for so long, it will be the longest we've seen him for about two years, and the first time we've seen him since January.

I feel so shocked and as though it's not real, even though I hear him in the other room talking to Wendy. I almost don't want to spend too much time actually with him because I don't want to wake up, or miss him too much when he is gone. My heart hurts.

What Do We Want? Help!

Sofia and I just went to see 'Sicko', the new Micheal Moore movie. Oh my god, this should be a national requirement. It's so subversive it's like stumbling across a pot of untaxable gold. I sat in the theatre clentching my fists watching those lucky bastards the French, British, Canadians and Cubans laughing at our shitty health system. Every cell in my body screamed out "I want the fuck off this boat!! I want to go to England!" Get me the hell out of this country. How is it that we are the only, (ONLY, ONLY, There are no others) Industrial country that doesn't have universal health care? The poorest British citizen is in better health than our wealthiest because of the preventive and FREE care that their country provides. They understand that to take care of the problem before it begins, and to take away the burden of debt that lingers over the sick means their patients will either stay healthy, or get better quicker, and then be able to return to being a productive member of society. They aren't trapped in a cycle of poor health care and mounting debts. They don't have to choose between going to a hospital that is 'in the company's network' or the one that is closest. Dying on the way to the pre-approved network hospital isn't an option for these citizens. Their country actually cares about the well being of ALL of its citizens, rather than the ones that donate the most amount of money to the politicians' campaigns.

I propose a change. I refuse to vote for any politician that does not make these three topics part of their platform
1. Exit Strategy. Getting us out of the war, and rebuilding the country we've destroyed, in a peaceful healthy way should be a priority. We would save billions of dollars a month, not to mention the lives.

2. Global Warming. We can do a lot as private citizens but we could do so much more as a nation if our government would sign the bills that would help this along.

3. Universal Healthcare. Reforming our healthcare system is a necessity at this point.

All of these issues would show the American people that our government does care about THEM, not about themselves. We want a government for the people. That was our initial reason wasn't it? Somewhere along the way our ideals got lost and now we have a government that is for themselves. The point of democracy is to have a government that is afraid of the people and will work for them. This kind of candidate is the only kind I'm interested in. Once I've found him, or her I'll let you know.

I just wrote a letter to my Congressman and Senators telling them what I wanted. You can too. Do it HERE.

Go Get A Job, You Bum!

"I'm freakin' out here, man!" Those words, so true, so true, were spoken by an old hippie but they could have been stolen right out of my mouth. Except for the fact that I was quoting that old hippie in an ironic way. It's always ironic! I never say stupid things without the old ironic excuse to back me up. Thank you hipsters.
Sorry, I'm drinking my coffee very strong and black today. We ran out of sugar. Waht was my point? I've completely lost it in the haze of irony and coffee. Which is a good thing because now as I've remembered why I decided to write this post I'm starting to freak out again.

Looking for jobs is HARD! I've never really had to begin this process. Jobs have sort of come easily to me. Especially jobs I don't really care too much about. I've gotten every single job I've ever interviewed for, except one. That's a pretty good track record when you consider how many jobs I've had, and the fact that I rarely bother filling out the application and then returning it. That holds true for restaurant jobs, retail jobs, internships, you name it, I can interview for it.
And the past few jobs I've had I haven't had to apply or interview for. I think I was a little spoiled by the TV community. Someone recommends you and then all of a sudden you're hired. Now I have to look up jobs, send them my resume and hope they'll call me back for an interview. I get the distinct feeling that my resume doesn't meet standards. Who knew people would be so picky about who tutors their kids? (just joking...sigh.) I've applied at tons of places (okay, maybe not tons but it feels like it) in NOVA and haven't really heard back from many of them. I haven't heard back from Fairfax County yet about substitute teaching and I know they probably have tons of resumes and assessment tests to slog through but it's making me antsy, like I can't even get a job as a substitute teacher.

I'm sure I should keep at it and give it time, all those reasonable responses but I really hate this. I feel like once someone deigns to hire me I'm just going to be so angry at this whole process that I'll throw it back in their face. Or be so servile and grateful that I spend the next 6 months on weekend duty. All my experience and college degree doesn't seem to get me far. They seem to want people who have experience teaching or tutoring rather than experience in running for coffee or the subway.

A Capitol Fourth

Sorry about the lack of writing recently. I was pretty overwhelmed by the show for a while and then after that I didn't want to think about it for a while and relax. But the show was interesting and so much happened that I wanted to write about it, all while it was going on. I just didn't have a spare moment. Really. Starting the Monday before the show on Wednesday I was completely crazy all day. Tuesday we had to sit through an hour long security sweep. All of us in the catering tent. I had so much work to do when I came back from our forced lunch break. It was the busiest part of the day for me. As soon as we got back from lunch I had about 5 interns that were coming to volunteer for us. I was spinning faster than a tornado trying to get everything ready for the dress rehearsal. People needed their guest passes for the night but we ran out of Tuesday night passes and had to come up with some way to make some up. I printed "Tuesday Night ONLY" on white labels and made the interns put them on extra Band & Chorus badges. It's nice having interns that can do these time consuming boring tasks. I was one about 3 months ago and I totally appreciate it.

Apparently though, I hurt someone's feelings. This girl, Candice, who is the full time receptionist in the main Capital Concerts office. I thought nothing of her at first, she was nice enough, cute. After hanging out with her for a while I started to get annoyed. She was young, thought she was funny and was pretty fake nice. She was coming over to help us out on Tuesday and came shortly after all the interns had arrived. I had showed the interns around the stage and backstage and then told them they could watch the show because I didn't have much for them to do and was already overwhelmed. Candice, however, wanted to be part of the team because she worked for us too. Well, she'd been working in the main office, far removed from anything we were doing. She also hadn't brought a computer to help us out with the paperwork. She was basically reduced to an intern's role and she resented it. She thought I had been rude to her. I don't really know why or how she got this impression. I was busy and so not really able to chat but I was trying to be really nice to everyone because I know I can get short when I'm busy but I didn't want the interns to be intimidated. Anyway, she wrote my boss an email saying she didn't feel part of the team and I had been rude to her and therefore she was going to go help the Talent people instead. You don't do that! You can't decide you don't like where you are and change your job like that, without asking anyone. My boss was annoyed, and so was I. If you can't deal with a little rudeness, or what you perceive to be rudeness how are you going to make it out in the real world, and especially TV? It's a rude, crude place. Get the fuck over it. And I'm one of the nice ones.

The National Anthem Makes Me Weirdly Patriotic

Unlike Memorial Day I am much more inclined to be patriotic on the 4th of July. I know a lot of people are, but I'm usually never patriotic. I feel like those people who only go to church on Easter and Christmas, I'm only patriotic on Independence Day.
The whole 'rocket's red glare' and the 'flag through the night' thing really sets me off. Especially when it's sung by someone who's got a soaring voice. I guess it's the whole day, like Christmas is so much more Christmas-y when the tree smells good and the people around you are kind and the snow falls. When the weather is balmy and the picnic is great and the people are good and the fireworks explode so inticingly and the sky is that dusky blue shade and the fireflies blink. The smell of hot dogs and gunpowder really makes me happy. I feel oddly elated and amazed to be a part of this country. It doesn't happen often, that I'm proud of who we are and even on the Fourth I get angry and upset, but I still somehow think it will turn out alright. Overall we're decent people who believe in these abstract things like Freedom and Liberty and we have fought wars to keep it that way. Even though we screw up often, and I wish we never went to war, especially the current one, I think Americans have this funny decency buried somewhere and after a while the cruelty gets intolerable and we do something about it. Granted, it's usually followed by bloodshed. It's strange, isn't it, how many of our boys have felt the same way, and how many of them have decided that they would be willing to die for that. I wish they could decide that and feel good about that decision, but not actually have to prove it by dying, or getting maimed or scarred, emotionally or physically. I wish we could show our pride in our country without having to sacrifice these boys needlessly. Even though I think these things I am amazed at the fact that someone would care enough about these things to do that. Amazed, awed, grateful and saddened.

Man, this wasn't supposed to go down that path. I was actually just going to comment on how cute the cheerleader from 'Heroes' is, and how she has a decent voice after all. Thank god she's not just some actress who THINKS she can sing, or a singer who thinks she can sing coughbritneycoughjessicacough cough.
That's all I meant to say. And that her singing 'The Star Spangled Banner' makes me oddly patriotic, something I never really intend.

Another Day Closer

Sorry, I know I'm just feeling sorry for myself and I should quit gripping, like I did in my last post. I know that this job is short and then I get to go home and have days off. It's just that when I'm in the middle of working a lot, and don't get much time off to do the things I like to do, I forget that I have it alright and I sink into that blind frustration that sees no end. This might be why I hate working so much. I should remember that when I do have a real job I won't have to work weekends (or at least, not constantly) and I won't have to work a second job and go running from place to place like I did last summer. It also doesn't help that I spontaneously like to do things like bake or paint and so to be constricted in an office where I can't just do that seems so very cruel. The days seem long now and they're fairly boring, but in a few days I will be past all that and can indulge in things and people. And do yoga again. It's surprising how much I miss it.

As you might know, if you have been following this blog assiduously, as you should be, you would know that I have come to the conclusion that I would much prefer the lifestyle of an educator. Being able to educate young people and help them see the world in a different way, and the freedom of summers and not working in a boring office are all things that I kinda want. And the freedom to write and go back to grad school. So, after this show is finished I'm going to retire from the entertainment business and hang up my credentials and get a full time job and go to grad school. As interesting as this career blip has been, seeing the other side of all those live shows broadcast throughout the country, or filmmaking, I don't think this is for me in the long run. There are too many things that I want out of life that I see myself compromising if I continued on in this career. I don't want this badly enough. I want academia and time to read and contemplate and discuss.

A Long, Hot, Boring Marathon

I'm tired. I'm tired of sitting in this trailer and entering in all these numbers for credentials. I'm tired of having to take the bus to the metro and walk all the way down to the trailers every single morning. I'm tired of getting home every night after taking the metro and the bus. I'm tired of being tired and not being able to do anything but go to sleep. I want a weekend goddamnit. I know the show is going to be over on Wednesday and I'll only have to work until Thursday but right now that seems like a very very long time away and I don't want to have to drag myself along until then.

That's what I feel like I'm doing. I feel as though I've entered a very long distance race and at first I thought it was great, fresh air! Things to look at! I've got energy, I've got endurance, it's just a puny little race! But after awhile all of that faded away and I began wondering why I would have been stupid enough to enter in a race when I don't even like running. I see the people on the sidelines and I wish I were there with them, cheering the other idiots along and holding a nice cool beer. And right now I haven't gotten to the point where I can see the finish line, I'm still just running along, knowing it's there but getting more and more frustrated with every step and vowing to myself that once this is done I'm just going to relax and never enter another long distance race again.

Seriously, despite that excessive metaphor, I'm tired of this job and tired of having to be here everyday without vacation. I want to spend time with my friends again and watch the day slowly meander by, get some writing done, clean my room, bake something. I even want to start applying for the job I know I must get in the fall. I'm actually a little interested in it. As long as there's weekends. And no metros.

Back for Round 2

I started back at the Capitol Concerts show on Thursday. Today is Tuesday and I worked all weekend. I worked at 6:30am on Sunday and again this morning, because our producer seems to think it's necessary. I'm doing credentials again this show, but this time I have more responsibility and more stress. I actually kind of like it. I like feeling like the work I'm doing is necessary and I am a valuable part of this production. I'm not just some PA running around doing errands for any master who calls. I have tasks and getting them completed is entirely up to me. My boss tells me what needs to be done but has the confidence that I don't need to be watched over while I do it. It's as close to a real job as I've come. I guess this baby step means I could do it anywhere else I choose as well.

The same people are here on the show, but I'm not going to see much of the ones I saw last time because they are all over at the hotel and I'm going to be at the site, sitting in a trailer. Fortunately, the AC works this time.
The job is going well so far. I like it but I'm tired. I'm going to be working straight through to July 5 I'm pretty certain. After that I'm done and I'm not really sure what comes next for me.

Update

You want an update? You got it! So, obviously the Memorial Day show ended and I lived through it. Not that I really expected anything else. Although when the storm broke out thirty minutes before show time, the crowd that had already gathered on the lawn and gone through the metal detectors had to be evacuated and the capitol police, carrying automatic weapons crowded into our hot as hell trailer, their guns pointing at my toes, I wasn't so sure. Not to mention the squwaking that went on on our headsets but gave me no directions whatsoever about what to do. I wandered around backstage, sat with my mom who had come bearing a questionably worded sign for my brother. I bummed a cigarette from a beefy stage carpenter and tried to look busy. When the show ended I finally had something to do. My job was to escort the wounded veterans who had come to the show up the the Capitol where there was to be a ceremony and reception. I was excited, finally something to do! I could feel as though I was all dressed up for a reason at last. Too bad the veterans already had come with escorts and didn't need my help at all, as it was pretty obvious which direction to go, and I had no idea myself where they'd be going. I did walk up with some people and get to use my radio and call for a golf cart to carry one man up who couldn't make it on his own. I was standing in this crowd of military men, some in fatigues, some in civilian clothes and me in my skirt and wedges. I was standing there and got a message through my radio about the location of the golf carts and loudly replied, "Rodger that!" in my best professional voice. I'm used to radio lingo and the way people'd been talking on the radio had been annoying me all day. It wasn't correct! Anyway, as soon as I said that out loud all the military men looked at me with this confused, amused look, as if to say, did this little girl just use military radio lingo?

After everyone was up in the reception I got to help friendly old Rod with the positioning of the vehicles for quickest exits when people left. I was joking with an older, rather cute chauffeur that I didn't give a fuck where the cars went. I'd let them fight it out. Logistics is not my forte. I was in charge of getting the vans we were using for production into place and so I had to battle with Kenya, who had a complex about the whole thing and spent her days bossing the drivers around via radio. I think they were about to pull a Ceaser on her and gather in the Capitol building to stab her to death with their walkie antenneas. I also got into a fight with Rod, who had been my boss at the Kennedy Center but now was just being a big asshole. I turned out to be right, thank you very much.

After everything was over we all went back to the hotel and had a drink and I crashed in Patty Jovel's room until the morning when I had to go back to the AC less trailer on Memorial Day and enter in badge numbers in the computer. So much fun.

Since then I've just been hanging out at home, writing, painting, making a pair of jeans and visiting friends. I've been babysitting for some adorable little boys. It's been a good month. It feels a lot longer but I wouldn't mind seeing it continue for a while longer. But now I'm wondering when the summer will end, and when I should find a real job for the summer, and what that job may be.

Flights of Wild Imagination

This might strike you as an odd observation or comparison, but bear with me. These flights of imagination are what make me such a excellent writer.
When I was hanging outside the Washington Court Hotel yesterday in the muggy heat of another Washington summer, having a cigarette and watching the valets in their gold corded uniforms greet cars, I was reminded of Africa. Maybe it was the fact that the valets were African, or the heat, but I felt as though I had been transported across the water in a second. Then, I started to create a fantasy story for myself, to fit into the feeling I was having. Here is the story.
I imagined us as journalists and photographers who are antsy and waiting for the real work to begin. But for now we are cooped up in what passes for a luxurious hotel, where our agencies have put us up. Despite the nice surroundings and the guests who are coming and going we are casual, loud and fighting off boredom as though it were the enemy. Inside it is cool and fans whirr, creating a white noise for our conversations to harmonize with. Outside the street is a little hazy with heat and people hurry to get off the street. Something is happening. We know it, that is why we are there, but we don't know exactly what it is. In the basement, the makeshift office is buzzing. Everything is makeshift, thrown together in a moment's notice, torn down as soon as the action moves elsewhere. We know our jobs will be starting soon and we will get to actually work but for now we are forced into relaxation.
Sitting around the hotel, hanging out with young people like myself, falling asleep on couches, not fitting into the slightly worn down posh surroundings. Always waiting; waiting for word to come across the scratchy walkies to move. Moving quickly, sweating but at least we're working.

I've always had an interest in the subculture that is the news industry. Not the newsanchors but the people who actually go out and find the facts for us. The ones who hunt down the contacts and risk life for the adrenaline of getting the picture. Theirs is an exciting world, but when the action stops the boredom sets in. They take over hotels and hole up together, waiting for something to happen. They are like vultures in that way, but intriguing all the same. What is the death wish they seem to carry? And the black jovolity or jaded sense of the world? I have seen a small side of it, studying photojournalism, but I would like to know more. What is it like to sit in that hotel, knowing people are dying and you are going to go into that mess to get the story? Is it cannibalistic; or necessary to let the world know what is going on? And to be able to travel everywhere, not being a tourist, but not quite fitting in wherever you go. It must be hard, but it must be amazing and exciting.

TV Fun Times

After my ridiculous day at the Memorial Day Concert production yesterday I swore I'd never accept another tv gig unless some dream job fell into my lap. Let me tell you.
At first I was offered a job working on the Memorial Day Concert and possibly the Fourth of July show too. I thought it was great, I could come home and see all my friends, have a couple of days off in between and make some money. It was good. I told my job I'd be leaving and my roommates I'd be moving out.
A few days before I left New York I got a call from one of the production managers. She asked if I had a car and when I said I didn't she got worried. She said they might have to cut back some of my days if I couldn't get a car. I honestly didn't care. It would give me more time to hang out with my friends and get stuff done. She called back on the day I was coming down, planning to start the following day and told me they had to cut my days back to starting on the 18th. Then it became the 21st. I was a little pissed about that. I could use the money.

Yesterday I get up and make my way downtown. This means I get a ride to the bus stop, take a bus to the metro, ride to the South Capitol stop. Once I got out there I realized I had no idea where I was supposed to be going. I called the number I had and the woman who answered was rude and unhelpful. She gave me a number for the hotel the production office was at. I had to call a second time to get the actual hotel name. I walked across the Capitol lawn and up to the hotel. I was late but there was nothing else I could do. I walk into the production office and introduce myself to Lindsay. She gives me a helpless smile and says, "Did you get my messages?"
"Umm. No."
"I'm so sorry. We actually don't need you."
"What?!"
"Yeah, because you don't have a car we can't use you."
"You've got to be kidding me."
I told her I wished I had known this before I had taken the job but that it wasn't her fault, it was my phone that didn't get the messages. She got me some coffee and an orange and I left. Outside the hotel I was fuming. I was so fed up with the whole feeling of being jerked around by this company that I decided never to do tv work again. Except maybe for Mr. Barber.

I take the subway home, get a ride home from Ashleigh and make myself an omelette. I sit down and start eating. I get a call and who could it be but Rod from the Kennedy Center Honors. He appologizes for the mix up and says they can still use me for credentials. I considered it and decided I could use the money.
"So do you want to come back down?" He asked.
I almost laughed in his face.

Today is Tuesday. I came in this morning a little late. I couldn't give a shit about this stuff. I go into the trailers by the Capitol and sit around for about an hour. Rod and Paul weren't back from their meeting with the police. As soon as they come back I'm told what I need to do and I get my stuff together to take back to the hotel where I'd be working. I ask Paul a question and Paul asks Rod. All of a sudden they're in each other's face, yelling at each other and swearing. At first I thought it was a joke and then I realized they were serious. I don't know what happened or why but Rod was telling Paul to shut the fuck up and Paul was shouting about how he wanted a respectful answer. I got out of there fast.
And now I'm left wondering why I want to be in this industry at all and what is next to come.

Introducing...

The Amazing! The one of a kind! You can't see it anywhere else! We here at Silverscreen Pipe Dreams are proud to announce the new addition to our family! The One and Only One Date A Week Blog!

No, but seriously, kids, read all about it as I work my way through the dating scene in NOVA. One boy a week, one date a week, one blog all about it.

You Can't Go Home Again...Because You'll Have to Pay Rent

So I'm back in Reston, hopefully just for the summer, although we'll see. It's a little odd being home but it's funny how quickly you can readapt to a place. New York seems like a fuzzy dream from here, looking out my window into a wall of sunny trees. My house is fully loaded and we're ready for the adventures to start. Hanging out with my friends again seems like nothing changed, but in a good way. I do miss New York but it is kind of nice to be back home where I know things and can take walks down my favorite paths. I went with Julia to the Diner the night after I got back and got coffee with Sofia yesterday. We went to Uno's for Carla's birthday and it was quite fun.

I'm determined that my time here wouldn't be wasted and I will enjoy myself to the fullest extent possible. It will be a great summer to remember. I want to do things that I've been putting off for ages and I want to have fun with my friends. So, one way of doing that is getting some male involvement into the summer. I began realizing that I never date because the guys I like never ask me out and it's only guys I have no interest in dating that do. I pondered this and thought maybe it is just because they're shy, they don't know me or what to say. I'm shy too but I need to make some changes here so I have officially embarked on a trial. It's called Operation Meredyth Asks Out Boys or OnceAWeek or growing some balls, whatever you want to call it. And last night in its inagural run I scored. I chatted up a cute French boy sitting alone at the bar at Uno's. Why would a cute French boy be sitting at a lame bar in Reston, VA you might ask. I asked it too. Imagine my luck. I smiled at him, he smiled at me, I made excuses to go up to the bar, I finally introduced myself. He reminds me a little of the boys in this previous post and that makes me very happy. So, be sure to check out my newest blog for all the details.

List o' Celeb

So, since this is a blog essentially about my life as a cog in the film industry I thought I'd make a little list of all the "famous" people I've seen lately. Some more so than others.
1. Max Weinstein from the Bruce Springsteen band and Conan O'Brien. Came into the restaurant with his wife and daughter. Looks like a lawyer.
2. Christy Turlington carrying her son to daycare, giggling together and looking adorable and perfect.
3. Uma Thurman and a bunch of people in the bar after a screening. She was with some other actor who's name or movies I don't remember. Very pretty and tall. Both of them. She and he were very flirty. Sometimes I feel bad that celebrities get pictures taken of them when they're just being friendly with a guy but when I see this ridiculous PDA I think they're just asking for it. Even if they're in a private restaurant. You're still going to get gossip. Leave it at home. Or just don't care.
4. Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinz Jr. She's cute, he looks even more dull in person. Shorter than I expected. Came into eat and when they were leaving some idiot at the bar pretended to think she was somebody he knew and asked Freddie "is that...Meredith?" To which Freddie in an overly protective way said "No. It isn't" and ushered her out the door. Lame.
5. Jimmy Fallon sitting at the bar during midday.
6. James Gandolfini going to the pizza place across the street.
7. Adrien Grenier going up to the door of the grill as I was leaving and then going to Jin Mart where I go every day after work. Of course I followed.
8. Whoopi Goldberg coming down from a Juror's Lunch as I was waiting for the elevator. I smiled at her and she smiled back.
9. Anna Paquin, Mary Stuart Masterson, Thomas Haden Church at the Grill for cocktails with a company that is a Tribeca Film Festival sponsor. Anna did a good job of looking interested in what a bunch of most likely boring businesspeople had to say. Mary looked surprisingly chic. I always imagine her as tomboyish due to the movies I've seen her in (Some Kind of Wonderful, Fried Green Tomatoes, Benny & Joon) but she's really pretty and very cool seeming. Both of them chatted happily together for a while and I wished I could be friends with them. Thomas Haden Church looked a little confused as to why he was there but the open bar didn't seem to disuade him from staying. He looked affable. That word perfectly describes him.

And there, you have it. My list o' celeb. I may or may not be in some pictures taken at the party. If so we will post them and laugh at my dumb expressions.

Carpe the Fucking Diem

Sorry it's been a while since I've posted. As some anonymous person said I should do I've 'been living my life in the moment.' Sorry, can we stop a minute and ponder the level of bullshit that trite saying is? How do you actually do that? Can anyone actually do that all the time? Because I'm constantly registering the things that go on around me for later. I write, and so all these things get back somehow to what I'm writing. I'm always weighing or observing things so that I can adequately describe them later. That's why I don't live in the moment constantly. And between living in the moment and writing well...let's just say I'd rather write. I'm sorry, I just think that in this day and age a majority of our time is spent on self reflection. Do I look alright? Am I being funny? Is this a good place to stand? Is that person looking in my direction? Am I telling this story well enough?
Even if you're not so self absorbed as to wonder whether the music/clothes/movies/books/comics/furnishings you like are cool enough you're still wondering about other things that make up who you are. And yes, of course you're living in the moment. Everyone is actually living in the moment. But after whatever event that just happened is over, even if it's just strolling through the park you're thinking and categorizing that stroll in the park. "The leaves sure were green today. I wonder if that's what Frost's line "Nature's first green is gold" refers to. I love walking in parks when the trees are first green and the dark bark contrasts against it. And the people in the park today sure were interesting. That busker playing the violin made this moment one you'll look back on, when you no longer live in New York, as a quintessintial New York spring moment. I'll always remember the park this way." See? Even when I'm doing nothing I'm quantifying it afterwards! So, sorry if that's not living in the moment. I've got plenty else to do.

23 and counting.

I'm at an odd crossroads in my life. I lament the fact that life isn't happening sooner, faster, now! I want my life to begin now! And I feel like I'm constantly waiting for a moment when it will begin. As though I'll know it when it arrives. And at the same time I'm trying to 'remember' things that happen now for when I'm older and wondering what I did when I was 23. What am I doing? Sitting in my room online, watching TV, wondering why I can't make friends in this city or where the money for going out with them will come from. I honestly feel like more of a loser in this city than I did before. Wow.
I thought when I moved to New York I'd really be doing something, doing something worthy of remembering when I'm 80. I don't know when those times will begin but if they do I'll be right here waiting for them.

Is it better to live in a very cool town without money and friends, for the sake of the coolness, or better to live in a cheap place for the sake of the friends and freedom from 'coolness'?
To be in a city or not to be. That is the question.

3 A.M. Revolution

Most of you who know me in real life know that, while I grew up in the Washington D.C. area, I spent my formative years in Montreat, NC. These formative years were only from 8-10 but my family still holds the time we spent there dear. An Eden we were forced to leave because my dad was in the technology industry. And while Asheville maybe known for mountains it is not known for technology. My strongest memories of living in Montreat were of 'creek-hopping' and raspberry picking in the summer, finding fairy hiding spots, tramping through snowy woods, playing house in the old maid's quarters of our house- yeah, our house had a maid's quarters. We also had a room dedicated to dress-ups, which were old clothes the former tenants left. They had lived there for 40 years! We found their old love letters under the stairs. We knew all the kids in our neighborhood-which was basically the whole town- because we all rode the bus to school, went to the same church, and played together after school. Montreat was more like a residential community with a college than a town. There are no commercial buildings in it, unless the hotel counts. It's on the edge of another, actual town, Black Mountain, where this art school used to be.

Why do I bring these places up? Other than name-checking them to endear yourself to me, you probably couldn't care less. But last night, when I couldn't fall asleep I started having a 3 a.m. idea- you know, those revolutionary ideas you get when you're exhausted and on the edge of sleep that seem ridiculous and delusional the next morning. Well, this idea wouldn't let me sleep, to the extend that I did a little online research at 4:44 a.m. instead of sleeping. And after doing a little research I also began thinking about the fact that New York is old school hip. It's still just hanging on to the idea people have of what's cool. All that's left now is the bitter dredges. (And some cool people here and there.) But with the internet and other ways of communicating ideas the coolest places don't have to be New York or L.A. anymore. With the advent of the internet New York has lost its cool. So you want to know what was my grand idea and what does it have to do with these places? I'm so glad you asked!
Living in New York for the past four months has made me think about a lot of things, namely how I'm going to afford to live here, find a job, find friends, find a different apartment, what I'm going to do with my life. I really like New York but I feel like the experiment is drawing to a close. I don't think I'm quite prepared for New York yet, but that it was an amazing thing to have thrown myself into. If I had a job I loved here, and more people, I think I could love it for a long time. But I feel very lonely here. And broke. Those are not two things I like much.
My idea was about teaching, and specifically, teaching in a fairly cool, smaller town like Asheville. I checked out craigslist and for the price I'm paying now I could be living here. Wow. That's quite a compelling reason. But to be more practical here are a list of my other reasons to consider moving here for a year to teach before going to grad school.
1. It's cheaper.
2. UNC-Asheville is a good school where I could take grad classes
3. Good experience for future, and for grad school references.
4. I know a lot of people from my childhood in the area
5. Still a cool town for seeing shows, going out. Might even encourage me to go out more. I'm a little agorophobic.
6. Lots of nature, natural beauty
7. If I worked in a depressed area I could do some good.
8. I want to go to a good grad school, in a relatively cool area, I'd only be here for a year so it's not like the end of the world.

But, as with everything, I don't know my own mind. I mean, I do know my own mind, I'd like to rush down there right now and try to set up this fanciful life that has nothing to do with reality. I tend to run away from things when they're not going as I imagined. For those reasons I want to stay in New York, to face it, get used to it and get to better know some of the really cool people I've met here. But I worry that I won't have the money to do that, or the job. Come the end of May my internship at the production company will be ending and I don't know where I'll go next. I've sort of decided that if I have no viable job prospect by the end of June or no other pressing reason to stay I will move back to NoVa for a few months and then down to Asheville, if I can find a teaching job. Turns out you need things like licenses to do that these days!
And now we come to you, dear reader, please give me your opinion about all of this, whether moving to Asheville and teaching is a good career move or a stupid escapist fantasy that won't play out. Or if you have any information about finding a teaching job for a recent college grad. (Except TeachforAmerica. I missed the deadline on that, unfortunately.)

Feel free to leave your comments anynomously. Sometimes I don't listen to my friends and family's advice, even when I know it's coming from a good place. Thanks and Love, Meredyth

My Moment of Non-Zen

Man. I always knew former U.N. ambassador John Bolton was a loyal Bushie but I had forgotten that to be a loyal Bushie means to run around spouting nonsense and bad democratic theory as though you couldn't hear just how dumb you sounded. maybe President Bush should promote John Bolton. He can be Head Runaround Ass Kisser.
I thought it was pretty amusing how he turned everything Jon Stewart said into an inversion and just kept doing going, even as he got buried deeper and deeper. That's one of the biggest problems with this administration. They don't know how to make a U-turn, reverse or even backpedal. All they can do is keep plowing forward. With any luck they'll keep at it for so long and so hard over the next 21 months that they'll just end up in China. They're the most loyal sons of bitches I know, except maybe the Nazis. And we all know how they turned out. That's right. They got to eat ice cream on top of a mountain of blonde girls holding puppies... I mean...they ended terrorism, of course. I mean, who doesn't want yes men? Especially when you've got a divided country to run?

Practically Perfect In Every Way

The girls in the NY Times article, that can be found by clicking on the above title, seem to have a lot of confidence about where they're going. They may be worrying about which top college they'll get into but they aren't worrying about whether or not they can succeed. I think that's pretty amazing, and also a little intimidating. Amazing because I'm proud that these girls are able to accomplish so much and still seem to be somewhat normal. Intimidating because they are about 7 years younger than me and are already able to discuss Kirkegaard with some intelligence. I haven't even read Kirkegaard yet! They're going to be the ones who get all the jobs around here.
But I'm not really worrying about my future here. I know, it's a first. I'm actually just wondering about my past. And the future of these girls. I wonder what would have happened to me if my parents had pushed me to the same level of achievement these girls are pushed to. Even though I wish my parents had encouraged me more in my path to college I don't think I would have understood the purpose or importance behind it. I would have just been pissed off, and probably would have tried a little harder to sneak out of the house. When I was 17 I wasn't thinking about college at all. Much less at 14. I knew college was somewhere I'd end up, but I was more focused on getting out of high school, and really starting life. My last month of school I had no idea where I was going to be in the fall, but I wasn't really interested. Instead I wandered around the hallways with dreams of Africa floating before me. And I got there. The next summer I spent two weeks in Kenya, after a long lay over of four days in London, all on my own. I might not have read Camus in my AP English class but I did read Sarte as a sophmore, purely because I was interested in it. I took AP European History because I enjoyed it, not because I knew I could pass the test and get college credit (that's what AP Government was for). The reason I bring this up is because I think it's important that we develop a love of learning on its own, not just learning by rote. I don't think the girls profiled in this article fall victim of that, but I think a great many high school students do.

I feel like one of those old people who talk about working hard for money so they could eat, not working hard for money so they could go shopping, but I do sort of worry about these over acheiving girls. I don't worry so much about when they have the freedom to party in college because I didn't do much of that myself. I worry about when they are like me and out of college, wondering where to go next, what to do with their lives. When suddenly you have no prescribed course of action. We're marrying later and later and having families at a later age and I don't want to change that. I think women having careers is important. But I also know that now that I'm faced with the challenge of making it on my own, away from college I'm a little scared. I wonder what it would be like to just have it all planned out, marry, have kids, raise them. I don't see that for me but I can see it's appeal. It's part of the reason why I'm interested in going back to grad school. Another form of structure. Another preparing for and postponing of the day when life must begin.

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!