There are no small parts, only small actors

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

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

Again with the life questions

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

2 days and no boss

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

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

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

The Fug at Work

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

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

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

The Long Search

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

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

Weekend Update

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

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

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

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

Thursday Confession

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

Mannequins and New Jersey Diners

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

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

Ifs, Ands & Buts.

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

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

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

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

New York, For Real

I'm here in my office-for-a-while on W 36th St. Looking out of my window I see other buildings and offices and people going about their days. To my right is a building with cars on the roof. Cars! On the roof! I like the looks of the buildings. Old, my style. It's near Broadway and it's very busy down here. I'm glad. I'd hate to come to New York only to be working in a dingy no where building.
I took the Subway in today and wasn't properly paying attention because I got off one train and onto another and I should have just stayed on it. Instead I ended up on the wrong side of the city. Taxi!

I was a couple of minutes late but nothing to sweat. Everyone seems very cool and relaxed. I don't exactly know what I'll be doing but I'm excited to be here. At last.
I miss my family though. I talked to them yesterday and almost cried. Well, I did cry, but just a little bit. I'll get over it soon I think. I hope.
There's not much I can say right now. I'm still a little overwhelmed and trying to catch my breath. I think I'm starting to fit in though. At Grand Central Station there were lots of tourists and I was quite annoyed with them as they were in my way. But, I also got lost on the subway. Oh well, you win some and lose some.
The bus ride from DC was long and rainy. It was fairly quiet until the girl sitting diagonally in front of me got motion sickness and started throwing up. An hour before we got into the city. I was immediately transported back to elementary school, and started wondering when the janitor would come around with that horrible sickly sweet disinfectant.
The place where I'm staying is in Flatbush, Brooklyn. It's funny, I exchanged one cluttered house that was driving me crazy for another cluttered house that I can't complain about because it's a free place to stay. I like Sandy, the guy who's house I'm staying at. His wife is in Boston with their daughter and grandson. I think this will be a nice place to stay for a little while. Speaking of that, I need to start looking.

The Inevitable Nervous Breakdown

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

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

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

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

The End of an Era

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

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

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

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

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

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

Updates

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

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

Cinderella at Someone Else's Ball

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

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

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

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

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

12 hours and counting

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

Oh! The Agony! And the Pleasure

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

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

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

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


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

Working for Bob De Niro (maybe)

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

The Kennedy Center Honors

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

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

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

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