I figured I better give an update now that I have peeled myself from the floor and was cheered by the eternal wonderfulness that which is my cousbian.

So today I got out of class early. The screenwriters don’t start up until next week. – And with the spare time I thought I would explore Glendale because over the weekend my friend and I were driving the city’s main drags and I saw some big chain stores I wanted to visit (things like Petco and such). So I drove out, found all the stores, explored. I decided I would leave to go back home at 3 so I could work, so when the hour rolled around I took off.
As I was driving home I began to think, “Wasn’t there more up the other way?” I thought there might be a Nordstrom, so I flipped around and drove up the way, because I was so on schedule I figured I could waste a few more minutes. I quickly saw there wasn’t anything else so I began the task of trying to reorient myself. I had to drive around a block or something to get going the right way. I got back out on the main avenue, looking for the next turn off. Suddenly, as I was driving I saw the avenue ended and became an onramp to the freeway.

There was no way I could get on that freeway.

I saw there was no “right” to turn to, so I got into the left lane and put my blinker on. Anything to not drive straight ahead. I pulled out into the intersection, yielding to the green light traffic. When I looked to where I was turning, however, I saw it wasn’t a street- but another onramp! My eyes darted around, I couldn’t get on the freeway, I would get lost. The onramp also looked strangely positioned and I suddenly became so indescribably confused- I was just completely- I had no clue. Suddenly I thought, “maybe I can’t turn from here…” I looked to the traffic light to see if it had a “NO LEFT TURN” sign, but there wasn’t anything. I looked to the onramp- where was it going? When did I seem so out of position to the one ramp? –This is all taking place in literally, maybe 10 seconds.
Meanwhile, cars behind me are stopped because I am just hanging out in the intersection. They begin to honk and press upon me. All these cars were honking and I didn’t know what to do so I thought, “I better just go onto the freeway” I turned and BAM.

I never even saw the other car. I saw nothing until it hit and my little Beetle went spinning off. The only thing I said was, “shit” and then I burst into tears calling myself all sorts of names as my car listed over, grinding as I pressed the gas to the floor trying to get out of the way. My car had spun all the way around and I was able to pull into a parking lot before it died. I got out of the car to greet the other driver and basically climbed out of the car in tears and walked over saying, “I’m so, so, sorry.” I just couldn’t stop from crying I felt so stupid and bad. The lady was really nice and she wasn’t hurt, so I basically came over to her chocking on all my words and she said, “oh come now, no one’s hurt- right? It’s ok. Come here.” Then she just hugged me while I totally embarrassed myself. She then helped me call the police and insurance places.
The policeman came (about 600 years later) and he was really curt, but I think he softened up after a bit when it seemed like I was about to burst into tears every two minutes. It was just a stupid accident, so no one was faulted or cited. Thank god, because I was terrified of getting a ticket. I’ve never had a ticket in my entire life.
No one was really hurt and the lady’s car was all right. She was in a Van, so it was really only her hood which suffered damage, my Beetle took the brunt and the front is smashed in- my passenger side wheel is lodged somewhere underneath my car.
The lady left, her car was still able to drive. She gave me another hug and kept saying it was ok. I called roadside assistance and my insurance and then waited and waited because both said they would call me back. I didn’t know what to do or who to call. My CA family was too far away and I didn’t want to worry them because I was AN IDIOT and could have killed myself.
I thought perhaps my CalArts friend (another update) for she lives right there in Glendale, but I had too much pride and was too embarrassed to call and show her I was hit right there where we were but a few days ago.
I had my class list so I thought of who I could try- there was adventure-friend, but obviously he doesn’t have a car and I don’t think I want him to know I was hit in mine lest he think, “Yeah, well you were a bad driver.” I thought of Bday, but wasn’t sure. I was pretty much set on calling Shades, but was just so embarrassed, what was I going to say? “Hi, I need help. I’m stranded.” Also I knew I wouldn’t be able to call and not cry and I didn’t really want to cry in front of someone.

Also, it was 100 degrees in this parking lot. To add to the illusion of Hell, wild fire was engulfing the hillside, so it was smokey, loud, dirty and I was breaking out in heat rash.

I decided to just wait it out.

It was hot.

A worker in RiteAid noticed me and ran out with an icecream dish filled with water. I thanked her over and over. It’s probably good she gave me some water, because I was probably dehydrating out there. It’s nice to know there are so many nice people.

I spent 5 hours in the parking lot before the tow finally came. By then my insurance had called and told me where I could drop my car off- some body shop they work with who had a rental car for me. I took a ride with the tow truck man, though by now my knees were killing me. In every accident I have ever been in I slam my knees. They just are killing now. It hurts to sit.

I got to the body shop (p.s. 100 dollar tow ride later) and got my rental. It’s an automatic. I can’t drive automatics and seriously can’t believe anyone can function in these sorts of cars. You have no control over speed! It’s a tiny clown car where everything is manual. When I finally got home, I just collapsed. My legs and feet were black from the smoke and exhaust of the air and my skin was burning (still is). The lady called me again to make certain I got home safe (basically, I was hit by the nicest person in Glendale, I am going to write her a letter) and said, “Well, there’s a reason for everything. Now you know someone who is older and right close by who can help you if you ever need anything. If you need to get anywhere or get groceries, you have my number, just call. I would be sick to think if one of my children was off someplace and didn’t have help, so you just call if you need anything.”
Then I fell asleep until called to make certain I was alive.

Now I am up still feeling stupid. I can’t believe I am now going to cost so much more money. This little episode is probably going to cost a month or so of rent, god only knows. I just can’t believe I was so stupid. I can’t believe I got so confused- I can’t describe to you how suddenly I was so completely and utterly dumfounded in that instant. I was just suddenly totally overwhelmed and didn’t even know what was happening. I’m so lucky I (or the other driver) wasn’t seriously, seriously injured- because, you know- driving out in front of on coming traffic, it’s a miracle I wasn’t hit more than once even if at this point I feel like I deserve to be.

suddenly i was @ 03:41 am
(no feathers)

thursday, september 29, 2005

Yeah.

There's nothing quite like getting in a car wreck.

I guess you have to balance the really good days with really bad days. Excuse me while I go slink off and die somewhere.

suddenly i was @ 09:57 pm
(no feathers)

OH EM GEEZ.

I did social things!

Today was a wildly successful social day- and I know it’s way beyond lame I should get excited about this, but “WOO.”

My day started early enough, I made certain I was up and ready because yesterday I slept late and it was a scramble to school. So I was up and at school a lovely full 30 minutes before anything started, which is just the way I like it.
When I got there, another writer who always calls me by my surname (no easy task, it’s twelve letters long!) was standing out front testing out his new shades. After a bit, my nice adventure friend turned up and we all had a lovely conversation.
I tried to pass off my pastries to them (another story! I made cookies and rum cake last week), but found out adventure-friend has an allergy (though I think it’s an aversion) to sweet things. Later a producer I am doing some concept art for rambled up and when someone tried to introduce me to him again I said, “Oh. We’re like this!” – crossing all my fingers.
The producer asked, “Oh which one am I?”
I pointed to my index finger, “I think this one is you. He has your eyes.”
“Ah, but he has your smile!” the producer replied.

Meanwhile this is me in my mind: SCINTILLATE. SCINTILLATE.

I even got off one more bad joke, because I like to round these off like it’s my job.

Shades to Adventure-Friend: What is Wales by?
Me: Dolphins.

Badum-ching.

I’m storing that in a hat right next to, “Ok-Go” and “Good Will Hunting.”

That’s why there’s an “I” in writer. As in: I Writer.

I also had a strange… eye moment. You know when you catch eyes with someone and there’s that little zing? I was going on and this person looked over and was giving me a furrowed sort of brow look- so I gave my token, furrowed sort of brow look back and they went on to say, “Don’t burn out. It’s not good.”

Strange?

P.S. OMGAMSORELAXEDALLTHETIMEOMG.

Afterward we had a seminar. I sat with Shades. The seminar was so-so, I enjoyed it but became OVERWROUGHT WITH INCONSOLABLE GRIEF when I found out I had no gum. Shades said during the break we could go to his car and grab some.

The break came- P.S. not soon enough. WHY don’t people realize humans need a break every 30 minutes? One break every 2 to 3 hours is torture. Shades ran to the restroom before we the car run, so I waited in the hall for him so we could go together. Adventure-friend came and stood by and we were joined by another writer (have I mentioned I love all writers?) who had a birthday on Saturday (ho ho! That’s another story) and chit chatting with them was more great times. I like it when you talk and you have to feel on your toes.

AF: -- that’s what my friend said to my mother and… I guess you had to be there.
BDAY: Wow. That was a great story.
ME: (Pointless commentary).
BDAY: Wow that was also a great story. You two should collaborate.
(silence)
BDAY (to AF): You want to hit me right now, don’t you?
AF: I already did.
BDAY: Oh you did?
AF: I… used the Force.
ME: You’ll feel it tomorrow.
BDAY: Is that how that works?
ME: Yes. 24 hours from now you will drop dead.

Then Shades showed up and he had run for the gum all by himself! I felt bad- but the gum was TASTY.

The seminar wrapped up, there was about 5 minutes to go when suddenly- out. Of. No. Where. I get ravenous. And by ravenous I mean saber tooth tiger ravenous. And my saber too tiger ravenous I mean I was about to rip off and digest my own arm hungry.
Usually there’s warning, I can feel myself getting hungry and I know: “I have to eat on break or the Belly Beast from Hell will make his presence known to all.” – But not today! My stomach growled so loud ad there was no hiding it. You know how normally you can cough or shift in your chair at the exact moment of rumble to mask the indiscretion?

Yeah.

Not this time. And Shades noticed!

ME: Oh my god, that was my stomach!

It did this thrice. The last time it was so loud I did something slightly out of character, which I normally would ONLY do with my one girlfriend back in Chicago, where I just kind of lean over and hide my face on the person’s arm- but I did that to Shades! Whoops! So much for personal bubbles, but Christ, my stomach was so loud and I was so embarrassed.

FINALLY. The seminar lets out. I dart from the auditorium in a mad dash for food before the alien (or what EVER the hell it was within me making those god-awful noises) tore my innards to shreds. I ran into Adventure-friend again, had a good chit-chat- offered him a plum, for it isn’t a pastry- but he declined. He went off to a production meeting and I went off to buy some gum and more sustenance because I decided my yogurt wasn’t going to cut it today.

I ran, purchased gum and some Fig Newtons from the store a block away from campus. I returned to the school and sat in my special happy place: The Zen Garden- this little nook no one but the editors ever visit. There I met a nice girl- a 2nd year editor I think. All those editors recognize me because I like to sit in the garden by their building! We had a good discussion about New England and I was off again for the screening of our groups’ “boot camp scenes” (omg! Another lj, I told you I had so much updating to do!).

The screening went well enough. Our group’s scene was so. Long. Everyone’s was 30 seconds, one minute fifty-four- some of the longer ones, maybe two minutes thirty- ours? OVER SIX MINUTES. I almost fainted.

It was kind of weird, too because our scene was the only silent scene (this is a good thing) but for one sequence, improved by the actress as asked by the director, where the main character just SCREAMS this slew of profanity. Bad stuff! – This on top of the fact the whole scene was based on hearing sex through the wall- which, as I am sure you dear readers know, is TOTALLY my style.

So… after the screening, I just walked around going: “Yeah. That’s what I’m all about.” to everyone.

After more pointless meandering, slight bonding with my director and producer (for we did do a good job and finished the scene even if it was MILES too long) I decided to return to my favourite garden to draw. When I entered, however, another editor was there. I’ve talked with her before, she’s about the only person who’s ever in the garden. We talked and talked about the scenes and school - when she finally uttered those magic words which to me indicate the innate goodness of one: “Would you like to get some ice cream?”

HA. For all of you who thought I had an addiction problem- apparently everyone I find at AFI has the same problem.

We walked off to get some ice cream. This time I got, “Daiquiri Ice” which is a lime-rum flavor. Very. Tasty. The scoop was huge though and I didn’t have time to finish before the editor had to go back to class (the editors have the LONGEST days). So back to the campus I went with my ice cream and I again found myself meandering. After a bit I decided, “This is silly” and went looking for a chair because I know there are folding ones about the buildings. As I cut through a building though, I suddenly heard my surname- I turned and there was Shades with three other guys (two directors and a producer). Shades said, “We’re going to get something, want to come?” And I said (still with my ice cream), “Sure!”

In the end we (plus one other male) ended up at a waffle’n’chicken house- where we discussed such matters as: why we got into film and why it’s wrong to eat chicken and eggs at the same time.

DIRECTOR: It’s the mama and the babies!

I found out one director’s father was a political prisoner in the Soviet Union. The fifth male to join us was born in the middle of nowhere when his parents were on a roadtrip across Texas. The other director’s brother played a lead in “Little Giants.” Shades’ grandfather used to shoot commercials which starred Shades’ father back in the 50’s.

Also- as a side note- I have never really had male friends- there’s always just been “the token male.” Even my undergraduate school- the demographic was largely female. So it was quite interesting to… only hang with a group of males. *

* I finally saw all of the writers together a while back- in case there are any aspiring female screenwriters reading, this is a largely male dominated area in filmmaking. Of 28 fellows, I think 6 are female.

ONE MALE: So I had this dream last night I had this girlfriend who looked like Vanessa Williams.

ME: Oh…

I mentioned our script might have this masturbation scene (I AM FORCED TO WRITE THESE THINGS) and suddenly they all tune in: “With who, your actress!?” (p.s. our actress is hot).

Here’s the great thing about going out with five males: apparently you never have to open a door for yourself. It’s a little weird and embarrassing. Someone holds open the door and I go, “After you” to guy next to me- but they look at me strange because I guess that’s not how it’s done, so I traipse in first.

Here’s something else- males can’t tell when other males are gay.

Time ran short though and soon we were running late for our last seminar of the night. We dashed back, I nipped into the auditorium and sat down. This seminar was also all right- but wouldn’t you know it? Right at the end- my stomach started threatening to growl.

The seminar came to a close and I wandered off to finally get back into my car. When I looked at my phone I had a text message from my producer which said, “It’s nice to see u r not sitting alone today.”

ME: Yes it is.

suddenly i was @ 02:32 am
(no feathers)

tuesday, september 27, 2005

Wow. I feel really bad right now. I’ve been feeling like I was coming down with something for the past few days- I have a difficult time telling because I never get sick- but I was so incredibly tired and my ears were completely clogged all of the end of last week. On Sunday I slept until 3 PM. Hi, that’s not normal, yet I felt pretty good afterward. Then last night I started coughing and coughing and this strange, what I can only pray was post-nasal drip, began. If I tilted my head any which way, this… matter just came out of- I have no idea where! My brain cavity? Are my ears connected to my mouth- because my ears were clearing up a bit but I was gagging up “matter” like a cat gags a fur ball.
That went on for hours.
Then today, during our seminar, my chest began to hurt. I coughed a little, but it’s not a bad cough- at all. My ears were still a little clogged.
Then, by the end, when I was doing my typical Phantom crawl of the campus, I just felt like falling over. I even found the one person who occasionally talks with me (adventure) and said, “My chest is burning, I don’t feel well,” while they stood there probably thinking, “Omg get the hell away from me” because I like to make certain I will scare away any true friend potential by acting like I am dying of the plague.
Driving home I was a little dazed. ie Driving 30 MPH instead of my normal trying to not go over 40. I came home and promptly died on the floor for 3 hours.

What’s wrong with me?

P.S. Happy birthday mommy!

suddenly i was @ 06:25 pm
(no feathers)

OMG I have so much to update with- but just a quick post. It's almost 4 AM and I am rereading the AFI bios.

Omg.

So the producer I sit around and draw pictures for wrote the music for such films as "American Psycho" and that kid who I said next to today? Yeah. Did visual effects for things like, "Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow."
I am looking through this- it's amazing! Bear keeper. Nominated at Cannes. Holds technical Oscar. X-files. Emmy.

My three line bio?

Hi. I graduated from college.

CHRIST.

I really should have put a little more effort into this. Sayyes says it's a good mystery producing agent and my mantra should be- "What haven't I done yet" but sheesh. I feel about > . < that big in the meantime. Even the other younglings made themselves sound more impressive! - I'm at the younger end of things. Bangs head.

I hope no one else reads these things at 4 AM like I do.

suddenly i was @ 05:52 am
(no feathers)

saturday, september 24, 2005

Why the hell is there a Sandlot 2?

Face plants into floor.

suddenly i was @ 12:00 am
(no feathers)

friday, september 23, 2005

Mmmm.

It’s not even six AM and I am out of bed. Mmm. I feel slightly like shite.

I have, what’s it called? Early call time. Today is our “boot camp” scene. Basically it’s a production scramble where each team is given four hours to shoot a scene. It sounds like a exaggo amount of hours, I know, but it really isn’t.
We aren’t really allowed props or anything else. No special cameras. It’s basically a test to see how each team pulls together in a pinch.
You might be wondering, well what the eff does the writer have to do with shooting?

Well, so am I. No! No, all writers are required for boot camp scenes and have to crew a minimum of 6 hours on the full projects. For boot camp I have been given the title of “prop master.” I like it because, I do so relish being called “master.” Also, it basically requires me just standing there with a pen, checking things off and making sure all the boxes are accounted for- unadulterated GLEE.

2 last items.

First: Oh. Em. Gee. Polanski’s “Oliver Twist” has opened here early and is literally play just a few blocks away from me. Is it weird for me to just call people and ask if they want to see it, or shall I just take myself?
OMG OLIVER.

Second: Back to feeling like shitake. Perhaps it’s the pre-dawn hour or the fact I tossed and turned all night, but I feel like I might be fighting a little something. I never fight things! Double you tea eff. My ears are plugged and my chest feels funny.

Moan.

Anyhow. I am going to eat me some Cheerios. Watch the morning news and learn me some about Southland earthquakes.

P.S. If you listen to early morning radio, the people are really funny. Apparently the producer gives the weather at 5 AM.

PRODUCER: I dated a storm chaser once.

My favourite though, they had on some Access Hollywood producer whose last name was “Bush.” At the very end of the bit-spot, the DJ asked, “Are you related to the president?” And the producer, said, “Yeah, we’re first cousins.”
The DJ flipped and the producer said, “We’re a huge family.”
Then the DJ asked, “So did you throw around his name to get your job?”
Bush-cousin, “In this town? Get a job in Hollywood with the Bush name, HA.”

Ha.

MESSAGE FROM THE FUTURE:

I pull the milk from the fridge.

ME: This has been in here a while.

(looks at expiration)

ME: Crap face. The eighteenth? That's like a hundred years ago. I wonder if it's still ok to drink.

(drips a little bit into bowl, drink)

ME: (screams)

NO. NO IT ISN'T.

suddenly i was @ 08:06 am
(no feathers)

thursday, september 22, 2005

That was weird! I sent off a rambling email about my boot camp scene.

ME: I think there are some really, real, viable, things... with...

And five seconds later my producer calls.

PRODUCER: What are you doing up?

ME: What are YOU doing up?

I have such angst sometimes, but these sorts of things amuse me to no end.

suddenly i was @ 06:19 am
(no feathers)

OMG.

I didn't watch "Lost."

So, tonight, when the planet Earth was aglow with millions of little televisions burning images of the program into the retinas of a million and a half rabidly excited fans, I was standing in the kitchen making cookies.

To curb the sheer and absolute boredom of my life today, I decided it was my manifest destiny to make at least 5 dozen cookies. Folks. If you would look to your right- there on the counter, that is the famed COOKIE MOUNTAIN.

I have a mound of cookies. The entire pile weighs as much as a 6 month old child. I am so pleased and the apartment smells like yum all around. Just call me Martha Stewart.

Jingles ankle bracelet.

Why did I do this, really though?

I am very excited. I got invited to a party! Not a huge blow out like the one last weekend, just a small birthday party for one of the writers. I wondered about attending, then I looked at the CC list and realized basically every nice person I have ever talked to was invited! Remember The Critical Canadian? He was on the list. The girl with the shirt? She was there too. My Adventure friend? Sho’ thang. I think I am going to try to go, even if I have to drive. I might ask for a ride, but then I can’t make a quick escape if I start having social anxiety.

Anyhow, so I think I am going to try and go- but the invite said if we wanted to bring anything, to feel free, so I made a mountain of cookies. I think I might make a rum cake. Seriously. I hope I don’t come off as weird when I show up with 19 pounds of food.

ME: HI. I don’t have a life.

So I had the most Freudian dream of my entire life last night.
And that’s saying a piece, because I used to have dreams about having pet snakes I was trying to protect from other people.
I had this dream. I know AFI was somehow in it as was a strip mall and a girl constantly t walking up a hill but the main part though I remember was of dream-me, off to the side on a curb which resembled the Jersey turnpike watching the hill girl. I was with a friend. Suddenly this huge cream coloured horse runs up. I go to touch it and the thing goes mad. It was falling over and kicking and biting. I kept trying to calm it and was yelling for my friend to help me because this HUGE beast was insane, when suddenly I felt like my head was in a vice. There was this huge heavy pressure, I swear I could really feel it on either side of my head. I tried to yell out again and then I found out I couldn’t hear. I screamed and yelled- nothing! I couldn’t hear the horse. I couldn’t hear my voice, I couldn’t hear my friend.

Then I woke up.

Now. There are the obvious- and frightening- sexual readings of this dream but I also have to consider I have been having major sinus pressure issues (read: I can’t pop my ears) but most importantly- I think it’s pretty HI-larious I had this dream directly following what I am about to relate to you in the next panel:

So last night was our big (jazz hands) production meeting, where I finally got to meet the rest of the crew: the UPM, editor and cinematographer. The cinematographer and I actually had a brief exchange on the stairway on campus. She offered to give me a ride to our little café meeting spot.
When the cinematographer and I showed up the meeting began. I read the piece of sh- the script and then we all went around the table feeding back on the story.
And then the fun began.

First: everyone got to say something about the script. Except me. I was totally passed over.

ME: (opens mouth) A-
DIRECTOR: Ok, that’s everyone.

Then—we need a little backstory for this part:

Going back to Monday, aka the day of massive spiritual death on my part, I had a melt down trying to make this script anything even half-way decent. It’s SUCH a mess now. The narrative is jumbled. The character is lost. Everything is awful about it and I don’t know how to save it. My producer takes me aside with this other writer and they basically feed me lines of, “Just do exactly what the director wants. Why are you even thinking about this? Just do what she wants and then when others ask you questions point them to the director.”

Heart falls to floor and is torn to ribbons.

I also felt bad because I sent a nasty, nasty email out to my director and producer peppered with such colourful phrases as, “this is the worst thing I have ever written” and “if someone else would like to write this, feel free.” After my “pep talk” my producer got my email called me up and REALLY called me to task.
“What are you thinking? This is going to destroy her. This is so inconsiderate, do you even think of anyone else?” so on and on and on and on and on…
My face totally faulted. I mean, I meant everything I said, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone and I was so shocked I had suddenly become the bad guy.
P.S. My email was out of line.
I did major damage control, cleared things up (insert so much embarrassment and shock here with nice 2nd year editor man and Wales which I will never relate to anyone) and went on a mini adventure.
All this said, by the time evening came, I just scrapped the whole rewrite, pulled up my list and wrote a script verbatim from the director’s notes. I added nothing of my own. No flare. Just copied it straight.
I also decided my new M.O. was to just be pleasant all of the goddamn time. No more angst. Just happiness. Find the happy place.
It was just like going to work.
Then (flash forward) at this meeting, my producer in particular, kept asking, “Why did you do this?” “Why did you cut this?”
My answer to everything was, “The director told me to.”
Finally my producer explodes in my face, “I am sick of this defeatist attitude!” Mind you, this is in front of our entire group. “You have to just take this, make it yours, feel it, love it, or it’s crap.”

MEMO: I can’t “make something mine” if it’s given to me as a list to rewrite out.

I just sat there and smiled and tried to a. not burst into tears and b. not rip the head off my producer and just said, “Ok, thanks.”

Then the fun part of the crit started. Everyone at the table starts bringing up points I have been bringing up for days.

“This doesn’t make sense” ya da.

Suddenly, as though it has just been heard for the first time, I am then instructed by my director to fix it. “I think you misinterpreted me.”

So, no. It’s not the bad idea on the list I was provided, which made this mistake, somehow, I am a dumbass as well as a defeatist and just screwed up.

The UPM then told me how to write sentences.

The thing with writing… in an art crit not everyone can paint a pony. So if you show a painting of a pony, the critique is a little more subjective. Writing though… almost everyone can write a sentence and as such, everyone thinks they can help you out.

Finally the meeting ends and I am desperate to leave. I run out with the cinematographer.

THANK GOD for the cinematographer. I love her so much.

We leave the café and she says, with this funny accent she has, “So how was that- what do you call it? – Up against a wall and un-un-un-un-un…” (making machine gun noise and motions). Directly after this, she says, “Would you like to go get some ice cream?”

ME: PLEASE. GOD, YES.

Seriously, the moment someone says, “I need ice cream” I know they are ok. This has happened to me twice here now.

We went driving around and ended up on Sunset where we found a funny little ice cream place, which was a bit pricey but totally worth it. There were all sort of wild flavors (well, wild to me) ie: Rose Water- an ice cream flavored with roses! They gave us samples and in the end I got two scoops of ice cream: one vanilla and one of lavender.
Isn’t that neat?
It was really, really good. I also liked it because the owner was there and was so excited I chose lavender because he had just made it.
I talked with the cinematographer for a good long while. It’s fun to actually be excited to work with someone. I mean, maybe we’ll get down to it and it will blow up in my face, but I got a great vibe from her (sounds pervy) and it just seemed nice to feel like someone was genuine with you and not only meant what they said but said it in a natural manner; she also actually listened to me when I talked.

Great fun!

- The follow up to this, of course, happened today when the director made some changes to our “boot camp” scene (“boot camp” is a test scramble, we have 3 hours to shoot a scene and are graded on how well we keep together) and sent out the changes via email. Granted, I looked at the changes and thought, “Oh my Christ,” but really? Whatever the director wants to do on-set is out of my hands. But! - then I get a call from my producer.

PRODUCER: Did you get the email?
ME: Yeah.
P: Well? What the fk? I just get this voice mail from you, “Hi, I got the email, call me later, bye.” What the fk is wrong with you? Aren’t you furious? Why don’t you write her an email then I can write an email?
M: Why do I have to write an email first?

He screamed some more and eventually hung up on me. When he called back in a calmer state of mind, I told him while I agreed with him I have no power to say anything. I can go up to the director and say, “Hey. I think this is a bit much for us to take on.” And she will say, “Really? That’s nice writer. Why don’t you leave the set now.” – and she’d be in the right. It’s not my place.

Really. Can Cycle Projects just die and go back to hell? I can’t wait until this is over so I can divorce my producer and director FOREVER UNTIL THE END OF TIME.

So when they make a movie of my life, and it’s at that 2/3 mark and they’re playing the little montage which illustrates I have finally found love with my soulmate, this is the song which will be playing.

For the record, these are other love songs which will be part of my soundtrack: “Hallelujah” (Jeff Buckley) and “If You See Her Say Hello” (Bob Dylan).

So I love my cousin. She bought me a Charles Dickens action figure.

Yeah.

You read that right.

suddenly i was @ 04:46 am
(no feathers)

wednesday, september 21, 2005

Oh. My. God. I am so bored. Literally, words cannot describe. I was supposed to go on a shopping expedition with my friend, but he called and things sort of fell through, but he asked if we could go on a faxing adventure later. I said yes.
I ran my errands. I came home. I ran another errand. I came home. I slept on the floor.
He called and asked about the faxing adventure. I told him my fax didn't work but (because I was bored) I called for rates from local centers. He wondered if he shouldn't try the school. I said I could give him a ride there too but he felt bad and said it was pointless for me to drive to get him when I really didn't have to go out to school, but I'm sitting there on the floor going, "PLEASE!?" because, literally, playing chauffeur with someone is much more preferable to sitting around by myself for countless hours. - I mean there's only so long you can nap on the floor before the novelty wears off. At the same time, one doesn't want to come off as desperate so when he asked if I was busy I said only, "Well, let me check. I'm napping on the floor, but I think I can squeeze you in sometime after I roll over." then just said he could call for whatever because was "no problemo!"

Mentally however, I was thinking: Oh mah Christ! Now what do I do?

I had sort of allotted a few hours today for driving around, now there is naught to do. - Well. Actually.

The other reason I would much rather adventuring today is ALL I have left now is to write the screenplay from hell. Let me tell you how much I want to do this.

...

Yeah.

Forks in EYES.

I really needed a day's space from the story.

Oh. P.S. I am feeling less scary than my last post. That was a bad... very bad day.

suddenly i was @ 06:03 pm
(no feathers)

monday, september 19, 2005

If someone could just dig me a hole and bury me in it. Bury me and let me pickle and atrophy and wither and die into dust, into silence and nothing else that would be ok.
It was such a mistake coming here, I am the biggest waste of space. I have broken every social bone in my body. I don’t know what it takes to be a normal human any more. I can’t socialize. I’m like a gross mutant for experiments. I am just a total failure. I am just going to sit in my quiet corner and do nothing and talk to no one and not breathe and not inflict my person onto anyone. What happened? I used to be this nice person who was funny and now I am just broken. I wish I would evaporate into nothing, I’m so pointless and stupid. I want to take back anything I have ever said to anyone and go away forever.

suddenly i was @ 10:58 pm
(no feathers)

sunday, september 18, 2005

I AM BEI- oh, hello capslock.

I am being invited to a party. It's being thrown by my director.

I am bad for parties. I don't really drink. I don't smoke. I don't do whatever it is they are doing in the kitchen over to the right there. I am also a social leper. I just don't know how to function in large groups.

This was one reason I said I wasn't going. Before, a reason I had yesterday, I decided not to go because I was still a little bit upset over my director.

I realize I should force the issue, but I really want to have things clean. I have no clothes, the floors need mopping yet- I lost a chunk of time on my adventures on Friday and now that I have found out I have a new script due Monday and really want to do dinner with after I put in my two hours of set building tomorrow- I think it's just best I stay in and take care of things.

My producer keeps calling me on the phone though, which is nice. Makes me feel not-forgotten. Then he passes the phone around and people say, "COME!" and my face goes on fire and I start mumbling into the phone. Still, I decline.

Today I had a meeting which went really well and I think it went well because FOR THE FIRST TIME we were all present and each brought their thoughts to the table (without notes) and we could discuss openly.

The end result is I have an entirely new script to write. Basically, everything has been trashed.

Everything.

The funny part though was my producer quoted this email I sent out to the both of them. No. Wonder. People thought I was a nitrogen bomb about to go off. I used such phrases as: "It's watered down Bridget Jones" and "I won't write this. It cheapens everything we even attempted to create here," finishing with, "I am wholly dissatisfied with this entire project. Talk to you later."

And people say I need to speak up.

Ol' Tell It Like It Is, that's me.

Apparently it spun my teammates each into 30 hour depressions, meanwhile, over here, I have all ready forgotten I even wrote the email. I have a BLOW TORCH temper. When I go off, it's a sharp white hot flash fire, singeing the eyebrows off those in my wake, but just as quick, I snuff the fire and am fine to go, but my victims are still standing there with smoking heads.

Script form, it looks like this:

ME: OMGKILLKILLKILLSTABDIEDIEDIEDIE.
THEM: Ok, ok, let's just settle down.
ME:DIE!
(silence)
THEM: Are you ok?
ME: Huh?
THEM: Are you mad?
ME: Mad? Why?
THEM: Aren't you mad from just now?
ME: When? Oh! Oh no, no, no. I wasn't angry!

It's all part of being a red-head I guess. Hot temper.

Anyhow, I have to finish cleaning.

Notes: Today I saw my friend and gave him a copy of THE REAL non-cg E.T. because it is cruel a fan should be without it. Also had a sound workshop, which was interesting. Everyone was fascinated by my hearing loss problem. I think they misunderstood and thought I was going compleatly deaf.

GUY; So, how does it affect your outlook on life, knowing this?
ME: ...

To conclude: I feel v. manly. Have axle grease under nails from cleaning car.

suddenly i was @ 01:55 am

saturday, september 17, 2005

I think I made a friend!

I’m not sure… maybe.

Today I was wandering out of the screening building (the tip top of AFI) and the nice kid from Wales who wrote me a nice email was there. He said he was trying to get to this Costco I told him about and wondered if I had seen buses going along the main drag which might take him there?

Yick! I said. Buses? CA? It’s a little like finding a live dinosaur in a can of soup. They’re just not around. I said, “I can give you a ride. I know where that is.”

So off we went to Costco. On the way there I found out, here was another person remotely my age (a little older) I could discuss Harry Potter with, “I can’t wait for the next movie!” he says. “I’m on the fifth book now and…”
“So much angst?” I interject.

Then as we are pulling in to the little shopping compound, I point out there’s a Toys R Us. He goes on about working at a Toys R Us (at this point he reminded me of Casey, but says we should go in to look at toys. LIKE I COULD SAY NO TO TOYS. We went in and were poking around and he said the sorts of toys he likes we could never find in Toys R Us because he likes…

E.T.

My knees went out and I said, “I think you just became my hero!”

So we looked at bikes to see if we could find one like Elliot’s (HIM: I think every story I wrote from age 8 and up had a character named Elliot). I said I had a red sweatshirt like Elliot’s (HIM: No fair!).

After the toy run (and after I introduced the term, “adventure” to our present activities) we perused Best Buy, then Costco. From there we hit the bank so he could cash traveler’s checks and then we both got a Jamba Juice before crossing back over to Costco. Somewhere between these two last items, one of his friends called with an offer to come see some screening of, “The History of Violence” with Viggo Mortensen. He invited me and though I FINALLY had set up a meeting with my director and producer- let me tell you, it was the last thing I wanted to do, so I called both and cancelled. I felt really bad I totally shirked responsibilities, but you know. Whatever.

After doing a Costco grocery shop for him we came back to my place so we could ascertain what must happen next. We were Mapquesting this theatre for the screening, which was in Beverly Hills somewhere or something.

P.S. He’s the one from Wales, but I have even less of a sense of where the hell anything is.

- When suddenly a call came and it was his friend saying they ran out of open seats! So the screening was off for us. Imagine! After all the trouble of canceling my meeting.

Hee.

And- whoops.

I think there was a long bit of silence and I said, “Well is there anything else you need to do?”

Because LIKE HELL I was going to call up my director and producer again and say, “Just kidding.”

He <- same nice kid, I’m just not typing names - said he really wanted to start up internet service, but since we found out at Best Buy (by Costco and Toys R Us) he couldn’t create a DSL account without a phone number- he wasn’t sure what to do. So I dug around into all the papers my landlord had given me until I found the local phone company’s number. He called, made himself a line and I filled out bills.

After that- this entry is really a glorified list of errands, I guess it won’t sound like much, but you have to realize, I haven’t done anything advantageous in well over a year, so it was really different and fun for me!

After he got his phone service set up I asked if he would join me as I mailed the bills and tried to battle for my prescriptions at the grocery store. He joined me. I wish I hadn’t have done the prescriptions though; it was so long and boring. He had to wonder off and buy hangers. I felt really bad.

From there, for we walked, we trucked back up the hill and decided it was high time to try a thrift store run. I wanted to Mapquest a few things, so we returned to my place. He tried calling his other friend to find out where a Goodwill Store was- but that store sounded too far away and there was no way I was about to brave the freeways to get to the one his friend described. -

Oh. Notice: I am the worst driver in the history of the universe. I think I mounted a good… oh, let’s say, 8 to 10 curbs on all of these outings? Several start in third gear moments too. Didn’t stall, but had a few short stops. It was SO embarrassing. He had to get out and coach me to park more than once too.

HIM: I think just pull back some…

- Still, I am the master of Teh Google. I found a Goodwill Store less than three miles away, within my zip code.

Off we were again!

I think at this point the conversation turned to music, finally a use for Adam Green in normal conversation. He was a big fan of the Moldy Peaches and Aqualung. I said I was a 60’s aficionado and a fan of: Bob Dylan, Bright Eyes and Adam Green.

Then we actually found the Goodwill.

HIM: You found it!
ME: I can’t believe it.
HIM: We just went… “Goodwill Hunting.”*

* This was almost as good as when I asked him about the “Ok-Go” concert a few days back by saying, “Did Ok-Go go ok?”

The Goodwill Store on Santa Monica (if anyone is interested) is pretty decent. We tested a giant coach, which was really nice, cheap—but all sewn together. As in, you couldn’t remove the cushions. Which was… weird.

He ended up finding two random chairs (he is a bargain hunter. This is ME: 5.99? Good enough. HIM: 5.99? How about this… 99 cents… it doesn’t have _ or __ but it works) and two cups, which we miraculously fit into my tiny (AND FILTHY) Bug. From there we were determined to go forth on the Adventure (note the use of capital here- this journey was beginning to take on the epic proportions of one I might spend with Casey and Hillary).

HIM: I think there might be a Target somewhere down there.
ME: That’s the spirit.

And off we went. It was a little touch and go when I parked in some ghettoized Sears from Hell parking lot. A very failed attempt at shopping. We parked illegally. Walked around, couldn’t find a door and I blanched and said I needed to move my car because I was suffering angst.

Pshaw! We said- throwing out hands up to the nasty Sears which did not choose to accommodate us. We need you not. We hopped into the car again, waved to the homeless man who was screaming at us and took off again.

We drove so far we actually ended up RIGHT where my Miramax internship was.

ME: Omg. I KNOW these streets!

It was a very surreal experience. Finally we found the Target and after some more bad driving on my part, we parked and were in.

The Target shop was nice. We found a shower rod, which is what he was really after and enjoyed the microwaves (which we had been looking at in every store trying to find the smallest one available).

We took all his Target groceries and loaded them into my car. There was another Best Buy, now that he had a phone line, he was determined to get his internet.

Oh, by the way, apparently if you enter a Best Buy as a pair, the employees think you’re married.

After much sitting and waiting and being helped by another British person- we found out the Best Buy internet deal he wanted was no-go. So we wandered off to look in the Cingular store, because while we had wandered he decided he wanted a hands-free phone set like mine.

Cingular had nothing. – But! As we left the premises he started up the chorus to, “Food, Glorious, Food” and I had to die a little.

ME: OMG. Oliver.

At this point it’s 8 PM (we started at about noon) and I am tired and hungry. We drove to his place, which is in a little more of a shady area: backed up against the freeway. I stood watch at the car and he unloaded everything. Then he comes back and sits in the car and asks, “What else are you doing this evening?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Falling asleep on my wood floor,” I thought.
So he says, “I will get you dinner.” – in return for me driving around all day. I said it wasn’t necessary. I only wanted to be nice! I don’t need things in return. Still he insisted so we set off thinking “deli” and drove along Sunset Boulevard.

Sunset Boulevard, when it was dark outside?

Are you proud of me guys? I can’t STAND driving, especially at night. I began to feel like Casey, “so this is how it feels to drive on an Adventure.”

We ended up at Mel’s, which apparently is the diner they shot “American Graffiti” in and around. It was really nice and two random other guys came up and said to me, “Are you from AFI?” and I said, “Yes.” And they said, “We’re second-year editors. We’ve seen you around.”
So I introduced my nice Adventure friend, said, “He goes too.”
When the editors left, he said, “Oooh, look at them notice you.”
“It’s just because I have a fro of read hair,” I said back. I also wander that campus like a ghost for hours at a time and eat lunch behind the editing building, so I am not surprised they’ve seen me.

After introductions our food came and it was all right. Mine was really dry and he ate his cheeseburger and fries with a fork and knife, which I found fascinating. There was a lot of random silence and I hope it wasn’t bothersome to my company. Or awkward. He also told me about what he did in school (started as a painter, studied abroad for a semester or so at UCLA), he told me about his brothers in England (2- he’s in the middle), his girlfriend in Canada (only entering university, he’s robbing the cradle!) and much about what sorts of stories he likes to write (“love stories, but with strange things, but not too strange.”).

He bought me dinner, which I still think was too nice and then said he wanted ice cream (this had actually been a continual subject throughout the day) but thought maybe I was too full so he didn’t need any and I was a little, “wtf. You want ice cream? I’ll get you ice cream.”

So zip, off we were again to find ice cream. By this point we were both tired (it was about 10 PM) and he had taken to singing about every cross street we drove past. We also discussed the death of 2-D animation, what films of Pixar’s we liked best (OMG. Someone else who didn’t like “The Incredibles” I thought I was the only one), the Iron Giant (which I think any person who loves E.T. would enjoy- he hasn’t seen it) and made fun of the god-awful horrid lines we are being forced to write by our directors and producers.

ME: I guess you never loved me.
HIM: You don’t understand me!
ME: Thanks for wasting the last 5 years of my life.
HIM: You don’t understand my needs!

Very exaggo like.

Eventually, because I am a moron, we ended all the way back at the first grocery store we visited a kergillion hours ago, back when I was mailing my bills. We had to dig through the flavors, because he’s allergic to chocolate and really wanted pralines. It was beginning to look devastating. No pralines.

HIM: We might have to go on an ice cream adventure.
ME: My work here is done.

Finally we found one. It was 4.99 and he didn’t like that price, but I said, “No. It’s on me and I don’t care.”
I also got a thing of ice cream- because dur. Who doesn’t want a thing of ice cream.

We purchased. Then he bought two lotto tickets to see if he could win money to go to AFI for another year (we did the math, it’s more than 100 dollars a day to go to AFI, in case you wanted to know).

He didn’t.

Then I took him back to his home and he said he was going to sit on one of his chairs and eat ice cream and I told him thanks for letting me share an afternoon with him.

Then we said, “Ta,” and I took off and got all the way back home by 11 PM.

So it was a really fun day. I still feel a little guilty I shafted my group, but whatever. It happens. I just have to come up with a good story. I hope I made a friend! I tried to be very nice. He sent me a very nice email before school got started which made me happy, so driving him around was the least I could do.

The end!

suddenly i was @ 02:26 am

wednesday, september 14, 2005

My director is talking about me behind my back.

So my producer and I went this “intervention” meeting with this production coordinator about our director. We told all our stories and I felt very vindicated because this lady was really shocked because it was some of the worst behavior she had heard of in a first cycle project. She said she thought it was to the point the director should be called to task, but the producer and I said, “no” because we didn’t want the director thinking we were going behind her back because it would put her on the defense. – Even though we totally were and everything felt all secretive because we locked ourselves in this office for the meeting.

Anyhow, it was nice because the P.C. Lady also confirmed, I was right for thinking the producer was involved in script decisions.

I also told my story about the “my voice” ordeal and basically everything I have written up in this journal. My producer brought a print up of an email where the director wrote him saying, “I’m going to filter what you say when I talk to [my name].” the being my name.
The producer also went on and said all these things I didn’t know. The extent the director was trying to control the situation and make it seem like I am this delicate, fragile flower who can’t take anything- she won’t let anyone else meet with me (some one will ask about the writer and the director says, “No, I’ll give it to her” and I never get whatever “it” is). I also found out, another producer got a hold of the script I have been saying doesn’t make sense anymore, wrote my producer and said, “Who wrote this? It’s incoherent.”
The director also began planning production meetings with everyone, but was effectively leaving me out by not telling me there were meetings because I don’t need to be there.

I’m only writing the script, who needs a script in a movie?

At this point the P.C. Lady said, “ [Producer’s Name] you have to f***ing stand up to her.” to my producer which made me feel even better, because though I enjoy my producer, it’s really true. He has to stand up to confrontation. As the writer I can only do so much, he’s the one in the power seat.

The worst, however, was when my producer went on to say he had heard from other people my director is, basically, bad mouthing me. Saying, “Oh our group is great, but my writer is causing all sort of problems.” (Read: Not doing exactly what I tell her.)

This pissed me off for several reasons.

1. I have to get hired for the next cycle project. Right now, there are two opinions of me out in the world. A. I am an incoherent writer, B. I am a problem-causing writer. WHO in their right mind is going to willingly take me on to a project?

2. It’s hurtful. I have never felt more dumb. I complain about my director in my LJ, but never in any detail to people at school. When ask about my group, I say, “It’s ok” or “We had a bumpy start, but now we’re good,” or “Oh I love my team members.” I NEVER say anything which would cause duress or gossip.
I am a social loser. I have no friends. I am really, really shy when I am with a new group of people and ever since I moved from Chicago it’s become 20 fold worse to the point I might as well have sociophobia or Social Phobia because I get so scared with people. I just hide in the corner wishing I was smaller and smaller, invisible/dead and/or just go off and sit by myself because no one seems to want to talk with me anyhow. So I am a social failure, but I have never done anything to anyone, ever- I just do as I’m told, help whenever I possibly can (“You can sleep on my floor if you don’t have an apt!”) and eat lunch alone but now I have to contend with her saying nasty things to our very, very small group of students (we are 130 in the student body)? How am I ever going to make friends?
A few random fellows (directors) came up and were asking, “How is your project- problems?” and because I am a DUMB ASS, I figured, “Wow- conversation, I guess I am not a total loser.” and told them things were fine, but looking back knowing what I know now and considering the people who were asking me these questions, I think they were asking in response to what they were told by my director. Also, because I am paranoid, I wonder about each person who has given me a look or when some people stopped really talking to me, maybe is it because they heard something?
Or maybe is it just because I am a loser?
When you look at those two options, the first seems the most merciful.
I am also serious about those phobias, I don’t know what my problem is, but it really does seem to be getting worse with time. I am all but paralyzed, I don’t know what my problem is.

3. Oh yeah, now I look like an incoherent, problematic writer.

It felt really good to talk about it though, because it basically proved I was in the right with everything (I do so relish being right); down to my producer needing to have more backbone. I did everything I could- every time the P.C. lady asked, “Did you-“ I could answer yes. I was even really polite through the whole interview because I hadn’t heard about the gossiping, but now I am at the point where I don’t care. I figure let’s get her written up. This is such b.s. I will never, ever talk to her again outside of business. I have a meeting with her tomorrow. B.s. My producer is coming with me. I am through with this manipulative divide and conquer. I am going to be at every meeting so this director doesn’t have the chance to speak about me out of context.

suddenly i was @ 09:58 pm

1. Omg, dumb arse.
2. It’s ok.
3. Christ, I told you!
4. It’s ok, it’s ok. Still- I knew.
5. Oh well!
6. Ug.
7. Omg! Dumbass!
8. Mmmm. As long as no one-
9. Ha… oh my gawd.
10. It’s ok.

suddenly i was @ 02:59 pm

tuesday, september 13, 2005

Omg. What a weird day, so many strange happenings! I almost have to- wait. Let me. Let me just check—

No.

No pigs are flying, but they might as well be.

I am typing very fast and am on the phone. I apologize if this makes no sense

First, this morning I walked out to meet my little bug I have had FOR TWO SECONDS, experienced a bump in the night, as there is now a huge dent in the driver’s side door. In other words? Hit and run. Someone ran into my car and didn’t leave their information.
I am really annoyed, but at the same time blithe. I get upset when I look at my car and see that it looks awful, but I can’t get to angry, because there’s no where to direct the angst, so why bother?

Then- update on my toilet, I know you want to hear this. Tomorrow I get a new toilet, which is wonderful! – But, no pun intended, but- I thought it was going to be fixed by now, so I didn’t make use of all the public restrooms I know before I made it home and now I really have to relieve myself and THERE’S NO WHERE TO GO.

Third. Third. This is a sekrit, but I really can’t believe it. I am trying to suppress it, deeply. I would really like my producer to call me to… fill me in on some of his conclusions. But, wow. I sekritly hope it’s true, but tush! You heard nothing from me.

Fourth: ♥

Lastly, my cousin is getting married! Not my cousbian Katy, my other cousin. I can’t believe it. I had my hands-free ear piece in my ear when she told me. I screamed my head off. Pedestrians split like the Red Sea. It was beautiful.
This cousin is a lot like me. She was always very much dedicated to scholastics, never much for dating or anything. She graduated right before me and suddenly was thrust into a social conundrum of having to meet new people. She made a few friends, including this one guy. She even had a short fling with this other guy. All the while though, this friend-guy was there. When her fling ended, the friend-guy approached her and confessed he had liked her from the moment he had seen her. For the past year they have been dating- and YES. He proposed last week. Nice and proper, took her on a horse back ride up the mountain, while watching the sunset said, “let me take a picture.” – He set up the camera like it was a timed photo, but it was really video recording. Then sang her a song he composed and proposed.
I can’t believe it!
Those who know me, M. getting married, is like me getting married. If I called you on the phone tomorrow and said, “I’m engaged” whatever shrieking response you would have, that was me with her.

Yes indeed, a very interesting day.

P.S. I want to tell my sekrit.

suddenly i was @ 11:11 pm

monday, september 12, 2005

Sometimes I feel so bad when I get so frustrated then I see the people I am frustrated with- only to turn around and make mention of my angst to two other people! I don’t even know why I get so flustered. It’s not even that big a deal, I don’t know why I can’t just swallow my pride and not care and totally divorce myself and just do what I have to do. This is just like how it was at work with Fearless Leader. Have to learn to let go and… erm. To shut up. I don’t want to come off as the vindictive spider!

I think I have done enough vexing and cursing about AFI dumbness, so I thought I might relate a tale of AFI awesomeness, which happened last week or so.

I think it was last Thursday, thereabouts, the big opening ceremonies day which was scheduled. Much to my chagrin, there was little to no ritual blood letting and absolutely no white bull/virgin sacrifice but sucking on my teeth and shoving all dark thoughts of, “What the hell am I paying money to go here for then?” I sat back in my chair as the fun began. A lady got up to talk. I don’t know who she is. Someone very important. She went on and on and on and on and on and on and on about the state of the United States and how the U.S. owes the victims of Katrina an apology. Everyone is squibbling in their chairs, being made sad and uncomfortable. The Important Lady then ratcheted it up a notch and leapt into a tirade about terrorists and homeland security. I slumped deep, deep into my chair and thought, “dear Christ make it stop.” The Important Lady’s attack made a steady crescendo then peaked when she yelled out, “And you know what’s wrong with this country? Pork.”

ME: What did the other white meat ever do to anyone?

Apparently it’s a socio-political term, but she could have made reference to it’s definition because the entire class was as lost as I was.

After the foam stopped flying, the Important Lady then collected her person, took a breath and said, “Anyhow. Now let’s talk about you.”

Note: After talking about devastation beyond imagination, terrorists and war, you don’t really want to hear about the lameness of your attending grad school.

After the—whatever it was, we had two brief screenings. The first was a short of all the films to which an AFI alum had contributed. You should have seen the list! Everything from South Park to Minority Report and all in between- David Lynch (P.S. When he was here, AFI tried everything to kick him out because he was difficult, now he’s a pet child), Terrence Mallick—it was pretty amazing. When the short closed, someone in the dark whistled as if to say, “Whoa.”
This short was followed by another showcasing those who have come to AFI to talk- that list was even more impressive. I dare you. Name someone. They were there. Frank Capra, Alfred Hitchcock, Jimmy Stewart, Tom Hanks, Clint Eastwood, Steven Spielberg, Fred Astaire, Bette Davis- right down to George Lucas last year. Jimmy Stewart?!
I think Eastwood, Hitchcock and Astaire got the biggest laughs.

EASTWOOD: Being here is a little like waking up in bed with an orangutan; you sit up and think, “How did I get here?”

ASTAIRE: The funny thing is, watching all these clips, I don’t remember doing half of them. At least I like what I see.

HITCHCOCK: (slowly takes award from stand, slides into jacket)

There are transcripts of all master seminars like these, but I can’t believe I wasn’t alive sooner to be here for people like Capra and Hitchcock and Stewart!

-- OMG. The power just went out. That’s not supposed to happen, only at home! Thank god for auto-save in MS Word (where I type entries).

After these “ceremonies” we had a luncheon, where, though I spent time discussing “pork” with a couple producers I proved I have little to no social skazillz and wandered back up the hill to the screening room again, about 30 minutes early.

A security guard at the door collected phones and cameras and bags and another just inside the door, gave you the wand before you entered the theatre.

Why you ask? We had a screening of a film called, “Walk The Line” for which, one of our professors was the writer.

I really liked it! I always enjoy films when I know absolutely nothing about them. I walked into this one thinking it was a war film.

P.S. It’s about Johnny Cash.

ME: Ooooh… Johnny Cash… ok.

Then I had to overcome the hurdle of finding out Johnny Cash, in fact, isn’t Willie Nelson, because somehow in my mind they are one person.

I won’t say much about it, but I will recommend. I was afraid it would be really bad but I would have to feign interest because my teacher was right there, but it really surprised me. Beautifully shot, great performances. Joaquin Phoenix is out of his mind amazing. All the singing performances in the film are live recordings of Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon (who plays June Carter). I waited the entire movie for “Ring of Fire” to play (as it was the single bit of Cash knowledge I had), and when Phoenix sang it- my god! He sounded just like Cash. It was insane! Don’t believe me? Listen for yourself.
It’s really too bad this came out after “Ray” because the inevitable comparisons are going to be made. I can’t say if I liked one over the other- I think I may prefer this one, but to say such is really unfair to “Ray” because I only saw that after all the hype and I never like things after I hear so much about them.
Anyhow, highly recommended. I was really surprised by how good the film was. Delightfully surprised and I am glad I got to watch it.
Afterward there was a Q&A with my teacher and the director (also co-writer) of the film. It was really interesting. My teacher was brought onto this project… back in the 90’s. Quite some time ago. – By a director friend of his, who was also a good friend of Johnny Cash. My teacher met and stayed with Cash and Carter and read all the books and interviews.
This teacher also has given two story lectures to our class. He said whenever he is stuck looking for a story, he goes through a list of things in his own life asking these questions: What’s the saddest moment in my life? What’s the happiest? When was the most shameful? When was someone the angriest at me? So on.
Well, for this picture, he asked Cash the same questions. He said Cash was very willing to share and talk about how he wronged people. – My teacher said he asked the “shameful” question, Cash said, “I need to think about it.” Went off, took a nap for 20 minutes and returned with a laundry list of thoughts.
- But he was very, very unwilling to discuss people who wronged him. For instance, one night at dinner, my teacher mentioned Cash didn’t talk much about his father in any of his interviews and could he say a little bit about his father?
Cash stood up from the table and said, “You want to know about my father? Do you think it’s possible for a man on his death bed to say he’s at peace with God when he is still a racist?”
It was a very touchy subject. My teacher said, basically, the father was an alcoholic psychopath, who never touched his sons, but brutalized his wife and daughters. The eldest son stood up to the father and was the only one who could- so… well, you will have to see the film to see how that plays out.
P.S. When you do see it, what I am referring to here, was the “saddest moment.”
To get Cash to talk about his childhood, my teacher asked him to draw a map of his childhood home. Cash began drawing a little floor plan with Norths and Souths and as he did, he opened up and would describe memories.
My teacher gave us all a copy of the map, I’ll share it with you guys. I guess don’t go posting it anywhere.

Here.

- Back to the making of the film. I am certain you are wondering, wtf, if this was started in the 1990’s, why is it just coming out now?

The movie had a lot of studio trouble. “Trouble” in that, no one would pick it up. Some studios were mildly interested, but not so much. The original director knew he wasn’t the director who could sell the piece so he passed it off to James Mangold (“Copland,” “Girl Interupted,” “Identity”). Mangold paired up with my teacher and they began collaborating on the script. If you want an idea of their two styles: the opening of the film is the director’s bit. The part with the peanut is my teacher. Also, many of the funny things June says are the director, he said he was in love with the character.
By now it was 2000. Joaquin attached himself to the script (I think Witherspoon came a little bit after) and with this new package deal, the script went out to the studios again. Then I think Sony (?) became interested and started investing some time, but their (again, I can’t remember is this is the right studio) film, “Ali” came out and tanked. So the Cash biopic was dropped. Biopics weren’t hot. In 2003, both Johnny Cash and June Carter died and finally Fox picked up the rights and the film started being made.

I also liked when my teacher talked about where certain scenes came from- or dialogue. All were based off of stories told by Carter and Cash- but a few, like the record producer in the trailer? That was what another writing teacher had said in some lecture (except instead of “song” and “sing” it was “story” and “tell”). In fact! Gill Dennis (my teacher) opened his story seminar with the same words! “If you were dying in the gutter, what would be the last story you told?” The peanut scene was an actor improv class in NY. I don’t know, it was just great.

Anyhow, I thought the whole talking about the story was really interesting. If anyone sees it and wants to know what some of those moments were or whatever, I can tell you what I was told.

Today my schedule is bizarrely open. A class was cancelled, so I literally have nothing to do, but feel like I am really missing out.

I am going to call my producer, make certain I don’t have to be anywhere then I think I am going to go on a walk. Yesterday I went on this epic adventure into Griffith Park and was climbing up this hill when I had to turn back because it was getting dark and I didn’t know which was worse: getting lost in the wilderness of L.A. or braving the streets of L.A. in the dark trying to get home. I think I might go back and see if that hill is still just sitting there.

P.S. Another movie I saw stuff for way in advance is coming out- I just saw a commercial. “Proof.” Ha! I read the script at Miramax a thousand years ago. I remember it was interesting-ish.

suddenly i was @ 10:55 pm

She sits down. Clicks through windows closing the computer down as a day of angst finally comes to a close.

She also flips through the channels and wonders “what is up” with the 9/11 documentaries.

Then, wafting through the annals of her memory, she remembers the nice English student giving her the wrong date for her check.

“It’s almost September 11th,” he says.

Oh… yeah…

So, yes, it’s September 11th for about 27 more minutes. There’s not much to say about anything. Sometimes I feel so jaded about all of this stuff and there are so many more tragedies (I almost made a joke about my cycle project here, note how I didn’t?) in the world, I think I should consider those now and not soliloquize about the past. Sometimes, however, it’s good to take a moment and think back to that morning, where I had just got up to go to class. I remember just sitting there in front of the TV as downtown Chicago shut down. All my international friends’ parents calling, trying to figure out what was going on. Trying to call my mom to see if she could tell me what was happening.
Even today, with all my jadedness and exasperation with the current administration of the United States, I must remember to look at those images and think of all the people who lost their lives and have my emotions come back again. The day I am not moved by it, you can bury me. Tsunamis and hurricanes are horrific, but nothing out weighs the terror and shock of what mankind does to mankind- whether it be suicide bombers in Israel, U.S. armed forces in Iraq or terrorist with planes in New York.
It all stems from intolerance and hatred, either being bred and brought up in it or forced into it by circumstance.

I just like to remember to feel, that’s all. When I remember I like to think of what I felt at that time and never, ever forget the sadness and pain it brought.

That’s all I have to say about 9/11.

suddenly i was @ 01:47 am

sunday, september 11, 2005

It's nice when your producer calls you and the only solution he has is: she's insane, the rest of us have to work as a team behind her back. She wrote him an email saying she was going to filter him out. I am told it's about her voice. Now my producers says just act like I agree with her.

Yeah. That's going to solve all our problems.

In the meanwhile I am still being asked to rewrite and rewrite and rewrite by the director, with the producer over there nodding his head "acting like he agrees." With each rewrite the script gets worse (ie: I got to add a pointless masturbation scene yesterday!) and when I have to hand it over to be read- THAT'S what I am putting out there as my own work. MY name is the tarnished name. I'm the one who looks like a forking spazz who has sex written into every corner of her convoluted crap ass goddamn worthless and stupid story. By the way, these rewrites aren't just reworking rewrites. The director literally spins the scenes in and out and all through each other, breaking the whole narrative apart and wants me to put it back together. Each rewrite is like starting completely over.
Oh, and I like how my director treats me like I am five and tells the producer, "well she hasn't really worked with anyone before, we have to be gentle and not confuse her."

Wtf.

That's all I have done for the past year. This director is the one who has her little company where she produces, edits, writes, directs and stars in her own films (the rest of her cast is her family). That's not working with people. That's you doing everything and telling your little brother to do what you say. Working with people is getting memos to change text, colour, size, location as per the request of someone unrelated to you, without complaint. Having assignments which aren't of your choosing. Having people who are not as clever as you telling you how great they are while you do what they say. Going to the boss when you disagree. That's working with real people. I know how to work with people. I know I do. That's why I was given a four figure bonus and a raise.

All I am asking is to not be forced into a position where I am the middle person.

PRODUCER TO ME: What did the director say? What did she tell you? When did you talk?
DIRECTOR TO ME: You talked to the producer? When? What did he say? Why? Where?

If we just ALL TALKED TOGETHER this wouldn't be a problem. I feel like I am in junior high and I am the one looking like I am having a breakdown, when it's not my fault, I am just working with an autocratic nightmare.
Then the director says, "Well it was your idea for us to talk then come to you."

Yes it was, but I wanted them to talk and come back to me with a solidified concept. One mind. She came back with more ideas of her own and according to the producer, filtered his out.

Again, if we all met in person, this wouldn't happen.

Then for her to have the GALL to suggest I am inexperienced and don't understand how things work... she's three years older than me. She really needs a reality check.

DIRECTOR: You have to learn there's more than one way to do something.

ME; No. Really? I have NEVER EVER EVER heard this EVER IN ALL MY WHOLE LIFE OF ART MAKING. Thank you, OH WISE GOD, for helping my INFANTILE tiny brain understand this. Now I know better, you are so good to me.

or:

ME: So you mean there's more than just your way?

I am very good at doing what I am told. I am very good at incorporating all voices and ideas. I have been an art editor for an award winning publication. I was a production artist with a thousand bosses giving me input. I can work with people, but not when they are so unreasonable and condescending.

Please, guys, let me know, am I out of line? Do I just not understand? Am I at fault? If I am, please let me know so I can stop being an embarrassment to all involved.

ALSO. There is still FECAL MATTER in my toilet.

In cuter news: my neighbor's cat, ChiChi is mewing at my window and I like to pet her.

suddenly i was @ 04:58 pm

I am just going to spam and vent until I feel better.

So my toilet won't flush and I am really, really fouled out and can't cope, no matter how appropriate the metaphor is to my current situation and when I call to rend my mother's ear, because she's always on my side and sometimes that's nice, my sister says they are running Zoë (my schnauzer) to the vet and they won't tell me why ("I will just explain later, ok?") and I can just hear my mom talking to the dog in the background.

My. Head. Is. Going. To. Explode. I think I am going to cancel my meeting. I really will only do something I am going to regret.

suddenly i was @ 02:49 pm

I tried to be up front and just say we needed to ALL work together (correct me if I am wrong, is this how it works? It's not just the writer and director- or the writer and the producer, when there are three people on a project, three people need to work together, right? Film people? Am I just totally, totally off? Please?) and now the SITH is hitting the fan, big time. The director tells me we all have our jobs to do and I told her she's not letting any one do their jobs... so on. I am on hold with my producer and the director is calling him. Can't we all meet together? I swear I thought this was how it works. The director tells me she's talked to other groups and they all like to work how she works and I came back and said, "well is that why every writer I have talked to feels like they are being beaten into submission?" - because that's how we all feel.

Christ.

suddenly i was @ 02:40 pm

I don't mean to be rude and I think she is a nice person (though I am beginning to doubt this as well) but I really, really can't stand my director. Every time we talk she patronizes me- draws me a map of narrative story telling (here is the exposition, this is the inciting incident), she explains to me what my job is (apparently it is to include all ideas on paper so she can decide what to and not to shoot, p.s. WRONG), she also explains to me the producer does not need to be made aware of script changes until a new draft is issued. I'm sorry, and I even had to do this in our conversation, but I had to play the Miramax card. "When I had my internship at Miramax..." the producer of "Bad Santa" is the woman who "hired me." I watched how she worked. She had her hand in EVERY ASPECT of the film. Before the director was there, before the D.P. was there- before anyone one else, there was a producer, her secretary and the intern, me. Making calls, pulling it together. When scripts were changed, EVERYONE was made aware, hell, even I got a memo- and I would bet money, the producer was made aware even before the changes were actually written in, so she could green light something or not.
UG.
We have a meeting together and I don't want to go. I don't understand why we all can't me. She keeps saying my only contact should be with her and she will filter down everything. The problem with this is:

A. The producer claims, to me, the director is filtering out his thoughts.
B. In addition to filtering, the director spontaneously adds ideas. It's not that they are all bad ones (she actually had a nice imagery one), but then I go to write in these new ideas and the producer finds out and comes to me saying, "What is this? I didn't know of this. I didn't approve this. Take it out."

It's divide and conquer with my director.

According to the director, when it comes down to the very bottom of everything, this film is about her voice. What the audience hears is what she wants them to hear. It's her voice.

Well that's very nice. That's very auteur. But it's b.s. Correct me if I am wrong, but I was of the opinion when you come down to it, the director's job isn't about getting everyone to sing her tune and make only her voice heard, but rather, is orchestrating all the voices on the team to get harmony. You bring to the table what you have then give it out to all the others to build up, using all their varied expertise, to make it better than what you could have done on your own.

I am really sick of being caught in the middle. I am sick of being told, "That's ok you want to cut this, thanks for telling me your thoughts, but I say let's keep it in because then I can remember on set to shoot all possibilities."

The script isn't about "all possibilities" it's about paring down, paring down until you get to the very core of an idea, leaving only the best possibilities.

Stabs everything. I have to go get dressed and find a happy place so I don't burst into flames when she comes over.

suddenly i was @ 01:47 pm

saturday, september 10, 2005

Omg. My producer has a kitten he can't have any more and he has called me to ask if I want want.

ME: Please, please don't ask me this.

It's a little silver tabby, female. He has given her the first rounds of shots and has purchased all her kitty needs (litterbox, food, toys), he offered to pay my apartment deposit (I wonder if he knows it's 200 dollars) and said if I ever leave town he will watch her. He said he has to give her up and doesn't want to give her to the pound/shelter/similar. He says I wouldn't have to give him anything, he just wants to know she's with someone he can trust will take care of her. I don't know what to do! Obviously, I want a kitten, but this one is a bit older (3 months) and I was kind of hoping to get a male cat, black-- then again, Mabel was 3 months when we got her, she was owned by someone else who had to give her up and had named her and everything and LOOK HOW GOOD SHE TURNED OUT- I don't know! I just wanted to wait. Still, I don't want the kitten to have to go to some adoption place-- ack. I don't know what to do!

Then, here's my mom:

MOM: Oh just take it.

suddenly i was @ 06:02 pm

It's 6 AM and I'm up to work because I slept the entire night on my hardwood floor again!

suddenly i was @ 08:16 am

wednesday, september 7, 2005

I am really excited because I don't have to get up until 11 tomorrow and have a fun day. We are having "opening ceremonies" which I don't really understand the concept of (me: are the olympics coming to town!?) but it sounds entirely Harry Potter, so should be interesting. After the ceremonies (and ritural blood letting?), we have a luncheon, then a screening.

Wee!

I am a little bit in love with this young man. He's hot in a whole Napoleon Dynamite/Please Shower Now kind of way. It was a bit shock at first, his appearence. I wanted something a bit more easy on the eyes (dreamy!) but I have come to terms with my new boyfriend. If Mo, aka the hottest man in the universe, turns me down in my offer of marriage, I will marry Adam. It's ok. I think he has a great voice and every single song of his makes me laugh. I like the ones which get randomly really crude, but you don't notice because he sings in the same deadpan manner and always has a poppy beat.

Whoa, I forgot how tall Mo is! See the Human Cam.

suddenly i was @ 04:43 am

monday, september 5, 2005

I could watch the GREATEST LIFETIME MOVIE EVER or I could stay up all night rewriting something I don't want to write but it's due tomorrow AM.

Omg, there's an art teacher. Goddess of Lifetime, WHY must you mock me? Tempt me! Cruel, cruel syndicated mistress.

Wait! Commercial. Now I write.

suddenly i was @ 11:14 pm

Since I am becoming a Livejournal whore these days because I have absolutely zippo life and it is 3 AM and I am pacing trying to block out a scene- I thought you guys might want to join me in a friendly game of what we screenwriters call "layering details."

EXHIBIT A

On the surface, it's nothing more than a weatherman losing his cool because he is trying to inform the American public of what will, undoubtedly, be the storm of his career. When thwarted by the unwiley studio ditz, however, he goes postal- and we laugh at his embarrassment and wonder how soon it was before he was fired after the curtain fell.

Watch it again now.

Once more after that if you wish, there's no shame in it. I watched it some 899 times for entertainment.

Notice anything?

Let me give you a hint: who the fork is "Carol?"

When the weatherman's angst peaks he randomly calls the talking head "Carol," even after calling her Camille (her real name I believe) before and prior to his outburst.

There is more going on here than just meteorology gone awry, hence the mention of "layers." Superficially he's frustrated with his report and Camille, but brewing in the river of subtext is the Carol Monster the one who isn't listening, the one who won't let Chad, "just talk." Is it his wife? Mother? The world might never know, because the quicktime file is cut off, as too is Chad from CNN and ever, ever reporting the weather again.

Btw: The symbolism of the storm in the background? Nice touch CNN.

suddenly i was @ 05:05 am

Oh. My. God.

How much do I not want to write revisions?

This Much:

I ate dinner. Drew a picture. Watched a Lifetime movie. Lifted weights. Took a nap. Watched another Lifetime movie. Fell alseep on the floor. Woke up.

Which brings us to now. 1.30 AM.

Funny, I still don't want to do anything, still must, must- so onward ho, if I don't passive-aggressively pass out on my keyboard I will be somethere between what's-his-face from "The Shining" and this guy until 7 in the morning.

suddenly i was @ 03:38 am

sunday, september 4, 2005

MESSAGE FROM DIRECTOR: I was really nervous because I have never worked with another writer before, but I think you totally got it and now I am finally excited to work on this!

Wooooooooooooooooooo. I think things just took a turn for the awesome. She said she had one or two small changes, we'll see how those go, but otherwise I think we might have butt-bounce-in-chair.

suddenly i was @ 04:43 pm

So I am just up ironing things and I have a few fascinating tales to tell.

TALE THE FIRST:

So AFI gives out this giant book which is bigger than god, filled with all sorts of information. Within this book are two smaller books of biographies of all the students. I remember writing mine. At the time I still wasn’t certain if I would attend, so I wrote this short thing because I couldn’t give a rat’s arse.
I glean through the book and everyone’s, EVERYONE’S is a mile long. I remember the word limit was something like 500 and mine was about 89. People have these long lists of accomplishments of jobs: Sundance, Oscar-nominated, Emmy- filming in Toronto, England, Hollywood- me? I had an internship. I graduated. I worked someplace unrelated and slightly lame.
I am so embarrassed. I hope no one else is reading these. NO WONDER I have no friends. No one thinks I have anything to offer.
In other news, I read the second year bios and found and not one but TWO people from my graduating class are here. 3 people from my class at AFI, not bad.

TALE THE SECOND:

Picture it: Chicago, late 2003. I was a bonny young lass, fresh out of acting class. There was a lad named Peter. A nice boy. Good friend and fellow animation aficionado. Peter gave me his number because I was using him as a voice actor. He said: keep it! Give me a call if you’re ever in L.A.
Two years later, I’m in L.A. I reach into my fridge and grab my lunch from Friday. It’s a yogurt in a plastic grocery sack. As I do this, a little green paper flutters to the ground.
I pick it up. “What’s this?”
And what was it?
But Peter’s number. From 2003.
Fate?

TALE THE THIRD:

Yesterday I stepped out of the car and there was a coyote in front of me. I was surprised, but the coyote ran, because there was another animal on the lose: the random Cujo-sized rottweiler, who gave chase. This dog… is huge. I don’t know who he belongs to. I like to think of him as the animal spirit of Los Feliz. He belongs to no one. Nobody can own him. He is freedom incarnate. To hone this point, occasionally he runs about dragging a giant heavy chain.
I bet his name is Satan… or Angel Flower.

Angel Flower Satan: The Spirit of Los Feliz.

suddenly i was @ 04:50 am

saturday, september 3, 2005

Wooooo! Ok. That only took all day and at least one two hour nap in the middle, during which I posed myself like Christ on a crucifix waiting for some divine intervention. Now I shall go out, remind myself what nature feels like so I might come back and edit.
Other script writers: don't you think 9 pages will result in roughly 10 minutes of screen time? There is barely any dialogue. Only action.

OMG. Hearts.

suddenly i was @ 06:39 pm

Oh EM Geee. Why does it take so long to write!?

suddenly i was @ 01:50 pm

I am really, really frustrated right now. My director doesn’t trust me to do anything at all~!

Today we had to verbally tell our tales for the cycle projects, which would be been easier if the tale had actually been mine to begin with; but it wasn’t, so it was hard. It was made even more difficult, however, by the fact I don’t really care for the story. I did before, I thought- or some nugget of it was appealing, but the director keeps coming with more and more and more and more instructions on how to do it (though I haven’t even begun writing) my whole head is a MESS with CRAP I DON’T CARE FOR.
The very first day we teamed, I looked over the treatment and said, “Why is this character here? He does nothing. I would
cut him.”
The director argued and argued so I gave in and left the character within the story. Then today, while verbalizing the story Ihad no idea about, when I was finished the FIRST thing mentioned by the entire audience was the character my GUT told
me to cut. “He’s pointless, cut him.” The director then says, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

ME: No you didn’t.

Basically it made me look like the motard making these obvious
blatant elementary mistakes- and I had been sitting
there defending the stupid idea I totally knew was wrong, then only to sit there and be TOLD everything I already knew-
ARGH.

The director then drew me a “map” of what was to happen and when. How the film would open and this and that. It’s like, Christ, why am I even here? The director says, “It’s really important to me the film opens this way,” and I want to respond, “That’s nice, but this isn’t just about you any more.”
I feel like I did at work. I am a monkey just doing what I must,
though ever fiber of my body says no, just because TEH MAN
tells me I must. While work, however, gave me a paycheck and was with impersonal Psd files, this- this place. I am paying over 50,000 dollars for right now, working with something which is very precious to me (writing, sacred process) and not being trusted to work and being told what to do!
I know this place is supposed to mirror The Industry, but B.S. I am not learning to write so I can make the next blockbuster, I am not aiming to have a lifetime of sacrificing what I believe in so I can get onto the Hallmark channel- I write because I like it.
Best case scenario, I will write something I love and someone else will love it and we go from there. If no one likes anything I do, fine, I will take a desk job, rot but enjoy my private
writing moments alone.
I just feel like every idea I offer or any time I offer a change,
it’s knocked down. She’s drawing MAPS for Christ’s sake
telling me how to do my job, before I begin! Telling me what she
does! I’m not her. If I try and write from her, it will be
shallow. You have to write from within.
And with all due respect, I’M the one who got in here as a writer.
I’m the one who should know what to do. I’m not even being given the respect to write something then have the director
look and say, “this is strong, this needs work.” She's not trusting me with the idea. She's not letting me work.
I’m not
sitting there telling her, “It’s really important to me that you get the actress to arch her brow here. I don’t want music
here. I need it to fade in here.” BECAUSE IT’S NOT MY JOB. Damn it.
I am so frustrated on all ends right now and let me tell you- the
last thing I want to do is write this idea out in full. It can
burn and die for all I care.

Wait, my wish comes true. I don’t have to write. I have a lecture until 4 AM.

UG.

- Message from the future: I really do like these lectures.

suddenly i was @ 12:04 am

friday, september 2, 2005

Well hey there, finally.

Ho-olee Christ.

What a ride this past week has been. Just a eight days ago I was brokenhearted leaving my job and now here I am in the library of the American Film Institute writing you because I have something like 4 hours before my next seminar happens.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we though?

So. Last Tuesday I left my job. The next day, Wednesday, was spent packing and hugging my pets. I spent a last moment with Casey, buying underwears because a girl new to her second decade is never whole without character underdittles.
P.S. The Jockey seamlesses? Wonderful pants.
Thursday began the big drive. Katrina was nothing more than a sparrow fart over the ocean and my car hung low burdened with books and boxes and a very carefully packed guppy in the front seat.
We were driving two cars. My dad being the other part of the “we” here. The Bug (my car) can’t fit anything into it, so unfortunately we had to go in separate mobehicles. I always feel something of a pioneer when I set out on these sorts of drives. They take forsaken ever and there is such a feeling of quest in the air. I was also TERRIFIED.
I don’t like driving. I don’t know if I can possibly express how much I don’t like driving. Still, I was all right with the initial I-15 run, it was the L.A. traffic I feared some 13 hours ahead in the future.
The drive was all right though. We brought walkie-talkies so we could communicate easily.
“10-4 Dad, you have to get out of this lane, I’m being tailed.”
“Roger that, put your blinker on.”
It was a little touch and go in Vegas (Nevada still equals litter box, bee tea double yew) but for the most part, uneventful.
Napoleon the fish had no complaints.
We drove all the way to Victorville, which really is the last stop before TEh Los Angeles and stayed there the night. I drove for over 12 hours!
When we finally descended into the smog and traffic of L.A., Katrina was ratcheted up to a tropical storm and it was roughly 102 degrees. Apparently I live right off the 5, who knew?
Then came the next painful step of unpacking.
First the fish, the table, the bed, the computer (on the floor! I have no desk), the clothes (lie, they are still in suitcases), everything until I collapsed and my dad said, “Ok, next move.”
We ran countless errands, got dinner, came home- again, set up camp on the hard wood floor (I had no mattress) and died until the next morning.
I have to admit this whole weekend is a blur. It all involved buy furniture and towels and other such amenities. There was some excitement on Friday when I went to drop off my film to AFI and my dad rolled down the window in the Bug and it fell off its track into the door of the car. This caused us to drive over to Glendale to drop the car off at a VW depository.
On Saturday, while Katrina geared up to become a number 5, my totally for awesome CA family members came to find me: my aunt, uncle and Katy. With them, like the three kings of old, they brought gifts of a mattress, microwave and shelves.
Only after hauling these items up the large staircase (v. fun), did my dad spring the exciting news a cheap refrigerator had been discovered on Craig’s List and was now awaiting us in North Hollywood. So off the manly men went- father and uncle alike, to retrieve it (with the aid and coordination of my aunt) while we younger lasses were made to keep house and make my bed.

Eff Why Eye.

Pushing fridges up stairs, is not awesome.

Positively pouring sweat from pores my body never even knew it had, the fridge was in place and it was time for the native Californians to leave and time for my father to A. pick up our car and b. book it to Burbank, to a small country known as IKEA.

California is great for two things.

1. Fruit and veggies. Hands down. I don’t know if it’s just a vicinity thing, or if they have all had work done, but the natural foods here are to die for.

2. Large. Shopping. It’s actually quite disgusting. Everything in CA is big. The cars. The roads. The boobs. So it’s no surprise the stores are as well. My Costco at home, which I consider quite offensive and vast and have, on numerous occasions become completely and utterly lost in, is a pittance in comparison. Its collective body could be fit into one corner of the IKEA or Macy’s or Target here.

So huge, so endless and all you can think of are of starving children somewhere on the other side of the planet while people mob each other for bulk macaroni. Still, these people are probably like me- just average joes looking for a cheap desk to get their work off of the floor.
Anyhow, we went into IKEA. This was actually our—second run there. I’m all backwards. We went there first on Friday.
It was terrifying but interesting. I found a desk and chair, then went home- and died on the floor again, despite my having a bed.
Sunday, the day Katrina finally decided to make landfall, I plugged in the microwave and blew a fuse.
My dad and I waited for the cable/internet man (the gas and electric guys came before) and built my new desk and chair (also there was this continual state of clean up going on). The guy finally came got me connected and faster than you could say, SHAZAM my dad and I went to Costco to buy a mattress of toilet paper.
I don’t have much to say about Costco, save there were literally moshes where people mobbed each other trying to get a grocery cart. I was terrified. I didn’t get a cart.
It was wrong.
After Costco it was back to Burbank, land of giants, to Target to get some towels and such.
Which we did.
Also Albertson’s to get normal sized groceries.
Have I mentioned at this point in time I had gone through HALF of all my savings from work?
Finally, night fell on Sunday and as I braced for sleep and AFI the next morning, New Orleans braced for Katrina.

Monday morning started. It was hot.

Very hot.

I got to school early and had to lag about waiting for my registration time. Finally I got into line (to stand in a stagnant pool of my own sweat) next to some nice editing fellow. The registration process was easy enough (there aren’t classes here, really, it’s more like a continuous schedule of stuff you have to look up on the intranet every other hour) but there was the first of a series of orientations.
When I went outside there was a giant crowd around the “Roach Coach.” Like a movie set, there is no cafeteria here. Just a food truck which drives up at appointed hours.
Off way to the side there was a guy standing alone. I went and stood next to him. He was a screenwriter. The first I met.
Let me quote my Shakespeare teacher: you can always tell a writer on the elevator. He’s the one who’s invisible.
This writer’s last name is Eowyn. Sort of. It’s Eowan, but someone misspelled it on his roster. He’s about 30, married, but super nice and was my first friend. We went to all of the orientations together, which went until 5 in the evening.
I turned to Eowan at the end of the day and said, “Thanks for being my sitting pal.”
Got up, left, walked to the car and lo! Who was parked next to me? Eowan.
The next morning, my dad left me and I was very sad. There’s nothing more sad than the quiet which rests all over you when you are left in a new city. It’s awful. It’s the worst feeling in the world.
(ug people are being noisy in here now. Annoyance.)
At 9 AM I was back at the AFI Campus. Which I suppose is nice. It’s right down the way from my apartment. It’s a cluster of buildings built up a hill dotted with pink and purple flowers and is cloistered off from the traffic with huge pine trees.
Tuesday was screening day. We had a brief follow up orientation from 9 to 11 then the screening started. We were viewing old work of new fellows (we’re not students here, but rather, a “directing fellow” or a “producing fellow.” We’re like the Communist party, but different). 11 AM to… are you ready? 10:38 PM. That’s 11 hours. That’s… a lot of screening. I was completely brain dead by the end. A 13 hour day.
I sat next to Eowan through the screening again and we also had lunch.
Wee. Friend.

They’re all about this long though- the days. All my courses tend to end at 10 or 11 PM. The Editing fellows had a class the first day which ran to almost midnight (though it was a mere 9 hours long, wusses).

After the screening I developed a rep. because I was the only one who showed an animation. It’s a little like highschool- back when I was the only “drawer.” I am so used to Chicago and art school where EVERYONE draws… it’s weird.

Wednesday, which was yesterday, I was back here at 8:30 AM. We had to pitch our story ideas.
I guess this year has been set up differently than years prior. We are guinea pigs, but in a good way. Last year (you might remember the screenwriting fellow who wrote me a few months back describing this process as “sadistic” and how the faculty enjoyed “throwing you to the dogs and laughing as they ripped you limb from limb,”) I guess, on the first day, after orientation you stood up on the stage and pitched your idea to the whole school. From there came screenings, then people chose teams they wanted to work with; the whole ordeal was chaotic (at best) and horrifying. An old editing fellow said some people were so terrified to pitch they went dumb at the podium.
Also, it’s been reported, last year was a very antagonistic class. Lots of angst.
This year, they segregated the fellows into two different tracks: cinematographers, editors and production artists (art directors) in one and producers, screenwriters and directors in the other.
I was in the second one.
From there the tracks were divided up again into four smaller groups of about 22 people, this many writers, this many directors, so on and a few mentors. This was the group you pitched to. From there, if anyone liked your idea, or if you liked theirs, people approached each other for work.
The idea is here to form tiny groups of three or four people (one writer, one director, one or two producers) who come together around an idea which they will turn into a short film. Later, we “hire” a cinematographer, editor and art director from the other track. We also must hire actors from SAG (Screen Actors Guild) and hold auditions and all of this.
Each film is given about 3,200 dollars as a budget.
None of my ideas were chosen, but I didn’t present them well. I never do. Most of the time people don’t think my ideas will work (ie, Felix, ie Diana) but I show them they WILL work, they just have to believe me.
Oh well.
The mentor even asked the writers to stand and said, “Writers, don’t stand in the corner and wait for someone to come to you. I know this is what you do, be proactive.”
What did I do? Totally stood in the corner!
The groups are even more defined here than they were in Chicago. For the most part: the writers are quiet and shy (invisible on the elevator), the directors are out. Of. Their. Minds. And the producers are very savvy.
This is, roughly speaking.
Our big-small group took lunch before we divvied up. I ate lunch with three girls who knew my name, but I didn’t know theirs. They were from another group. They said, in their group, the directors took over and only wanted their ideas to be made.
When I got back, I continued my post in the corner when I suddenly looked up and saw everyone else had groups forming around them and I was alone!
Omg!
Last kid picked for kick ball!
One girl did approach me and asked if I would write her idea. She was a director. True to the form of the other bunch of people, the directors of our group rather took over as well. I think, only one writer’s idea was chosen.
I agreed to write her piece and we found a nice producer.
Then things got ify.
The idea I read on the paper, I read one way, imagined as a quiet portrait type of picture.
The producer read it this as well.
When the director detailed her story though, we found out she was not imagining it the same way and wanted something more of a Pillow Talk love story and was slightly unwilling to bend. I think she literally winced whenever we suggested a different idea, for not only did she have her preconceived notion of the story, it was based on an actual memory- which makes things worse because not only does she imagine it one way, she knows how it really was and doesn’t really want to deviate.
O.
M.
G.
I was very nervous about what was going to happen. I told her about some things I would cut from the story and she told me sometimes in production you add to a story, after the writing has been done and “magic things happen with the editor,” basically saying, “You can cut it, but I can add it back in.”
- Though in theory I think the writers are heading up this cycle, so actually I think I have final cut this time, but whatever.
After much debating we all broke again. I stuck around with my Producer. He and I saw the same picture. I also talked to another writer.

Why writers are the best: This guy had a Sailor Moon folder and joined me in a gleeful rendition of the opening theme song.

Along with my producer and the Sailor Moon writer, there was a surly director/producer? from Canada who had to be one of the most critical people I have ever met.
We all started off talking about these film projects (called “cycle projects” because there are three of them throughout the course of the year) but that developed into a discussion about Scientology (go Zeenoo!) which, of course, turned into a deep, meaningful session of celebrity gossip.

PERSON AT THE DOOR: Look at you guys! Are you working on your cycle project?
US: Um. We’re gossiping.

Since we had a few hours to kill we went to Jamba Juice before returning to our 7-10 PM conference. They were all very nice. I loved the writer. He was so funny! I was a little worried about the Canadian, because while he was awesome and nice he was also so critical. ie someone would walk by and wave and he would wave back, but the second the person vanished he would turn to us and say, “Her stuff was so god awful.” I kept wondering is he doing that to me every time I turn around? I also like my producer though he seems a bit wishy-washy, so I don’t know if I like this in a producer. ie

- notice I was just booted from the library, now I am in a lab -

- He told me had really wanted to produce one idea, but it was taken from under his nose. Later, when he was talking to the Critical Canadian mentioning the same idea, the C.C. said, “Ug! That was AWFUL.” and my producer said, “oh- um, yeah, well I didn’t like it either.”

ME: Hmm. Yeah you did.

The last class of yesterday my Director apologized for being so defensive. I think we’ve all on same page and just want this to be a good experience.

Still, fun. Everyone is very, very friendly here. Everyone smiles and waves and uses the favourite AFI pick up line, “What’s your discipline?”
Though there is one slightly crazy Israeli kid who is following me all over the place. He caught me this morning and though I didn’t even know his name, he dragged me downstairs to watch, “the first thing I did out of school.”

ME: Who are you?

Which brings us to today. Today was comprised of individual meetings then we have a seminar from, you guessed it: 7 to 10. I am sitting next to the nice guy from Wales who emailed me a week or so ago.

My meeting went well- we took a WHOLE HOUR when everyone else did just 30 minutes. I think my whole team, despite the fact two of us see the film a different way want to just make this an easy process. No one is here to duke it out. I think it will be all right.

Anyhow. I guess it’s time to end this monotonous record of my life. If anyone actually reads this, let me know. Just write a “Got it” type of comment to let me know you got this far in reading.

I will be impressed.

Two last items.

First,I won this on eBay. Isn’t it beautiful? I loved it at first sight.

Second, I love my family. I have the most awesome family, ever. I love my mom and dad. They give me so much and do everything for me, no one in the world could have better parents. My dad drove all the way down and lifted fridges for me! My mom says she’ll supplement 200 dollars a month so I can stay in a nicer place! My aunt and uncle and cousin bring me mattresses though they never even had to- my grandmother sends me checks so I won’t be completely indebted to my lender.

Thank you, so much. I love you family. I hope I make a kagillion bazillion dollars so I can buy my mom a driveway or fix the roof for my dad- buy a trip to NZ for my CA family and fly back to see my grandmother.

I don’t deserve such a wonderful family.

Signing OFF.

suddenly i was @ 03:32 am

[archive hall] [back to the night's forest]