Today I American Midoled it. Check out the latest recap, and Happy Friday! Careful not to get special sauce all over the sheets.Friday, January 30, 2009
time for a meaty nap
Today I American Midoled it. Check out the latest recap, and Happy Friday! Careful not to get special sauce all over the sheets.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
TMI time!
After conferring with Meghan, it's the only logical conclusion for the ambiguous little ball of ache that's been hanging out just above my belly button for the past two and a half days. Ruled out:1) real baby (awesome!)
2) excessive lady problems
3) Food poisoning? Doesn't true food poisoning tether you to the toilet for hours on end? There's luckily none of that messiness here, although two out of three people I see somewhat regularly ate food at the same potluck on Sunday and two of us are having stomach issues.
Baby Dinosaur for the win!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
1989
Ms. Mylin is walking to the padlocked closet in the back of the gym, and this is the first time all morning that Lana’s ears perk. She can’t be going to retrieve the kick-balls (that unit was last month), or the vibrantly beaded jump ropes they all love so much, spilling alluringly out of their box onto the concrete floor like staccato snakes. It’s too early in their class time for such paraphernalia—so she must be heading for the speaker system. Isn’t she?
“Five minutes around,” the gym teacher calls. Of course they grumble, all except Lana, who doesn’t dare betray her classmates’ distaste. She condenses the spastic, happy foot dance she and her best friend Tammy used to perform for Jake that would make him bounce in his crib and cackle like a grandpa , earning him the nickname Raymond, though Lana hasn’t felt much like calling him that since the move. The 3rd graders run for five minutes every class, but Ms. Mylin only sometimes remembers to turn on the radio while they circle, much to Lana’s exasperation.
“Turn the radio on, please!” she wants to yell over to her teacher each time she is too absorbed in her lesson plans. But then she immediately feels guilty, since Ms. Mylin is the first gym teacher who has ever kind of liked her. It is a benign enough request, but one Lana won’t ask for fear of Ms. Mylin changing her mind about her and making her sit against the wall like the gym teacher at her old school, Mrs. Kovacs did one day during the parachute unit. The parachute unit, and to this day Lana ruminates over what she did so horrific to exempt her from one of only a handful of tolerable gym classes. Did Misty Simmons tell on her for something she didn’t do, still smarting over Lana’s one time retaliation that at least she wasn’t named after their neighbor’s cocker spaniel?
Static rakes the gym speakers. A jolt of anxiety, though she knows she is ready for this. As long as there is music, she knows her body will cooperate and she will be able to run the whole five minutes. This discovery a few weeks back was astonishing in light of all of the things Lana’s body apparently can’t do.
This new school participates in something called the Presidential Fitness Challenge, validated by two posters hanging on opposite sides of the gym. The first poster is of President George Bush clasping raised “victory” hands with the movie star Arnold Schwarzenegger. Both men are surrounded by a trim, multi-cultural group of boys and girls, one of whom even beams from a wheelchair. Arnold wears khaki pants and a red T-shirt that strains against his sausaged biceps, but President Bush wears his usual dignified suit, reassuring Lana that he is unlikely to spend his days lunging toward chalkboard erasers spaced fifty meters apart despite this endorsement.
It is the second poster of Arnold alone, this time wearing the red shirt with tight black shorts, mouth seemingly stretched over a Steinway that mocks Lana at the sit-and-reach, where Ms. Mylin clucks that she is bending her knees, and the peg climb where Lana is hoisted up only to fall unspectacularly back down to the mats, where she watches the adjacent board in amazement as Josh Crighton plunges the two stakes into alternating holes and shimmies simian like clear up to the ceiling; during push-ups especially, or more aptly, the push-up that leaves her crimson out of embarrassment or fatigue, which she isn’t sure; the sit-ups that always induce bile in her throat around number forty or so.
Ms. Mylin must have found a station, because suddenly rock music swirls around the gym and her classmates’ sneakers retort on the waxed floor. It is a song that she has heard on the bus before and one that she loves, though not fast-paced like she prefers:
…And I’m a bad boy, ‘cause I don’t even miss her,
I’m a baaad boy, for breaking her heart...
Lana finds her gait, and now her shortcomings are eclipsed by this thing that she can do effortlessly and apparatus free, without pegs and fat pincers and a buddy to hold her feet, needing only the music to buoy her motivation as she tears around the gym. Gone is her unbiased hunger, set off by today’s menu of taco salad (sloppy joe meat from Monday’s lunch over Fritos) to be picked at in this space that will moonlight as a cafeteria in a couple of hours, tables unfolding murphy-like from each of its walls like oak veneered hydra reeking of disinfectant.
Gone are her inhibitions about her belly, aggravatingly convex all of a sudden, and the gap between her two front teeth that warranted a closed-mouth smile when Mrs. Wall introduced her at the front of the class two months ago.
...Freeeeee,
freeee falllllinn...
She enjoys the whoosh of air through her ponytail. She thinks she sees Ms. Mylin noting her vigor during one lap, though the next time around the woman is looking down into her planner.
On Lana’s left side each go-around, keeping a less enthusiastic pace is Melanie, the girl who sits in front of her during science hour with the immaculately kept pencil case who once placed a Lisa Frank kitty eraser on her desk a few days after she started school at Jefferson. The two girls have never exchanged words, but Lana suddenly notices Melanie shaking her head a bit and smiling each time she laps her, as if to say “what’s the rush?”
Lana is soaring now, reducing Ms. Mylin, the peg board, and even Melanie to a blur, though she can still process the blinding whites of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s teeth and dancing eyes. For the first time she thinks his gaze is conspiratorial, as if they both know she could run forever, out the gym doors, onto the streets and clear across Iowa if that’s what it takes.
“Five minutes around,” the gym teacher calls. Of course they grumble, all except Lana, who doesn’t dare betray her classmates’ distaste. She condenses the spastic, happy foot dance she and her best friend Tammy used to perform for Jake that would make him bounce in his crib and cackle like a grandpa , earning him the nickname Raymond, though Lana hasn’t felt much like calling him that since the move. The 3rd graders run for five minutes every class, but Ms. Mylin only sometimes remembers to turn on the radio while they circle, much to Lana’s exasperation.
“Turn the radio on, please!” she wants to yell over to her teacher each time she is too absorbed in her lesson plans. But then she immediately feels guilty, since Ms. Mylin is the first gym teacher who has ever kind of liked her. It is a benign enough request, but one Lana won’t ask for fear of Ms. Mylin changing her mind about her and making her sit against the wall like the gym teacher at her old school, Mrs. Kovacs did one day during the parachute unit. The parachute unit, and to this day Lana ruminates over what she did so horrific to exempt her from one of only a handful of tolerable gym classes. Did Misty Simmons tell on her for something she didn’t do, still smarting over Lana’s one time retaliation that at least she wasn’t named after their neighbor’s cocker spaniel?
Static rakes the gym speakers. A jolt of anxiety, though she knows she is ready for this. As long as there is music, she knows her body will cooperate and she will be able to run the whole five minutes. This discovery a few weeks back was astonishing in light of all of the things Lana’s body apparently can’t do.
This new school participates in something called the Presidential Fitness Challenge, validated by two posters hanging on opposite sides of the gym. The first poster is of President George Bush clasping raised “victory” hands with the movie star Arnold Schwarzenegger. Both men are surrounded by a trim, multi-cultural group of boys and girls, one of whom even beams from a wheelchair. Arnold wears khaki pants and a red T-shirt that strains against his sausaged biceps, but President Bush wears his usual dignified suit, reassuring Lana that he is unlikely to spend his days lunging toward chalkboard erasers spaced fifty meters apart despite this endorsement.
It is the second poster of Arnold alone, this time wearing the red shirt with tight black shorts, mouth seemingly stretched over a Steinway that mocks Lana at the sit-and-reach, where Ms. Mylin clucks that she is bending her knees, and the peg climb where Lana is hoisted up only to fall unspectacularly back down to the mats, where she watches the adjacent board in amazement as Josh Crighton plunges the two stakes into alternating holes and shimmies simian like clear up to the ceiling; during push-ups especially, or more aptly, the push-up that leaves her crimson out of embarrassment or fatigue, which she isn’t sure; the sit-ups that always induce bile in her throat around number forty or so.
Ms. Mylin must have found a station, because suddenly rock music swirls around the gym and her classmates’ sneakers retort on the waxed floor. It is a song that she has heard on the bus before and one that she loves, though not fast-paced like she prefers:
…And I’m a bad boy, ‘cause I don’t even miss her,
I’m a baaad boy, for breaking her heart...
Lana finds her gait, and now her shortcomings are eclipsed by this thing that she can do effortlessly and apparatus free, without pegs and fat pincers and a buddy to hold her feet, needing only the music to buoy her motivation as she tears around the gym. Gone is her unbiased hunger, set off by today’s menu of taco salad (sloppy joe meat from Monday’s lunch over Fritos) to be picked at in this space that will moonlight as a cafeteria in a couple of hours, tables unfolding murphy-like from each of its walls like oak veneered hydra reeking of disinfectant.
Gone are her inhibitions about her belly, aggravatingly convex all of a sudden, and the gap between her two front teeth that warranted a closed-mouth smile when Mrs. Wall introduced her at the front of the class two months ago.
...Freeeeee,
freeee falllllinn...
She enjoys the whoosh of air through her ponytail. She thinks she sees Ms. Mylin noting her vigor during one lap, though the next time around the woman is looking down into her planner.
On Lana’s left side each go-around, keeping a less enthusiastic pace is Melanie, the girl who sits in front of her during science hour with the immaculately kept pencil case who once placed a Lisa Frank kitty eraser on her desk a few days after she started school at Jefferson. The two girls have never exchanged words, but Lana suddenly notices Melanie shaking her head a bit and smiling each time she laps her, as if to say “what’s the rush?”
Lana is soaring now, reducing Ms. Mylin, the peg board, and even Melanie to a blur, though she can still process the blinding whites of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s teeth and dancing eyes. For the first time she thinks his gaze is conspiratorial, as if they both know she could run forever, out the gym doors, onto the streets and clear across Iowa if that’s what it takes.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Move over, George Costanza!
I might have mentioned to some of you that just before Christmas, Deej, due to his mad piano skillz, was randomly up for the part of a hand double in an upcoming remake of the movie "Fame" ( of COURSE a treasured classic needs a jazzy remake, silly! Where has your head been lately?)
I also got up early, but not as early as Diana (6:30 for me). I also worried about traffic, leaving myself an hour-and-a-half to battle rush hour traffic. But oops...I was going the opposite direction (away from the city) and traffic was a breeze. So I got to the Holiday Inn where the movie had set up base camp like an hour early, but it's just as well, I had stuff to do before my 9:30 call. Places to go! People to see! I didn't want to be late! Or keep them waiting! (Irony will soon commence...)
So I was dropped off at the craft services trucks (NICE!) and told to get a bite to eat (NIIIIICE!). I was then asked to fill out my contract and sign some confidentiality agreements (the song I'd be doing hand-doubling for is one of the movie's original songs, and I think they're hoping it will be their break-out hit, so alas, I cannot send it to you lest I get my butt totally sued). Then I was whisked to Wardrobe (!). I got to the wardrobe trailer and stood around for a bit while there were hushed whispers and stolen glances at myself for a few minutes. I tried not to notice by watching the aforementioned Inauguration moments on a TV in the trailer. Finally, catty gay guy and scary emo-girl (who just MAY have been the original inspiration for the Olsen twins' fashion sense) sauntered back to their posts, leaving a nice, grandmotherly woman to talk to me. I now knew the struggle that is being Ugly Betty.
"What's your name? Oh, hi DJ. Here's the situation: we don't have another shirt for you to wear," (side note: Obviously, since I'm his hand double, I have to wear the exact shirt the character Marco is wearing in the scene. When I went on my first audition for this job, I had to give them all my clothing sizes for this reason) "...and all we have is Marco's back-up shirt. But it's an....extra...small..." Suddenly the whispering made sense: they hadn't counted on Fudgie the Whale being Marco's piano double (even though the casting agent SAW me and took PHOTOS of both my hands and face at the first audition). Not that I'm saying I'm fat, (I prefer slightly husky, thank you...) but the thing is I apparently am a Fatty Magoo in Hollywood, especially when doubling for a wiry 17-year-old fresh off a string if ABC Famly movies (more on him later!).
"I guess we can cut out the back of the shirt...but oh, let me check with the director to see if they need to shoot you from the back..." Grandma huffs. Walkie-talkie comes out (EVERY crew member has a walkie-talkie, and they all use them ALL. THE. TIME.) When it was reported that no, indeed they would only be showing my hands from the front, as audiences might be confused why heart-throb Marco occasionally turned into a circus bear in some shots, the costume lady diligently cut out the back of my shirt and slit the sleeves so my sausage arms could fit inside (let me just add that of course the shirt wouldn't have fit me even if I was 50 lbs. lighter as it was an EXTRA SMALL. But I'm going heavy on the fat jokes here so you can better understand the subtle air that was surrounding me...) Luckily, I had worn a tee-shirt the exact color of the dark-wash denim western shirt that was my costume, so there was no need for me to parade around Woodland Hills in a backless shirt (I save those for West Hollywood). But that didn't stop me from feeling incredibly stupid walking around with a cut-away shirt held together in the back by an elastic (elastic) band. Thank God I didn't need to wear his probably size 20 waist jeans. Heaven only knows...
So I went back to base camp (Hollywood caterers are really quite serious about their job). And waited around. After about an hour, the woman who directed me to wardrobe (Bianca or Tina or something) came to tell me she was going to take me to set. They didn't need me right away, but it was best I was ready "in case the shooting schedule changed, you know," and plus I had to check in with the makeup department head and "see if she needed to do anything, you know" (to my HANDS?!) So we cross the street, shirt semi-flapping in the wind, to the Italian restaurant where they were shooting (backstory: Marco's family is one of "those" Italian NY families who own and live above their own restaurant). I go around to the back parking lot where the crew is set up, as well as ANOTHER craft services tent (seriously, how are these people not all 300 lbs.?) I was introduced to Adam, one of the AD's; Brian, the music supervisor; and John, the guy who hired me (thanks largely in part to my buddy Josh, I suspect). John introduced me throughout the day as the "hands" to which I got various reactions "Oh [your hands] are gonna be famous!"; "Oh let me see!"; and the more appreciated, "Hi, what's your name? How long have you been playing piano?" After meeting much of the crew, I was told to sit tight as they probably wouldn't get to me until after lunch (“Do you have a book?” Uh, no). So I grabbed one of the many director's-style fold up chairs, imprinted with the "Fame" logo on the back and actor/crew member name on front and did just that.
After a bit, I was approached by makeup lady (with a slight German accent) and told I was being taken to "compare" against Asher Book, the actor playing Marco. So he held up his OLIVE HAIRLESS SKINNY-ISH arms against my pasty white furry-knuckled monstrosities (thanks, Irish heritage coupled with the fact that I rarely see natural light!) which garnered an amusing but ever-so-subtle tsk from Frau Mabeline. Great, I've disappointed someone else based on something I cannot control. I kept thinking, hey you guys totally knew who you were getting...I will not apologize for being a healty Mid-Western type. I'm a composer, damnit, not an actor.
"Vell, ve'll definitely af to add some color. And ve might neet to thin out zee air a leetle, that's ok, yes?" (OK, I'm going totally over-the-top with the accent for comic effect). I had been told shaving my hands may be required at the audition and I didn't really care, hair grows back, so I was like, "whatever you have to do is fine." But it was a big deal to her and it pained her to have to alter my beautiful piano hands in such a way. So she brings out her electric trimmer and at first starts thinning out my hand hair. Then the call comes in the walkie-talkie: "Since the double is like twice the size of Marco," (um hello, do they think I can't hear the walkies?) "the shirt didn't fit, so the sleeves don't fit, so they'll both have to do the scene with the sleeves slightly rolled up." Translation: forearms are gettin' shaved. But whatever, I was still being a good sport. So she resumes with the shaving, starting out delicately before realizing it's futile and just going for it. Then she pulls out the makeup which leads to one of the funniest/awkward moments of the day: she forgot about the knuckle hair. So she starts to apply the makeup, sees the knuckles and (I'm not exaggerating at this point) exclaims, "OH! BAD!" followed by a bit of a pause and then, "Not zat I mean to zay they are ugly or anything, zay are just not like iz...."
After what he thought was sort of a lackluster audition and not hearing anything for weeks and assuming he didn't make the cut, a few days ago he got a phone call from one of the casting agents asking him to prepare to come in for a day of work. One dazzling display of ivory tickling, some whirs, clicks and pops, and ZOUNDS!!!!!, now each hand is insured for 10 MILLION DOLLARS! Sort of. I'm reposting his hilarious version of things, so decide for yourself.
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So, I totally missed everything that was the 2009 Inauguration Day, save a few shots of the musicians (Yo Yo Ma! Itzhak Perlman!) playing the (John Williams!) piece. I was annoyed I didn't get to see any of it, but I did have somewhat of a good reason...I was going to STAR in a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE! (Or...my hands were going to be featured in a close-up of a piano scene for the fall remake of "Fame"...tomato, tomahto...)
I also got up early, but not as early as Diana (6:30 for me). I also worried about traffic, leaving myself an hour-and-a-half to battle rush hour traffic. But oops...I was going the opposite direction (away from the city) and traffic was a breeze. So I got to the Holiday Inn where the movie had set up base camp like an hour early, but it's just as well, I had stuff to do before my 9:30 call. Places to go! People to see! I didn't want to be late! Or keep them waiting! (Irony will soon commence...)
So I was dropped off at the craft services trucks (NICE!) and told to get a bite to eat (NIIIIICE!). I was then asked to fill out my contract and sign some confidentiality agreements (the song I'd be doing hand-doubling for is one of the movie's original songs, and I think they're hoping it will be their break-out hit, so alas, I cannot send it to you lest I get my butt totally sued). Then I was whisked to Wardrobe (!). I got to the wardrobe trailer and stood around for a bit while there were hushed whispers and stolen glances at myself for a few minutes. I tried not to notice by watching the aforementioned Inauguration moments on a TV in the trailer. Finally, catty gay guy and scary emo-girl (who just MAY have been the original inspiration for the Olsen twins' fashion sense) sauntered back to their posts, leaving a nice, grandmotherly woman to talk to me. I now knew the struggle that is being Ugly Betty.
"What's your name? Oh, hi DJ. Here's the situation: we don't have another shirt for you to wear," (side note: Obviously, since I'm his hand double, I have to wear the exact shirt the character Marco is wearing in the scene. When I went on my first audition for this job, I had to give them all my clothing sizes for this reason) "...and all we have is Marco's back-up shirt. But it's an....extra...small..." Suddenly the whispering made sense: they hadn't counted on Fudgie the Whale being Marco's piano double (even though the casting agent SAW me and took PHOTOS of both my hands and face at the first audition). Not that I'm saying I'm fat, (I prefer slightly husky, thank you...) but the thing is I apparently am a Fatty Magoo in Hollywood, especially when doubling for a wiry 17-year-old fresh off a string if ABC Famly movies (more on him later!).
"I guess we can cut out the back of the shirt...but oh, let me check with the director to see if they need to shoot you from the back..." Grandma huffs. Walkie-talkie comes out (EVERY crew member has a walkie-talkie, and they all use them ALL. THE. TIME.) When it was reported that no, indeed they would only be showing my hands from the front, as audiences might be confused why heart-throb Marco occasionally turned into a circus bear in some shots, the costume lady diligently cut out the back of my shirt and slit the sleeves so my sausage arms could fit inside (let me just add that of course the shirt wouldn't have fit me even if I was 50 lbs. lighter as it was an EXTRA SMALL. But I'm going heavy on the fat jokes here so you can better understand the subtle air that was surrounding me...) Luckily, I had worn a tee-shirt the exact color of the dark-wash denim western shirt that was my costume, so there was no need for me to parade around Woodland Hills in a backless shirt (I save those for West Hollywood). But that didn't stop me from feeling incredibly stupid walking around with a cut-away shirt held together in the back by an elastic (elastic) band. Thank God I didn't need to wear his probably size 20 waist jeans. Heaven only knows...
So I went back to base camp (Hollywood caterers are really quite serious about their job). And waited around. After about an hour, the woman who directed me to wardrobe (Bianca or Tina or something) came to tell me she was going to take me to set. They didn't need me right away, but it was best I was ready "in case the shooting schedule changed, you know," and plus I had to check in with the makeup department head and "see if she needed to do anything, you know" (to my HANDS?!) So we cross the street, shirt semi-flapping in the wind, to the Italian restaurant where they were shooting (backstory: Marco's family is one of "those" Italian NY families who own and live above their own restaurant). I go around to the back parking lot where the crew is set up, as well as ANOTHER craft services tent (seriously, how are these people not all 300 lbs.?) I was introduced to Adam, one of the AD's; Brian, the music supervisor; and John, the guy who hired me (thanks largely in part to my buddy Josh, I suspect). John introduced me throughout the day as the "hands" to which I got various reactions "Oh [your hands] are gonna be famous!"; "Oh let me see!"; and the more appreciated, "Hi, what's your name? How long have you been playing piano?" After meeting much of the crew, I was told to sit tight as they probably wouldn't get to me until after lunch (“Do you have a book?” Uh, no). So I grabbed one of the many director's-style fold up chairs, imprinted with the "Fame" logo on the back and actor/crew member name on front and did just that.
After a bit, I was approached by makeup lady (with a slight German accent) and told I was being taken to "compare" against Asher Book, the actor playing Marco. So he held up his OLIVE HAIRLESS SKINNY-ISH arms against my pasty white furry-knuckled monstrosities (thanks, Irish heritage coupled with the fact that I rarely see natural light!) which garnered an amusing but ever-so-subtle tsk from Frau Mabeline. Great, I've disappointed someone else based on something I cannot control. I kept thinking, hey you guys totally knew who you were getting...I will not apologize for being a healty Mid-Western type. I'm a composer, damnit, not an actor.
"Vell, ve'll definitely af to add some color. And ve might neet to thin out zee air a leetle, that's ok, yes?" (OK, I'm going totally over-the-top with the accent for comic effect). I had been told shaving my hands may be required at the audition and I didn't really care, hair grows back, so I was like, "whatever you have to do is fine." But it was a big deal to her and it pained her to have to alter my beautiful piano hands in such a way. So she brings out her electric trimmer and at first starts thinning out my hand hair. Then the call comes in the walkie-talkie: "Since the double is like twice the size of Marco," (um hello, do they think I can't hear the walkies?) "the shirt didn't fit, so the sleeves don't fit, so they'll both have to do the scene with the sleeves slightly rolled up." Translation: forearms are gettin' shaved. But whatever, I was still being a good sport. So she resumes with the shaving, starting out delicately before realizing it's futile and just going for it. Then she pulls out the makeup which leads to one of the funniest/awkward moments of the day: she forgot about the knuckle hair. So she starts to apply the makeup, sees the knuckles and (I'm not exaggerating at this point) exclaims, "OH! BAD!" followed by a bit of a pause and then, "Not zat I mean to zay they are ugly or anything, zay are just not like iz...."
Nice try, Brunhilda. I read you loud and clear. So out come the clippers to remedy the situation stat. Then she very excitedly breaks out this new makeup product and is completely taken with it, how smoothly it applies, how it blends, how it leaves no pesky residue. So much so, she drags me over to her assistant to show it off. I wondered briefly if I wasn't on the set of an infomercial, about ready to dunk my hand in a bowl of water (See! It doesn't come off!) Then, the next time Asher-Crasher was available (that’s what the cast and crew calls him since he crashed his car during the first week of shooting), he comes back out to do a comparison, and it is noted that I need more yellow, or actually, do we have any bronzer?
Ok, so on to the actors. There were some cute little munchkins running around who were Marco's little siblings (this was why I had to wait to shoot my scene. They had to "wrap" them first, due to child labor laws and all that). But the two that I saw the most of were Asher (“Marco”) and Kay Panabaker, who plays his love interest, “Jenny.” So I had IMDB'd Asher beforehand and knew he wasn't in anything I was terribly familiar with (aforementioned ABC Family movies and apparently is lead singer for some boy band. Also lives down the road from me in Valley Village). But I didn't know about any of the others until that day. Now Kay looked RIDICULOUSLY familiar, not to mention a great deal like my friend Jamie (like if she was 14). I felt as if I had just seen her on TV recently, and I wanted to say Lifetime movie, but that didn't seem right, what with her Disney pedigree. I knew many of the kids came from a Disney channel background, but I don't really watch the Disney channel. But she has that very familiar look...she also looks quite a bit like Emma Roberts (Julia's niece) who starred in "Nancy Drew." But the big reveal on that one would have to wait until I got home to IMDB her (I certainly wasn't going to ask a 14-year-old where I had seen her. Kinda creepy.) Turns out she is actually 19 and just looks ridiculously young (she also graduated high school at age 13 and from UCLA at 18, but I'm getting ahead of myself...) They were both nice, but very much teenagers. Asher was "stoked" that I was there to save him from looking like a complete idiot (no pressure!) and asked me a little about my background. Kay made small-chat before getting a very important phone call from BFF Valerie or something. So they haven't gotten to that "But enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think about me?" stage yet, thank God.
So then I'm sitting waiting and another wardrobe person (this one Italian?) comes rushing up to me. Pushy, pushy, pushy. "I have a ring for you. Here, let me see your hand..." (as she grabs my hand anyways) "It will go on this finger." And she starts to slide the ring on and, OF COURSE, it's too small. To which she starts to completely freak out saying she doesn't have a bigger one, can't get a bigger one (um it was from American Eagle, so I call bullshit), and there's "NO WAY I can fake this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Hmm, how about if we just didn't wear the rings? No, no...too logical. Besides, we need some way to prove to the audience that no, a hand double wasn't used, Marco actually IS playing the piano himself! (Which shows you just how stupid Hollywood thinks you all are....) I tell her not to fear and shove that sucker past my last knuckle with complete knowledge that I just may be wearing this ring for the rest of my life (good practice...?) To which she says, "Ok, well we have soap, so it should come off eventually." Fantastic. (Props do have to go to makeup lady for muttering “she’s such a drama queen” under her breath as soon as the woman left).
More waiting/sitting. Every once in a while Bianca/Tina came up to check in on me and see if she could get me anything from the food tent (I think she felt a little sorry for me). I assured her I would totally grab whatever I wanted from the snack shack when I wanted it. So lunch came, and I was released for an hour, with the knowledge that they would be shooting me second after lunch. So back to the catering wonderland to have fresh chicken tacos, a hot buffet, an assortment of salads, and, against my better judgment, a giant piece of chocolate cake ("Oh my God, look at what he's eating? Did he FORGET they had to cut out the back of his shirt?!" It was an EXTRA SMALL, people). Then a quick call to the folks to explain that yes, it was a great experience but no, I hadn't really done anything yet and back to set.
The second half of the day wasn't as exciting. The caterers came and switched out the breakfast stuff in the food tent for snack stuff (did I mention these people go all out? As in, they could have opened up their own Trader Joe’s on location. It used to annoy me that they got a credit at the end of a movie, but I take it back—they totally earn it). And I waited. And waited. And,…waited. I did get to meet the guy who wrote the song and we had a nice "music geek conversation" ("What sample libraries do you use? Are you Logic or DP? What's your favorite genre to write for?") He was a cool guy who I made sure to give my card to (I'm learning...) Then he explains he's been giving Asher piano lessons on this song for a few weeks so that he can better fake it during his shoot and that the kid was “wicked fast” at picking it up. Um, ok.....oh…..so…..why am I...?
So more waiting! I was told I may have to do a bit of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" as well by ear, but Asher might be able to do that one, we'll see. So between takes, Asher-Crasher and Elan, the songwriter, practice on a keyboard set up outside, and he was decent enough at faking it.
5:30 rolls around, when my 8-hour day should have been up. But still no call for me. So I wait/talk/eat. 6:30 rolls around. The caterers swap out snacks for dinner. It gets dark. Bianca/Tina comes by and asks if I'll need a bathroom to change out of my shirt once I wrap, since the bathroom trucks have left (wait, what?). I assure her it's fine; I have a tee-shirt on underneath. 7 o’clock and they start the scene, shooting Asher/Kay first (he's serenading her in one of those sappy teen movie moments). And, as we're watching the monitors, me still in my stupid shirt (wasn't allowed to take it off for fear I'd break it. Not even kidding.), too-tight ring, and shaved & powdered hands, John tells me that he's not sure, but Asher's doing such a good job that they may not even need to shoot me. You're frickin' kidding me. But Brian, music super, says he'd at least like to get one run-through with me, and John agrees that it would be best. But it's not up to them, it's ultimately up to the director, and they had to wrap for the day by 8pm.
So here it is folks: I have been up since 6:30am, it's now 7:30pm, the crew is behind, and it's a very real possibility they don't even need me. Finally, the principle actors finish the scene and I hear the words "hand double" on someone's walkie. Looks like I'm actually doing this after all! Out of my way, suckers, a STAR IS BORN!! But then Bianca/Tina comes over, sheepishly tells me I'm done and that I don't need to walk back to base camp because they've all gone home already (what?!) and I can just give her my shirt and she'll sign me out. So I tear that sucker off with a reassuring, "No that's fine, it's totally ok, it was a fun experience anyways..."
She says on the bright side that even though I didn't do anything, I went into overtime, and that although she doesn't know how much that adds to my $200 flat rate that, "let's just say you made out really well today." Then Italian costume lady comes over for the ring. Oh yeah. The ring. I had a brief yearning to hiss at her and whisper "my preccciiiioouuuusssss" while yanking my hand away, but thought better of it and instead started yanking the thing down my middle finger. "Careful now, don't hurt yourself," she warns, "we can go get soap..." Oh yeah, like you really care. You're the one who pressured me into shoving the thing on my finger in the first place. So I say goodbye to Elan, Brian, and John (John reassures me to hang in there; he's gonna see if they can't bring me back in sometime next week) and Bianca/Tina loads me onto the shuttle to take me back to my car, with a half-hearted "thanks."
Aside from the fact that I'm supremely bummed that my hands WON'T be in a movie and I spent the day waiting for something that never came and I spent the weekend accurately transcribing the MIDI piano track they sent me (the songwriter Elan was pretty impressed that I got almost every little detail), it was still a really fun experience, and [most] everyone was really nice. It's not every day you get to spend the day on a closed movie set and see the inner workings of Tinsel Town.
Oh and as for where I knew Kay Panabaker from, turns out it wasn't her I had remembered seeing recently (though she's done several Disney Channel movies and had a role on the channel's original series, "Phil of the Future") but rather her older sister, Danielle Panabaker (who looks just like her) who I had just enjoyed in a cheesy Lifetime movie titled "Mom At 16" (in which she stars opposite Jane Krakowski from "30 Rock") a few weekends back. Oh, and IMDB also informed me that none other than Kelsey Grammer, Megan Mullaly, Debbie Allen, and Bebe Neuwirth are also in "Fame" as various teachers. Of course I didn't get to meet any of them.
Well there you have it folks, my (not-so-big) premiere on the silver screen. Maybe they'll call again for a hand-doubling job for Andre the Giant, or possibly the Muppet Bobo the bear. Keeping my Polish sausages crossed...
Ok, so on to the actors. There were some cute little munchkins running around who were Marco's little siblings (this was why I had to wait to shoot my scene. They had to "wrap" them first, due to child labor laws and all that). But the two that I saw the most of were Asher (“Marco”) and Kay Panabaker, who plays his love interest, “Jenny.” So I had IMDB'd Asher beforehand and knew he wasn't in anything I was terribly familiar with (aforementioned ABC Family movies and apparently is lead singer for some boy band. Also lives down the road from me in Valley Village). But I didn't know about any of the others until that day. Now Kay looked RIDICULOUSLY familiar, not to mention a great deal like my friend Jamie (like if she was 14). I felt as if I had just seen her on TV recently, and I wanted to say Lifetime movie, but that didn't seem right, what with her Disney pedigree. I knew many of the kids came from a Disney channel background, but I don't really watch the Disney channel. But she has that very familiar look...she also looks quite a bit like Emma Roberts (Julia's niece) who starred in "Nancy Drew." But the big reveal on that one would have to wait until I got home to IMDB her (I certainly wasn't going to ask a 14-year-old where I had seen her. Kinda creepy.) Turns out she is actually 19 and just looks ridiculously young (she also graduated high school at age 13 and from UCLA at 18, but I'm getting ahead of myself...) They were both nice, but very much teenagers. Asher was "stoked" that I was there to save him from looking like a complete idiot (no pressure!) and asked me a little about my background. Kay made small-chat before getting a very important phone call from BFF Valerie or something. So they haven't gotten to that "But enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think about me?" stage yet, thank God.
So then I'm sitting waiting and another wardrobe person (this one Italian?) comes rushing up to me. Pushy, pushy, pushy. "I have a ring for you. Here, let me see your hand..." (as she grabs my hand anyways) "It will go on this finger." And she starts to slide the ring on and, OF COURSE, it's too small. To which she starts to completely freak out saying she doesn't have a bigger one, can't get a bigger one (um it was from American Eagle, so I call bullshit), and there's "NO WAY I can fake this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Hmm, how about if we just didn't wear the rings? No, no...too logical. Besides, we need some way to prove to the audience that no, a hand double wasn't used, Marco actually IS playing the piano himself! (Which shows you just how stupid Hollywood thinks you all are....) I tell her not to fear and shove that sucker past my last knuckle with complete knowledge that I just may be wearing this ring for the rest of my life (good practice...?) To which she says, "Ok, well we have soap, so it should come off eventually." Fantastic. (Props do have to go to makeup lady for muttering “she’s such a drama queen” under her breath as soon as the woman left).
More waiting/sitting. Every once in a while Bianca/Tina came up to check in on me and see if she could get me anything from the food tent (I think she felt a little sorry for me). I assured her I would totally grab whatever I wanted from the snack shack when I wanted it. So lunch came, and I was released for an hour, with the knowledge that they would be shooting me second after lunch. So back to the catering wonderland to have fresh chicken tacos, a hot buffet, an assortment of salads, and, against my better judgment, a giant piece of chocolate cake ("Oh my God, look at what he's eating? Did he FORGET they had to cut out the back of his shirt?!" It was an EXTRA SMALL, people). Then a quick call to the folks to explain that yes, it was a great experience but no, I hadn't really done anything yet and back to set.
The second half of the day wasn't as exciting. The caterers came and switched out the breakfast stuff in the food tent for snack stuff (did I mention these people go all out? As in, they could have opened up their own Trader Joe’s on location. It used to annoy me that they got a credit at the end of a movie, but I take it back—they totally earn it). And I waited. And waited. And,…waited. I did get to meet the guy who wrote the song and we had a nice "music geek conversation" ("What sample libraries do you use? Are you Logic or DP? What's your favorite genre to write for?") He was a cool guy who I made sure to give my card to (I'm learning...) Then he explains he's been giving Asher piano lessons on this song for a few weeks so that he can better fake it during his shoot and that the kid was “wicked fast” at picking it up. Um, ok.....oh…..so…..why am I...?
So more waiting! I was told I may have to do a bit of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" as well by ear, but Asher might be able to do that one, we'll see. So between takes, Asher-Crasher and Elan, the songwriter, practice on a keyboard set up outside, and he was decent enough at faking it.
5:30 rolls around, when my 8-hour day should have been up. But still no call for me. So I wait/talk/eat. 6:30 rolls around. The caterers swap out snacks for dinner. It gets dark. Bianca/Tina comes by and asks if I'll need a bathroom to change out of my shirt once I wrap, since the bathroom trucks have left (wait, what?). I assure her it's fine; I have a tee-shirt on underneath. 7 o’clock and they start the scene, shooting Asher/Kay first (he's serenading her in one of those sappy teen movie moments). And, as we're watching the monitors, me still in my stupid shirt (wasn't allowed to take it off for fear I'd break it. Not even kidding.), too-tight ring, and shaved & powdered hands, John tells me that he's not sure, but Asher's doing such a good job that they may not even need to shoot me. You're frickin' kidding me. But Brian, music super, says he'd at least like to get one run-through with me, and John agrees that it would be best. But it's not up to them, it's ultimately up to the director, and they had to wrap for the day by 8pm.
So here it is folks: I have been up since 6:30am, it's now 7:30pm, the crew is behind, and it's a very real possibility they don't even need me. Finally, the principle actors finish the scene and I hear the words "hand double" on someone's walkie. Looks like I'm actually doing this after all! Out of my way, suckers, a STAR IS BORN!! But then Bianca/Tina comes over, sheepishly tells me I'm done and that I don't need to walk back to base camp because they've all gone home already (what?!) and I can just give her my shirt and she'll sign me out. So I tear that sucker off with a reassuring, "No that's fine, it's totally ok, it was a fun experience anyways..."
She says on the bright side that even though I didn't do anything, I went into overtime, and that although she doesn't know how much that adds to my $200 flat rate that, "let's just say you made out really well today." Then Italian costume lady comes over for the ring. Oh yeah. The ring. I had a brief yearning to hiss at her and whisper "my preccciiiioouuuusssss" while yanking my hand away, but thought better of it and instead started yanking the thing down my middle finger. "Careful now, don't hurt yourself," she warns, "we can go get soap..." Oh yeah, like you really care. You're the one who pressured me into shoving the thing on my finger in the first place. So I say goodbye to Elan, Brian, and John (John reassures me to hang in there; he's gonna see if they can't bring me back in sometime next week) and Bianca/Tina loads me onto the shuttle to take me back to my car, with a half-hearted "thanks."
Aside from the fact that I'm supremely bummed that my hands WON'T be in a movie and I spent the day waiting for something that never came and I spent the weekend accurately transcribing the MIDI piano track they sent me (the songwriter Elan was pretty impressed that I got almost every little detail), it was still a really fun experience, and [most] everyone was really nice. It's not every day you get to spend the day on a closed movie set and see the inner workings of Tinsel Town.
Oh and as for where I knew Kay Panabaker from, turns out it wasn't her I had remembered seeing recently (though she's done several Disney Channel movies and had a role on the channel's original series, "Phil of the Future") but rather her older sister, Danielle Panabaker (who looks just like her) who I had just enjoyed in a cheesy Lifetime movie titled "Mom At 16" (in which she stars opposite Jane Krakowski from "30 Rock") a few weekends back. Oh, and IMDB also informed me that none other than Kelsey Grammer, Megan Mullaly, Debbie Allen, and Bebe Neuwirth are also in "Fame" as various teachers. Of course I didn't get to meet any of them.
Well there you have it folks, my (not-so-big) premiere on the silver screen. Maybe they'll call again for a hand-doubling job for Andre the Giant, or possibly the Muppet Bobo the bear. Keeping my Polish sausages crossed...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And last but not least, a tribute to you, Deejster, from your Rockafire Explosion friends at Showbiz Pizza. I dare say you may readily identify with the fellow up front.
well for the eye candy, if nothing else.
Truth is, I kind of stopped caring about Lost 1 1/2 seasons ago or so. I currently have 7 unwatched episodes on the DVR that I somehow can't muster enough interest to sit through and attempt to parse. A lot of people have complained about the show's top-heavy story lines to solid answers ratio the past couple of years, yeah, but I'm not even gonna front, cause for me this excuse belies a more sinister, ugly truth about myself: I'm growing stupider every day. Every day I see those Lost episodes on my recorded shows list, and every day I spurn them for Tool Academy, Rock of Love Tour Bus, Wipeout (those giant red balls make me laff!), or some other serious abomination to television programming. Sometimes I think it's like the hamster up there jumped off the wheel entirely to slump in a remote corner of my brain and smoke a pack of Kools. I try to remind myself that there are plenty of other hour-long dramas I regularly enjoy like Mad Men, but then I panic because Mad Men is the only one I watch religiously that springs to mind. The rest are all comedies. Slurpy-guzzling future, here I come!
As Jodie reminded me today, however, there IS added incentive to playing some fast catch-up and tuning in to tonight's season premiere of Lost:
Sometimes it's the simplest, shirtless, dirty-blondest things that count the most.
As Jodie reminded me today, however, there IS added incentive to playing some fast catch-up and tuning in to tonight's season premiere of Lost:
Sometimes it's the simplest, shirtless, dirty-blondest things that count the most.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Blast!
Actual Post headline went for the less zany but more respectful "Miracle on the Hudson."
Here's who won Gawker's contest:
http://gawker.com/5133347/our-miracle-on-the-hudson-headline-winner#viewcomments
Pretty good, but didn't make me laugh out loud the way "Hundreds of Roasted Peanuts Feared Missing" did for some reason.
Here's who won Gawker's contest:
http://gawker.com/5133347/our-miracle-on-the-hudson-headline-winner#viewcomments
Pretty good, but didn't make me laugh out loud the way "Hundreds of Roasted Peanuts Feared Missing" did for some reason.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
What will be the headline for tomorrow's Post???
Here's what Cor and some of his friends came up with. My money's on 'Bailout.'
Bailout
Hudson River Miracle
U.S. Scare
Chilly Rescue
U.S. Scare-ways
Pilot Hero
Fuck Geese!
No Yankees Hurt in Hudson Crash
All is 'Lost'
Flock-You!
Headless Airplane found in Topless River
Goose-trophy!
Goosed
U.S. Air Gets Goosed
----------------------------------------------
Update: website shows "Hudson Hero" but I'm not sure if that represents the late edition and tomorrow's headline/angle will be brand new or if this will carry the day--guess we'll find out!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Oh!
Don't forget to head over to American Midol as some of our bloggers help kickoff another season premiering tonight, whilst I regrettably just get my ass kicked in broomball. Poor Jess is suffering from a spot of consumption, but she assures me her fainting couch is adequately stocked with bon bons and Merlot. Go get 'em, ladies!
columns I'm cribbing from my hometown rag.
Oh, Penny Saver. I love that my boss laughed and laughed when he found out I was not joking about your name, which I personally have always found refreshing in its "don't let your mouth write a check your butt can't cash" level of modesty. I love the fact that your pages resemble the archives of Someecards sans any traces of snark, due to your graphic art department having zero dollars for such frivolities as "photos." I love the fact that your employment section hasn't changed in over a decade, leaving my options of washing dishes at the Livonia Inn, operating farm machinery, and becoming a registered nurse intact. I am intrigued that Patches makes me use air quotes when he asserts that he has a "mind of his own" and needs to "have his own space."Penny Saver, I sort of regret never having the courage to enter one of your poetry contests, but I am looking forward to my 65th "still crazy after all these years!" birthday announcement , since I'm pretty confident my loved ones will spring for a half-pager.
But let's get down to brass tacks, shall we Penny Saver? I would not be who I am today without your "I Gotta Vent" and "On The Brighter Side" sections, which is ultimately why I am poaching them for my own blog, effective immediately.
Where else can my original, well-crafted complaints about the atrocities of mean people sucking, taxes being too darn taxing, and damn kids getting off my lawn flourish? Aside from your own celebrated pages, that is. Conversely, you betcha I can fish that lint-covered smile out of my pocket every now and then and take a walk on "the brighter side" if someone or something has clearly been awesome and needs lauding right quick. The Batavia Girl Scouts! The Cart Wrangler at Wegmans! THERE IS SO MUCH BEAUTY IN THE WORLD!
To lead with a positive example, today I would like to christen my "Brighter Side" column by thanking this delicious Atomic Fireball I am currently sucking on.
Thank you for making my last half hour of work today bearable, Atomic Fireball. You might even say you really spiced things up! I hope you are reading this!
Thank you for making my last half hour of work today bearable, Atomic Fireball. You might even say you really spiced things up! I hope you are reading this!
Warmly,
Lizz
Brooklyn, NY
Sunday, January 11, 2009
For fans of Extras, sufferers through the Golden Globes
How awesome was it when Ricky Gervais pointed to Kate Winslet after she accepted her award for Best Actress in The Reader and was all like, "See, I TOLD YOU you just needed a Holocaust movie!" Fucking brilliant.
Also, Sally Hawkins from "Happy-Go-Lucky," which Cor and I just saw Friday, is adorable.
Monday, January 5, 2009
some thoughts on '08, survey style
1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?
Broomball, bitches! If you had told me last January that this time next year I would voluntarily don a hockey helmet with full face mask, shin, elbow and knee guards, and shoes that look like they belong on the moon—all in the name of sticks aggressively flying toward me and chasing a ball on ice in 25 degree weather, I would have proclaimed both of us certifiably bonkers. Turns out that both the floor and ice versions of the sport have been two of the most physically and socially enriching experiences I’ve ever had. Jury’s still out about whether or not I’ve actually gotten better at it (aspiration for ’09—scoring my first goal!), but regardless, I’ve met so many incredible people through the league that I cannot thank Meghan enough for encouraging me to take a chance by signing up last April. Too Fat For Porn Forever!
2. 2008’s Goals:
My biggest goal for ’08 was to resurrect F the F train by writing much more frequently. Initially I set a minimum of posting something, anything, no less than three times a week, which I think I mostly accomplished unless I was on vacation, or until life got much more hectic in the fall. Recognizing that monkey pictures and regurgitated YouTube videos aren’t exactly on par with personal essays, I know that content wise a lot of the material was sort of cop-out; but regularly posting did instill a sense of obligation (If I neglected the blog for more than a week I felt really guilty) that a disciplined writer needs to keep producing material. In ’09, I want to hone this discipline even further by working up a few short stories/essays I can try to submit for publication, maybe revisiting my book proposal (arggggh, more on that below). We’ll see how it goes.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?:
Nobody immediately close to me, but I definitely lived and squealed vicariously through friends’ pictures of new wee ones in their extended families.
4. Did anyone close to you die?:.
Thankfully, no.
5. What countries did you visit?:
Yay, a satisfying answer this year: St. Lucia and Germany.
6.What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?:
A more comfortable safety net in way of a savings account, since I highly doubt the crappy economy will turn on a dime; a dentist who doesn’t suck; more travel, if I can swing it.
7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?:
This one’s a no-brainer: November 4th and 5th, indisputably the best birthday of all time!-
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?:
9. What was your biggest failure?:
We’ll lump these, as they are really two sides of the same irksome coin: the book proposal, which is sort of a tongue-in-cheek advice manual I was going (am going?) to call Get Some Confidence, Stupid! There was definitely a little rug sweeping under action in regards to this whole project, since anybody who’s a regular reader knows that writing and tweaking it consumed a good chunk of my spring, only to have all mentions of it vanish by the end of summer.
Yeah, that’s because our buyer at B&N rejected it.
This was ultimately unsurprising, given that humor + zero name/brand recognition for an author do not a bestseller make in our section of the store, which primarily relies on straight-forward, Dr. Phil type tripe when it comes to self-help. If my company publishes something original other than a reprint (rarely) there are generally three categories the book has to fall under: trivia, self-help, or earnest little God Thinks You Are Special! Stocking-stuffer jobies. Compiling trivia bores me, and I haven’t made it a secret that I’m firmly out of my element when it comes to penning anything inspirational…so self-help it was, despite the fact that I’m clearly not the authority on, um, anything.
“Can I make it an anti-self help, self help book?” I wondered. This was more or less the end result, and I was pretty proud of having written so much in so little time. Kafka it ain't, but for working within the parameters of what is feasible for my realm of publishing, I thought it was about the best I could do. My co-workers all seemed to really dig it, too, so while B&N passed, a senior editor here thought I should take advantage of some of the other contacts we have and submitted it to Tarcher, an imprint of Penguin Publishing, and a small press in California called Conari. Waited and waited…and nothing. “You need to follow up,” she told me, “you really need to promote yourself in these situations.”
I’m already feeling self-conscious about being a big bag of wind here and it's my own damn blog. Harassing an editor I don't know about a project I wasn't even convinced I was 100 percent invested in appealed to me about as much as snorting glass. And to reiterate, who the fuck am I? Want to land that book of essays? Be Tina Fey or Tori Spelling. Or swallow your pride and write Tori Spelling's book for her and just be happy with the chunk of change it nets you while she continues vacuously chomping on her gum and couping all the credit; or start a blog with a clever hook that gains a large enough following to make it a (ha ha) sure bet. Otherwise? thanks, and "we'll totally keep your submission on file," but no thanks.
Am I disheartened? A bit. Ready to throw in the towel, though? Hell no. It just makes me want to work harder, but what sort of writing will manifest as a result of this fervor will really be interesting. I'll be chewing your ear off a lot more about all of this in '09, sweet thangs, so brace yourselves.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?:
While so many of my lovely teammates crumbled like Grecian pillars during our ill-fated summer season, this Cadillac fortunately had only had a few nicks and dents, along with a small dose of an exotic malaise known as runner’s knee—nothing a month and a half of physical therapy couldn’t fix.
11. What was the best thing you bought?:
Absolutely no regrets about using my stimulus check to go to St. Lucia.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?:
Too many people to list! I am so proud of D.J for all of his composition/scoring successes and preemptively proud of the successes sure to befall him when he gets his first break; Annie and Annemarie for having the guts to make major moves in pursuit of happiness and furthering themselves; Meghan for all the work involved in her ambition of grad school while continuing to hold down a demanding 9 to 5 and finding an entire month to volunteer in Morocco...so many of my friends who either landed new jobs that finally reflect EXACTLY what they want to be doing (Coll, Becca, Jess) or those who handled a ton of stress in their careers over the past year with grace and mettle(Jodie, Vanessa, Evan). Cory for always making a point to let me know how much I matter to him in a bazillion different ways...The list goes on and on and on. Stop being so damn inspiring, buttheads.
....so I'll wrap it up here, despite the survey being a lot longer with trickier questions. # 12 is immediately followed by "whose behavior disappointed you," and taken on a personal level, I've been grappling with whether or not to answer that question quite candidly here for awhile. I'll just say I've finally decided to continue channelling my efforts on FtheFtrain in the assumption that 98 percent of you stop by this silly blog because we're friends and you have some time on your hands, or you haven't met me but you think I'm sort of rad and like what you read, or because you don't know me and Sitemeter says you Googled something hilarious that led you here, i.e., "Kendra Todd nips" or "girl donkey ball pics" (sorry to disappoint, kinksters!). And that's a percentage that reflects a lot of great people--people who should obviously receive the lion's share of my attention and will continue to get it. Anyone here for more ambiguous reasons still gets a cautious blessing, but would do well to heed the gentle reminder that they're probably not as anonymous in trolling these parts as they may think; and we'll leave it at that.
Broomball, bitches! If you had told me last January that this time next year I would voluntarily don a hockey helmet with full face mask, shin, elbow and knee guards, and shoes that look like they belong on the moon—all in the name of sticks aggressively flying toward me and chasing a ball on ice in 25 degree weather, I would have proclaimed both of us certifiably bonkers. Turns out that both the floor and ice versions of the sport have been two of the most physically and socially enriching experiences I’ve ever had. Jury’s still out about whether or not I’ve actually gotten better at it (aspiration for ’09—scoring my first goal!), but regardless, I’ve met so many incredible people through the league that I cannot thank Meghan enough for encouraging me to take a chance by signing up last April. Too Fat For Porn Forever!
2. 2008’s Goals:
My biggest goal for ’08 was to resurrect F the F train by writing much more frequently. Initially I set a minimum of posting something, anything, no less than three times a week, which I think I mostly accomplished unless I was on vacation, or until life got much more hectic in the fall. Recognizing that monkey pictures and regurgitated YouTube videos aren’t exactly on par with personal essays, I know that content wise a lot of the material was sort of cop-out; but regularly posting did instill a sense of obligation (If I neglected the blog for more than a week I felt really guilty) that a disciplined writer needs to keep producing material. In ’09, I want to hone this discipline even further by working up a few short stories/essays I can try to submit for publication, maybe revisiting my book proposal (arggggh, more on that below). We’ll see how it goes.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?:
Nobody immediately close to me, but I definitely lived and squealed vicariously through friends’ pictures of new wee ones in their extended families.
4. Did anyone close to you die?:.
Thankfully, no.
5. What countries did you visit?:
Yay, a satisfying answer this year: St. Lucia and Germany.
6.What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?:
A more comfortable safety net in way of a savings account, since I highly doubt the crappy economy will turn on a dime; a dentist who doesn’t suck; more travel, if I can swing it.
7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?:
This one’s a no-brainer: November 4th and 5th, indisputably the best birthday of all time!-
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?:
9. What was your biggest failure?:
We’ll lump these, as they are really two sides of the same irksome coin: the book proposal, which is sort of a tongue-in-cheek advice manual I was going (am going?) to call Get Some Confidence, Stupid! There was definitely a little rug sweeping under action in regards to this whole project, since anybody who’s a regular reader knows that writing and tweaking it consumed a good chunk of my spring, only to have all mentions of it vanish by the end of summer.
Yeah, that’s because our buyer at B&N rejected it.
This was ultimately unsurprising, given that humor + zero name/brand recognition for an author do not a bestseller make in our section of the store, which primarily relies on straight-forward, Dr. Phil type tripe when it comes to self-help. If my company publishes something original other than a reprint (rarely) there are generally three categories the book has to fall under: trivia, self-help, or earnest little God Thinks You Are Special! Stocking-stuffer jobies. Compiling trivia bores me, and I haven’t made it a secret that I’m firmly out of my element when it comes to penning anything inspirational…so self-help it was, despite the fact that I’m clearly not the authority on, um, anything.
“Can I make it an anti-self help, self help book?” I wondered. This was more or less the end result, and I was pretty proud of having written so much in so little time. Kafka it ain't, but for working within the parameters of what is feasible for my realm of publishing, I thought it was about the best I could do. My co-workers all seemed to really dig it, too, so while B&N passed, a senior editor here thought I should take advantage of some of the other contacts we have and submitted it to Tarcher, an imprint of Penguin Publishing, and a small press in California called Conari. Waited and waited…and nothing. “You need to follow up,” she told me, “you really need to promote yourself in these situations.”
I’m already feeling self-conscious about being a big bag of wind here and it's my own damn blog. Harassing an editor I don't know about a project I wasn't even convinced I was 100 percent invested in appealed to me about as much as snorting glass. And to reiterate, who the fuck am I? Want to land that book of essays? Be Tina Fey or Tori Spelling. Or swallow your pride and write Tori Spelling's book for her and just be happy with the chunk of change it nets you while she continues vacuously chomping on her gum and couping all the credit; or start a blog with a clever hook that gains a large enough following to make it a (ha ha) sure bet. Otherwise? thanks, and "we'll totally keep your submission on file," but no thanks.
Am I disheartened? A bit. Ready to throw in the towel, though? Hell no. It just makes me want to work harder, but what sort of writing will manifest as a result of this fervor will really be interesting. I'll be chewing your ear off a lot more about all of this in '09, sweet thangs, so brace yourselves.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?:
While so many of my lovely teammates crumbled like Grecian pillars during our ill-fated summer season, this Cadillac fortunately had only had a few nicks and dents, along with a small dose of an exotic malaise known as runner’s knee—nothing a month and a half of physical therapy couldn’t fix.
11. What was the best thing you bought?:
Absolutely no regrets about using my stimulus check to go to St. Lucia.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?:
Too many people to list! I am so proud of D.J for all of his composition/scoring successes and preemptively proud of the successes sure to befall him when he gets his first break; Annie and Annemarie for having the guts to make major moves in pursuit of happiness and furthering themselves; Meghan for all the work involved in her ambition of grad school while continuing to hold down a demanding 9 to 5 and finding an entire month to volunteer in Morocco...so many of my friends who either landed new jobs that finally reflect EXACTLY what they want to be doing (Coll, Becca, Jess) or those who handled a ton of stress in their careers over the past year with grace and mettle(Jodie, Vanessa, Evan). Cory for always making a point to let me know how much I matter to him in a bazillion different ways...The list goes on and on and on. Stop being so damn inspiring, buttheads.
....so I'll wrap it up here, despite the survey being a lot longer with trickier questions. # 12 is immediately followed by "whose behavior disappointed you," and taken on a personal level, I've been grappling with whether or not to answer that question quite candidly here for awhile. I'll just say I've finally decided to continue channelling my efforts on FtheFtrain in the assumption that 98 percent of you stop by this silly blog because we're friends and you have some time on your hands, or you haven't met me but you think I'm sort of rad and like what you read, or because you don't know me and Sitemeter says you Googled something hilarious that led you here, i.e., "Kendra Todd nips" or "girl donkey ball pics" (sorry to disappoint, kinksters!). And that's a percentage that reflects a lot of great people--people who should obviously receive the lion's share of my attention and will continue to get it. Anyone here for more ambiguous reasons still gets a cautious blessing, but would do well to heed the gentle reminder that they're probably not as anonymous in trolling these parts as they may think; and we'll leave it at that.
Okay, finally, here are some of the wackier, but no less imporant goals for my own '09:
--Consume more avocado
--run a 5k with Majo in March for the sole purpose of consuming fried chicken and waffles directly after the 5k.
--Find out where all of Curly's toy mice are ending up since they honestly seem to vanish. I think I'll buy those tiny sensors that come with a remote you can get at places like Sharper Image or SkyMall to stick on car keys and other easily losable items and stick them on the mice; when they disappear five minutes later, I'll be able to pinpoint their exact location. YES, finding out where 50 + stuffed mice ended up is THAT important to me and could very well turn into a rockin Friday night.
--work on memorizing the second half of Pee-Wee's Big Adventure--right now I only have the first twenty or so minutes down.
..and much, much more.
What are your goals, fanciful and otherwise?
Happy '09, guys!
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