Sorry for the lack of update yesterday, but it was a weird day: frantic travel from location to location, followed by lots of waiting around, all with no access to a computer. I got to travel two legs of the day's journey with Ian, the producer, and that was... not great fun. Ian's this tall, lanky Englishman with a scrubby beard and flyaway hair, and to say he's intense is a gross understatement. He is driven, almost to the point of distraction; he'll be so focused on getting somewhere, for instance, that he'll be well on his way there before he checks to make sure he's going the right way. It's unnerving to passenge with someone who's driving a stickshift, checking a map, shouting into his cellphone, and trying to eat breakfast all at the same time. When he reached for his second Diet Pepsi of the morning, I was tempted to wrest it from his grip: Ian does not strike me as the type of person who would benefit from a jolt of caffeine. I do like listening to him begin and conclude his phone calls, though. He drawls "Haaallooooooooooo" in his broad British accent and ends with a high-pitched, singsong "Byeeeee!"
Our first location of the day was a tux shop miles and miles away from our home base at Lesley and Simon's apartment. At the last minute I was relieved of lunch picking-up duty so, with no obligations for the rest of the day, I went along for the ride. Once there, I was just in the way, so I walked a couple of blocks to a quilting store I'd spotted on our way in and spent a pleasant half-hour shopping for fabrics. I walked back to the set leisurely, and it was only when I was about a half-block away that I realized I was walking right into a shot. Everybody -- Sean, Curtis, Ian, all the actors -- were staring at me, and I faltered and stopped. Sean and Curtis started gesturing for me to keep walking. After all, this is a mockumentary and the camera is not supposed to be invisible. So I walked through the shot, everyone finished up the scene, and Ian turned to me and said, "So you made it into the movie! You'll have to fill out some paperwork now." I'm not sure he was kidding; Ian has been fanatical about geting all the actors to fill out and give him their I-9s and tax information.
We went back to the little bungalow in La Jolla for another couple of scenes. Ian had to take off somewhere, so I rode in the cab of the pickup with Curtis and Sean. That was cozy, to say the least. Good thing we're all such good friends. I was kind of pretzeled in the middle and it was a major ordeal to unfurl myself when we got to La Jolla. We had an amazing lunch that was provided by a local seafood restaurant, with excellent clam chowder and sourdough bread.
I settled myself in a comfy armchair after lunch, expecting to get some serious crosswording done, but suddenly Sean yelled that they needed my expertise on the set. A couple of actors who were resting between scenes looked at me curiously as I leaped to my feet with excitement. I knew they were filming the scene with the cake decorator and that pastries would be involved. Sure enough, I was asked to give a quick coaching to the cake lady, describing the attributes of the various cakes laid out on the platter ("This is a dark chocolate truffle cake with chocolate ganache filling. This is a rich pound cake with dark and milk chocolate chips"). I sat in the living room while the scene was being shot and listened to two so-so takes; on the third take, everyone seemed to figure out what to do and the improv was really funny. A couple of more takes and the scene was done, and I was invited to help eat the leftover cake while the crew moved next door to a bar to film a short sequence. So, all in all, a pleasant afternoon.
I drove back to Lesley's apartment with Ian. We got caught in traffic, decided to take a "shortcut," and then became lost. I didn't really care, but Ian was frantic with anxiety. He made several phone calls and practically tore his map apart trying to figure out where we were and how to get home. I decided to spend the rest of the evening hanging around the apartment and skip the evening's shoot, mostly in hopes of avoiding any further stressful car travel. I got to talking to Patricia, the actress who plays the dress shop owner, and we went out for a bite to eat and had a great time. I called Norman after dinner and told him to be sure to bring his paperwork on Wednesday, as Ian will probably greet him with, "Hi. How ya doin'? Do you have your paperwork?"
Today I'm making fake whale blubber for a couple of upcoming scenes. (It's supposed to be a delicacy among Polar Americans and is part of the traditional Antarctic wedding ceremony.) I've made two batches so far, one which is probably too yellow but has set perfectly, and the other a creamy yellowish white that is still too liquid. I may be experimenting with a few more batches throughout the day. Jell-o Jigglers, man -- who knew I would ever be making that stuff?
Oh, and Peanut is back! He let me pet him, but he lost interest in me when he realized I wasn't holding any food. Heartbreaking.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Just another day in paradise
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I find moviemaking incredibly dull. I love watching movies, and I am 100% supportive of all Sean and Curtis' artistic endeavors. But watching take after take of the same scene, listening to minute variations in dialogue, trying to keep out of the cameraman's line of sight? Bo-ring. I was perfectly content today to spend all morning and a good deal of the afternoon hanging out at Lesley and Simon's apartment doing, well, practically nothing. I chatted with various cast and crew members who showed up, sat for another makeup test, read a little, and even dozed off briefly at one point.
About that makeup test: The blue makeup is still proving problematic. It tends to rub or flake off the actors' hands and necks; it quickly develops a patchy look around their noses and mouths. Christina and Beatrice have tried every combination they can to try to get something that not only will last, but that now has to match the makeup in scenes already filmed. Anyway, in their quest to come up with yet another formula, they made up my face this morning with a combination of pancake and blue food coloring. I ended up looking a little too greenish and the coverage was splotchy, so they rejected that batch of face paint. The problem for me lay in trying to remove the makeup: the food coloring pretty much stained my face, so that even after a good scrubbing, a grayish pallor remained. All day long I've appeared to have recently died, which is decidedly not a great look for me, so there's another long, hot shower in my near future.
This afternoon's filming took place at the home of a friend of the assistant director. This fellow, Jeff, is a physician who's also an actor, and he's been cast as the caterer in Am I Blue? His home is beautiful in a very formal way, and the cast and crew were warned repeatedly not to touch or move or break anything lest Jeff freak out -- I think he'd be the first to admit that he's particular about things. I had a long chat with him about both his medical and acting careers, and he's an interesting man. Sean and Curtis shot his first scene after I'd left with Simon to get dinner so I didn't get to watch him in action, but I think he's been perfectly cast, though strangely enough, I don't think I'd buy it if someone cast him as a doctor.
While eating dinner, I chatted with several cast members about movies. I was nonplussed by their devotion to Will Ferrell movies, but I joined the discussion eagerly when it turned to horror films. I'd been wavering on whether or not to see 28 Weeks Later, but now I've decided I must.
Yikes -- Simon flies off to a conference in New Orleans tomorrow so I must brave the mean streets of San Diego alone in order to bring noontime sustenance to a hungry cast and crew. Wish me luck!
About that makeup test: The blue makeup is still proving problematic. It tends to rub or flake off the actors' hands and necks; it quickly develops a patchy look around their noses and mouths. Christina and Beatrice have tried every combination they can to try to get something that not only will last, but that now has to match the makeup in scenes already filmed. Anyway, in their quest to come up with yet another formula, they made up my face this morning with a combination of pancake and blue food coloring. I ended up looking a little too greenish and the coverage was splotchy, so they rejected that batch of face paint. The problem for me lay in trying to remove the makeup: the food coloring pretty much stained my face, so that even after a good scrubbing, a grayish pallor remained. All day long I've appeared to have recently died, which is decidedly not a great look for me, so there's another long, hot shower in my near future.
This afternoon's filming took place at the home of a friend of the assistant director. This fellow, Jeff, is a physician who's also an actor, and he's been cast as the caterer in Am I Blue? His home is beautiful in a very formal way, and the cast and crew were warned repeatedly not to touch or move or break anything lest Jeff freak out -- I think he'd be the first to admit that he's particular about things. I had a long chat with him about both his medical and acting careers, and he's an interesting man. Sean and Curtis shot his first scene after I'd left with Simon to get dinner so I didn't get to watch him in action, but I think he's been perfectly cast, though strangely enough, I don't think I'd buy it if someone cast him as a doctor.
While eating dinner, I chatted with several cast members about movies. I was nonplussed by their devotion to Will Ferrell movies, but I joined the discussion eagerly when it turned to horror films. I'd been wavering on whether or not to see 28 Weeks Later, but now I've decided I must.
Yikes -- Simon flies off to a conference in New Orleans tomorrow so I must brave the mean streets of San Diego alone in order to bring noontime sustenance to a hungry cast and crew. Wish me luck!
Visual aids
Simon and Sean check out the minister's surplice and stole.
Lesley gets a pre-production makeup test. Looks a little tense, doesn't she?
Chris, playing the male lead, gets his first airbrush of the day.
Anne, who plays Mrs. Leetay, looks alarmingly attractive in her blue makeup.
The view from the spaghetti-and-meatballs location.
Tony is playing Aunt Gar.
Am I blue? I am blue.Sunday, May 27, 2007
And... we're off
Today was the first day of principal photography on Am I Blue? I am dead tired, and I did hardly anything compared to most of the cast and crew.
We had four locations today. The first was Simon's office suite at San Diego State University. Simon told me they used to film Veronica Mars on campus. *sniff* Because of the layout of the suite, I had to spend my time there either hiding in an office with the door closed or outside in the parking lot so that I wouldn't be caught on film; so unfortunately, I didn't get to witness much improv, though what little I did overhear was amusing. I developed a huge crush on a cast member I met this morning. His name is Peanut, and he is a 5-month-old chihuahua-terrier mix. Sadly for me, he has eyes for only his owner, the lovely Miranda, and his dried pig's ear chew toy.
Our second location was miles away, a beautiful little cottage in La Jolla just two blocks from the beach. We ate lunch there -- mmmm, steak sandwiches and cheesecake from Ruth's Chris. After that, we took off to a funky little house perched high atop a hill about 10 miles from downtown San Diego, where we spent most of the afternoon. I met two German Shepherds there, but they did not capture my heart the way Peanut did. The place had a spectacular view of the valley; all afternoon the house was filled with the aroma of slow-cooked meatballs in marinara sauce, some of which were used as a prop in a scene and the rest of which we got to eat for dinner.
Beatrice, the assistant makeup artist, was unhappy with the coverage of the airbrushed blue makeup, so about mid-afternoon she noticed I wasn't doing anything important and pulled me aside to test some different makeups that could be applied with sponges. A combination of blue grease-based makeup mixed with a white cream (which is currently covering both my legs and my right forearm) was deemed the most successful formula, so the production fell about two hours behind schedule as Sean and Simon took off in search of supplies. In the meantime, Beatrice and Christina, the head makeup artist, continued to try various other combinations on my face, neck, and limbs, hoping to achieve that perfect balance of coverage, even application, and long-lasting wear. I washed myself off again and again so they could have a clean palette for every new effort; they left me alone only when I told them my skin was starting to burn.
Now I'm back in our dismal room at Motel 6, which, shockingly, has WiFi. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble adding pictures and/or links -- not sure if it's Blogger, the connection, or the laptop itself causing problems. I'll try to add some visual aids tomorrow if technology will let me. Now... time for a shower to get rid of the last of my blue makeup.
We had four locations today. The first was Simon's office suite at San Diego State University. Simon told me they used to film Veronica Mars on campus. *sniff* Because of the layout of the suite, I had to spend my time there either hiding in an office with the door closed or outside in the parking lot so that I wouldn't be caught on film; so unfortunately, I didn't get to witness much improv, though what little I did overhear was amusing. I developed a huge crush on a cast member I met this morning. His name is Peanut, and he is a 5-month-old chihuahua-terrier mix. Sadly for me, he has eyes for only his owner, the lovely Miranda, and his dried pig's ear chew toy.
Our second location was miles away, a beautiful little cottage in La Jolla just two blocks from the beach. We ate lunch there -- mmmm, steak sandwiches and cheesecake from Ruth's Chris. After that, we took off to a funky little house perched high atop a hill about 10 miles from downtown San Diego, where we spent most of the afternoon. I met two German Shepherds there, but they did not capture my heart the way Peanut did. The place had a spectacular view of the valley; all afternoon the house was filled with the aroma of slow-cooked meatballs in marinara sauce, some of which were used as a prop in a scene and the rest of which we got to eat for dinner.Beatrice, the assistant makeup artist, was unhappy with the coverage of the airbrushed blue makeup, so about mid-afternoon she noticed I wasn't doing anything important and pulled me aside to test some different makeups that could be applied with sponges. A combination of blue grease-based makeup mixed with a white cream (which is currently covering both my legs and my right forearm) was deemed the most successful formula, so the production fell about two hours behind schedule as Sean and Simon took off in search of supplies. In the meantime, Beatrice and Christina, the head makeup artist, continued to try various other combinations on my face, neck, and limbs, hoping to achieve that perfect balance of coverage, even application, and long-lasting wear. I washed myself off again and again so they could have a clean palette for every new effort; they left me alone only when I told them my skin was starting to burn.
Now I'm back in our dismal room at Motel 6, which, shockingly, has WiFi. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble adding pictures and/or links -- not sure if it's Blogger, the connection, or the laptop itself causing problems. I'll try to add some visual aids tomorrow if technology will let me. Now... time for a shower to get rid of the last of my blue makeup.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Blue days ahead
Did I mention that we're making a movie? And of course by "we," I mean Sean and Curtis. I'm just along for the ride on this one: While I played an important part in the making of Biscuit & Gravy's last feature film (I was the caterer and craft services person), this time I'm pretty much a glorified production assistant. I'll do whatever is needed, but if no one calls on me, I'll be over in the corner reading or blogging. All of the principal photography will be done this week, and to that end we have moved our home base to San Diego for the next nine days.
This is the boys' second feature-length film. Their first, Death Valley, was a neat little horror flick that has yet to find a distributor. Sean and Curtis produced, wrote, directed, and edited the whole thing themselves; Curtis also played a good-sized part as a drug-crazed old man and he composed the score. This time they have been blessed with Lesley and Ian, who have proven to be the go-gettingest producing team ever. Lesley was one of the stars of Death Valley, and although she's a really good actress, I think her interests have really turned to producing. I don't know much yet about Ian. The two of them are incredibly energetic and charming, and they have been working their asses off for the last six months to get this motion picture off the ground. They're already planning how they're going to spend the profits from this movie to make their next one. Right now I'm sitting in their living room (Ian lives here with Lesley and her husband Simon, rather like Curtis', Sean's and my living situation at The Shambles), and I'm looking at the "Saturday To Do List" written on the white board. Among the many tasks the two of them have set for themselves: contact San Diego Tribune, pick up wedding dress, call microbrewery, go to Costco. The latter is where they are now, buying cream cheese and walkie talkies.
So what is this flick? It is a mockumentary entitled Am I Blue? It's about an interracial wedding between a WASPy young woman and her Antarctic-American beau. Native Antarcticans (of which there are none -- I feel silly pointing that out, but based on the number of confused reactions I've gotten when describing the film, I sense there's a need to do so) have light blue skin, so about half the cast will be airbrushed with blue body paint. I will be a guest in the wedding reception scene, and I must confess that I'm a wee bit disappointed that I will not be spray painted a lovely cerulean.
One of the coolest things about Am I Blue? is that much of the movie will be improvised, a la Christopher Guest's films. While the boys have worked out the overall scenario and determined certain points the cast needs to hit, the actors will be creating most of their own dialogue. All of the actors were cast based on their improv abilities. I know some of the folks who'll be showing up this week -- Hi, Tricia! Hi, Jonny! -- but most of them are as yet strangers to me. Norman will be playing the minister. I'm a little afraid to be present on the set because I'm worried I'll start laughing and ruin a take. Hey, I've done it before.
Hmmm. As I've been sitting here, I have been handed a list of all the places I need to go during the upcoming week to pick up lunch and dinner for the cast and crew. Fortunately, Lesley's husband Simon will help me find these places for the first couple of days, because I haven't a clue where anything is in San Diego. I mean, my brother and his family live somewhere in San Diego but I'm really not sure where. I should probably figure that out, at least, because they are expecting their second child later in the week and it might be nice of me to drop in and say hi. But it looks like I now am officially working on this production. (In case you're wondering, Norman: sandwiches for lunch and tacos for dinner on Thursday, salads and chicken & rice for lunch and pasta salad for dinner on Friday.) My biggest fear is now getting lost and showing up late with cold food.
This is the boys' second feature-length film. Their first, Death Valley, was a neat little horror flick that has yet to find a distributor. Sean and Curtis produced, wrote, directed, and edited the whole thing themselves; Curtis also played a good-sized part as a drug-crazed old man and he composed the score. This time they have been blessed with Lesley and Ian, who have proven to be the go-gettingest producing team ever. Lesley was one of the stars of Death Valley, and although she's a really good actress, I think her interests have really turned to producing. I don't know much yet about Ian. The two of them are incredibly energetic and charming, and they have been working their asses off for the last six months to get this motion picture off the ground. They're already planning how they're going to spend the profits from this movie to make their next one. Right now I'm sitting in their living room (Ian lives here with Lesley and her husband Simon, rather like Curtis', Sean's and my living situation at The Shambles), and I'm looking at the "Saturday To Do List" written on the white board. Among the many tasks the two of them have set for themselves: contact San Diego Tribune, pick up wedding dress, call microbrewery, go to Costco. The latter is where they are now, buying cream cheese and walkie talkies.
So what is this flick? It is a mockumentary entitled Am I Blue? It's about an interracial wedding between a WASPy young woman and her Antarctic-American beau. Native Antarcticans (of which there are none -- I feel silly pointing that out, but based on the number of confused reactions I've gotten when describing the film, I sense there's a need to do so) have light blue skin, so about half the cast will be airbrushed with blue body paint. I will be a guest in the wedding reception scene, and I must confess that I'm a wee bit disappointed that I will not be spray painted a lovely cerulean.
One of the coolest things about Am I Blue? is that much of the movie will be improvised, a la Christopher Guest's films. While the boys have worked out the overall scenario and determined certain points the cast needs to hit, the actors will be creating most of their own dialogue. All of the actors were cast based on their improv abilities. I know some of the folks who'll be showing up this week -- Hi, Tricia! Hi, Jonny! -- but most of them are as yet strangers to me. Norman will be playing the minister. I'm a little afraid to be present on the set because I'm worried I'll start laughing and ruin a take. Hey, I've done it before.
Hmmm. As I've been sitting here, I have been handed a list of all the places I need to go during the upcoming week to pick up lunch and dinner for the cast and crew. Fortunately, Lesley's husband Simon will help me find these places for the first couple of days, because I haven't a clue where anything is in San Diego. I mean, my brother and his family live somewhere in San Diego but I'm really not sure where. I should probably figure that out, at least, because they are expecting their second child later in the week and it might be nice of me to drop in and say hi. But it looks like I now am officially working on this production. (In case you're wondering, Norman: sandwiches for lunch and tacos for dinner on Thursday, salads and chicken & rice for lunch and pasta salad for dinner on Friday.) My biggest fear is now getting lost and showing up late with cold food.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Why I laugh at "celebrities"
From the 6/1/07 Entertainment Weekly:
"I don't take jobs that compromise my integrity," declares Rie Rasmussen, who came to fame as an underwear model in a 2001 Victoria's Secret show.
Later in the same issue, film reviewer Own Gleiberman describes Rasmussen's new film, Angel-A, as "quel ick."
"I don't take jobs that compromise my integrity," declares Rie Rasmussen, who came to fame as an underwear model in a 2001 Victoria's Secret show.
Later in the same issue, film reviewer Own Gleiberman describes Rasmussen's new film, Angel-A, as "quel ick."
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
R.I.P., Veronica
Tonight is the season -- and series -- finale of Veronica Mars. Which sucks.
My pal Norman has been a fan of the show since Episode 1 and tried valiantly to get me to watch it, either with him or on my own, since it began airing. I caught a couple of random episodes and liked what I saw, but I had no grasp of the complicated ongoing plotlines and thus missed a great deal of the show's appeal. Last summer I bought Seasons One and Two on DVD and raced through them. I was captivated by Veronica's mysterious "downfall" and her complicated relationships with her high school peers. I loved (and I still love) her relationships with her father and her best friend Wallace. The season-long mysteries of both seasons were big and dark and satisfying -- this isn't a show for kids, necessarily, although most of the characters are young. Anyway, by the time Season Three started on CW, I was hooked. The season got off to a shaky start, with a troubling and unappealing plotline about a college campus rapist. Wallace wasn't much in evidence, and irritating Dick Casablancas was in almost every episode. I was dissatisfied with Veronica when the show took a hiatus at the end of 2006. But since it returned a few months ago, it has been fantastic -- the writers seem to have found their voices again, and once more I looked forward to Tuesday nights. Less Logan and Dick and more Piz and Mac! Keith rightfully restored to his position as sherriff! Veronica the smarty-pants nearly acing her private investigator's exam -- but still not able to beat her father's score! This, for me, is must-see TV.
Naturally, the show has been canceled. I'll miss you, Veronica.
My pal Norman has been a fan of the show since Episode 1 and tried valiantly to get me to watch it, either with him or on my own, since it began airing. I caught a couple of random episodes and liked what I saw, but I had no grasp of the complicated ongoing plotlines and thus missed a great deal of the show's appeal. Last summer I bought Seasons One and Two on DVD and raced through them. I was captivated by Veronica's mysterious "downfall" and her complicated relationships with her high school peers. I loved (and I still love) her relationships with her father and her best friend Wallace. The season-long mysteries of both seasons were big and dark and satisfying -- this isn't a show for kids, necessarily, although most of the characters are young. Anyway, by the time Season Three started on CW, I was hooked. The season got off to a shaky start, with a troubling and unappealing plotline about a college campus rapist. Wallace wasn't much in evidence, and irritating Dick Casablancas was in almost every episode. I was dissatisfied with Veronica when the show took a hiatus at the end of 2006. But since it returned a few months ago, it has been fantastic -- the writers seem to have found their voices again, and once more I looked forward to Tuesday nights. Less Logan and Dick and more Piz and Mac! Keith rightfully restored to his position as sherriff! Veronica the smarty-pants nearly acing her private investigator's exam -- but still not able to beat her father's score! This, for me, is must-see TV.
Naturally, the show has been canceled. I'll miss you, Veronica.
Monday, May 21, 2007
And now for something completely different...
Sunday night television for me usually means The Simpsons and Desperate Housewives. Last night, though, I watched (and thoroughly enjoyed) something completely different: Masterpiece Theatre's production of The Secret Life of Mrs. Beeton. Isabella Beeton was sort of the Martha Stewart of mid-nineteenth century England, and her Book of Household Management has remained in print, in one form or another, for 150 years, so I was intrigued by the subject matter. When the show started off with her character addressing the audience while attending her own funeral, then was followed by a racy scene of her new husband feverishly unlacing her corset on their wedding night, I began to wonder why I hadn't made Masterpiece Theatre part of my regular Sunday night schedule. Who knew PBS could be so provocative? Anna Madeley is charming as the feisty Isabella who meets a tragic end. (C'mon, the first scene is her funeral -- I'm not giving anything away.)
There's a fairly new biography of Mrs. Beeton I may just have to check out, and while you can still buy a copy of her original book for housewives, Project Gutenberg has a free copy for download. My favorite tidbit: The original edition was filled with recipes, and although Isabella Beeton was not herself much of a cook, she revolutionized the way recipes are written when she listed all the ingredients first, followed by the instructions.
There's a fairly new biography of Mrs. Beeton I may just have to check out, and while you can still buy a copy of her original book for housewives, Project Gutenberg has a free copy for download. My favorite tidbit: The original edition was filled with recipes, and although Isabella Beeton was not herself much of a cook, she revolutionized the way recipes are written when she listed all the ingredients first, followed by the instructions.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Niche market book-of-the-week
Why??? What's next, Portfolio Analysis for Caucasian-Americans? Knitting for Those in the Nursing Profession? Gardening for Jews for Jesus?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
A case of mistaken identity
Me (reading Yahoo! news): Jerry Falwell died.
Co-worker: Awwww, really? When?
Me: Yesterday, I guess.
Co-worker (in a small, sad voice): Awwww....
Me: Are you kidding? He was an asshole!
Co-worker: Wait. Who are we talking about? Was he an actor?
Co-worker: Awwww, really? When?
Me: Yesterday, I guess.
Co-worker (in a small, sad voice): Awwww....
Me: Are you kidding? He was an asshole!
Co-worker: Wait. Who are we talking about? Was he an actor?
Before & after
Have I ever mentioned how much I like before and after pictures? It really doesn't matter what it is -- a house remodel, plastic surgery, relandscaping, a new hairdo -- I love to compare the old with the new. Usually the new version really is the improved version.
But sometimes things go awry.
Take, for instance, the house I grew up in.
This is what is currently occupying the spot where my childhood home once stood. In its favor, I will say that so many other houses in the neighborhood have been replaced by McMansions that its hideousness doesn't exactly draw attention to itself. (The house next door, for instance, is quite possibly the most godawful, tacky dwelling I have ever seen.) But two things really drive me insane. First of all, that house has got to have doubled in size, and really, what kind of freakish family needs 10,000 square feet of home? Second, please note that the pedestrian-friendly sidewalk my parents had installed is gone and that a huge fence (whose gate apparently defaults to the closed position) has been erected. It's like the current owners have barricaded themselves inside their tower and are actively repelling visitors. It makes me sad.
But sometimes things go awry.
Take, for instance, the house I grew up in.
Nothing too spectacular -- an ordinary, if very large, ranch house in a pleasant neighborhood. You can't tell from this photo, but our house had five bedrooms and five bathrooms, a huge family room, two fireplaces, and lots of built-in storage. My closet was so big that it actually had its own mini-closet appended to its far end, as if it were a room unto itself. All in all, about 5000 square feet of living space, plenty, you'd think, for a good-sized suburban family.
If that's what you thought, you'd be wrong.
This is what is currently occupying the spot where my childhood home once stood. In its favor, I will say that so many other houses in the neighborhood have been replaced by McMansions that its hideousness doesn't exactly draw attention to itself. (The house next door, for instance, is quite possibly the most godawful, tacky dwelling I have ever seen.) But two things really drive me insane. First of all, that house has got to have doubled in size, and really, what kind of freakish family needs 10,000 square feet of home? Second, please note that the pedestrian-friendly sidewalk my parents had installed is gone and that a huge fence (whose gate apparently defaults to the closed position) has been erected. It's like the current owners have barricaded themselves inside their tower and are actively repelling visitors. It makes me sad.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Forgetful me
I keep forgetting to mention a pretty cool thing: Sean and Curtis' 2006 48-Hour Film Project entry, Doughboy, Beware!, which won Best of L.A., is going to be shown at the Cannes Film Festival on Thursday! In case you can't make it to France, you can watch it here.
In over my head
Okay, as if I don't have enough to do, what with the big Harry Potter push at work as well as getting ready for Sean and Curtis' next feature film (which starts shooting in less than two weeks!), I have thrown my hat in the ring for Script Frenzy*. I am going to try to write a feature-length screenplay during the month of June. I am not going to let the fact that I have never written a screenplay in my life stop me, nor will I be deterred by my almost complete lack of ideas for a viable story. (I am toying with a notion I've had for several years, one that involves werewolves and Colonial America, only now I'm thinking Appalachia during the early 1900s.)
Last night Norman and I shook hands on an agreement to give it a whirl. Actually, I think Norman was under the impression I was simply giving him a hand up from his chair, but believe me, we shook on it and we're each going to write a screenplay next month.
* Even if you have no interest in Script Frenzy per se, be sure to check out their Plot Machine -- it's a hoot.
Last night Norman and I shook hands on an agreement to give it a whirl. Actually, I think Norman was under the impression I was simply giving him a hand up from his chair, but believe me, we shook on it and we're each going to write a screenplay next month.
* Even if you have no interest in Script Frenzy per se, be sure to check out their Plot Machine -- it's a hoot.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
My favorite moms
That's my sister Mary with her daughter Cameron. Mary is a terrific mother, doing it singlehandedly, and I want her to know how swell we all think she is and what a great mom she is to Cameron.Happy Mother's Day to my favorite moms: Mary, Susan, Caroline, Heidi, Grandma, Dawn, Janine, Kathleen, Jodi, Lee, Inkie, and Karen B. And Happy Mother's Day to some moms I barely know but who have made my life better by raising such great kids: Barbara (for Curtis), Vicki (for Norman), Gayle (for Lucy), and the other Barbara (for Sherri).
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Jolt of joe
Since I'm in a sharing mood today, here are a couple of embroidered dishtowels I finished not too long ago and finally got around to scanning. At least I can give someone credit this time: I used Aunt Martha's hot-iron transfer pattern #3997 ("Java Break") to make these.
Here comes the sun
The other night I finally finished one of my many craft projects. I've been working on this cross stitch piece off and on for a couple of years, and it felt good to tie off that last piece of embroidery floss. This is the only pattern I've ever made twice: I first stitched it about a dozen years ago and gave that piece to my sister Mary. Unlike most of my other needlework, this piece might not automatically end up in the trunk at the foot of my bed; I may frame it and hang it somewhere.I feel kinda bad about this one, because I can't give credit where it's due. Normally, I like to mention that it's pattern number whatever by so-and-so, but I did an evil, evil thing back in 1993: I photocopied this pattern from a book of floral needlepoint patterns, and now I have no idea of the book's title or the author's name. I do know the pattern is adapted from a ceramic tile designed by English Arts & Crafts artist William de Morgan, but beyond that, it's a mystery. I don't photocopy patterns anymore.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Recommended reading
I love Beth Cherry's blog, Not Dead Yet. She is an eloquent, funny, understated writer who, unfortunately for her readers, does not archive her posts. So just in case you do not get to her latest entry before it disappears forever, I will quote her so you can see why she's so wonderful:
It was the kind of weekend that had small memorable moments: the first time in the year when you take notice of the way the water smells coming out of the gardenhose, the smell of sunblock, the click of flipflops, the feel of dark, damp dirt falling through your fingers into the terracotta pots, the shade of the wide-brimmed hat across your face.
We celebrated the end of all of our work on Sunday at sunset with champagne and chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and watched the sun disappear behind the climbing rose whose branches we tied to the latticework with strips of pantyhose like a virgin in wait for the kraken.
"They're a bunch of women," my roommate grumbled, "Take care of me, Bryant. Feed me, Bryant. Give me all of your money, Bryant. Keep the bugs off of me, Bryant."
"You love them," I said.
"I do," he said.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Too much
I am officially movie-d out. (For the moment, anyway.) I saw the strangest assortment of movies this weekend, the sum of which left me wanting to read a good book, or perhaps seek a purveyor of happy pills.On Friday night it was Stephanie Daley, starring Tilda Swinton and Amber Tamblyn. Swinton plays a forensic psychologist hired by a prosecutor to interview Tamblyn, a teen who gave birth to a baby found dead after the girl collapsed bleeding in the snow. Did the girl murder the infant? Did she even know she was pregnant? Good acting all around, particularly from Tamblyn and Timothy Hutton as the can't-quite-put-my-finger-on-it-but-I-don't-trust-him husband of Swinton, but overall a downer.
Saturday's flick, Looking for Mr. Goodbar, was not exactly the feel-good movie of the year either, nor could it have been back in 1977, the year it was released. Diane Keaton stars as a woman who is a sweet teacher of hearing-impaired kids by day and a bar-hopping, chainsmoking, drug-experimenting, free love kind o' gal by night. All it takes is picking up the wrong guy just once to put an end to her freewheeling lifestyle. Besides being misogynistic and homophobic, Mr. Goodbar simply isn't a very good movie: the dialogue sounds artificial and the characters are not quite believable. You know a movie has gone around the bend when one of its most sympathetic characters is a stalker played by perennial irritant William Atherton. Despite its failings, the movie had an ending that really shook me up and convinced me not to stick around for the second flick on the double bill, Lipstick.
Wanting to escape all those sex-outside-of-marriage-is-destructive vibes, I saw Spiderman 3 this afternoon. Morose Spidey deals with cranky girlfriend, irrational former best friend, and some new foes, one of whom lacks motivation. Eh. At least it won't keep me awake tonight.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Inspired
Lucy has posted some intriguing pictures of craft projects she'd like to make. I'm responding in kind.
The pattern for this "autumn leaves" blanket appears in Tara Manning's book Compassionate Knitting, and I knew as soon as I saw it that I wanted to make something like it. The only problems? I don't knit, I can't follow a pattern, and I don't care for the free-floating edges of those appliqued leaves. So I crocheted my blanket using my trusty single crochet/chain stitch combination I use for everything I crochet, finishing off the edges of the blanket in a beautiful flamelike orange and yellow yarn. All I need to do now is applique my felt leaves and I'll be done. Of course, all I've needed to do for the last six months is applique those leaves, so who knows when I'll ever finish?
This quilt pattern is called "zipper" and appears in the book The Modern Quilt Workshop by Weeks Ringle and Bill Kerr. I've been thinking about this quilt for many moons now and 2007 might finally be the year to give it a try. I like the fact that it's unusual but also not insanely difficult. I suppose it could be made with many different color combinations, but I'm in love with the original cool blues, greens and lavenders.
The pattern for this "autumn leaves" blanket appears in Tara Manning's book Compassionate Knitting, and I knew as soon as I saw it that I wanted to make something like it. The only problems? I don't knit, I can't follow a pattern, and I don't care for the free-floating edges of those appliqued leaves. So I crocheted my blanket using my trusty single crochet/chain stitch combination I use for everything I crochet, finishing off the edges of the blanket in a beautiful flamelike orange and yellow yarn. All I need to do now is applique my felt leaves and I'll be done. Of course, all I've needed to do for the last six months is applique those leaves, so who knows when I'll ever finish? This quilt pattern is called "zipper" and appears in the book The Modern Quilt Workshop by Weeks Ringle and Bill Kerr. I've been thinking about this quilt for many moons now and 2007 might finally be the year to give it a try. I like the fact that it's unusual but also not insanely difficult. I suppose it could be made with many different color combinations, but I'm in love with the original cool blues, greens and lavenders.
I love working with wool felt and have no trouble finding all kinds of inspiration from talented artists in books and online. But in my opinion, nobody is doing more interesting (and frankly, adorable) work than Salley Mavor. She's a genuine multimedia artist, combining fabric with beads, buttons, rocks, bits of wood, jewelry hardware, and more. I would love to make a shadow box or wall hanging of some kind using her techniques (many of which are described in her book Felt Wee Folk); I do fear that I'll only be copying her, though, instead of creating something really my own.
Here, in no order whatsoever, are some other things I'd like to take a stab at:
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Stumbling
I know my entries have been pretty sketchy lately, and I apologize. I just haven't been able to look at anything that's going on in my life and think, "That's blog-worthy." Today I found myself eavesdropping on my co-workers as they discussed the hideous new paint in the ladies' 
room, hoping somebody would say something screamingly funny about how flattering Smurf blue is, but the most eloquent response I encountered was a silent shudder. It has truly been a slow month.
I did, however, finally finish a book I've been working my way through for a couple of weeks. I don't know what took me so long; I really enjoyed Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and feel it contains some exciting, thought-provoking ideas. Barbara Kingsolver, best known for her fiction writing, and her family made the decision a few years ago to try only to eat local foods for one solid year. They planted a large vegetable garden in their southern Appalachia yard and shopped for produce they didn't grow themselves at farmers' markets. They raised their own chickens and turkeys for meat and eggs, and they purchased other meats from neighboring livestock farmers. They canned and dried and froze what they couldn't consume immediately, and for a year they lived off the bounty of both their own land and farms in the vicinity. When the year was up, when their "deadline" (imaginary, of course) had passed and they could go back to eating bananas and store-bought bread and other non-local treats, they found that they didn't want to. They liked knowing the provenance of their dinners. They enjoyed supporting their local economy. Growing and preserving food was comforting to them. So, several years later, they're still eating the same way.
Undertaking such a task seems daunting to me. I suppose that says much more about me than the actual difficulty of committing to local foods: I mean, come on, I live in Southern California, where practically every kind of food is growing within a 100-mile radius! I could be at the South Pasadena farmers' market right now instead of blogging. I could be smelling fresh apples and tossing just-picked leeks into my oh-so-conscientious canvas shopping bags this very minute. Instead, I'm sitting in front of the computer with a mug of hot coffee (organic, sure, but fair trade? Uh, have to get back to you on that...) and a graham cracker topped with peanut butter and strawberry jam -- at least I made the jam. Later on I'm hoping to find the time to watch my latest NetFlix acquisition, The Future of Food, described as an "eye-opening documentary, which sheds light on a shadowy relationship between agriculture, big business and government."
Kingsolver's and MacKinnon's words reassure me that I'm not alone either in sometimes feeling I'm wasting my time in doing the "right" thing or worrying that I'm a half-dozen steps behind where I should be and that I need to catch up right now. I feel my life being pulled slowly but inexorably to the left, towards the green, in the direction of remembering who I wanted to be. What I want to be, I guess, is a good person. I think I'm good to the people who inhabit my world. More and more, though, I find myself taking baby steps towards being good to the world itself. "The new earnestness"? Yeah, probably. But despite my stumbles, it doesn't mean I'm going to stop.
room, hoping somebody would say something screamingly funny about how flattering Smurf blue is, but the most eloquent response I encountered was a silent shudder. It has truly been a slow month.I did, however, finally finish a book I've been working my way through for a couple of weeks. I don't know what took me so long; I really enjoyed Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and feel it contains some exciting, thought-provoking ideas. Barbara Kingsolver, best known for her fiction writing, and her family made the decision a few years ago to try only to eat local foods for one solid year. They planted a large vegetable garden in their southern Appalachia yard and shopped for produce they didn't grow themselves at farmers' markets. They raised their own chickens and turkeys for meat and eggs, and they purchased other meats from neighboring livestock farmers. They canned and dried and froze what they couldn't consume immediately, and for a year they lived off the bounty of both their own land and farms in the vicinity. When the year was up, when their "deadline" (imaginary, of course) had passed and they could go back to eating bananas and store-bought bread and other non-local treats, they found that they didn't want to. They liked knowing the provenance of their dinners. They enjoyed supporting their local economy. Growing and preserving food was comforting to them. So, several years later, they're still eating the same way.
Undertaking such a task seems daunting to me. I suppose that says much more about me than the actual difficulty of committing to local foods: I mean, come on, I live in Southern California, where practically every kind of food is growing within a 100-mile radius! I could be at the South Pasadena farmers' market right now instead of blogging. I could be smelling fresh apples and tossing just-picked leeks into my oh-so-conscientious canvas shopping bags this very minute. Instead, I'm sitting in front of the computer with a mug of hot coffee (organic, sure, but fair trade? Uh, have to get back to you on that...) and a graham cracker topped with peanut butter and strawberry jam -- at least I made the jam. Later on I'm hoping to find the time to watch my latest NetFlix acquisition, The Future of Food, described as an "eye-opening documentary, which sheds light on a shadowy relationship between agriculture, big business and government."
Schizo, isn't it, this break between what I do and what I want to do. I'm consistently inconsistent about my food choices: one day I'm making a salad with spinach and lettuces from my backyard garden, and the next I'm eating tortilla chips with salsa made in New York City. Because I love food so -- love to eat it, talk about it, write about it, think about it -- food seems like my natural entrance to the notion of reducing my ecological footprint. At the end of a long day, though, sometimes it is easier to make the, well, the easy choice rather than the right choice. Kingsolver addresses inconsistencies like this (and the resulting guilt) near the end of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle:
I've just started reading another new book, Plenty, that I was worried might be a little too holier-than-thou about the subject of eating locally. After all, the authors, Alisa Smith and J.B. MacKinnon, created the 100-Mile Diet. (Plus I am irritated by the word raucous in their title. I'm not sure why, but it really bugs me.) But right there in Chapter One, MacKinnon talks about the pitfalls of trying to walk the walk in a passage I think is a good companion to Kingsolver's:I share with almost every adult I know this crazy quilt of optimism and worries, feeling locked into certain habits but keen to change them in the right direction. And the tendency to feel like a jerk for falling short of absolute conversion. I'm not sure why. If a friend had a coronary scare and finally started exercising three days a week, who would hound him about the other four days? It's the worst sort of bad manners -- and self-protection, I think, in a nervously cynical society -- to ridicule the small gesture.... Small, stepwise changes in personal habits aren't trivial. Ultimately they will, or won't, add up to having been the thing that mattered.
Can I admit, then, that a part of me silently questioned my own idea for a year of eating locally? That the essential pointlessness
of such a gesture is not lost on me? I am acutely aware that efforts like the 100-mile diet are readily dismissed as "the new earnestness,"
which is currently enjoying a very temporary cool, and I am not deluded enough to feel that I'm making a difference or being the change I want to see in the world. Both of these contemporary platitudes contain kernels of truth, but both are also overwhelmed by stark realities. I have traveled these ethical pathways in one way or another for twenty years now, choosing to ride a bicycle in homicidal traffic, to reuse my tinfoil and plastic bags as though I lived in the Depression, to shop little and buy less. It doesn't make me feel "good." It makes me feel like an alien. As I pedal through another midwinter rainfall, virtually every indicator of global ecological health continues to worsen, from biodiversity to energy consumption, and my being has done little to change the world. My actions are abstract and absurd, and they are neither saving the rain forests nor feeding the world's hungry.
Kingsolver's and MacKinnon's words reassure me that I'm not alone either in sometimes feeling I'm wasting my time in doing the "right" thing or worrying that I'm a half-dozen steps behind where I should be and that I need to catch up right now. I feel my life being pulled slowly but inexorably to the left, towards the green, in the direction of remembering who I wanted to be. What I want to be, I guess, is a good person. I think I'm good to the people who inhabit my world. More and more, though, I find myself taking baby steps towards being good to the world itself. "The new earnestness"? Yeah, probably. But despite my stumbles, it doesn't mean I'm going to stop.
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