Wednesday, July 02, 2014

Set Diary: New Decade for the Toads

It's been a year since I wrote in this blog, and fittingly, this post mirrors the last, also a set diary for the San Diego 48 Hour Film Project.  It's been less than 24 hours since we turned in the film (on time!) so I'm a complex mix of dazed and exultant.  I really like our film this year, but then again, I like them every year and sometimes I'm the only one.  So we shall see.  Come see our world premiere at the Gaslamp Theatres on Wednesday, July 16 at 6:30.

Friday

3:00 p.m. I've been alone all day, thanks to the generosity of Mary and David, who whisked Jarrah away in the morning so I could do some planning and get some rest.  For the first time in 11 years, I am coming down with a cold just before the competition, and I'm pretty worried about it.  It is worth saying again that David and I could not do what we love to do without Mary and Paul, because kids don't care if you want to make a movie in 48 Hours.  They still want ridiculous stuff, like food and your attention.

5:00 p.m.  Ack, what am I doing?  All this leisure and I've forgotten to leave for the kick-off on time. Apparently, most of our team members will be at the starting line.  This trend of everyone showing up will continue all weekend, and I marvel at it.  Everyone just wants to be there, helping out and keeping the faith.

5:30 p.m.  Hospitality Point, Mission Bay.  It's windy and overcast.  A few people are already here, including Angel, Will, David, Mark and Cheryl.  We are shortly joined by Kam, Eva and BJ, and the Colliers.  Tension is building--what will be the big surprise we've been hearing about?  It turns out to be something called "Plinko"--I wasn't familiar with the game--which will make for a fun spectacle of drawing our genres.  Goodbye, Duane's grandfather's famous hat.  I miss it.  Though the Plinko looks cool, we are there an hour longer than normal, and I am itchin' to get to work before I get tired.  I hobnob with some old pals, including cast members from "The Vagina Monologues" and "Barefoot in the Park," and that's fun.

6:15 p.m.  Keeping with Cane Toad tradition, our youngest member draws the genre--this year that is Eva, whom we met through Kam.  She's 17 and headed to film school soon.  We cheer her on as she mounts the Plinko steps and sends the puck hurtling toward our fate.  We get...ROAD MOVIE!  I've heard "Buddy Movie," but I think this is a new one.  We're excited, especially since new teammate Mark Petersen has a '66 Mustang he's volunteered for the shoot.  Everyone is a-buzz with possibilities, and we really don't consider throwing it back.  I like genres that give us some structure, and this one does.

6:55 p.m.  We've got our elements:  Character - John or Joan Jansen, Investigator.  Prop - a marshmallow.  Line of dialogue:  "I saw one of those yesterday."  These are the three things that must appear in every movie.  Robyn yells, "What are you all doing here?  Go make a movie!"  And we're off!

7:30 p.m.  Per tradition, I've booked the back room at the Friars Road Coco's, and soon everyone is there, except Tyler who is joining us Saturday.  I'm calmer than usual--often I spend all my energy yelling and I want to conserve it this time.  We hear lots of ideas.  Benji's is particularly intriguing--a meet-cute about a Lyft driver with road rage.  But in the end, the one that gets my spidey senses tingling is Kam's:  two white Priuses that keep running into each other on a cross-country jaunt.  David is annoyed:  he WILL have his Mustang Shelby no matter what I say.  So we compromise:  boy meets girl on the road, and she's a rocker in a Mustang while he's a hipster with a Prius.  Time to write!

10:00 p.m.  Headed back to our house.  Kam and Kate are invited to help me brainstorm.  BJ is staying over so he can compose all night.  Mark and Mike are there to help David work out equipment and props.

10:45 p.m.  First wrinkle:  do any of our actors drive a stick?  Texts reveal that some of our actors don't even have a license.  Oops.  Might need to shoot around this road movie conundrum.

11:00 p.m.  We brainstorm an homage to one of the greatest road movies ever:  "Thelma and Louise."  What if we adapt their ending?  We all watch it and everyone is super-excited.  This is our thing!  "Steal from the best!" I yell.

11:30p.m.  We're actually getting stuff done.  I'm not writing dialogue (occasionally Kam will record a line, and I do go back to those later) but I'm composing scenes like wildfire, and we're trying to stay firmly focused on structure and ending.  Everyone is in a good mood.  As it gets later, Kate and Mike peel off and head home.  BJ has his headphones on and is crashing away on the keyboard near us.  Normally, repetitive noise annoys me, but it's kind of endearing how inspired he is.

Saturday

12:00 a.m.  Mark Perino is furiously working out props, on FB, text and the annual Wee-Hours Walmart visit.  Thank you, Mark, for handling all that.  Kam is tapping away at her laptop, giving costume notes and making lists of scenes, locations and what we need to do first in the morning.  Thank you, Kam, for your stellar organizational and interpersonal skills.  Took that right out of my domain and boy, was I glad to see it go!

1:00 a.m.  Mark and Kam head home, and I'm feeling the need to cocoon.  I leave BJ in the zone in the living room, and curl up on the entryway love seat.  The thing doesn't have much shape at the moment, but I've started writing.

2:00 a.m.  Getting tired, but still determined.  And now my cold has kicked up a fuss.  My throat is raw.  I have a sad little cough.  I think what keeps me going is knowing how badass I am for pushing through it rather than throwing in the towel.  David makes me tea and goes to bed.

3:00 a.m.  Now is the dark night of the soul.  I move to my computer, transfer what I have, and read it over.  I could go to bed, and try to salvage it "in the morning." Or I could hunker down, locked and loaded, and power through this thing if it kills me.  I choose the latter.  The house is dark and quiet.  I am alone.  And I am responsible for 17 people having something to shoot in a few hours.  I.  Will.  Not.  Let.  Them.  Down.

4:00 a.m.  I've been writing feverishly, fingers flying over the keys.  Could I possibly have a complete draft before Saturday afternoon?  I even fix it up, make it prettier.  I save and shut down.  I can go to bed.  Wake up call:  6:30.

5:00 a.m.  Heart pounding like a freight train.  Head feeling like it's wrapped in hospital gauze.  But it's okay, I think.  The draft is done.  Now sleep.  And I do.

6:18 a.m.  David stirs.  Okay, guess I'm up, too.  I open my mouth to talk to him and very little sound comes out.

7:00 a.m.  BJ is getting ready.  Angel is here.  I want to be hospitable but I think I might actually vomit if I open my mouth.  David is throwing bags of cables around.  He's good at that, and it's quite sexy.  I whisper to David that he needs to take the boys in his car so I don't vomit on them.

7:15 a.m.  Crap.  Based on thinking Kam had a copy of Jack Kerouac's On the Road, I've put it in the script.  But she doesn't.  I whimper about this to David, who is such a freakin' genius--he gets another book, prints an image of the classic book cover on line, and doctors it up with tape to look like a real cover.  That's how it's done.  BAM.

7:30 a.m.  David, Angel and BJ head to GoPro.  Several team members have been quite assertive about seeking locations, and the result is we have a plethora of wonderful options.  Thank you, Team, for your initiative. We are able to base ourselves at GoPro for all of Saturday and branch out from there--an embarrassment of convenience.

7:47 a.m.  I shouldn't still be here.  My team needs me.  But I need more coffee...and the pigs need kale...and the script won't print...

8:00 a.m.  Frantic call to David on the road:  "I saved the script and now I can't find it at all!"  He pulls over and checks Dropbox.  "It's there, you're good, now GO!"

8:30 a.m.  Finally at GoPro.  We're running around figuring out where to go first.  The Cardiff Office, a bar, is happy to host us, and they will have soccer and patrons later, so that's the best bet for now.  However, new wrinkle:  our minors won't be allowed in.

9:00 a.m.  The Diva has arrived.  And she's shiny.  In the parking lot, Mark Petersen is perfecting the gloss on his prize Shelby.  He has also brought a Mini-Me whom I am not surprised to learn is his son, Sean.  Sean becomes Cane Toad #17, and we're mighty pleased about that.

9:30 a.m.  Everyone is here, fresh as possible, and getting in costume.  I'm running around barking orders.  Ah, my natural state.

10:00 a.m.  Setting up at The Cardiff Office.  A shout-out to Shanti and our peeps over there:  YOU ROCK!  Just the nicest, most accommodating folks.  Totally let us take over the place, and even turn down the TVs for us.  The patrons happily watch and stay quiet while we're rolling.  One of my best shooting experiences EVER, for sure.  And, of course, since it's the first set-up of the day, it goes at a glacial pace.  The scene is a bar heart-to-heart between Rachel (Lucy) and Angel (Theo) who have been running into each other on the road.  And the second part of the scene features our Investiga-TOR, played by Will, who is HI-larious with his litany of fruit perils.  Everyone quickly adapts to my directing style, which features a lot of shouting and sarcasm, much to the delight of people in the bar.  Rachel, of course, has heard it all before.

11:00 a.m.  We're being interviewed for the Union-Tribune by Jeanette Steele!  She's awesome.  She sticks around for a while watching the filming, and then chats with me outside about why we do this crazy thing.  Nothing like having your weekend whims validated by a feature in the newspaper the next day!

12:00 p.m.  We think we're finally done with the bar scene.  Hooray!  I keep telling everyone "That's actually 3 out of 9!"  But already I am getting concerned by how many daylight scenes remain to be shot.

12:30 p.m.  Pipes Cafe is out.  Too crowded.  Flat Rock looks promising but we'll need to eat lunch there to secure a spot on their patio.  We think we can shoot one scene on the patio and the other at the bar, consolidating two locations.  Like The Office, they are strangely welcoming and accommodating.  Love the good people of Cardiff-by-the-Sea!  People mill around figuring out props and getting new equipment, while we take over a big corner of the restaurant.

1:00 p.m.  Lunch on the Flat Rock patio, rather fauncy for us.  Tyler FBs that he's almost here.  I have this fantasy that the next two scenes will take an hour total.  Have I mentioned I have a rather rich fantasy life?

1:30 p.m.  An extremely helpful list of "interesting props" on our Facebook page (why have we never done this before?) has yielded the delicious nugget that Eva plays the harp, and owns two of them.  Ooooh, harps are PURTY!  But Eva has other stuff to do in this scene.  So Kate is all gussied up in her concert black and blood red lips, strumming the harp quite masterfully after a tutorial from Eva.  Eva herself can be heard playing the harp in the scoring for this scene.  Love it!

2:00 p.m.  Shooting the "marshmallow lovers" scene on the Flat Rock patio.  BJ is performing plastic surgery on a bag of jumbo marshmallows.  It's messy work, but he's got the technique.  I start rehearsing with Ben and Eva and I freak them out a bit with my dictatorial style.  When I'm tired and short on time, I often reduce my thoughts into a single syllable:  "NO!"  And I just yell that as many times as possible.  Strangely, it often gets the job done.  The problem with our marshmallow lovers is that they're really young and have no personal access to how people might be feeling at the moment they get engaged.  So I keep yelling stuff like "He just offered you a diamond ring, not a piece of gum!"  Eventually, they get it perfectly.  "Are you CRYING?" I ask Eva incredulously at one point.  "It's called acting, yo" she retorts.  (No, she doesn't.  Because she's nice.  But she could have.)

3:30 p.m.  Preparing to shoot the pie scene behind the bar.  Cheryl, who is also clapper loader, is playing Rosie the Waitress.  She's changing, so I'm blocking the scene with the other actors and I give it my all.  It's as close as I want to come to acting these films when I've been up all night and have no makeup on.  Mark Petersen says I'm very natural with the dialogue.  Well, yeah--I wrote it.  I give good pie.  As in The Office, the few customers present seem delighted to watch us do take after take, respectfully shushing when I yell "Action!"  Eventually, I can see that more people are filtering in, and we're going to be in trouble if we don't get a good take soon.

4:45 p.m.  The manager of Flat Rock asks if it would be okay (!) for a customer to sit at one end of the bar.  I say "How many more minutes until we wear out our welcome?"  He's like, "One?"  But they let us stay until we're satisfied with the take.  Cheryl is hilarious with her giant bun on top of her head.  But we need to skedaddle.

5:15 p.m.  I'm running through the halls of GoPro, shouting everyone into costumes, packing up gear, jackets, snacks, water, because we're heading into the wild and I know we won't be back before dark, with all we have to shoot.  Like a power-mad Jewish mother, I yell "And everyone use the bathroom!  No facilities out there!"  This directive will come back to bite me in the ass later.

5:45 p.m.  Driving to Sorrento Valley.  Mark Petersen has suggested a road closed to cars (amusingly, we have to shoot around some anyway) which is indeed very picturesque, with local plants and salt flats.  Thank you, Mark!  It's a relatively quiet outdoor spot, and we're able to get some aerial footage of the cars as well as film our most emotional scene with the urn.  Rachel and Angel really knock this one out of the park--Benji tells me later that he teared up watching it during editing.  I'm especially excited about a hand-held camera rig that David has dreamed up--it enables us to get a really intimate, constantly moving two-shot with none of the typical hand-held shaking.  There's a reason (actually, lots) I call him my evil genius.  I tell David that next year the whole movie's getting shot with that thing!

7:00 p.m.  Damn.  I have to pee.  And it's going to get dark and I can't stop it getting dark.  And did I mention I have to pee?  BJ helpfully takes the edge off with M&Ms.  A couple of smarties have brought camp chairs, which I'm really craving right now.  My feet hurt.  My head hurts.  My throat hurts.  My bladder hurts.  And I only have one lame tissue in my purse because my handy kit of supplies is back at GoPro.  Sigh.  Luckily, the actors are really bringing it, and we only have to cut due to trains and planes and passing bikes a couple of times.  I have a lot of fun choreographing a short scene involving the opening of hatchbacks, the slinging of avocados and the closing of car doors.  Too bad it's going to have to wait for the Director's Cut to be seen.

8:00 p.m.  We need to get to the beach.  And any pessimist would say it's currently dark.  But before anything else, I need to pee.  I've got BJ in my car for moral support, and Rachel and Angel in the back running lines.  I'm so tired that I'm deeply worried when I eavesdrop on their "conversation," because they're saying all this sad stuff about grandfathers dying.  Several times I have to remind myself that it's dialogue and I WROTE IT. ;)  We race to Rachel's office because she has a key, only to discover she forgot her purse.  It would be hilarious if not for my discomfort.  Then we race to Taco Bell and I don't even mind that I have to stand in a puddle of indeterminate origin to finally get relief.  Afterward, I notice that the hems of my pants are wet, and I resolutely shove this out of my mind.  This is the 48.  Homie don't have time for namby-pamby niceties like non-urine-covered pants.

8:30 p.m.  We pull up at Torrey Pines Beach.  Thank you, Mark Perino for thinking of this location--it's perfect how the nose of the car practically extends over the water.  I am proud of myself for what comes next--I tell my sound people to go get ambient sound and command David into the back seat to get some footage of Rachel and Angel with the last wisps of sun setting over their heads and the water.  If not for my quick thinking, that shot would have been a bust.  Go, Sam!  It's Mark Perino's quick wit that makes the next part possible, and the uncomplaining diligence of Kate, Eva, Will Rodgers and Benjamin that executes.  Mark sets up the lone light he has with him (plugging it into my car!), and the kids position the reflector so we have some evening beauty light bathing our actors.  Magically, other cars peel away so nothing else is in the shot.  The waves are crashing in the darkness, a refreshing breeze is blowing my brain cobwebs away, and we are going to get this shot!  I feel like a new woman.  Kam, flight attendant to the core, adorably sets up a snack buffet in the hatchback of the Prius, and coordinates our Italian dinner with Dan the Man so it will be waiting for us back at GoPro.  I'm kind of in love with everyone right now.

9:00 p.m.  I can't really hear what the actors are saying over all the beach noise.  BJ to the rescue with comfy headphones.  I strap in and soon have a birds-ear view of the proceedings in the car.  Later, I tell Rachel and Angel that I want to thank them for their hard work, but not that much because they were warm and seated while we were being buffeted by the elements.

9:30 p.m.  A quick word about the entire team:  it warms the deepest recesses of my terrible heart that each and every Cane Toad stood out in the cold and dark for nearly two hours, happy and helpful, and never once complained we had missed dinner or how cold they were (I'm lookin' at you, Eva :)) or had anything but a smile, a cheerful word or an offer to help out.  I am truly humbled, peeps.

9:45 p.m  We've got it!  Back to GoPro to wash the sand off and get some food in our bellies.  Everyone is feeling a bit jubilant because it's way before midnight and we're done with principal photography.  In the morning, we'll need some driving and beauty shots, but maybe without even actors.  Damn!

10:00 p.m.  Eating and socializing.  BJ is back to work on music, and the boys are "ingesting" the latest media.  (I hadn't heard this term before this year.)  Tyler comes out and says he's nearly done editing the bar scenes from earlier.  That's just one reason we call him The Wizard.  He shows me there are a couple awkward close-ups that we might want to reshoot.  Well, at least we don't have to drive anywhere, and judging from today, I expect The Office will happily have us back on the morrow.

11:00 p.m.  Getting our ducks in a row for the rough cut, the music and anything that still needs to be shot.  I am feeling spectacularly bad now.  My throat feels like I swallowed a beer cozy.  Without too much guilt, I tell everyone that I'm headed home.

11:45 p.m.  Probably shouldn't have driven alone.  I am periodically smacking my cheeks to keep the road from seeming like a video game with very low stakes for not hitting other cars.  Blasting Rush's "Living in the Limelight" helps a bit.  The universal dream!

Sunday

12:15 a.m.  The kitchen lights won't turn on.  I have a brief frisson of terror, imagining I'm in a horror film where someone is outside messing with our fuse box.  Then the frisson fizzles when it hits my foggy brain.  Oh well.  As long as the Bad Guys stay outside.  I feed the irked piggies, who are standing by their bowl with expressions like "Nu?  You are feeding us dinner six hours late because...?"  I drink some water and a handful of Advil.  I wash the dirt socks off my feet.

1:00 a.m.  I get into bed with an issue of Us Weekly that seems way too complex and tell myself "I'll just rest my eyes for a moment, then get back to reading."  I wake up a while later with the lights on, clutching the magazine, and wonder why I couldn't admit to myself that I am tumbling down the rabbit hole.

7:00 a.m.  BLAAAAAM!  Okay, I'm up.  Heads pounding like a bongo player in a rhumba band.  My kingdom for a cup of coffee or three.  Phone is blank.  Facebook is blank.  Hmmm.  You don't suppose other people are tired, too?

8:00 a.m.  Heading to GoPro.  With Advil and coffee, feeling pretty pumped to make this happen.

8:20 a.m.  Meet Mike Collier in the parking lot.  No one is answering the door.  We can see some legs lying on the ground off the lobby with something blue where the head should be.  "Who is that?" I ask.  He shrugs. "Didn't want to wake him."

8:45 a.m.  First view of Benji:  sitting up on an air mattress that's wedged between two desks, looking adorably rumpled.  Benjiiiii!  Our ninja!  Now the party's started.

9:00 a.m.  Where is everybody?  We have reshoots to do.  Oh, and we can't film the Prius if the Prius isn't here!  Part of a director's job on Sunday of the 48 is texting a lot of people to demand their presence.

9:30 a.m.  Tyler shows me the rough cut so far.  Of course, it's long.  There's also a strange dearth of close-ups.  He says he doesn't have them.  Shucks.  You can't see Eva's face in the proposal scene.  But even more important, we don't have our "money shot" where the marshmallow is opened.  I start yelling that we're reshooting it.

10:00 a.m.  Okay, Rachel's here.  Angel's up.  They get into costume and we ready our gear for an Office reshoot.

10:15 a.m.  Benji is going to turn our credits into an animation map of the Death Head '14 road tour.  I love it.

10:30 a.m.  Love those Office folks.  They are happy to have us back.  This time, we're fairly quick and dirty.  I block it out, give everyone their marks, and we get it and get out.  I have to confess, I sort of love the reaction I get from the morning drinkers when they see me barking orders at everybody.  One of them says, "What are you doing later?"  I say "Making a movie."

11:00 a.m.  Kam is here, with Benjamin and Eva.  The latter two get into costume because we're doing a macro of the marshmallow (that probably doesn't get said much.)  We review the footage to check on what hands were used and how.  I scold Eva for having a green scrunchie on her wrist today.  The continuity gods must be appeased.  Then we discover we don't HAVE marshmallows anymore.  (Confess:  which one of you ate them all?!?)  Sean saves the day by racing to get a new bag.  Thank you, Sean!  That guy's a keeper.

11:30 a.m.  At the same time, we're readying a short, dialogue-free scene in the parking lot where we see our two characters and their cars for the first time.  I sketch out how I want it done, in a way that seems really precise to me.  But David points out that I haven't actually described the POV or shots.  Sigh.  Need to learn that stuff.  I am apparently baffling people with my demands, as there's a lot of blinking and staring when I give an order to move a car or a camera.  I'm kind of on the verge of a meltdown, but this year it doesn't get any further than a single whine and foot-stamp:  "Why won't anyone just DO WHAT I SAY?"  Eventually, we get it sorted out without bloodshed.

12:00 p.m.  Marshmallow has been shot.  I really want a twinkle added, but it never happens.  Ah well.  48 hours and whatnot.

12:30 p.m.  I have this vision of Rachel in slo-mo, but it's starting to seem silly.  That happens.  Sometimes people are amazed and say stuff to me like "But yesterday you said you wanted X, and today you want Y!"  And I want to respond, "Well, I wanted X at 4:30 a.m. so give me a break."  It's like I'm doing a tiny truncated shooting schedule which might otherwise be stretched out over a couple months:  changing my mind might seem quixotic, but if it's gonna happen, I can't hesitate.

1:00 p.m.  The two Marks, Sean, Angel, Eva and Benjamin are headed out for some car footage.  Mark Perino has it all blocked out, and knows where to go.  Kam asks if I need to go with them.  "Hell, no.  No actors to direct.  Let the boys go play with their cameras and cars."  Also I'm feeling kind of bad again.  Maybe it will help if I eat this chocolate donut.  Kam says "Oh, you're all bright-eyed!"  I say, "I just ate a donut.  I've got 20 good minutes starting now."

1:30 p.m.  Tyler and I have a reckoning.  The movie is 12 minutes long.  ARGH!  Why does this always happen?  But something is new this year.  I don't want to cut ANYTHING.  For one thing, all the acting is very natural, and we don't have as many short scenes to piece together.  For another, the story is revealed bit by bit, and removing stuff creates logic gaps.  Benji has been tolerant of my "death by 1,000 cuts" technique, but Tyler has been up all night grappling with the bar scene and is less so.  He's more of a surgeon, as he puts it.  And this time, we really need it.  I have to walk away because I'm upset and don't know what to do.

2:00 p.m.  We hear the limpid strains of "Zombie Bunnies" emanating from Mike's "recording studio" across the aisle, as BJ wails away to create the the stylings of "Death Head."  Tyler expresses some concern that our speed metal might be "too lovely."  But it works.  The song is hilarious, and I can't wait to hear the whole thing.  I'm getting a bit worried, though, because BJ hasn't seen the movie all the way through, and it's changing by the minute.  I tell him some scenes he's already recorded music for are out.  "Why didn't you let me know?" he asks, reasonably enough.  "Well, I would have, if I'd known before two seconds ago."  Next year, he'll understand how quickly the movie can become something else entirely.

2:30 p.m.  I ask Tyler when he wants to nail down all usable footage, as some is still trickling in from the driving shoot.  "2:00," he says, in typical Tyler style.  I get it.  Right now he has a driving shot "placeholder" where new stuff is likely to be, which is really smart--that way we don't forget about it.

3:00 p.m.  I ask Tyler what we should do.  He's been grappling with my tiny changes and it's not helping the length.  He says "Lose the pie scene."  I'm incredulous.  What?  It works.  It's funny.  I love my pie scene.  He tightens the noose.  "I've got news for you:  that's only 90 seconds.  That's not all that needs to go."  We're only down to 10 minutes.  NINETY SECONDS for a whole scene??  And one that still won't make our movie the 7 minutes it must be??  GAH.

3:30 p.m.  I watch the whole thing, and painfully note about six things that can go.  One line item is the second half of the pie scene, which nearly kills me.  He quickly removes them all.  We're at 9 minutes.  Someone shoot me now.

4:00 p.m.  Rachel watches it all with a fresh eye, and she is stumped, too.  She sighs.  It must be even harder to cut when it's YOU you're cutting.

4:15 p.m.  Mark Perino shows me his ideas for cutting.  A few we've already done, to no avail.  A couple I can tell would instantly throw the movie into "impressionistic" territory with no real story.  Damn, damn, damn...

4:30 p.m.  David sticks his head around the door and suggests we turn in the long version and just accept it won't be eligible.  Then I do freak out.  "NO WAY!  I listened to you two other years when you said this and I've always regretted it!  This is a competition!  I'M COMPETING!  We are turning this freaking thing in under time!"

4:32 p.m.  I storm out of Tyler's office and tell Kam that the pie scene is cut and ask if she'd like to break it to Cheryl.  She bursts into tears, which is what I want to do, if I had time.  When we do tell Cheryl, she's a consummate pro (no surprise) and says "That's movie-making.  Sometimes you end up on the cutting room floor."  Cheryl, you get top billing in the Director's Cut.

4:45 p.m.  I've gone into Benji's office to see if he has any ideas.  David suggests that Tyler and Benji edit competing versions, to see if there's one cut that I'll accept.  The only reason I know this, though, is because BJ comes in to mediate when he hears me screaming.  I'm not just screaming, I'm jumping up and down, because no matter he long David talks, I can't understand a damn thing he says.  At one point, David starts to *draw a diagram on the white board* to explain, and I yell "ARRRRGH!"  Later, I laugh about this with BJ.  "What was he doing?" BJ asks.  "Being an engineer," I say. It's especially worth noting that throughout my high-decibel screamage and my husband's ineffectual rebuttals taking place two feet from his nose, Benji keeps on quietly animating his map.  I'm not sure if this is a commentary on how cool he is, or how much he was praying that I didn't start screaming at him, too.   Probably both. ;)  Thanks, Benji.

5:05 p.m.  I have a brainstorm.  "What if...we cut the entire ending?  Have it end with avocados and them driving away, then do the final dialogue as a voiceover over them driving?"  There's a short pause, and then David, Benji and Mark agree they can accept the idea.  I breathe a sigh of relief.  I go in to tell Tyler.  "WHAT?" is his response.  But he doesn't argue.  He checks the time.  Two minutes.  It would save the film by cutting off its arm with a Swiss Army knife.

5:10 p.m.  We're all a-twitter how this 11th-hour solution will save us, and everyone is chiming in some kind of justification.  I think Rachel says, "Definitely.  I mean, we had an excellent film, and now it will just be okay but at least we can turn it in."  LOL, Rachel! :)  Someone comes barreling down the hall (Mark, maybe?) to say that Tyler would like to see me.  I go in and he looks at me with that wise Tyler stare and says "Just keep an open mind.  I'm at 7:05."  I sit down and everything is strangely quiet, although there are other people in the room.  I watch the entire thing.  Hey, this is good.  Tight.  The story makes sense.  Most of the funny stuff is still there.  Most importantly, I'm not initially noticing what's even gone, which seems like an excellent sign since I wrote it.  It ends.  There is a short, expectant silence.  "Well, I'm intrigued..." I say, and Rachel cracks up.  I am honest with Tyler.  "First, thank you.  This saves us, and it's good.  But I'm still really sad, and it's going to take me a while to get over it."  He's fine with that, since now he has more than a fighting chance of saving this thing.  Later, he confesses that during the smackdown, he said "Just keep them out of here for a few minutes.  I'm going to try something.  No way in hell we're cutting the ending."  And these wise words:  "Sometimes the job of an editor is to simply find out-of-the-box solutions that the director can't see yet.  Thank you for trusting me in the heat of battle."  Well said, O Sage.  In future, I will trust sooner.

5:20 p.m.  I am completely annoying.  I've titled the movie "Mustang Love" but told everyone I'm not satisfied with the title.  Then I walk by a small group brainstorming titles and every time they share one I wail "NO!  Absolutely not."  How much would I hate that? :)  Eventually, someone says they can't think of anything they like more than Mustang Love.  So Mustang Love it is.

5:25 p.m.  Some people are trickling out.  Rachel has an event and calls to reassure us that fair traffic is only bad going north.  Sucks to be them.  We're going south.

5:30 p.m.  The surgery is done.  I walk away to compose myself.  Now there's a little lull.  Mike and BJ are diligently recording and exporting music files, and Tyler is dropping them in.  Kam and Mark are assembling the credits, creating titles, doing the on-line wrap up, copying two sets of releases so we can send two teams to the finish line.  Benji's applying the final tweaks to the map animation.  I take a moment to marvel how much smoother this part is because we've been doing this so long.

6:00 p.m.  I start yelling at everyone that I want both versions blended right now.  David has been color-correcting and Tyler is finessing music.  Now I want the whole thing--titles, movie, sound, music and credits--all in one place.  NOW, dammit!  (This is always the moment when I feel the most ignorant and helpless.  All these skilled people around me and my only function is to shout at them.)

6:15 p.m.  Rendering!  Woohoo!   RENDER FAIL!  Ack.

6:30 p.m.  Render complete!  Mark grabs it and heads to his car.  I sit down with Tyler and David to watch it.  Amazingly, I don't cringe the whole time, thinking "OOOH, now that doesn't make sense" or "AAAAH, I can't hear that line" or "GAAAAH, why is he so green?"  I just enjoy it.  And kudos for BJ for having such a subtle understanding of what music would complement it all perfectly. I am pleased.

6:45 p.m.  The next render has gone "ping!" while we watched this one, so we grab it and sprint for the parking lot.  Then I realize I'm not actually holding the documents.  I try to yell, but my voice is gone and comes out sounding like a Zombie Bunny.  Back to the lobby.  David runs the documents to me and I run back to the car.  I'm pulling away when I think to ask BJ if the thumb drive is in there.  Well, by golly, it's not.  "DAAAAVVVVID!" I scream almost soundlessly, seeing his car pulling out in my rearview mirror.  I get out of the car, yelling about the thumb drive.  He opens the window and says he has it.  "I want it!  I want to put it in the envelope!"  In retrospect, we were both going to the same place, so it wasn't that rational.  But apparently, it was important enough for me to risk people's lives and property, because while David is running the thumb drive over to me, I see his car behind him...starting to leave.  At a brisk clip. DRIVERLESS.

6:47 p.m.  AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!

6:47:02 p.m.  David leaps into the moving car and manages to stop it inches before it plows into Mike's car.

6:48 p.m.   I'm shaking and freaking out.  Everyone around us is stunned into silence.  BJ says, calm as ever, "It's fine.  Let's drive now."  And we do.  I mention that I always make wrong turns, so Angel (in the back seat) is on it, gently telling me when my turns are coming up.  He also reminds me that I can use the carpool lane.  We go 80 most of the way without impediment.

7:11 p.m.  David calls and is telling BJ something for what seems like 9 minutes.  "WHAT IS HE SAYING?" I keep yelling, which is super-helpful.  Eventually, BJ hangs up and says we should turn in Mark's version, the first one.  "It took him all that time to say THAT???"

7:22 p.m.  Just as predicted by my phone, we have arrived at 7:22.  The parking lot is packed and we end up quite far from BJ's (that was one thing about the apparently-failing Randy Jones--its parking lot was never crowded) but luckily, we've got all the time in the world.  We stroll leisurely to the finish line, meeting up with David along the way.  The joint is jumpin' and we head to the patio, where we can barely even see the finish line through the crowd.  Then we spot the countdown screen. We still have a ridiculous three minutes.  WHAT?

7:30 p.m.  We take a selfie holding our documents while we count it down.  "I look demented," I say to BJ.  "No, you don't," he reassures me.  Now all that remains is to celebrate.  And we do.  14 out of 17 Cane Toads have made it to the finish line with us.  Soon we have apps on the way, and I have a Cosmo in hand, as it should be.  I'm looking around through a delicious haze, smiling at everyone, taking it all in.  All is right with the universe.  The amazing Tyler Davis gifted us with a bottle of champagne during the render, and now it's on ice and waiting to be poured into accompanying flutes.  Our three 17-year-olds have received parental permission to imbibe on this momentous occasion.  The sun goes down.  And we toast.












Friday, July 19, 2013

Set Diary: 48 Hour Film Project Turns 10

Friday

3:30:  I've had a good night's sleep, a massage and a hot shower.  Now I'm tingling with anticipation.  Jarrah is camping with the Rupperts so I have a blessed hour of silence to myself before the madness.  I stand buttering some toast when the quiet is shattered by a Harley-Davidson roaring into our driveway.  It's my brother-in-law, Ben, from Australia, whose visit has coincided with the competition.  Since he's a film vet himself from the Melbourne project, we're especially glad he's here now.  And by now, I mean for this weekend.  In the actual now, I need to rest my brain.  I send him to Starbucks.

5:00:  I'm driving Ben and Kate, a 16-year-old vet from last year's 48, to the new kick-off location, by Mission Bay.  I've been grumbling about it--Friday traffic!  Beach crowds!--but it turns out to be quite nice.  We meet up with David, Mark, and Mike C. and check in.  While we wait, David shows off aka "demonstrates" his Phantom helicopter camera rig to everyone there.  He's excited for a whole new world of aerial shots this year.

6:00:  We've been chatting with former Toads Jake and Tim and their respective teams and I've been getting messages from my co-writer, Hilary, who is coming from LA and anticipates a late arrival.  That sucks.  But now it's time to pull our genre!  Squeee!  Kate has to leave but really wants to stay just long enough to reach into the hat--youngest team member at the kick-off traditionally gets to pull.  She makes it just under the wire and we get...THRILLER/SUSPENSE!  The only genre (I mean ONLY) that Hilary and I had agreed to throw back from this year's picks.  It just seemed too hard in under seven minutes.  Now we have a decision.

6:30:  There is some hand-wringing, some phone calls, some soul-searching.  The concern is four-pronged:  Martial Arts, Sports Competition, Operetta and Zombie.  Those would be the four Wild Cards that we would hate to get.  And we could get them.  So we suck it up and keep Thriller/Suspense.  Here we go.  I think the weekend will be a Thriller/Suspense now.

7:00:  The elements are in:  Prop--Garden Hose.  Character--Mac or Margaret McCarthy, Interpreter.  Line of Dialogue:  "You know what I mean?"  And we're off.  Somehow no one is in my car anymore, so I Blu-tooth it with Hilary all the way (and I miss several turns) to Coco's.  I keep repeating to anyone who will listen the five elements of plot I want to follow:  Action, Background, Conflict, Development, and End (comprised of the Three C's:  Crisis, Climax and Consequences.)  Really, I just need to drill it into my own head.  But everyone humors me.

7:30:  At Coco's, where the smiling assemblage comprises the most agreeable Brainstorm Session we've ever had.  Tracy, Andra, Rachel, all three Voltas, David, Ben N, Ben A, Mark and me.  Hilary joins later.  Ultimately, the team will be a tidy 18 members.  But this is the dirty dozen that gets things done tonight. Without our traditional breakout sessions, we still manage to get plot, casting, location and even some tricky conflicts discussed into submission by 10:00.

9:00:  The idea is this:  David and I have just seen "Accomplice," the no-walls theater experience in Little Italy, which was definitely suspenseful.  We build on that idea, but since we have no locations on offer this year, the whole thing will be outside.  We decide to start in Mission Trails, but "start" leads to finish.  And somehow the supernatural intrudes, and now there are ghosts and other unexplained phenomena.  And we've got three college friends on a Groupon.  Initially, we'd dared a women-only cast, but somehow our dear editor, Ben A. sneaks in there.  (He's great, so I'm glad he did!)

10:30:  Hilary and I have broken with tradition by not inviting anyone back to our house for the writing.  She creates a Google Doc, and somehow we are so in synch that we can both compose into it at once from our own laptops with nary a scuffle.  In this fashion, we while away the evening, with the occasional text and Facebook update for our cast and crew.

11:00:  David and Ben N. check in from Wal-Mart.  They have just alarmed some Blue-Shirts by inquiring, "Do you have a large hunting knife?  And a mask?  Or some sort of hood?  How about a long, black cloak?"  They somehow get out of there without anyone calling the police.

Saturday

12:00:  My favorite Facebook plea this year:  "Red bandana or something similar that could be used as a gag.  Light cloths that can get dirty for people who are face down in the dirt.  Bonnets?"  It will probably not surprise you that people had all these things.

2:00:  David has to come in and straighten us out a little.  We keep stumbling over the ending.  That's pretty typical.  This is also the time in the weekend when I start despairing a little bit.  I think it's because I feel lousy with tiredness, but I also realize that, like, NOTHING is yet done.  It starts to seem overwhelming.  But we push on.

4:00:  We have nearly five pages.  I announce that we're going to bed.  Last year we didn't go to sleep until 5:30 and that was just too awful.

4:30:  For once, David is already snoozing like a baby.  And I actually follow suit, maybe because I'm not getting amped up yelling things at him.

7:00:  The alarm goes off, but I am already awake.  I shower and go out to make coffee.  All the lights are on.  When I ask Hilary about this later, she says "You asked if I wanted help with the lights.  So I assumed they must be difficult.  Then I fell asleep."  She takes a few minutes to get up but then somehow we both drift towards script polishing as David runs around us, carrying massive armloads of gear to his car.

8:00:  I update our FB page to please stand by for 30 minutes.  David is grumbling that he needs a PA.  "Why don't you ever ASK for a PA?" I inquire.  More grumbling.  We are getting a little stressed because a Polaroid camera has become a key plot point, and Hilary has one, but no film.  I put out APBs for someone to go get some, but no one bites.  Eventually, we finish up the script and Hilary goes to buy it, and David and I head for Mission Trails.

9:00:  It's already hot.  Grace, bless her heart, has brought coffee, water, danish and fruit for everyone.  How awesome is she?  Julianna and Kate have heeded my calls for "Holly Hobbie-ish" dresses, and miraculously, both have something of this ilk.  Julianna's is particularly impressive, though she warns me that she'll have to be shot from the front as it won't zip.

9:15:  I greet our three new team members this year--Dana, who's on boom mike, and husband and wife duo Mike and Mae Linh, an absolute positive, cheerleading delight from start to finish (I'll include Dana in that set, too!)  They do slate, sound, camera and absolutely anything that comes up--the rare combination of both techie and creative.  They never complain and are always smiling.  How did we get so lucky?

9:30:  I gather my actors and give them a stentorian pep talk about the importance of flexibility, fluidity and other f words.  Because they are awesome, they just nod and look really, really serious, which is what I want them to do.  David asks if we're going to have a read-through.  "Nope," I say, with not a little malicious glee.

10:30:  Trying to follow a location search party that's gone ahead, the group I'm with actually gets lost.  We have to stay in one spot and make calls until we're found.  If that's not verisimilitude, I don't know what is.

10:40:  We are HIKING to our location.  Hiking.  With coolers and bags and loads and loads of stuff.  How did this happen?  I am already sweating.  Our "college friends" (I take to calling them "the weird sisters") catch up to us in the casual hiking duds they'll have to wear all weekend for continuity.  Somehow this means sassy Daisy Dukes, fetching colorful tops and coordinating jewelry.  Yeah, I always look like that when I hike.

11:00:  We're stationed at what we come to call "the hut."  Which I suppose it is, though it has no roof.  I wonder if it used to, but then people did meth in there or had orgies and they decided it's a surveillance problem.  We end up camped here for the next nine hours plus.

12:00:  I'm feeling ahead of the game because the script is done, but the boys quickly eat up the extra time filming about 37 angles of people running.  Which is a segment we eventually cut down to about 15 seconds.  I've begun to notice that no one asks any questions about the importance of a scene at the beginning of the day, but by the end, I'm having to plead for the life of major plot developments that no one feels like shooting anymore.  It's getting hotter and the water is almost gone.  And people have to pee, which is, well, inconvenient.  Not me, though.  When I hike out to the bathroom at the end of the day, I realize I haven't gone since I woke up.  Guess I must have been busy.

1:00:  The issue that comes up early is tone.  Are we going to be funny?   Or scary?  Can we be both?  Joss Whedon tells me we can.  But it's a balancing act.  After all the running, we move into two segments where our weird sisters encounter wacky characters.  Both of them are completely hilarious--a young man in a full tuxedo who steps out of the wilderness into their path (that's our editor, Ben) and a girl perched in the doorway of a straw hut, dispensing wisdom about the spirits (that's Kate, our 16-year-old.)  We do a lot of giggling during these shots, but we are also sweating and there's nowhere to sit.  At one point, something bites my tender cleavage and a massive welt grows there.  I tell ya, we braved the elements this year.

1:30:  I can't stop giggling because Rachel looks so excited when she yells "I saw a goldfish!"  It should be "goldfinch," but she tells me "it came out wrong, and I decided to go with it!"  I almost want to leave it in, even though it makes no sense.  I'm also cracking up about the way Benji says "MURRRRRDERED."  Who knew he was such a ham?  Watching what the actors come up with during filming is one of the unadulterated joys of the weekend.  (And I should mention that one of the comments received during the traditional Go-Pro "Monday after" screening is "Where did you get these actors?" As in, "They rock!")

2:30:  Filming the noose, hanging from a picturesque tree in a grassy knoll.  Unfortunately, it's also above a stagnant creek, which is how we all get pretty bitten up.  There are some furtive murmurings about the vast patches of poison ivy and poison oak we seem to be camped around, too, though amazingly, no one falls into any.  (They do fall, however, into lots of other things.)  The noose scene looks gorgeous, with the light just so, and I'm loving the spookiness of it all.  By now everyone is burned, sweaty, bitten and and dehydrated, so we're grateful when Amazing Grace shows up with what seem to be the best sandwiches ever assembled by a human.  We take a much needed lunch break and reassess.

3:30:  Wanting to film the rest of the scenes with Ben, Julz and Kate, since by now we can see we'll have to come back in the morning, and Ben needs to be editing.  The other two, being teenagers, need to be sleeping.  We get spectacularly drained of our blood when Ben is handcuffed to a tree branch near the aforementioned stagnant creek, though he is certainly a trooper, pinned into a patch of brambles and dangling at a weird angle.  Perhaps the unsettling terror on his face (my favorite of the suspenseful scenes) is not entirely acting.  In any case, it rejuvenates me because it looks so good.

4:30:  Julianna as ghost Elizabeth Larouche comes floating over a ridge, her caramel dress blending in with the path and the light.  Gorgeous.  We have her walk backwards with the idea that playing it forwards later will look like gliding--I forget to ask if that actually happened.  She looks both hilarious and scary with her Goth eyeliner, pearls and catatonic stare, but she's none too pleased about the flies on her eyeballs.  "That's what they do," I tell everyone, "they need access to your mucous membranes."  This starts some vaguely off-color hilarity about mucous membranes, but the arrival of the flies is yet another reminder of our mortality, I mean, our proximity to last light.  We also realize that we've missed our window to hit another location today.  It will just take too long to cart out all the gear without a covered wagon.

5:30:  Once our Larouche ghost has been shot (the slate lists the title as "The Larouche Sisters" all day, and is mostly pronounced "La-ROSH" by the cast, making me crazy) my idea for filming both girls back-to-back, wrists bound in duct tape, is noisily nixed.  "What the hell?  Why would duct tape hold a ghost?"  These are the moments when everyone starts to question stuff, because they're tired and want to wrap as soon as possible.

6:30:  Finally, what we've been calling "the walk and talk," a character-building scene where our three weird sisters bond over their fears.  We're really excited to film this whole sequence in one take, but then it also becomes impossible to edit without cutaways to the aerial helicopter footage.  Lucky we have that.  The shooting is ridiculous:  I'm running backwards in a clump of six tall guys holding cameras, mikes and sound equipment, and eventually I resort to jogging while looking over my shoulder.  Sadly, most of this awesome footage is later cut.

7:00:  Oh dear lord, we are losing the light.  I want to squeeze in at least two more scenes before we are forced to wrap.  Some people have an idea that involves a three-way path and some running, which sounds cool to me so I don't really question how it might fit into the script.  We spend a lot of time arguing about it and it's clear to me that I'm not really forming coherent sentences anymore.  Hell, I'm not forming coherent THOUGHTS anymore.  I wonder if it's because I had two hours of sleep and then spent the entire day in the sun making a movie.

7:30:  We're in the clearing where the last of the sunlight can be found, setting up for what we've been calling "the gun scene."  Mark has brought us a vintage revolver.  Or four.  I've been strenuously insisting that there will be no shooting, stabbing, hanging or actual body count in this film, as we didn't pull Horror, and I think suggestion is scarier.  The model I've been using is the original Dutch The Vanishing, which made me sleep with the light on for a week.  Long ago, in what was actually the wee hours of this same day, Hilary and I found it hilarious that the girls would pretend to be Charlie's Angels when they find the gun, all fun and games.  But the tone is changing.  That said, I announce, "Okay, let's do the Charlie's Angels poses!" and about 10 people (including my husband) start yelling things like "WHAT?" "NO!" "That's been cut!" all at the same time.  And I pretty much go ballistic.  All I remember is yelling a lot.  And then a lot more.  And then some more.  And then throwing my purse.  And David saying quietly, "Don't throw your purse."  My heart is pounding out of my chest.  And this feels very, very bad.

7:45:  So what happens there?  Tiredness, as people speculate.  A life-long trigger to people ganging up on me, or even the perception of same.  A hard-to-shake load of insecurity that people are not really respecting the girl director.  And a healthy dose of childish tantrum.  Mix those up, throw in some spice, and you have the goulash of my "cow," as I name it.  I'm not proud of it.  And I'm sorry.  If you were there and you're reading this, I'M SORRY.

8:00:  People maturely go out of their way to calm me down, and we shoot the scene, and the scene is good.  It's one of my favorites.  Lots of tension, and humor, too.  But no Charlie's Angels.

8:30:  And it's undeniably dark.  We've been hearing frogs for a few hours but now they are deafening, as if they're closing in on us.  We can barely see each other.  And what do we do?  Squeeze into a tiny opening in the trees and film people backing into each other and screaming.  Branches reach out for my arms, spider webs brush my hair.  The shoot is starting to seem like the movie.

8:40:  The hard truth:  we've got shooting to do on Sunday (a first) not re-shoots.  We still have no ending.  I suggest someone find out what time dawn is.  No one sighs or complains.  The Cane Toads are freakin' amazing.  We will meet back at 5:30.

8:45:  On the way to the car, Mark tells us about seeing a mountain lion in these parts.  Awesome.  I'm glad we're all walking in a bundle.

9:00:  It's an absurd time to be off the clock during a 48 weekend.  In fact, I'm fairly certain it's NEVER happened.  But we can't fight Mother Nature.  Actors and writers get a break.  David, both Bens, Mike, Mark and some others, however, simply switch to their editing hats.  After some shuffling of gear, they all head up to Go-Pro for the night.

9:30:  I shower off my dirt socks (which takes HALF a bar of soap) and Hilary and I go for Chinese in an eerily silent and frostily cool restaurant near our house.  I expect that the shower and the warm food is going to plunge me into a coma, but not me--Hilary, however, is nearly speechless by the time we get home.  I think she's asleep before I even turn out the lights.

11:00:  And because it's not our usual pattern, I don't sleep well.  Sure, sure, for two hours I'm as-if-drugged, but then I bolt awake with a pounding heart, buzzing brain and shaking limbs.  I wake again later drenched in sweat.  I can't be sure, but I think maybe I am having cold-turkey withdrawal from adrenalin, which normally doesn't happen until after the weekend.  My body gets confused.

Sunday

4:30:  The alarm goes off.  And amazingly, I'm excited to be up and back to work.  I dress and make coffee, letting Hilary know we'll leave in 15.  She stares at me like she's not sure who I am or why she's in my house.

4:45:  Checking in with headquarters.  David has texted at 1:30, reporting that the rough cut is currently 10 minutes.  Urgh.  That's not good, since we haven't even shot the ending.  He has sent a link but I don't have time to watch.  And, if I'm honest, it depresses me.

5:30:  A beautiful, dusky dawn at Mission Trails, where the rest of the team waits in varying states of perkiness.  Mark, tireless champ that he is, has already been there a while, scouting locations.  We are headed for the Grinding Rocks.  What's that you say?  More hiking?  Oh, bien sur.  Can't wait, old chap.

6:00:  Setting up camp.  The sometime-glimmering-and-babbling brook is a fetid, green pool.  Guess the cast will not be dipping their toes.  Need to film some "lost in the woods" footage that I think is later cut.  Also need to shoot Polaroids of our actresses as corpses.  Hilary says she's "recently taken a class on 'Representations of the Dead.'"  Um, what?

6:30:  When it's time to shoot, our entire crew comes together and Hilary and I admit we have a bunch of ideas about the ending.  So we decide to storyboard the necessary shots as a group.  This is amazingly helpful, and ultimately--under the incisive and flexible direction of Mike and Mae Linh--is achieved in a very short time.  A shout-out, too, to Tracy, Andra and Rachel, who totally bring it every time I call "Action!" even though it's their second day of shooting in 48 hours.  Total stars!

7:30:  Some hilarity ensues over a day-old Polaroid of...grass.  It's artfully shot, a blazing green tuft in a dark background.  But I'm not having it.  "What the hell is that?" I yell.  "It looks like a sonogram!"  This leads to an imagined scenario in which an anonymous audience member calls out "George!  I've solved the mystery!  She's PREGNANT!"  Only in a New York accent.  Yeah, we take another one.  This one is decidedly not artful.   Beige.  Grey.  Leaves.  Done.  We need to hurry up.  Families, babies, dogs and bikes have started to stream through our camp.  Who knew there were so many crazy people who hike on Sundays at dawn?

8:30:  We are trying to achieve something that Mike F. tells me is called a "whip pan."  Whatever it is, I kind of want to douse it in raspberry coulis and then lick the plate.  Instead, we have to get a 6-inch hunting knife to look like it's been thrown, accurately, into a tree.  We are not going to do that.  We are not trained circus performers.  So, instead, a series of shots.  And the very last one...

9:00:  ...is the knife already in the tree, and someone needs to "thwang" it and then dive out of the shot.  It's getting hotter and the sun is rising over the mountain, flooding the scene with inappropriate (for the timeline) light.  We need more thwang!  Mark gives it a go.  Then Hilary steps in.  We do it a couple times, and the last one is the keeper, but oops!  The knife dislodges from the tree and falls to the leaves below.  Only...Hilary is down there.  "Hilary, are you okay?" Tracy calls, as Hilary rises from her recumbent pose, palm gently cupping her neck.  I turn around to see red liquid oozing between her fingers.  And then I scream.  I scream and scream and scream.  Others join me.  This is not good.  I mean, it would be a good movie.  But it's not a good...REAL.

9:01:  Triage.  People are running for First-Aid, towels, I get a Coke (what to do, what to do!) and make her drink it.  The blood is not spurting.  Thank heaven the blood is not spurting.  She is white as a sheet.  Someone convinces her to sit down.  Tracy jumps into action (she's like a mini blond superhero; I've always said so) saying Hilary needs to get to a hospital.  Tracy and Andra will take her.  Only we've hiked in.  Mark needs to run for a car.

9:30:  The rest of us start packing up with the alacrity of the Jews after the slaying of the first born.  Gear and photos and ripped envelopes get stuffed into any available bag.  I make a mistake.  A big one.  I text David, "Hilary just got stabbed in the neck with the knife.  Going to hospital."  Soon I will find out that I almost gave my husband a heart attack.  "THIS DOES NOT BELONG IN A TEXT."  True dat.

9:31:  Tracy and Andra help Hilary up the rocks to the car.  She is conscious, walking and the bleeding seems to have stopped.  I start to calm down.  I call David and while he is very upset, he can breathe now.

10:00:  Rachel and I get a ride back to our cars, stunned.  We part so she can go shower and I'm a little surprised when she says she'll be at Go-Pro later and will bring snacks.  Most of the actors beg off the Sunday sessions, something about being "tired."  Like, whatever.  I drop off an armload of props (including a bloody hunting knife--eek!) and hit the road for Cardiff.  About half-way there, I glance at my phone and see a text from Hilary: "I'm in the ambulance..." and I almost faint.  I push on, heart-pounding, glad that she's conscious but very worried now.

10:30:  At Go-Pro.  David greets me at the door, cheery.  Mark, Mike, and other Mike should be arriving with the data momentarily.  But my first thought is Hilary.  As I'm bringing David up to speed, I receive more texts from her:  she's headed for a Trauma Center.  They need to run tests.  Then Andra calls.  Tracy, too.  They were in the waiting room when Hilary was put in the ambulance and no one told them.  Now they're speeding across town to bring her her purse.  We need to find her parents.

11:00:  I've been texting with Hilary.  She's required to have a Cat Scan and several other procedures (which will ultimately take five hours) but she feels fine.  I'm beyond relieved, but figure she probably hates us like poison now and will flee back to LA at her earliest opportunity, telling everyone that the Cane Toads make a practice of murdering their writers at the end of shoots.  Which is why it's such a relief and a surprise when she texts later that she wants to come edit.

12:00:  Ben is looking surprisingly fresh, ensconced in Gabriel's office, adding our latest footage.  I take a call from Marie about the music, one of my favorite moments of the weekend because she always gets me, even though I feel impossibly vague.  Currently, we have some breathing and some zing-y sounds that I'm finding too...campy?  Typical?  In any case, the ghostly piano she composes is perfect.  I am eager to dig into our unwieldy edit, especially now that I've learned it's 14 minutes.  ACK!

1:00:  Everyone who joins us on Sunday is incredibly helpful.  Mike C. works on sound, and he and Kate mastermind a kick-ass credits page.  Kate and Mae Linh have the saucy idea to put all the production crew in our own corpse-pose Polaroids, so periodically during the afternoon we are all asked "Are you ready to be dead for me now?"  Mike F. is zooming through whatever rough patches I point out, and David is color-correcting.  Mark is dashing around, interfacing with all the factions.  He also has some really insightful suggestions for what to cut.  So, things get done.

2:00:  Ben and I have a massive task ahead of us--getting the rough cut down to under seven minutes.  That one detail, all other fixes aside, will make the difference between an eligible and a disqualified film.  So we have to put all other concerns aside until that's handled, and it's slow-going.

2:30:  Rachel is here now, and has mercifully brought me a burger and a latte.  I think these two details are why I don't get my traditional Sunday editing migraine.  And then, like a returning war hero, Hilary arrives, sporting a giant bandage on her neck.  What's incredible is her sense of humor:  not only does she wave away the attention and plunge right into fixing our film, she is the first to suggest that her "corpse photo" include a knife.  Wow.

3:00:  Ben is a wizard.  Or, as he puts it, a ninja.  Really, it fits.  For the rest of the day, every time he finesses a perfect, smooth cut in under five seconds, I shake my head and repeat:  "Benji:  You're a ninja.  An unstoppable ninja."  Because of his hyper-speed, we get a lot more done than I imagined we could.  Oh, and the 14 minutes?  Cut down to 11 in the time it takes me to leave the room and find a warm soda.  Because some footage was accidentally "stored" in the edit.  That was a high.

4:00:  I am getting worried about music.  Marie is working masterfully from home to provide us with the perfect sonic interludes.  Problem is, we're not ready to deal with music, as there are too many other fires to put out.

5:00:  There's something incredibly freeing about cutting your own dialogue.  I mean, it must be sort of hard for the actors, to see their precious lines lost.  And it takes me a really long time to let go and let it happen.  But once I've decided to kill my babies, I squash them underfoot with abandon.  Second by second, we are inching towards the required length.

6:00:  Now we're ready for music.  But I'm hunched over Benji's shoulder, shouting stuff like "Remove her butt!  We don't need that there!" and "We need one more frame of her face from that side!"  I shout to Mark to have Marie start inserting appropriate music in the current cut, but there is some break in the chain and she doesn't get his message until. it's. too. late for me to deal with it.  Sigh.

6:30:  Luckily, the music is perfect.  Now, there are about eight of us in Ben's office, shouting "Drop Jazzy Ghost behind Elizabeth's scene!  Right...there!  Good!  Now move Ghost Song to Margaret's scene.  No, no, no, not Scary Ghost.  Ghost Song.  Scary Ghost needs to be in the gun scene.  Is there anything over the walk-and-talk?  Not that.  Not that!  GOOD GOD, NOT THAT!  AHHHHH!  Ooooh, THAT.  Perfect!  Oh, I can't stand it--it's too good!!!"  How Ben does all this in about 18 minutes without imploding from the symphony of shouting behind him, I have no idea, but I want to hug him for it.

6:40:  I'm almost crying.  Hell, I am crying.  Mark is leaving with our first edit, aka "the crappy one" that has no music.  While this is actually the first movie we've done that I think is still decent without music, I want my music!  It must happen.  Ben is getting it done as fast as he can.

6:45:  There is a scuffle because David and Mike C. want to review the sound, and I don't understand why they have to do it while we're doing the music.  Someone explains that everything must be done in one place as of now.  It's making me so mad I can feel my fingers and toes buzzing.  It's not rational.  It's just that I.  NEED.  EVERY.  PRECIOUS.  MINUTE.   For me.  MINE. 

6:50:  There's a skirmish because the title card and Cane Toad logo have never made it onto the edit and now we can't find them.  People are literally running around, searching computer desktops for these missing elements.  It is also revealed that some of the Polaroid corpses never made it into the credits before they were uploaded.  I am wringing my hands, moaning and running back and forth, back and forth, outside the editing room.  I can't stand the pressure anymore.  Ben and Mike F. and Mae Linh are looking at me sympathetically.  Rachel is rubbing my back and reminding me to breathe.  Ben A., bless his heart, is still valiantly searching for our title card.

6:55:  Rendering.  Title card, logo, credits and the rest of the music transitions be damned.  David wants to check things, but we checked things the two years we were late, too.  I will NOT be late.  I will have an imperfect edit but I WILL NOT BE LATE.  I'm shouting and jumping around and people are starting to look at me like I should not be driving.  But although I can't articulate it at the time, I know that driving is the only thing that will calm me down.

7:00:  "I'm coming with you!" Hilary shouts, and I try to dissuade her--how will she get back to North County?  Like Victor Velasco, she says she'll meet that problem in New Jersey.  Or something like that.  Kate says she's coming, too.  Her dad shoots me an alarmed stare that seems to say, "Are you fit to drive or do you plan on killing my daughter?"  Secretly, I'm feeling relieved and happy that I'll have my girlies with me in the car.  Because last year I was so tired and scared that I missed several exits.  

7:02:  "IS IT RENDERRRREDDDD?  Because we are going to be late.  We are GOING TO BE LATE!"  Tim runs by and says "You can go with me if you go right now!"  David laughs because Tim is a race car driver.  But I can't go because the damn thing is still rendering.

7:05:  "I'll be in the car!"  I run to the car, talking to myself.  "Do NOT hit other cars pulling out.  Do not hit anything!"  We are already late, already late, already late...I back up to the door and keep the car running.  Then I see Hilary sprinting toward me with the thumb drive.  Kate follows seconds later.  They leap in.  "Drive.  DRIVE!" Hilary yells.  "Just do it...NOW!"  And I drive.

7:06:  And I make a wrong turn.  "I'm going to have to turn around!"  Someone gently suggests I can just meet up with the other road.  I do.  And now I'm on the freeway.  And there's no traffic.

7:15:  Driving.  I veer onto the Local Bypass and Hilary freaks out, but I know what I'm doing.  I feel strangely calm now because they are in the car.  And I know they will run like the wind.

7:26:  Pulling into the Hazard Center driveway.  When was that Mexican restaurant razed to the ground? Can't think about that now.  I bounce over a bunch of speed bumps.  "I'm going to run with you.  I'll park and we'll all run!"

7:28:  We're sprinting like mad to the door.  And we're in line!  Before the countdown!  Duane ushers us to the check-in desk.  We've done it!  WAAAAH!

7:31:  I'm not even tired.  Normally, the adrenaline oozes out of me and I get all noodly, but I feel fine, if very thirsty.  Mark heads to the bar to get me a Cosmo.  Ahhh.  We get a big table and soon we have me, Hilary, Kate, Mike C, Mike F, David, Ben and Mark gathered around, drinking and ordering dinner.  Other teams stop by to chat and offer their congratulations.  And I accept them greedily.  We made it!  Now to wait for the premiere!













Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Tiny White Daisies On The Lawn

Passover has just begun, and the first matzah breakfast consumed.  We like it with butter and apricot jam.  It's actually good for the first couple of days.  Then later you want to throw it at the wall.

Feeling a little of that "it's newly Spring and I don't have rehearsal" ennui.  On the other hand, it's been nice being home in the evenings, actually cooking a leisurely dinner and continuing with my project to read every Judy Blume book to Jarrah.  She's so funny and perceptive--she's already told me that Margaret and Sheila are similar because "they both lie because they're worried about what people think of them."  It makes me see that all the Judy Blume books basically pivot on this idea.  Which I guess is what makes them relatable to so many kids, even now.  It's funny because I don't find them relatable anymore, which I guess is the whole point of growing up.  I keep thinking, what are these kids so afraid of?  Tell the truth!  Own up to your fears!  Get over yourself!  I suppose I wouldn't have appreciated that when I was 12.

The last few shows were satisfying.  I feel like it took me a week to recover (Daylight Savings didn't help) but I had a lot of fun with it.  I spent a lot more time on this show with young people (like, really young--one of my show BFFs was 14) so I was often the cool kid with a car.  I mean, it's a 12-year-old car with a big dent in the driver-side door, but hey.  It drives.  I feel grateful that my director sort of gave me free reign to create Ms. Teavee, since she has only about five lines in the entire act that she's on stage (and most of them akin to "What's that?") but by the end of the run I had all the Oompa-Loompas running around saying "I am soooo Instagramming this!  Hashtag adorbz!"  That was really fun.  And at the cast party, when we played "Switch" and the kids portrayed the adult characters in a parody scene, seeing Violet Beauregarde mock me was simultaneously thrilling and mortifying.

Now I need to find a new project and have been scouring auditions to that purpose.  There were a few I might have turned up for, but the runs coincide with my imminent trip to the East Coast for my Smith College reunion--I'm really excited about that.  In a strange yet wondrous development, the entertainment committee for our formal Saturday night dinner has asked me to perform for the class that evening.  When I followed up and asked what they'd like me to perform, this gal said "What do you do?"  That's a bit daunting, but I think I've settled on some stand-up comedy.  Still daunting, but less so than singing during the cocktail hour and possibly wearing out my welcome for life.

I also had a pleasing development on the last day of the show, which began with an awards breakfast for the theater company I've been working with.  I was recognized for both my contributions to "Pippin" and my influence as a youth mentor, and the whole experience brought tears to my eyes.  I was very moved to have people notice me.  After the breakfast, my "Pippin" director asked if I might consider being his dramaturg on an upcoming directorial project of his, a very contemporary, talky drama that is set in 1919 New York.  Of course, this is precisely the place and period I studied for my dissertation, so it seemed like a really fun challenge--not to mention the opportunity to work with him in a new capacity.  The cast is only five people and there isn't a part suitable for me, but this way I can put my research skills to use; they're getting rusty.  That show starts up in September, so I have lots of time to prepare.





Monday, March 11, 2013

Pure Imagination

Morning after the first weekend of "Willy Wonka the Musical."  I am typically zoned out.  Not helping is the fact that we've just "sprung forward" (which sounds even worse in the past tense.)  Jarrah kept moaning, "I'm so confused..." this morning when we woke her up in the dark.  "We are, too, sweetie."  "They should give a week off from school after the time change."  "I've been saying that all my life."

Looks to be a beautiful day, though.  It will be weird not to go to rehearsal.  The show went really well this weekend and I had my personal best on my solo number Saturday night--David and Jarrah were even there to see it.  By which I mean I got through the singing, the tango, the patter AND "the business" (which includes waving a tiny French flag around) without getting out of breath.  That part was the true triumph.  All the other times I've been secretly praying, "Please let me get to the end of this song without passing out."  Truth.

Everyone has been awesomely nice and we're having a lot of fun, but it's been an overwhelming week. For one thing, there are a lot more kids around on this show.  Sure, there were kids in "Bye Bye Birdie," but they kept the poor things sequestered in a tent outside the dressing room--here we're all together, and sometimes the noise level is pretty amazing.  The other thing is that until opening night, we weren't even sure we'd have a show--we were that behind in tech.  This show has a lot of complicated sets, sound and light cues, as well as video clips that have to be perfectly timed, of course.  None of that happened even at our Thursday night Tech Dress, which was performed for an audience of charter school students and their families.  Let's just say I was reassuring myself that at least they weren't paying.

By Friday, we miraculously had a show with all the bits in place, and except for a glitch here and there, that was true all weekend.  Even as I'm congratulating myself on a successful opening, I'm beginning that melancholy process of letting it all go, as we have one more weekend and then it becomes part of community theater history.  I don't have any other projects lined up, or auditions I'm looking forward to.  The next two shows with this group are for kids only.  Two other productions that interested me have show dates when I'll be away in May for my college reunion.  So I'll just have to keep my ear to the ground.

I'm sure it will be nice, for a couple weeks, not to race out after dinner into the chilly evening for rehearsals, but I know I'll get antsy soon.  What will be next?  Who knows?

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Men Don't Make Passes

Tomorrow I pick up my new glasses.

They've promised to show me how to clean them, store them--even how to put them on and take them off.  What my friend Robyn calls "the care and feeding" of my new eyewear.

Which is a good thing, because the fact that I need glasses feels about as natural as if I'd suddenly grown a p*nis.  

It's like the doctor smiled and said "Well, whaddaya know?  You've got late adult onset p*nis!  It's kinda rare, I won't lie.  But completely normal, I assure you.  We'll get you set up with a prescription for some new underpants and you'll be right as rain.  'Course, it will take a little getting used to.  But your p*nis is not very big, so it won't be a huge change.  You may only notice your p*nis when you're driving at night, or in a movie theater.  But feel free to use it whenever you want."

Absurd, right?  But I have lived my entire life with 20/20.  I've been quizzing everyone I know about that profound moment when they discovered they needed their first glasses, and most of them have rubbed their chins thoughtfully and said something like "Well, I was in seventh grade.  I think.  I don't really remember.  Actually, I don't really remember a time when I didn't have glasses."  The majority of people I've questioned who appear to be spectacle-free cheerfully admit, "Oh, I have contacts." or "I got Lasik 10 years ago."  

Like it's no big deal.  

Readers, I'm here to tell you, it's a big deal for me.  I've told you that my eyes started bothering me over the holidays, like they had boulders in them.  (They still do, but apparently that's a separate issue:  Dry Eye Syndrome.  I'll refrain from exercising the p*nis analogy here.)  I have read many an eye chart in my day, and I could pretty much skip to "Made in China from Synthetic Materials" in 8-point font in the lower right corner.  My eyes were DOPE.  They looked good, and they worked good.  End of story.  

Except this time, I couldn't see the eye chart.  Like, at ALL.  Blink, blink, blink.  And then a lot more blinking, to clear the tears.  I couldn't even see the TOP LINE.  It was better through the little paddle with the tiny holes, a lot better.  But that was small comfort.  I had FAILED the eye chart.  Nothing would ever be the same.  (Yeah, yeah, I know what some of you are thinking:  suddenly growing a p*nis would be more prize than punishment.  Try not to analyze things so much.)

I thought maybe if I faithfully used my eye drops 10 times a day like the doctor said, the bad eyesight would GO AWAY.  I went in for a full eye exam, where I looked at a hot air balloon, got some stinging drops, and then everything went totally blurry.  I was grateful to have my friend Grace in the room when that happened.  She looked after me.  Why do they say you can drive afterwards?  I couldn't even WALK.  I clutched her arm on the way to the car and then I couldn't even see my phone until 5:30 that evening.  Hours after the fact, I put in some Visine and gallons of thick, yellow tears ran down my face.  Is that even normal? 

My retinas are fine.  "Really?"  I said.  "I don't have blepharitis?"  "No."  "Keratitis?"  "No."  "Shingles on my corneas?"  "What the @#$%&* is that?"  Perhaps someone has been abusing the internet.  She moved the little windows around, stood up resolutely and said "You're at 20/20!" before breezing out of the room.

20/20 with GLASSES, that is.  20/50 without.  I whispered to Grace, "Is that the freakiest number anyone's ever had?"  "Mine is like 300," she whispered back.  Oh.  And my close-up vision is fine.  Which is kind of weird for my age.  Then again, I've always been weird, at every age.  

Following a highly scientific FB poll, I brought David and Jarrah and my internet-parsed prescription to a fancy-pants glasses store recommended by my friend Martha.  In response to their polite query about my preferences, I announced, "I want something fancy."  The gal didn't hesitate before producing a blue pair with floral filigree and tiny blue diamonds around the edges.  I was in love.  David said they looked like they were upside-down, but I wouldn't hear it.  I also peeked at the price and noticed they were about a million dollars.  Clearly, I was going to need a nicer purse to carry them in.

Because I started with the diamonds, it was hard to backtrack to anything "geek-chic" or (horrors) utilitarian and practical, but have no fear--I tried on frames for over an hour.  I learned that I am nose pad-intolerant.  I also learned that I like round, but round doesn't like me.  And that anything too dark makes it look like my entire head has disappeared.  Jarrah went from mildly interested to actively protesting, and David's input was limited.  (He later said, "I didn't need to say, 'Um, NO' because they all looked good on you."  Awww.)  The owner of the shop quietly yanked away any pair I had misgivings about, until only one remained.  

My glasses are French, by a company called Lafont.  They are multi-colored, and have sort of...lightning bolts on the sides?  They are not boring.  They are not practical.  They are not really the glasses of a girl who plans to wear them only driving and at the movies.  But some part of me has been seeing this as a coming-out party for my eyes.  They have busted the chrysalis of their past life and now they need a big-ass party.  

Outside, I was seized with buyer's remorse.  Not because I don't like them.  "What if the reason I want really cool glasses is because I don't think I'm cute anymore, and I'm trying to hide?  Or because I'm trying to compensate for not actually being cool myself??"  David calmed me down in his usual fashion.  "You're over-thinking this.  You're cute and you'll have cute glasses." and then the really devastating truth:  "Besides, it's not like this is the only pair of glasses you'll ever have."

Oh.  Right.  And that's the part I just can't get my mind around, Readers.  The permanence of this condition.  Even worse, the certainty of more unfamiliar eyes to come.  And the wave of strangeness when I borrow the specs of someone else with "distance myopia" in a sports bar and discover--with an internal soundtrack like a brick dropping on a piano--that the TV across the room has words on it.  Like I suddenly have someone else's eyes in place of my own razor-sharp peepers.  Feels about as comfortable as getting a totally new body part.  Of any kind.  

Through all this unfamiliarity, this unrootedness, there's only one thing I know for sure:  the new glasses are rad.  And I plan to rock them, even if it feels weird at first.  Hey, I'm an actor.  I'll just pretend I'm playing the part of "Girl With Glasses #5."  With any luck, it will eventually feel like the role I was born to play.  



In With The New

Been a busy couple of weeks around here, launching into the New Year.  After a quick jaunt to Palm Springs to ring in 2013, we've been off and running.  I participated in the fabulous 24 Hour Theatre Experiment (more on that later) and auditioned for Willa Wonka the Musical, and we hosted a laser tag birthday party for Jarrah that was much smaller than her previous parties but perhaps more fun because of that.

Aside from my small directing gig in October, I haven't appeared on stage since August and was feeling a little rusty.  Of course, I had two really depressing auditions in the fall, so I was also feeling a bit skittish.  I worked hard on my audition song ("This Can't Be Love," a Diana Krall version) with my voice coach, less because of the challenging nature of the song and more because I still do not give good audition.  I let nerves overcome me and get really breathless and shrieky.  This time, I was determined to stay cool and calm.

My appointment was for 8:30 on the first Monday back to school, so it was tough to feel bright-eyed at that hour, but I'm happy to say I did just fine.  I'm sure if I heard it played back for me I'd be all over critiquing myself, but my memory tells me it was not humiliating.  Late that night, I learned I had a callback for the next day.

That night was pretty challenging, with two songs to learn, solo and choral performances, learning and performing a combination (the fabulous Miss Candace choreographing this time) and reading sides with every possible combination of small child in the fully-packed room.  I had been hoping for Mrs. Gloop because I love the song she does with Augustus, "I Eat More."  I could read the shifting sands pretty quickly, though, that someone else was likely to get that part.  I left there feeling I'd done a good job but not really sure how it would turn out.  They said we'd hear by Thursday (this was Tuesday) but a FB tip-off the next morning suggested it might be sooner.  Sure enough, I got a voice mail around 1:00 from the producer, offering me the part of Ms. Teavee.  Wow!  Although I'd put her down on my audition form, I didn't really know much about the part and had mixed feelings, even while I was super-excited and grateful to have a role with a name.

After the read-through on Saturday, I learned that my character has a solo song, with her son, Mike, and it's a fun one.  That is exciting and a little scary.  She doesn't have the best lines, but she is on stage for most of Act 2.  Basically, I'm trying to just remain open to the process, which is totally strange for me.  I only have two close buddies in the cast from former shows (Ryan and Ariel, from Bye Bye Birdie and Pippin) but I'm sure I'll get to know the other adults.  I'm already well on my way to becoming fast friends with my son, who is 12 and delightful and not exactly shy, calling me "mom" and hugging me each time he sees me.  Last night he directed me to perform a Charleston with him while we were waiting to rehearse our song--the first small number on the list!  The entire company also learned "The Golden Age of Chocolate" together and that was a blast.  I think that first night we break out the librettos and Kirk gives us our parts is my favorite.  It's such a creative time.

After everyone else left, Mike and I learned the song "I See It All On TV."  I had only heard it once, and Kirk asked us to jump in and sight-sing immediately, which is a huge challenge for me.  I struggled with the low key (having only sung soprano in Pippin, even though ironically my whole previous life I described myself as a second alto) and then the parts where we have to join together.  The hardest part was the harmony in the finale, which I blew again and again until I was red-faced and sweating.  Our dear director was sitting quietly in the back and I was ready to faint, thinking at any moment he might stand up and announce that he needed to re-cast because of my incompetence.  I have to hold the world "ALL" for a long time and it was sounding like bloody hell until Kirk suggested I pronounce it "HALL."  The audience can't hear the "h" but it helps the sound.  Genius--he was right, of course.  I'm happy to say that our final run-through of the night has glimmers of sounding like an actual song, so I'm hopeful it will continue to get better.

So, for a while I am back at rehearsals up to five times a week, which is great but challenging, too, with our evening schedules.  I haven't been sleeping well since David has been sick and snoring to beat the band, but hopefully that will pass.  In other news, Jarrah will be getting her braces in the next couple of weeks, and that will be like an after-school sport, since we'll be driving out to OB at least once a week for a few months for adjustments.

I'm also picking up my new, fancy glasses tomorrow, and I'm excited and nervous.  A post on that process will be forthcoming, too.  Happy New Year, Readers!

Saturday, December 29, 2012

The View From Here

Jarrah is EIGHT!

Yesterday we celebrated in the traditional way with a day devoted to the whims of the birthday girl, shared with Joy and family, and this time happily joined by David, who has a full, glorious week off, courtesy of Go-Pro.

Things went a little differently than planned.  There was the requisite visit to Build-A-Bear, which typified our child's personality when she chose the very first, hideous hot-pink cat she laid eyes on and was done looking after that (I joked that I hope she doesn't end up choosing her romantic partners in this capricious and impulsive way:  "Right:  you by the door.  You'll do.") and with a surprisingly small amount of fuss she was persuaded to change her McDonald's plans to Stacked! instead, much to the relief of everyone else who didn't want to eat at McDonald's.  We had a fun lunch at Stacked! even though it takes about 30 minutes for everyone to get their order into the iPad, but we weren't in a rush.

After that, Jarrah headed up to Encinitas with Mary and Paul for some Barbie Dream House quality time, while David and I headed back to our place to gather snow clothes for another annual tradition--sledding and s'mores at Quail Gardens's Holiday of Lights.

Then, once we arrived and she opened the fabulous Spy Kit from Joy, she didn't want to go to the snow anymore, and I just had to roll with that.  I say "I" because no one else really cared, but it did mean David and I had done a whole lot of shlepping basically for nothing, since we ended the night with the traditional pie at Coco's--and we could have had Coco's right by our house.  Ah well.  We all had good company and fun, and Jarrah was happy.

On a more somber note, I missed the traditional homemade Swedish pancakes at our place and most of the Build-a-Bear festivities, as I had an impromptu trip to the opthamologist--my second in three days.  I started feeling like I had a boulder in my right eye about a week ago, followed by a dry, gravelly feeling and an extreme amount of blurriness.  Because I was worried about the boulder, I took a chance and called the same office I went to in 2009 when I had the opthalmic migraine.  That day was traumatic, but ended happily because the migraine went away and I still had my 20/20 vision, which made me not a little bit smug.

This trip was not so triumphant.  It was awesome that not only did they remember me, but allowed me to come in instantly (I mean, like, the minute I called) to check for the boulder, and you'd think I'd have some closure.  Instead, the (very nice) doctor did a quick exam, peeled my lid back with a hook (OW!) to check for rocks, and said whatever it was, it wasn't serious.  She prescribed a full exam on January 10 and said I have Dry Eye Syndrome.  Why do I have this?  Because, apparently, I'm old.  It's more common than anyone thinks, she said.  I have to put artificial tears in my eyes six times a day.

But here's what made me cry.  I couldn't read the eye chart.  Normally, I can read it lightening fast and even see the "Made in USA" at the wee bottom.  This time, I couldn't even read the top line; it was too blurry.  I cried.  What had happened???

So apparently some of the blurriness is due to the dry eye.  But I'm gonna need glasses anyway.  I don't know why this is so hard to accept.  I think people who lost their "perfect" vision early on didn't have as long as I have to get attached to it.  And now I miss it mightily, despite the slight consolation of getting to pick out super-cute glasses.

So off I went with my drops, and the boulder feeling did not go away.  Plus I kept waking up during the night feeling like my right eye ACHED, and it feels incredibly light sensitive, like there's a stripe of white in the middle of it.  It freaked me out enough that when they said they were closing for five days after noon on Friday and could I come right back in, I ran, even though it meant missing some precious birthday moments.

She checked everything again.  Didn't see anything.  Did a fun test where she GLUED little pieces of paper to my eyeballs and told me to RELAX for five minutes with those on, to measure my tears.  I am supposed to have a 15 something-or-other in each eye, and I have a 9 and a 12.  My options are:  continue with the drops, do some other expensive drops for five months that might hurt and might not work, or get some artificial tear ducts surgically implanted in my eyes.  Guess which I chose?

Still no news on the weird stripe in my right eye.  She says she doesn't see it, but I haven't had the full exam.  So I'm still pretty worried about that.  When your eyes are bothering you, it's hard to think about anything else--ever noticed that?