The glamorous movie business

I have a 6:00 am flight tomorrow morning that leaves out of Newark. How long does it take to get to Newark from my house? 45 Minutes. That means I have to leave at 4 am.

Which means I should have gone to bed about twenty minutes ago.

Before I go to bed though, I have to clean my apartment and pack. I need to make sure the cats have plenty of food and water for two days. My neighbor is checking in on them tomorrow night.

Before I can do that, I need to get home and stare into space for a minute.

Before that I need to take a taxi home from the Upper West Side.

Before that? Schlepping camera equipment from the street up to the D.P.'s apartment.

Before that a subway ride up the red line from TriBeCa.

Before that switching out the front page of 120 packets of sides. Right now all I can do is wait. They haven't even called in the martini yet. I've been here since 8. am. I feel bad for Jeff. He's been here since 6:30. My POC is a saint for being so calm. Still, somehow I love it. It sucks sometimes, but a lot of jobs suck all the time. I think either I'm a little slap-happy, or I'm about to reach nirvana.

A love story

On my way to the flower district to buy orchids today I felt so lucky and pleased with myself. When I pictured living in New York, I never saw cubicles or giant walls of files in my future, I saw taxis and sunlit sidewalks and people people people everywhere! In the production office I feel like I get the best of both worlds, and when the APOC (who is a really funny and awesome fellow to work with) asks who wants to do a run, I perk up and offer. I love getting out in the fresh air and drinking in the essence of New York.

New York, like no other place I have been, is a tactile city, and this is not easily avoided, although some may try. On an NPR spot one morning about Bloomberg's congestion pricing (that should absolutely be implemented), some woman actually said she didn't want to use public transportation (some of the best in the world!) because she didn't want to smell other people. Jesus Christ, lady, move to Kansas! This is New York City, home of 8 million people. Fresh air is a relative term here, like 'spacious apartment' or 'low prices.' I have no patience when people complain about things that make New York quintessentially itself--I worked hard to get here, and I leave my apartment every day overjoyed that I get to take the subway to work, and I get to see all the weird people, and I get to ignore solicitors. I drink up every moment like I'm Daniel Plainview and I love it. I LOVE it!

For better or worse, when I'm sick or healthy, down with the blues or on top of the world, I love New York through and through. And New York loves me back... I know because every day I see her she graces me with awe-inspiring beauty beneath the grit and dust. She shares her inside jokes with me. She teaches me lessons that are difficult, but necessary. She gives me constant tactile reminders that life really is what you make of it, and that, for a girl who's been through some pretty rough things, I have made a pretty good life for myself.

I'm gonna miss you, Nonprofit.

Here's to you, Women's Rights Nonprofit.

I'm gonna miss Guzzle, with his positive outlook and the encouraging rhetoric. Please be part of the Brunch Club with me and Jennifer B!

I'm gonna miss you, 2.0, although I know this is not the last I'll see of you and the Mrs. We should start a damn Brunch Club!

I'm gonna miss Ivy, with your feminine sensibility and charm. Don't worry, your bangs look great.

I'm going to miss Cav, who agrees with me about taking names and what it means to live outside the Mystique.

I'm gonna miss ODG, who gets it about the Great Outdoors. And who runs the best DAG this side of the Mississippi. Enjoy the sheep... Technically I left them to you.

I'm gonna miss ME, who showed me that it's possible to play the exec game like a woman..., and I know this was a shitty time to leave you, and I wish I could have had another week.

I'm gonna miss D...in spite of his creepy weird Asian thing. At least he's honest.

I'm gonna miss Ortega, even though her family obligations prevented us from hanging out after hours.

I'm gonna miss Jeffé, and I think he'll miss me too.

Most of all though I'm gonna miss AIG, the Adorable IT Guy, who was the first person to remind me about my womanhood, who challenges my intellect, who surprises me with his gentleness, who cares about me in a weird, roundabout way, who has fantastic taste in music and in blogs, who makes me blush constantly, and who made me cry all the way home last night. You might never know it--although what do I have to lose--but you made me understand that it will be possible for me to love someone again someday. You're someone I want to be friends with forever, and I wish I had the balls to tell you. And I really hope you meet me at that stupid belly dance show in a couple of weeks, or at least that I'll see you again somewhere. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you what you have done for me, but I hope that somehow you can understand that in a very strange way, by stepping on my goddamned shoe, you brought me back to life.

I am in love with nerds.

The boys in my office are real nerds. I love sitting with a bunch of IT guys and data jockeys...it's like ear candy all day long. I listen to their little debates about Spiderman's webs (controlled scionically, or not?) and their discussions about implementing an office-wide Wacking Day and how, inevitably, everything comes back to Star Wars.

I love it! They just don't know how adorable they are! 2.0's D&D habit makes me want to pinch his little cheeks. ODG is a little more mainstream; he has this cool, California-style facade, but it's fun to watch him get excited about programming pranks and Storm Troopers. And then there's AIG, with his adorable (damn him) ratty jeans and sexy (damn him) Puerto Rican grin. After a lengthy discussion about whether or not Batman could kick the Predator's ass, AIG called us all into the IT training room, which is basically a bank of computers with a big giant projector up front. After filing in, he busts out with this in full screen on the projector:


HOLY AWESOME.

Okay, first of all, that guy who played the Joker? Not bad! It kinda got my heart racing for Heath Ledger's Joker, which promises the creepy element that this dude has plus incredible acting that apparently gave Michael Caine the willies. Not to mention, the production values are sort of mind-bogglingly good for something free on YouTube... Which got me thinking about shorts.

No, not shorts (although it is almost 70 degrees today and I have a master plan to go watch the sunset over the Hudson River after work)... SHORTS. Short films...and how much fun I used to have making them. And how easy it would be to get back into it.

It reminded me of a discussion I had with the Producer about how Podcasts and new media are the wave of the future. Although I tend to disagree with him about traditional corpo-funded production being a dead end, I very much agree that the Internet has much to offer me in terms of creative self-expression. In fact, I'd almost forgotten about this discussion - and really that was the thing that initially piqued my interest in him. Thinking outside the box is hot.

During the singleness epiphany and social-life explosion of the last couple of weeks, I haven't really had time to process that discussion and come around to it, but then on Sunday PDF's Boyfriend mentioned that someone was looking for a Director's Assistant and got that bug crawling up my leg again...and armed with a brand-spanking-new resume and Aunt J's very kind endorsement to basically everyone she knows, I am making a renewed effort to pursue production work. So it was very much on schedule that AIG brought to my attention this amazing little Batman video!

Okay, maybe not amazing - the Joker dialogue is pilfered directly from the comic books (which is kind of cool, but also kind of unimaginative), and totally does not relate to the whole Batman/Alien/Predator stuff. I guess you could say it's nerd porn: what little story that is there exists in tandem to the real action rather than in support of it. Whatever; it's still cool. And my nerd boys are cool for loving it.

Miss Adventurous boycots her 100th post.

Instead, check THIS out. The BEST New Orleans Music right here on my doorstep! I wanna gooooo!



God, every time I hear Tuba Phil start bumpin' it gets my heart pumpin'. Why can't New York have second lines?

Late Night Thinkin' on the Q Train

Why do I like the subway so much? Nobody else seems to like the subway. Is it weird to like the subway?

Even at midnight I love being on the train. The gentle rocking motion, the ka-chunk! of the bumps, the screechy screechy of the wheels. I love watching the dingy tunnel walls go by, and especially passing other trains--I love how passing other trains looks like you're watching an 8mm time lapse film. I love riding the B train in certain spots when there's an F or V on the adjacent track, and suddenly the B dips down underneath....it looks like the F/V is climbing a mountain. I love how, after the last Manhattan stop, the black bricks and pillars suddenly give way to what used to be tenements on the Lower East Side. In hardly any time at all the buildings sink and pivot in view, and I can see red Chinese characters stacked on yellow squares...I imagine they say something like "No Vacancy." Lit up floors of cubicles and computers wink and blink in the night, then woosh! They're behind us and then we are soaring over the East River....soaring! It's a little cathartic for me.

Maybe it's the river thing... When I used to ride the ferry in New Orleans I fell in love with the Mississippi chugging away underneath my feet, splashing flecks of slippery silt (mud from Minneapolis or St. Louis? Memphis mud?) onto my waitress shoes.

It's the platform that bothers me. I don't like standing around with all those creeps and feeling like I can't escape without jumping and risking a third rail zap. They hover, those creeps. Tonight at the Union Square station there were some gutterpunk kids, complete with dingy dog and two flea-ridden pet store rats (so gross). They were pretty wrapped up in conversation with some thug wannabes, who were totally perplexed by the grimy gutterpunk style. Otherwise I would have been a little nervous, since one of the gaunt, slimy-dreadlocked guys kept eyeing my bag. As annoying as the gutterpunks are, it's not so much the homeless that get me, it's people who are drunk or mentally ill, or some combination of the two. They hover unpridictably. In my head I often play out a scenario in which a drunk accidentally bumps into me a little too hard and I fall onto the tracks. It's not the train that worries me; it's the idea of touching the grimy innards of the City mixed with trash and bugs and rodents.

This might sound weird, since I think it's gross to have pet rats, but I love watching the rats go. I keep imagining their lives like Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. Like they have this whole society underneath New York that is holding the fabric of the world together or something... Goodness knows, it's very apparent to me that they're smart enough. I always catch them making and carrying out plans and using tools and helping each other with little projects. It's very fascinating.

And where was I coming from so late on a school night? Well, if you must know, I had just slipped away from the Producer's apartment. We went to see No Country for Old Men, which was...wow, weird. It's practically a crime that I haven't seen this movie yet, being such a big fan of the Coen Brothers, and for that same reason I feel a little put off that I just don't get it. Not yet, anyway. I'm sure the third or fourth time I see it it will all make sense.

The Producer didn't have any new profound insights for me tonight. Instead he was just his pleasant and sweet self...maybe a little too salacious, but it sure is flattering. He's a doll really, but--and this is kind of typical of guys (even when I was practically married) and it bothers me to no end--he seems to be so caught up with flirting and being suggestive that I'm having trouble accessing who he is. And since my attraction to men is far more cerebral than it is physical, well...I'm not sure if it's gelling. But it sure is flattering.

Now if he stepped on my shoe and pulled my hair...

The Legend of Miss Adventurous, Part 4 - The Real Journey Begins. On Foot.

The year was 1995. I was fourteen, going on fifteen. I was completely nonathletic and spent most of my time buried in books or notebooks. I had bangs (not cute bangs) and long, stringy brown hair (there, I said it, it's not really red) and was for the most part incapable of relating to people, including (especially?) myself and my own feelings.

At the end of Part 3, I mentioned that I started running. Somehow, the summer after 8th grade, I made up my mind that I was going to join the cross country team in high school. My sister had been a cross country and track runner, which is where I got the idea, but I'm still not entirely sure why it appealed to me, given my status as a fat, nerdy, non-shorts-wearing, gym-class avoider. I do remember why I kept doing it though.

The first day I ran for about five minutes before I got winded and had to walk. I knew that it was just about one mile down Woodiebrook road to the bridge though, and I was determined to make it that far, and to run as much as I could. I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured out that I could run a little, then walk a little, and that it was kind of fun to set little mental goals for myself. I'll run until I get to that mailbox. I'll run until I get to the telephone pole. Hell no I'm not running up this hill. I'll run down the other side. For the first time I was challenged by something outside of academics, and although this sounds kind of weird, it felt really good to do something I sucked at! This running thing was harder than it looked!

I set a goal to conquer the one mile to the bridge without walking, and within a few weeks I had done it (thank you adaptable teenage body). By the end of the summer, I could huff and puff all the way there and back without stopping once. I lost weight. I felt awesome. I loved the feeling of overcoming the little "I can't" voice in my head.

When school began, I realized that my sedentary childhood had left me with a handicap on the cross-country course. My first 5K was run in just over 31 minutes which, as a matter of fact, sucks. The next slowest runner on my team was running at about 27 minutes. Rather than getting discouraged, I continued working harder. I became the Little Engine that Could, chipping away at the elusive 10 minute mile split. I had good mentors that year--Sarah and Melanie, the two senior girls on our team, and Patrick, my coach. They saw how hard I was working and how much I was improving and they were always quick to offer advice and encouragement, even though I was the slowest runner on our team during every practice and every race. I don't know if those three people will ever really understand how much the memory of their voices cheers me on every time I try to do something really challenging.

The next year my coach wound up working at a different school. At my first race that year, I saw Patrick on the side, cheering for both us and for his new team, and when he saw me he started hooting and hollering louder than I'd ever heard him before...and with good reason! I finished that race in 26:15. I'll never forget that. It's the fastest I've ever run.

The new coach was different; he wasn't in the business of helping kids improve themselves, he was in the business of winning the conference championship and going to State. He either ignored me or treated me like I didn't belong on the team, and I can't say that my teammates were any better, as cliquey as they were. Instead of improving, my performance went downhill and hovered there. The team did go to the state championship that year. I wasn't even invited.

Still, I managed to stick around all four years. They never acknowledged it (they said my junior year didn't count because I missed two races after I flipped my car over), but I was the only one in my class who started at the beginning and finished at the end. As hurt as I was (and still am) over the lack of recognition, I'm actually kind of glad, because it proves that I did it all for myself.

And now, chasing down the elusive 10 minute mile all over again, I do it for me. Sometimes when people ask why I like to run, I say "oh, it's like meditation." That's true...but that's not really the reason I do it. I like it because it's something that does not come very easy or naturally to me. And I do it to make myself a better person inside and out.

Here's something to really take the edge off...

To cheer up my blog, here's a picture of DJ, Cousin Jeannie's new puppy! He's all black and he wiggles a lot, so this was the best shot I could get. Enjoy!

J'aime le Daylight Savings. And les ducks.

Apres la travaille j'ai me promene dans le parc. Le lac etais beau, non?

How could I stay mad when my tiny kitchen looked like this?

More baking today. This time cupcakes.... Yeah, I know, I should be at some fabulous bar being cool or something. I know. But I had forgotten how therapeutic it is to bake. After the Hurricane I pretty much spent the entire semester in Colorado studying, baking, and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer (oh how I wanted those Netflix to rush rush rush). I generated a lot of pumpkin pie and learned to make the perfect cheesecake. I gifted sweet potato pies (a southern classic) to people who helped us out. I made pumpkin brownies, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin rolls, and pecan pies and brownies and blondies and my mom's dream bars and wished I could kick demon ass like Buffy.

Oddly enough, I've never made cupcakes before. These ones are chocolate fudgy cake mix and peanut butter frosting. I LOVE peanut butter; the only thing I like better is...pumpkin.

Oh yeah, and I've been practicing my new bellydancing moves to a steady mix of upbeat Eurotrash pop music. The mood is definitely a little better.

Fresh as a daisy and smelly as a goat

Ahhh.... Runnnnnnnnning....

Sometimes I grumble about living in Prospect Lefferts Gardens. The PLG isn't exactly the bastion of sassy hipster cool that people think of when I say "I live in Brooklyn." It's super residential and I know there's some stuff on the other side of the 'hood, but in my regularly patrolled area (between the park and my apt bldg on Lincoln and the few surrounding blocks on Flatbush Ave) there is one hip little coffee shop, one (delicious) cute tex-mex restaurant, and Lime, a nightclub to which I have never been.

But I gotta say... Weekend mornings are a joy out here. Waking up, puttin' the old lime green shorts on, it is a joy knowing I pay $895 a month and live a block away from one of the best parks in New York.

Prospect also happens to be the perfect park for my purposes (!) being that it has a nice paved running track that is 3+ miles, some unpaved running trail areas, in addition to all the standard park goodies, like playgrounds and picnic areas. I especially like Auntie Hunting, which involves me running around through all the dogs between 8 and 9 in the morning, hoping to spot Aunt J or her partner Auntie R and their sweet little whippet.

Before my watch stopped, I was focusing more on the numbers of running - Check watch, look for mile markers, check watch, check watch again, okay I'll turn around in six minutes, check watch... Not any more! Now that I'm watchless (and running with abandon), I'm really taking it all in. I love maneuvering through swarms of excited dogs waving their tongues around as they chase each other at the Dog Beach, leaping onto the banks of the bridle trail to evade equestrians, and weaving in between tents at the cute little farmer's market in Grand Army Plaza. I don't know that I'm getting a great workout in or anything, but I'm definitely having more fun than I was on the clock!

I was thinking today, while bounding up the hill from the Long Meadow somewhere near the Litchfield Villa, that my weekend runs are a really great way to tap into life in the BK. I'm starting to see the same faces (and the same dogs--the dogs are wonderfully pervasive), and it's giving me a marvelous sense of connection and positivity. It really makes that mopey lonely crappy feeling vanish. I can't wait until it gets warmer... Aunt J and Auntie R told me that there's lots to do in the park in the summer.

Speaking of, Daylight Savings tonight has me in a GREAT mood! I don't give a lick about it being light in the morning; I'm just excited to be able to walk home in the afternoon sunshine! Maybe I can even start taking the train to Grand Army and walking through the park! Wooooo!

Now that I'm all smelly and sweaty (dare I say, salty too) I'm gonna hop in the shower and then off to...well, I don't know. It's all rainy out, so I won't go back to the park... But who cares? I'll find something to do--I'm in New York!

An ode to my bath sheet

O! White cotton glory
Snuggling me so friendly
When I saw you on the shelf at Ikea you were $9.99
I thought you were cheap then.

I know now that you
Are, as the French say, cher
(This means both "expensive" and "dear" in that language
So maybe you'll get the double entendre).

Wrap me, O towel!
For I have showered and am clean!
I am feeling lazy and did not shave my legs (again)
I never want to get dressed.

Sundays are my favorite.

Okay, this isn't really the third post today; the other two were started last week and never finished. Sorry to shatter your belief in my perfect ability to churn out blogs willy nilly. Or whatever. I've been busy speed dating and ogling the IT guy at work. And also work is actually keeping me busy, unlike the last temp assignment...you know, the one where I never ever blogged (no never)....

Sunday is fast becoming my absolute favorite day of the week, and here's why:

I start by waking up at 8:00 (an hour late!). I put on my running clothes, pack some cash in my little shorts pocket and walk 1.5 blocks to Prospect Park, where I run with some serious abandon. My cheap Target stopwatch has died after surviving three years with me, through a summer in France, through Katrina, through the bad times with JH, through my move. That stopwatch did me some serious good, but now that it's gone I can't really bring myself to replace it yet. So I go to the park and run, watchless and with abandon.

After my run, I stroll merrily to K-Dog, turning heads as I go because I'm wearing running shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt in 25 degree weather. In the coffee shop, my glasses fog up and I make a little joke to the lady behind the counter. I order a large coffee with extra soy milk, my favorite. Then I wander a block away, pick up my laundry from the people who washed, dried, and folded it for me (this is one of my favorite things about New York), and head home. I get in the shower, and today it's a long, languid shower...the kind where you take enough time to shave your legs, but don't actually shave them. Then I towel up. I love lounging around in my towel, freshly showered. After a quick email check I put on my favorite outfit: a v-neck t-shirt that has been hemmed to just under the bust, a hoodie on top, and stretchy boot-cut dance pants. I put my hair up into a messy bun-thing, stuff a hip scarf, zils, and a bottle of water into my bag and head out the door.

I feel like Snow White walking through the forest on my way to the subway. My ipod is playing upbeat Motown, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and, oh shit! Someone just tried to run me over while I was crossing Flatbush! Oh well...shrug it off and keep on going. Magically, the train appears just after I arrive on the platform. I sit down for my Sunday morning read. This week it's JD Salinger's Nine Stories. As the Q train crosses the bridge, Manhattan looks resplendent in the morning sunlight. The Statue of Liberty waves hello.

After a brisk walk from 14th street to Astor Place, I arrive at the dance studio. I'm late, but never mind. Just glad to be here. From the front of the room, Mimi says hello, and I feel a little bit like she's saying "nice of you to join us, Miss A. Please take your place." I hurry with my hip scarf and funky heel-less sandals and then fall in line to body wave along with the rest of the class. For two hours I learn about my body, where this joint can bend, where that limb can extend, how to make it all move the way my brain thinks it should. I actively discover what I am, the muscle and tissue, and even the stuff that jiggles a little too much when I shimmy.

Afterward I chat a little with Mimi and with the other girls from class. This is good, that's hard, can we try this next time. One of the other girls, D, mentions coffee. I perk up. More coffee sounds great. Breakfast sounds great--I forgot to eat. It's 3:30.

More chatting, some laughing, then strolling with D and H around the Village, looking for that place I went before. Couldn't find it, so we wound up at Dunkin' Donuts! I indulged in an egg and cheese sandwich, one of my favorite favorite things. There is lots of chatting. Lots of laughing. A cute little old guy sits down next to us and tells us about a Three Stooges movie. It's great. Walking to the subway, D tells about a chance she has to put together a line (she designs lingerie) and a show and stuff, but mutters something quickly about no money and no time blah blah. And so I say this (it's paraphrased):

"You have an opportunity that may not come again. TAKE the opportunity and run with it! The money will come! The time will come...you will make them come, but only if you force yourself to do so. I know what it's like to be an artist, and to be frustrated by your needs... You need to eat. You need to pay rent. But you will, you just have to trust yourself."

(I could have cried then and there, because it was the first moment that I realized I believe that. I believe that! I believe it! I do! I have already come such a long way from that awful place I used to be!)

After that I come home and sink into my comfy, comfy bed. I snuggle down and surf the net. I watch the Simpsons. I forget to eat again, so I have a banana and a granola bar and some raw veggies. I've started to love chilled bananas.

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Sometimes PLG is really great...like leftover Christmas lights in the February snow.