Walk-Ins Welcome

Remember how once upon a time I went to film school in Los Angeles? Well, I am still here and working on a passion project with some of my talented school friends... and then we are going to work on it in Jordan. The country. Yep.... those years of studying Arabic are about to become useful. Please bless that I can remember some of it! 

We are shooting documentary about Syrians who have fled their homes and taken refuge in Jordan. These masses of people, at least to me living thousands of miles away, easily turn into statistics. 100,000 people killed. 2 million forced to leave their belongings in apartments, houses, villages, cities. How is it possible to comprehend the struggles of these people on a human level? How can you draw attention to them and turn those daunting digits into human faces? Well, we are going to try. By filming stories  of people in the camp, particularly the barbers, we are hoping to highlight the daily struggles of these displaced people. Why barbers? Well, they clean up faces and give hope, in a small way, to these people looking for an ounce of normality.

I am going to be blogging about our process and adventures over the next few months. Right now, we are in the fundraising phase. If you have some spare change (or a boat load of money) we could some of it to get us started; check us out on Indiegogo. Anything you could offer would make a huge difference to us. If you haven't got a penny, a hey penny will do, if you haven't got a hey penny then please blog, tweet, Instagram, share, "like," or whatever you are doing these days to spread the word. 

XOXOXOOXOXOXOXO

Dreamer

So on this fine morning at 8:27 AM I am struck with the thematic stupidity (or misunderstood genius) that only comes in the groggy parts of the morning. My mind has been filled with dreams.

Wee Hour of the Morning Dreams:

In my night mind, I hosted a party at a large house that apparently belonged to me. Filling this dream house was a cast of characters past:

The Redheaded Vegan– clever, gentle, hilariously funny (although I never got his jokes until much later) he got married and I didn’t mind because I was in love with his roommate then, but I miss him now, particularly after seeing Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles. Why? The red hair? The anti-establishment mentality? The artist? The sympathetic character? I might name a child after this one, as I loved his name and adore my rose-colored recollection.

The Mad Poet-, tattooed, gin-loving, simultaneously bursting with rage and sentimentality, always writing about some woman (not me) with longing.  He helped me mend from a long-standing relationship and I am eternally grateful, despite his bizarre and erratic behavior.

The Artist Adonis- musician, artist, writer, seeping with natural beauty, never has there been such mutual attraction, I counted myself lucky to be standing next to him as volts of palpable electricity connected us. Deep regret sinks me as I remember I was not ready for him to come back from his long stay away and the opportunity to have him slipped through my frantic fingers.

The Calculating Paradox- precise, impenetrable, contradictory- both hoarding and liberating, kind and cruel, furious and funny–I was never sure what he really was, I don’t think he knew himself.

The Brother and Sister-in-Law– kind, smart, down to earth, darling beyond imagining pair - collateral damage of a disaster. It was devastating to lose them when the tie was severed. 

The Wives– all of the current women in their lives appeared as grey blobs. This may or may not have anything to do with what they are like in real life.

Why I would invite these people to my home and why they would come, I don’t know but there they were, eating from long tables cornucopiating with delectable food as the euphonious sounds of live music flowed through the house. And I was alone in as sea of couples, as they were not the only ones there, just the ones whose faces I remembered from the crowd. The Brother and Sister-in-Law, my sole allies, went to bed early. They were staying with me and decided to retire early. So I was alone, with an army of unwanted guests.

As the night wore on and the band retired, couples went home and I bid them goodbye with all the dignity I could muster. As the last couple left, I looked around and saw what appeared to be a stack of paper. My approach caused curiosity to melt into heartache. Love letters.

All in my handwriting.

Sitting in a pile.

Every affection expressed in ink returned.

Ascending the stairs and approaching the guest/storage room, I interrupted the Brother and Sister in Law in the middle of their evening enjoyment to get a raincoat that was in the spare room closet.

I walked out in a trance, into a night full of stars. The last of the cars’ taillights disappeared down the drive. And then I woke up.

Bright Light of Day Dreams:

This week during the day I have been known to play the, Who Do I Want to Work For Game. It if you are an MFA student in film you make a list of favorite directors, favorite movies, and favorite TV shows. Then you email them to a contact that you have and she says, I know some of these people, let me email them on your behalf. Then you scream, jump around, dance with your dog, then try to breathe and pretend that nothing will come of this (because nothing is that easy) and attempt to not get excited about possibilities. But damn, if daydreams aren’t delightful and renew your zest for all things creative.

Apocalypse Bees

It feels like all of Utah is on fire. My car, which I finally washed, is now covered in ash from dust flying on the wind. We are not in Pompeii quite yet, but the heat combined with the debris leans toward the apocalyptic.

Also on the weird side, considering the trouble the United States has been having with bee populations, I have been seeing a lot of them lately. Don’t get me wrong these yellow and black fuzz-balls with a bite are great for the veggies and fruit baring plants in the yard but I remember them so differently from childhood. They used to float along, get in your business for a minute and fly off if you didn’t make too much of a fuss. Not any more.

The other day I went to go lie down on the hammock, only to discover there was a bee on the outdoor pillow that stays with my favorite portable piece of furniture. I sat down in the middle and waited (stupidly) for the uppity little monster to move. I thought I was telegraphing: I’m here. Time to move your pokey little bum someplace else. But I’ll be a monkey’s aunt Rita if that bee didn’t sit there sunning itself, ignoring my advance. I blew on the bee, thinking that a woman-made zephyr might encourage it to move on. Nothing. I shook the pillow- gently (I’m not that stupid) but no response. That bee was perched on its throne and not going to budge come hell, high water or an exploding volcano.

So I left. Yep that’s right, the bee bested me. In my rage, I texted Mel who pointed out that smoke actually calms bees, a very astute point which I had forgotten. In the wrong, I went out to apologize for being so mad. Although I don’t approve, I understand now that the bee might have actually been high and eating Doritos on my pillow. Instead of being snotty, he might have just been a stoner. Consequently, I named him Cheech and wished him well. I am glad to see bees, as they are in decline, despite their antisocial behavior. And I figure that we should be nice to each other considering it is the end of the world.

Devilsih Daphne

I have a miniature dachshund puppy, Daphne. I think she is charming. Sarah thinks she looks like a football and regularly speaks of kicking her. Although I adore my dog and Sarah has never met her in person, there are days when a swift kick could seem logical even the most docile of PETA members. She is a test of temperance. This morning I woke up to her crying in another room. If this were my apartment it would be either the kitchen or the bathroom because I live in a shoebox, but because we are staying with my parents, so there are more options for destruction.

What I didn’t know when I decided on this particular breed, was that they have a penchant for pushing balls under things like couches, dressers, television stands, etc. and then howling at them because they cannot reach under to retrieve them with their stumpy “arms.” They look around frantically as if they have no idea how the ball got under this extremely low piece of furniture, then begin to call for a stupid human to come and rescue them so that they can repeat the process.

 By about 8 AM she had pushed her green, squeaky ball into a darkened abyss in my parents’ room. This was not her first time losing  a toy beneath a piece of furniture but it is the first time my mom has called out, “Your dog is stuck under the treadmill.” She and my father called about three times before I realized it wasn’t a joke. Bleary-eyed, I fell out of bed and walked across the hallway. My parents were both on their knees peering under the lower end of the conveyer belt. I joined them. Her little brown eyes caught a bit of light coming in from the window, her stubby front legs were splayed and her mouth was open howling. When our eyes met, she froze. Of course, I did what any good mother would do when they caught their child underneath a fallen jar of cookies… I burst into laughter. Daphne was very quiet, as she stretched, stuck in a Chinese finger trap of her own design.

Reaching out for her trunk I tried to slide her straight out, but she didn’t budge. I tried, pulling her sideways, but she wasn’t moving either. She started to cry again. Despite my pinched nerve, I decided the only way to get her out was to lift the back of the treadmill. So with what I thought was going to require superhuman strength,  I braced myself for a painful lift, but it only turned out to be about 30 lbs of force to raise it enough that she could crawl out. Rescued.

About fifteen minutes after that incident she decided to engage in another one of her old tricks– stealing dirty laundry. She selected a pair of underwear from the pile, looked at me with that impish sparkle in her eyes and took off down the stairs. Of course I chased her. The last time I didn’t I had to toss the garment because she had torn a large, un-mendable hole and it looked like a prop from a cartoon, jagged edges and all. So there was a chase but breakfast and clothing repair ensued. She is currently sleeping at my feet, worn out from her morning. If she knew I was outing her as a evil and ridiculous she would be mortified. But I am doing it anyway, because sometimes a story is worth the good opinion of a devilish dog.

Mishmash of Incoherent Update-y Stuff

My brain is too scattered to come up with anything coherent. Good luck, Fair Readers!

Part I:
Blogs Titles for Entries I Have Thought About Writing this Month

School, Puppies and Other Things Inseparably Connected to Happiness
Dear 2011, I Want My Year Back
The Inexplicable Allure of Gay Men or Why Do I Keep Getting Crushes on Men Who Don’t Want Me?
Death and Illness Can Bite Me (and they have …those bastards!)
Just When I Thought I Hated TV, I Became and Addict
Chocolate, Kissing and Other Mood Altering Drugs
All the Things I Have in Common with Fiona Brewer- Not Just a Yeti Costume

Part II:

All of these blogs would be more interesting than the one I am about to write but I feel obligated to compose an update. I am in the hell semester of school- the dreaded 508. FREAKING KILL ME NOW because it is about to get worse. I feel tired ALL of the time and it is only the first week. The need for an amazing script is looming over my head; I am feeling stressed because nothing is coming to the creative part of my brain. I always thought of myself as a creative writer but now all I can think of are the most prosaic people, places and situations. My friend came up with an interesting story about a soda pop bottler and another friend came up with a story about a female Mexican wrestler in 5 minutes! Where does my mind go? I am not telling. It is too embarrassing to divulge.
On another sad note, my puppy is in Utah and I feel like I am missing a limb. I am taking applications for warm bodies to cuddle me at night. Please, no creepers.

Part III:

Weird TV things that happened:

1. A character on last week's episodes of both Castle and Body of Proof were named after people I know intimately. It was weird to hear their names over and over.

2. Psych referenced an indie movie I worked on! I am so famous right now!

Breaking Bread with Breaking Bad

The Moroccan folding screen in my room has skirts, sweaters, beaded tops, and jeans draped all over it. I emptied my closet and dresser trying on everything I had that said, “I’m sophisticated, creative, intelligent and sexy,” or any combination thereof. I was going to dinner with a stranger who I wanted to impress. It took me forever to find the right combination, to be over or under dressed would be a nightmare. I finally decided on leggings, a short dress, a soft Eighties inspired jacket that matched the leopard print shoes I adore. I blew my hair dry. When I bother to whip out the dryer to give my hair volume, you know it is a momentous occasion.

I texted Sarah to tell her I was having dinner with Michelle MacLaren and Peter Gould of Breaking Bad. She wrote back, essentially, “I don’t know who they are or have any knowledge of that show.”

Well, even if Sarah doesn’t know who they are, I was still thrilled to have dinner with practitioners whose work I really admire. The dinner was a delight.


**(Random detail: The lights went out in the restaurant right before they arrived and I was a little bit sad when they came back on because the candles the owner put out had such an ambience and that story would have been fantastic.)

Deer in the Streetlight

Last night I got home late. After finally showering and changing my clothes (sickness had me living in the same pajamas for days), going grocery shopping with my mom and picking out a fragrant tree to set up in our living room, I went to dinner and a movie with a friend. Of all of the days I spent in Utah, I didn’t leave my house until Saturday night. I had a fantastic dinner, went to a delightful movie (Hugo was a sweet love letter to the film genre and I enjoyed it) and just when I thought the evening was perfect, I saw my ex driving home. My friend said he was engaged and all of a sudden I felt numb. Then I felt compelled to start rambling about how glad I was that we weren’t together anymore.

And I am. Film school would never have happened if we had become engaged. He didn’t see a benefit to going to more school and talked me out of applying the year we were dating. It was what I wanted and I let him make that decision for me. Gratitude for the lifted spell is something I express every time I think of that time in my life.

As my friend and I sat in the car under the cover of stars and streetlight, a deer sauntered from the blue-black of night into the lamp halo illuminating the street and I paused.

When I am away, I forget that deer just wander into our neighborhood and onto the campus of my alma mater as if they owned the place (which maybe they do). It is always a surprise to see an animal casually perambulating down the street on an evening constitutional.

He clopped down the street with his antlers bobbing and when he passed out of sight I leapt out of the car and chased him down to try and get a picture. So majestic. So fantastical. So otherworldly. I wanted to capture that moment. But when I rounded the corner he was gone. My friend followed and after about a block and a half we stopped and joked about how we thought we saw him on the roof. “Santa is real!” I whisper-yelled in an attempt to punctuate this ambiguous moment with laughter instead of the gloom that follows loss like a shadow. Even when that loss is inevitable.