Days

My grandfather, who passed away a couple years ago, had a debilitating stroke when he was still relatively young. This stroke caused him to quit working and basically be housebound for decades on end. Yet every year on my birthday he would call me and wish me a happy birthday. The last couple of years he called the day before my birthday, but still, that’s pretty close.

Why am I telling you this story? Because for the whole day today I thought it was Tuesday.

How is it that an old man who had no schedule whatsoever could keep track of the days and I can’t? It’s ridiculous.

Now, partly to blame is the fact that for the past month I’ve had no kind of set schedule whatsoever. Some days I was getting out of bed at 8 a.m. and some days I was going to bed at 8 a.m. That tends to mess with your internal calendar a bit. “I went to bed on Thursday, but when I woke up it was still Thursday. Then I went to work on Thursday, but didn’t get off work until Friday. What happened to Tuesday? And why we’re trying to figure that out see if you can figure out what happened to the month of June as well.”

It’s not very nice to your internal clock either. Since I wear hearing aides, and don’t wear them when I sleep, I can’t hear an alarm in the morning. So I just have to wake up. I have to set my internal clock, tell myself when to wake up and then just wake up. Don’t ask. I have no idea how it works. And yes. I am waiting for the day when I wake up and three days have passed without my knowing it.

On Monday morning of this week I popped up and had to think for a good 5 minutes about what day it was and where the hell I was supposed to be. It was morning time and I didn’t feel too tired, so I assumed I hadn’t just gone to bed, and I should probably be getting out of bed for something. But I had no idea what that something was. “Where are we shooting today? Probably the studio. What time? Well, what time did we get off yesterday? Wait, what was yesterday? Uh, all my muscles are sore, so yesterday I played soccer. So yesterday was Sunday. So today is Monday. Wait, we’re not shooting, we’re done shooting. We finished. Okay then where do I have to go? Someone somewhere needs me to do work – who is it? Oh, wait, someone needs something designed – who though? Oh, I remember. Meeting this morning about designing something wonderful. Hoping that by the time I finish getting dressed I will remember where the meeting is.”

Oh the life the hearing impaired and mentally slow.

Running from the Chapel

A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, decided a couple years ago that she was madly in love with a boy. She had known this boy for approximately twenty-five minutes and she was convinced that she was going to marry him and live happily ever after. She instantly started perusing the web for the best wedding rings and dresses. During her time online she entered her name and wedding date into many a wedding website.

Then after about forty-five minutes of knowing Mr. Wonderful she realized that he was in fact Mr. Really Big Jackass. This put a damper on the wedding plans and an end to her online wedding research. However, as it turns out, the internet does not forget so easily…

It seems that one of these sites where she entered her info likes to send out periodic e-mails congratulating the happy couple on their various anniversaries. So even though she called off the wedding, told everyone that the guy was a Really Big Jackass, and tried to put the whole thing behind her she still gets an e-mail every few months saying, “Happy (insert number of months) Anniversary!!”

It’s horrible.

And quite hilarious.

Today she got the “Happy 15 Month Anniversary!!” that read: “You’ve been married 470 days!” And then it offered advice on how to merge two living styles into one happy couple. That’s helpful. You know what would be even more helpful? Not being reminded of your failed relationships via e-mail every few months. Could you imagine – “Happy 15 Month Anniversary of Your Heart Breaking!!” “Your train-wreck of a relationship ended 470 days ago!!” Good times.

The advice kills me though, I’m convinced it’s written by 85 year-old woman:

“Replace the hot-pink single-gal pillows on the sofa with more gender-neutral solid brown and understated floral versions.” You know why a girl with hot-pink pillows is single? Cause she’s 13 years old. What adult woman has hot-pink pillows? Seriously.

“Replace your guy’s favorite recliner with a swanky, upscale-looking model that cleverly conceals all of the mechanisms that make it function.” I have a lot of straight, single male friends and not one of them owns a beat up recliner. Because most of my straight, single male friends are actually trying to get laid by straight, single women.

So basically this website offers complete useless advice to married people and serves as a periodic reminder of bad relationship choices to those who ran like hell from the chapel.

My god, what did we do before the internet?

Exciting Day

Oh my goodness today was exciting. Most exciting thing? I’m writing this blog at 8:30 pm and I’m sitting at home while writing it. !!! I haven’t been home at 8:30 pm in 5 weeks. My roommate and I just got back from getting frozen yogurt and she looked at the clock and said, “Man, it’s 8:30.” And I said, “I know! Can you believe how early it is?” She said, “I was just thinking how late it is.”

Late? No, so not late. It’s LIGHT outside and I’m home from work. And it's not light because the sun is rising to greet a new day!!! Seriously. Exciting.

Today I got off work and was actually able to go get my oil changed and then when I went to the grocery store there were actually people there. There aren’t a lot of oil change places open at 4 in the morning when I was getting off work the past few weeks. And when I ran out of toilet paper a couple weeks ago and was forced to go to the store I found myself wandering the aisles with only two other people – one of them a crackhead, the other one an undercover security guard keeping an eye on the crackhead. But today I got off work so early the crackheads were still sleeping on the side of the store when I pulled up.

Ahhhh. To once again be a part of the real world.

Exciting stuff.

Preview

I was quite excited to be once again a part of the real world this weekend, having been set free from the alternate reality of a movie set. What was one of my first orders of business? I went to the movies. Why not really? Actual human interaction of overrated, if you ask me.

I went and saw Batman Begins and The Perfect Man. Holy opposite movies Batman. One was shot entirely in the dark and the other one was shot entirely in a world where Heather Locklear has trouble finding a date. I guess that too would be a dark world.

The two movies were good, but the most exciting part of my Movie Day came during the previews, when the screen was still black. Six little piano notes came on and I about peed I was so excited (that and it was my second movie, so I’d already had a large Coke). Do you know the notes I’m talking about? “Dun…..dun…..dun, dun, daah, dah.” !!!!! Those marked the first six notes of the preview for RENT The Movie. !!!!! RENT, for those of you questioning the exclamation points, is a Broadway musical. I friggin’ LOVE it. I’m using all caps. I’m using exclamation points. I do not hand either one of those out lightly.

I like RENT. A lot.

Years ago I heard one of the RENT songs on TV and thought it was good, and so I bought the tape. I had a crappy car at the time and when I put the tape in, it refused to spit it out for approximately two months. I’d only really wanted to hear one song, instead I heard the first half of the show. Over and over and over and over again. When I finally got the tape out I stupidly put in the second tape. When my quality tape player ate that one for a month I became very familiar with the second half as well.

So basically by the time I saw the actual show on stage I already had the whole thing memorized. We’re talking every single word.

I once walked into a job interview and the guy interviewing me had a RENT poster above his desk. I said I loved the show and then proceeded to sing one of the songs with him. Word for word. He hired me on the spot. We did many an impromptu RENT dance number during my time working with him. Much to the confusion of our co-workers.

But now those co-workers will finally stop being confused. They’ll see the preview of RENT and say, “Oh, THAT’S what those two were trying to sing.”

I’m a little worried how the movie is going to turn out, and if people are going to go see it. The stage show is entirely sung, there isn’t really much regular talking. What if people don’t buy into a world where everyone sings all the time?

But then again, I just spent 10 bucks on a man in a bat costume and another $15 on a popcorn and coke combo that actually had the word “Deal” written next to it. I’m thinking movie audiences will buy into pretty much anything.

Wrap it up

As of 8 a.m. this morning the movie is wrapped. And we have all been released back into society to fend for ourselves. I feel like we’re on that show “The 4400”. Have you seen that show? It’s about 4400 people who were abducted by aliens over the years and then they are all returned at the same time on a lake. Or something.

We are like “The 120”. The door to the stage opened this morning, allowing the sun to seep into the dark room. As our eyes and our bodies adjusted to the new surroundings we slowly became acclimated with the real world. Snippets of news stories trickled in – Spurs, Aruba, Tom Cruise…

All of us reacted to our freedom differently. Some were in their cars before the last syllable of “That’s a wrap!” was yelled. Some began to cry. Some began to drink. Some were still napping in the corner. I was busy eating Oreos at the catering table. “Huh? What? We wrapped 20 minutes ago? Okay, let me fish this last cookie out of my milk.”

The saddest part of the wrap was that it put an end to our low-energy game of tag we had started two hours earlier. Going into our 15th hour of the day someone came up to me, touched my arm and said, “You’re it.” I looked at them, then hit the person next to me, “You’re it.” So began the slowest game of tag in the history of the planet. Two hours later it had made its way across the room – without anyone ever actually getting up.

You’d think we’d have more energy, considering the amount of Coke and candy bars we’d eaten over the course of 15 hours.

But no. Turns out we were saving it for, “That’s a wrap!” Cause at that point everyone jumped up as though being shot out of some sort of cannon. Maybe it was the crisp morning air, or the champagne, or the crazy extra running around with an ax. But whatever it was it made for a brief spurt of excitement from a long comatose crew.

And through the tears and hugs and alcohol we all said goodbye to each other and to the film and to our brief (but kind of long) time together.

And I stashed a box of Oreos in my backpack.

Willpower

Diet not going so well.

There was one birthday on set today.

And four cakes.

A yellow cake.
A chocolate cake.

A strawberry filling cake.

Another white cake.

And cookies.

And ice cream.

And I ate it all.

Then I ate some more.

I also ate some of the carrots from the vegetable tray.

Trying to be healthy.

But dipped them all in quite a bit of ranch dressing.

So I think I might have negated any healthy in the carrots.

Decided that I need to drink lots of water during the day, that will help me not eat as much, and to stay generally healthy and hydrated and what not.

Did not decide this until about 10 pm.

Proceeded to drink 4 bottles of water in an hour.

Had to go to the bathroom every five minutes.

Ate an Oreo cookie on my way back from the bathroom every time.

So far I am not doing so well on the diet.

Movie Weight

I have bad news. As of today I cannot eat for at least a week straight.

That is the only way I am going to lose the 10 pounds I’ve gained in the past month while “working” on this movie. (And by “working” I mean “eating”)

Seriously, this is ridiculous. Ten pounds. I can’t remember the last time I gained ten pounds. My weight for the past 5 years or so has been impossible to change. I actually trained 4 months for a marathon, ran 300 miles, burned 100 billion calories, and lost NOT ONE POUND. And then I’ve gone on kicks where all I eat is french fries and Mountain Dew and I don’t gain any weight at all.

But that was all nothing compared to the effects of sitting on a movie set for 4 weeks. A movie set presents a multitude of weight-gain opportunities. You work for 15 hours a day. And you are eating for at least 13.5 of those hours. Cause movie sets have little things called Craft Services (aka Table o’ Food) available to all the people on the set, all day long. Craft Services not only feeds us three meals a day, but they also keep munchies out all day so as to meet all our ass-growing needs.

This seems like a pretty cool perk until you realize the consequences of having food available to you all day. It would be like if someone set your cubicle up in an AM/PM, and said you could eat anything you wanted. Willpower is a trait you think you have until you are staring down at a basket of Oreos, Corn Nuts and Doritos. Next thing you know you are washing them all down with your fourth Cherry Coke of the day. And if you’re counting Weight Watcher points you’ve just dipped into your points for 2007.

Normally my food intake consists of food I can cook (absolutely nothing) and Bags O’ Salad (in four fabulous flavors!). And I usually only eat meals when I’m hungry, which is usually only twice a day. (Plus the occasional munchie if I’m procrastinating.) So I usually don’t have to worry about taking in too many calories. Then I go play soccer a couple times a week which burns like 4 calories and then I can consider myself a healthy non-weight-gaining human being.

But throw me next to a Craft Services table and my entire weight maintenance regimen (aka eating only Bags O’ Salad) goes to hell in a hand basket. But what am I supposed to do? People are cooking for me! I’ve never in my life turned down a meal that someone has cooked for me. That’s just bad manners. And then there are the various Nabisco Fun Packs full of, well, Fun (in chip and cookie form). Who am I to deny myself the Nabisco Fun? You only live once right? Go ahead, have the Oreos. And don’t worry, no one saw you eat that entire sleeve of cookies.

They always said that the camera added 10 pounds. I had no idea that that included everyone BEHIND the camera as well.

Dance Baby

Oh. My. God. Thanks to a VCR error I somehow taped two episodes of ‘Dancing with the Stars’ this week. Oh. My. God. Are you people watching this show? You need to watch this show. It is my new favorite show. Seriously. I love it.

I think this show might have been made just for me. Since Johnny took Baby out of the corner and picked her up like a ragdoll on the dance floor I have been waiting patiently for more dancing to once again entertain me. It’s been quite a long wait. Those Gap ads a few years ago with the swing dancing did a little to hold me over, but Patrick Swayze is now in his 50’s and I’m in need of some good dance routines.

To my rescue comes the various B list "stars" cha cha-ing across my TV screen. And man are they entertaining. How entertained am I?

Let me count the ways:

1. I am quite entertained that someone actually convinced Evander Holyfield to do this show. On what planet does it seem like a good idea to put a 250 pound athlete in a yellow cummerbund? I’m not saying that Evander’s repeated blows to the head had anything to do with his new affinity for high kicks, but I am thinking that he might want to aim one of those kicks towards his publicist.

2. How awful are the songs that these people dance to? I love them. They are a cross between elevator music and kereoke. I’m not sure why they couldn’t use the actual songs and instead had to go with bizarre cover songs. Maybe it had something to do with getting the rights. But I’d think it would be more difficult to get the rights to butcher a song than it would be to just play the original.

3. Tom Bergeron is the host of this show. He started out on TV as the host of Hollywood Squares. This presents a "chicken or egg" type question: Does Bergeron go where the B-list celebs go or do they follow him? We may never know.

4. Sequins!!

5. Dude. Two of the dancers did a Tango to a Britney Spears song. I kid you friggin not. That was it. That was when I was absolutely SOLD on this show. A Britney Spears’ song dance routine that does not involve dry humping a back-up dancer? This is innovative television.

6. Has anybody noticed how bendy Rachel Hunter is? Every routine I’ve seen her and her partner do involves her with her knee up to her nose at at least one point. I can’t blame the girl, if I were that bendy I’d probably do the splits on a regular basis as well – just cause I could. As it is I try to fit at least one pirouette into my daily routine.

7. The announcer says, "There is everything to dance for." without a hint of sarcasm.

8. Joey McIntyre – of New Kids on the Block fame – is one of the dancers. I had this guys’ poster up on my wall for the better part of 3 years in elementary school. Now he is on my TV every week dancing? Man. This is exciting stuff. Do you think the rest of the "Kids" may show up and do one final "Hangin’ Tough" routine? If Joey was in it to win it, he’d make that happen.

9. I love the The Behind the Scenes parts of the show. They need more of these. Maybe even more of these and less actual dancing. I mean, Dirty Dancing was an hour and a half of Behind the Scenes and then like three minutes of the big dance. Oooo, do you think any of these couples are going to practice in a pond? That would be awesome.

10. Seriously, they did a Tango to Britney.

My Brain

It’s 3 a.m.

I’m still at work.

I think the worst part about this schedule is the fact that I’m missing so much quality TV. I mean, the new season of Queer Eye started, and I’ve missed every body waxing they’ve had so far. And I’m missing that new show Dancing With The Stars, which sounds just horrible enough for me to LOVE it. From my understanding these "Stars" (aka people whose careers have hit such a lull that waltzing seems like a good career move) get together with professional dancers and learn how to shake their groove thing. And then they perform in sequins and high heels. This all screams Dirty Dancing (minus Patrick Swayze and probably the sex too) and I can’t believe I’m missing it. Of course without Patrick Swayze and the sex I can’t imagine it’s nearly as good.

And then there is this show called Hit Me Baby One More Time wherein one hit wonders sing their one hit and then some other song. Or something. All I need to know about this show is that Tiffany was on it. That’s it. I’m sold. I still have my Tiffany tape from elementary school. And I still know all the moves to the choreographed dance routine we did to her song in the talent show. I can’t believe I missed my chance to hear her sweet songs once again. Damn movie making!

But I guarantee I would love Hit Me Baby One More Time. And I guarantee I would know every word to every one of the songs. Because that is the information my brain deems important – song lyrics. Why couldn’t it be physics that my brain absorbs? Or maybe even the periodic table? But no.

I found my old Alanis Morresette CD the other day. I listened to that CD for a good year straight when I was in high school. Alanis was my girl. She was angry and screaming and had one hand in her pocket and the other one giving a high five. Alas, I lost touch with Alanis and haven’t listened to the CD in a good 5 years or so. But the second I popped in the CD it all came back to me and I could remember EVERY single word. And those of you who know Alanis’ songs know that she is VERY wordy.

Do I stress you out
My sweater is on backwards and inside out
And you say howowow appropriate
I don't want to dissect everything today
I don't mean to pick you apart you see
But I cayayayan't help it
There I go jumping before the gunshot has gone off
Slap me with a splintered ruler
And it would knock me to the floor if I wasn't there already
If only I could hunt the hunter

Yet I know no geography past Nevada.

And then I found my CD with my Salt n’ Peppa song on it.

You’re packed and you’re stacked
‘Specially in the back
Brother want to thank your mother
For a butt like that
Can I get some fries
With that shake shake booty
If looks could kill
You would be an oozy
You’re a shot gun – Bang
up with that thing?
I want to know, how does it hang?
Straight up, wait up, hold up Mr. Lover,
Like Prince said you’re a sexy mother
Well I like them real wild
B-boy style by the mile
Smooth black skin with a smile
Bright as the sun
Wanna have some fun?
Come and give me some of that yum yum
Chocolate chip, honey dip, can I get a scoop?
Baby take a ride in my Coupe
Makes want to Shoop.

Yet I know no world history before like, oh, 1985. And even then it’s only the history that they bothered to make TV movies out of.

I could, if forced to, sing the entire Broadway musical RENT from start to finish. But I have somehow misplaced four years worth of Spanish classes and can now only say, "Donde esta el bano?" Which, actually, gets you most of the information you need.

Do you suppose if my teachers sang their lesson plans I would have remembered them? Or maybe if they added some dance numbers? If they had just taken that little bit of effort I could have been the one to be on Jeopardy for two months straight instead of the dorky guy. Instead I’d be lucky to qualify on Fear Factor.

So is the joy of my brain.

Remote

My computer has wireless internet. I’m typing from the middle of the set. Want to become the most popular person on a set? Get wireless internet.

We are all in here for 15 hours a day, isolated from the rest of the world. We don’t know what’s on TV, we don’t know what’s going on in the news, we don’t know if it’s day or night. It’s kinda like we’re on a bender in a Vegas casino. Only without the slot machines and strippers. We do have the occasional feathered boa though.

So when wireless internet appears everyone flocks to it as though it holds the key to the outside world. And it does. I turned it on this morning and found out that the Spurs and the Pistons were in the NBA Finals. What happened to Shaq? I just don’t know, the article didn’t say. I also found out that Nancy Reagan fell down in a hotel. I’m still not quite sure why that is news. But if it weren’t for wireless internet I would have missed out on that tidbit.

Also, can you believe that a judge is allowing a divorce in Jerry Lee Lewis’ sixth marriage? I’m not surprised about the divorce, I’m surprised that he is still alive. I seriously thought the dude was dead. Didn’t he die? Seriously.

I have to go now, close up the computer – and the world - and go back to my cave. If anything of note occurs, send a courier pigeon.

Ode to Blogs

Today I’ll write a poem
A little ode to blogs
Because I’m busy working
And don’t have time for complete thoughts

Blogs are all the rage,
Seems everyone’s a blogger
You can read about the daily doings of your garbarge man
Or the angst of Rosie O’Donnell

Right wing, left wing, west wing
All spew their thoughts online
With political analysis from every yahoo with a laptop
Who even needs to read Time?

Then there are the blogs
That reveal deep dark heartache
Bloggers who think their lost loves
May Google, "Crap my ex is thinking today"

And then there’s my blog
Full of pointless ramblings
You’ll find absolutely nothing on here
That is too earth shattering

But in order to compete
And to not lose my readers' love
I’ll say war seems awfully bad
And man I could use a hug

Extra Extra

So the other day we are sitting around on the set, waiting for a shot to be set up. For all of you who have never been on a movie set before, that’s all that happens on them – waiting for shots to be set up. That and waiting for catering to show up with your next meal. It’s quite glamorous.

So because we are bored and have some 20 extras hanging around someone decides to make the extras entertain us. He asks the group of extras if any of them have any special talents they would like to share. One of them could juggle and one of them could do some weird spinning twisty thing that I’m assuming was supposed to be dancing, but looked more like he was just really really drunk. And then just when we were about to give up on the entertainment value of the extras two of them came running up and said, “We have swords. We can do a sword fight.”

What the?

Who has swords? Who sword fights? But more importantly - who cares? We’re bored. Go get the swords.

So these guys go running off and reemerge with some big ass friggin’ swords. (It is a bit unsettling that they were able to smuggle SWORDS onto the set and no one noticed.) And then they’re off! They are jumping and grunting and swinging and clanking. They have an entire routine choreographed in which they duel and eventually one of them wins and kills the other one with a quick slit to the stomach. Then the dead guy falls to the ground and dies. Very dramatically. And very slowly. Then they get up and take a bow.

This is by far the most random thing I’ve ever seen.

I love it.

Then these guys both pull out business cards with several of their pictures on them. In these pics they are kicking, leaping, swording – all sorts of fun stuff. One of my favorite poses has the guy backlit just like John Travolta on the Saturday Night Fever poster. Except this guy has his leg kicked in the air where John’s 1970’s disco arm is pointed in the movie poster. I kid you friggin not.

I am so in love with these guys.

Thank god I got their business cards for all my future sword-fighting, kung fu, kicking of ass needs.

If the catering guy is late again I’m going to put a call in. My sword fighters ought to clear that right up.

Finally Finale

So I was finally able to my LOST season finale this weekend. Thank the lord in heaven that this movie I’m working on didn’t start shooting in the middle of the TV season or I would have probably had to quit in order to keep up on my mandatory TV viewing. I’m a good three weeks behind on viewing a very important season finale. That is simply unacceptable. There are certain things in life I’m good at. Sleeping and TV viewing are two of them. In fact, sleeping and TV viewing are probably the only two. In the past two weeks I haven’t been able to partake in either one of these talents with the frequency and length with which I have become accustomed. As a result I feel as though a small part of me has died. Or maybe that’s just the lingering indigestion from the bad catering food we had on the set this week. Could be either one really.

So I watched LOST finally and have some general observations about the show:

1.) First of all, you guys are on a hit show, there is no way you are getting off that island any time soon – so get off the stupid boat and go make yourself useful by hunting some boar.

2.) Does it seem weird that every single one of these people has a backpack? How many people travel with backpacks? Backpackers do. And so do students and probably young people in general. But on the whole, when you get on a plane, how many people do you see boarding wearing a backpack? Not that many. And now all of these people are running around the island, looking like they are straight out of some sort of World Hiker’s magazine.

3.) I’m still confused by the use of the name ‘Charlie’. Matthew Fox, the guy that plays the “jungle doctor” (as one my friends calls him), was last seen on the show “Party of Five”. I loved this show. There were five kids raising themselves after the death of their parents. They laughed, they cried, they grew up, they cried some more, they got pregnant, they cried, they got into car accidents, they cried. It was great. On this show Matthew Fox played a character named Charlie. Now I understand that he is now on another show and he is no longer an orphan and is now a jungle doctor, but why did the writers have to name one of the LOST characters ‘Charlie’? Whyyyy? Whenever someone says, “Go get Charlie.” and then that funny looking guy with the accent shows up I’m like, “What the hell is that guy doing here? Where’s Charlie?”

I might have some issues dealing with change.

4.) Okay, I get that this is a magical island, but I still take issue with Locke all of a sudden being able to walk. Even if he all of a sudden was able to walk there is no way that after years of being paralyzed the muscles in his legs would be able to hold him up, it just wouldn’t happen. I expressed this complaint with a friend of mine and he said, “Oh, but you have no problem with there being friggin’ POLAR BEAR on the island?”

5.) What’s up with the polar bear?

6.) I don’t care what kind of explanation they come up with, Kate’s obsession with that stupid toy airplane is dumb. Now, I’m as sentimental as the next girl (I hide it really, really well) but if I’m on the lam I’m not going to risk going to jail for the rest of my life for some stupid toy. (Unless it was one of those old Atari video games. Cause those things rock and are really hard to find now.)

7.) Am I the only one that really has no idea what is going on this show?

8.) Am I the only one that really wouldn’t care that she didn’t know what was going on, as long as some people started making out? I mean, come on. We’re going along with you on this stupid “unlucky numbers” hogwash, we’ve put up with the completely unexplained kidnapping of the pregnant girl, and we’ve even stood by while you had a brother and sister have sex. Can we at least get a little romance on this god-forsaken island? Kate is a lying, deceiving murderer. Why not make her a slut as well? I don’t understand crazy invisible monsters, or crazy French women or crazy hatches in the ground. But I do understand a good love affair. At this point I don’t care if she hooks up with Jungle Doctor or Tortured Blond Guy – she just needs to make out with one of them instead of spending all her time frowning and looking generally troubled. Kate, honey, you’re show’s hit, you aren’t getting off that island anytime soon. So why don’t you make the most of it, pick a cute guy, go build one of those Swiss Family Robinson treehouses and start being more Blue Lagoon and less X-Files.

Thank you.

Have Blog, Will Travel

Today I am writing this blog from the set. I am now a mobile blogger, which is quite exciting. But then again I just sit on a set for 15 hours a day, and have run out of both Laffy Taffy’s and conversation topics, so it doesn’t take much to excite me.

I’m typing on my new laptop. I ordered the laptop from Dell a couple weeks ago in hopes of it arriving a few days later so that I might be able to get some of my design work done on set between the REEK REEK REEK’s of the ax murderer. (it takes like 40 minutes to set up each REEK) So I order the thing and then called the next day to inquire as to its delivery date. Of course it takes 30 minutes to inquire, cause I have to go through like 25 minutes of voice-activated menu selections to finally get transferred to someone manning a phone in Botswana. The nice Botswanian woman tells me that my computer will be delivered in three weeks. I am baffled by this.

“Aren’t you a computer company?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“How is it possible that it takes three weeks for a computer company to send me a computer? I’d think you might have them on stock. Being as though you are a computer company.”

She went on and on about having to build my computer especially for me. Trying to make me feel special, I guess. I did not feel special. I felt like the entire point of me getting the laptop was so that I could use it on set. And now the delivery date wasn’t going to be until sometime around the day of the movie’s premiere in theaters.

But apparently my computer wasn’t all that special, cause it showed up yesterday, a week early. It’s shiny and has a wide screen and even some buttons with letters on them. And it has Spider Solitaire. Oy.

I will definitely get right on all that work I have to do. Right after I finish blogging and trying to win a record 5 games in a row in Spider Solitaire. It’s important to have priorities in life…

I Really Have Nothing

I'm trying to come up with something to blog about. But I really have nothing. It's 3 a.m. I was at work till midnight tonight. All of the Laffy Taffy fun has ended. We are no longer deliriously laughing. We are now exhaustedly (word?) staring into space hoping that someone will yell "That's a wrap!" sometime before the sun comes up and we have to be back on set.

We have all moved passed the Laffy Taffy stage and onto the, "Oh my god I have absolutely nothing left to say to you" stage. It's not natural to sit with people for 15 hours a day. We as human beings just aren't equipped to carry on that much conversation. There’s only so much you can say to people and there is only so much you actually care to hear them say back to you. I've told all of my stories and I still have two more weeks with these people. And I don't have any time to go get any new stories. I don't even have time to read a paper or watch a TV so that I can contribute to stories about current events. Not that anyone else has any stories about current events. Unless the event is: “50 People on Movie Set Unable to Identify Meat in Catered Meal”.

It is as if we have been hermetically sealed into one of those bio domes for scientific purposes. Maybe someone is trying to study the eventual effects of locking 50 adults, 40 extras, 1 obnoxiously chatty actor and an ax in a room together for 15 hours at a time.

If we all go insane and kill each other please be sure to tape the news report for me, as I don’t have time to watch any TV right now.

Grown Up

Does anyone else find it wrong that Tom Cruise is dating Joey from Dawson’s Creek? It just doesn’t seem right. Is she even legal? Shouldn’t she be going over her homework with Pacey while tucking her hair innocently behind her ear, or something?

I have trouble when my child actors grow up. They will always be kids in my eyes. One of the actresses in the film I’m working on was in Punky Brewster. How much did I LOVE Punky Brewster? How much did I want to paint my room just like hers and be abandoned at the grocery store so that I too could find an old man who let me wear mismatched socks? God, that was a good show. The only thing I really remember about the show was the “Very Special Episode” where someone got locked inside a refrigerator and I learned that I’m not supposed to play inside of refrigerators. I also learned that apparently some people just have random non-working refrigerators hanging around in their sideyard. Who knew? I did not. But I felt “very special” after learning it, that’s for sure.

So anyways, this actress on the movie is running around in a mini skirt and a tight shirt, while getting hacked to bits. And I just keep thinking that her outfit is inappropriate for a child. I keep forgetting that she is probably my age – and mismatched socks just don’t pay the bills when you get to be my age. So I guess mini skirts are the way to go.

One thing I know for sure – The girl’s been running from an ax murderer while wearing high heels for the past two weeks – I bet she longs for the days when a refrigerator was the biggest threat to her mortality.

Movie Magic

Some of my loyal commentators have inquired as to the name of the film I’m working on. It’s called 7eventy 5ive. “75” is a prank phone call game that is played by the kids in the film. The point of the game is to prank call someone and keep them on the phone for 75 seconds by scaring them. So the title of the movie is a reference to the seconds. Or it may be a reference to the age I will be when the movie completes principal photography.

We are running a bit behind.

The other night we were racing against the rising sun, trying to get all the night shots we needed. We spent the better part of 8 hours watching a stunt woman get pushed off a balcony. However, the sun came up just as they were setting up for the final shot of her landing in the bushes. So in the final film she will get pushed off the balcony at night and faaaaaaaaaaall, then land in the bushes the following morning. It will be great.

We might have to reshoot that scene.

We have moved inside this week, onto a set. This is when it starts getting good. The past two weeks we have been shooting the first act of the movie, when all the Pretty People are still pretty and innocent and smiling. From here on out there are going to be less and less Pretty People and more and more blood and screaming. Good times.

The guy who is playing the ax murderer is the most excited of all. He has been hanging around the set for the past two weeks, just waiting to chase people with his ax. He has his costume and his ax and his menacing walk. Now he finally has the Pretty People to be a menace towards.

But he’s going to need to hack them quickly – as we are running behind schedule. None of this dilly dallying around the corpses. One quick chop and be on your way, we’ve got more scenes to shoot.

Voices

At what point exactly did it become too much work to push a number on a phone when wanting to make a selection? I’m assuming that it became too difficult. That people were crying out for something better. A less taxing way to make their menu choices. And finally some phone menu genius decided it would be a GREAT idea to make phone menus that were voice activated.

This phone menu genius needs to be hunted down and killed.

Immediately.

Oh, sweet mother of all things holy and good in the world – please make the automated, voice-activated telephone menus stop. PLEASE. My sanity just can’t take it. I cannot spend one more minute of my life trying to talk to an electronic person. Because she is not a very good conversationalist.

Put me on hold for 15 minutes while you transfer me to your customer service people in Pakistan – I don’t care. Just let me talk to a real live person. That’s all I ask. I know you are trying to be helpful by offering me menu choices that are meant to make my experience on the phone a quick one. But guess what – it never works. Homegirl on the menu NEVER has the option I want. So I end up saying what I really want and she ends up saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Please try again.” And the WORST part is that whoever recorded the voice was told to actually sound sorry when she is saying, “I’m sorry.” But she’s not really sorry – she’s really just trying to keep me from talking to a real person. That is her entire purpose in life. To keep me off the line to Pakistan.

The other day I called to book a flight from L.A. to Sacramento. I knew what day I wanted to fly, but I didn’t know what time. I wanted to know what times were available. I wasn’t near a computer, so I had to call in. On comes Matt the Annoying Menu Guy to help me with all my travel needs. Matt is all friendly and light… and completely useless to me. Matt cannot comprehend that I don’t know what time I want to leave. This does not register with Matt. He is very “sorry”. After about 6 minutes of trying to reason with Matt I start pushing every button on the keypad, hoping one of them would take me to Matt’s leader. Instead I get, “Thanks for calling. Goodbye.”

I want to kill Matt.

I call back. I go through the whole thing again, finally Matt gives up on me and transfers me to a Real Live Man. At this point I am about 25 minutes into this whole thing. I could have driven from L.A. to Sacramento before I can get through to an actual person to book a friggin flight.

I ask the Real Live Man if I can get a flight from L.A. to Sacramento. Real Live Man says that the flight is going to be something ridiculous like 4 hours long. I think that I misunderstand Real Live Man, as I can literally drive from L.A. to Sacramento in that time (and by “I” I mean, “other people who drive really fast on the freeway, not me”). He says that his airline flies from L.A. to Sacramento thru Seattle. Seattle. As in not even in the same state as the other two cities I’m inquiring about. I repeat what he has said, “From L.A. to Sacramento – thru Seattle.” “Yes.”

I am completely silent.

Then I say, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Please try again.”

Opposites

Shooting nights this week. I just got home. It’s 6:30 in the morning. I actually prefer this schedule to the one that begins at 6:30 in the morning. Not a huge fan of productivity in the light a.m. hours.

My roommate is getting ready to go to work right now. I am getting ready to go to bed. This is not the first time this has occurred. We are very different the two of us. She’s blond, I’m brunette. She’s tall, I’m short. She’s positive, I’m cynical. She fills the refrigerator with things that require actual cooking, I fill it with Mountain Dew. She works out all the time, I watch TV and drink Mountain Dew. She reads Cosmo, I read Time. She says things like, "I don't feel well today, I'm going to go to the gym and run a little, that should help me feel better." I say things like, "I've never in my life thought to go to a gym in an effort to feel better."

She’s blond, I’m cynical.

The only thing that brings us together is our mutual love of sushi and Sex and the City. If it weren’t for wasabi and Carrie Bradshaw I fear we would have nothing to talk about at all. I’d just be laying on the couch sipping Mountain Dews while she did sit-ups and was generally positive about the world.

I wonder if soy sauce and Mr. Big could help the Middle East come together in unity as well?

A Story

Working nights this week on the movie.

Get home at 4 a.m.

Grab all my crap out of my car.

Decide to clean the water bottles and useless paperwork out of my car in an effort to keep the mess from getting out of control.

Walk through my back gate.

Throw away water bottles and useless paperwork.

Walk up to my house.

Have no keys to get into my house.

Go back to my car.

Search through my purse for the key/credit card thing that my mom had AAA make for me for when I lock my keys in my car.

Have used this key so many times that it nearly brakes off the card when I try to unlock the door.

Must try 15 times before door finally unlocks.

Look throughout entire car for lost keys.

Cannot find them.

Want to cry.

But do not have the energy.

Contemplate sleeping in the car.

Realize I threw some stuff away.

Go to the garbage can, which is located in a pitch dark area.

Drag garbage can to small light on the ground.

Awaken every dog and pet bird in a ten mile radius with the dragging of the can.

Lay garbage can down.

Start pulling garbage out.

Spot keys on bottom of garbage can.

Must crawl in very large garbage can to retrieve keys.

Return garbage to can, tip can back up, excite the dogs and bird with my noise.

Trip over an unfortunately placed sprinkler head, and fall down while returning the can to its original location.

Start laughing hysterically, while dusting stale lettuce and dirt off my jacket.

The End.

I’ve Got Nothing

I have nothing funny to say today. Usually something funny happens during the day and I make a mental note to blog about it later. But there are now two things wrong with that practice: 1) Given my insane work schedule lately I haven’t had time to engage in anything funny and 2.) Even if I did engage in something funny I don’t have the mental acuity to make any sort of mental note about it.

Also, I fear that my sense of humor is becoming altered a bit. I’m surrounded only by other people who are severely sleep deprived and overly sun burnt. I’m assuming that the things we find humorous would not be nearly as entertaining to people whose brains are actually functioning properly. For instance, today I stole the entire tub of Laffy Taffy from the catering table and proceeded to read every one of their jokes (two laffy's per taffy) to a co-worker who also has a melted brain.

We were laughing so hard we attracted others to our ‘group o’ funny’ and they were only slightly put-off by the fact that we were hysterically laughing over, “What do you call a tick on the moon? A lunar-tick.” Ba dup bup baah! Thank you, thank you, we’ll be here all week. “What school do you go to to learn how to greet people?” someone guessed, “Hi School.” And she was right. You would think she had won Jeopardy, for as many high fives as she got. After, “What did the snail say while riding on the turtle’s back? Weeeeeee.” everyone was laughing. Hysterically. In that way you laugh and when someone asks you what you’re laughing about you say, “I really have no idea.” Picture 10 people in that state. Then picture someone directing them to the shaded area where they could find bottled waters and a moist towel to put on their foreheads.

When the wit and sublime humor of Laffy Taffy push you over into fits of laughter you have to question your funny meter and wonder if it too might be sun-damaged. So I fear that anything I write will only be funny if you stick your head in a microwave before reading it.

“Why did the golfer wear two pairs of pants?”

“Cause he had a hole in one.”

The popcorn setting of the microwave should be just enough to make this entire ramble absolutely HILARIOUS.