Hard to beat...

Coming home tonight from the Ark, driving over the Sepulveda pass, no traffic (miracle!), Bob Seger's "Hollywood Nights" blasting out of my brand spanking new black Ipod on my decent stereo in my POS Hyundai, followed shortly by Keith Urban's "Slow Turnin'." It's about 70 outside, lovely breeze blowing through my back windows. Clear sky, the Valley glittering below me as I crest the 405.

Nope, doesn't get better than this.

My first check

Behold, my first check for directing:



I can't stop smiling, even though this has been a challenging experience.

I am now a paid director.

About f***ing time.

Summary of August 3, 2007.

Summary of today

Okay, yesterday, really.

Woke up realizing it’s my ex’s birthday. Great way to start the day.

Typed my ass off in the morning.

Couldn’t find anything cute to wear to the “preview” tonight of my new show. God, I need to lose a ton of weight.

Got to MR to corrupt the creative souls of children. My regular partner in crime is off this weekend. Her substitute got the time wrong for the first class. I have no keys. Kids started showing up. Got in to the studio almost 45 minutes late. Couldn’t leave at 5, like I was supposed to in order to get to the preview early.

Oh, and the air conditioning broke down – again.

Found out the MR guy who repairs the air had the keys all along, lives very close, could have let us in earlier and could have locked up so I wouldn’t have had to hang around.

Fought traffic at 6:45 to get to Santa Monica by 7:30-7:45. Arrived at 7:30.

Don’t really want to discuss tonight. The show went fine and all. Other things, behind the scenes, that I’ll blog about some day. Sum it up with the fact that I’m listed in the program as “Susan (director).” No last name with my bio. Apparently, I have become like Madonna and only go by my first name. The answer to my query as to why this is was simply, “Oh, I guess I missed that. I guess we should change that before we print up new ones.” Nice to know my time and talent are appreciated.

Blew out of there, as apparently did everyone else. Very tired. Should have gone home since I’m getting up before dawn to go help my dearest Chairman with his yard sale at 6 AM. But, nooooo.

Stopped by Molly Malone’s (bar in Hollywood) to listen to the Piper Downs, one of my favorite bands and a group of my favorite people. Am very, very glad I did. They blew away my blues with their simple joy in playing. I love these guys. They are some of the finest musicians on earth and if you want some killer, kick-ass, straight out rock and roll, check them out. They rocked so hard tonight. Greeted me with such friendship and love that the rest of the day faded away to the strains of “Stutter”.

Drove home, avoiding the swerving and the drunken and the just simply LA-ian drivers.

Now, I’m wide awake, it’s 1:21 AM and I have to get to bed. I’m not going to say get to sleep because I don’t know if actual sleep will actually happen. But at least lay down, close my eyes and breathe for the first time in days.

Here’s to a better tomorrow. Looking forward to Sunday, writing with my “team” – the fabulous David S. and the amazing Monica H. Trying to make the comedy part of the Ark film an actual comedy. Sorry, Erik, I know now that pairing you with the other writer was not a good blend and I hope to get another chance to work with you on something else. Focus on your kids, give them much love, and everything else will figure itself out.

Okay, rambling now. Must stop typing…..

Things I've given up...

My mother today actually suggested in passing that the clutter in the living room of our apartment is my fault. I will give her that – the boxes that are lined up against the wall are mine. The clutter, however, is composed of the four tables and multitude of vases and plants and Beanie Babies, etc., that she could not give up when they moved up here. I realize she left a lot of stuff behind, including a patio filled with beautiful plants and flowers. I know this move was hard on her as she is the unmovable block – easier to bring the mountain to Muhammad rather than the other way around.

However, I found myself almost in tears as I reminded her that I have pretty much nothing left of my old life. I had a beautiful, glorious 1,500 sq. ft. apartment that had a loft that I adored. I had furniture. I had chairs and couches and places to put things. I had drawers and a chest of drawers and a beautiful antique armoire. I had closets for my clothes and an office filled with, okay, his stuff but still. I had a life, complete with all the accoutrements.

What do I have now? A single bedroom. The living room, dining room and kitchen are all filled with my parents’ life. The pictures on the walls in the hallway? My parents’. The books on the shelves and the photographs throughout are my parents’. Everything I own, everything that I am, has been winnowed down to a single, tiny bedroom. I have stuff in boxes because there simply isn’t anywhere left to put things. And, at this point, I cannot bring myself to throw one more tiny piece of paper away.

I guess I never realized that when I walked away from him, I walked away from my life. |A life we had spent almost 18 years building. A familiar life, a comfortable life. Although, in that life, I had very little as well. Pictures were put up where he wanted them, despite my many arguments. The bookcases filled with books were his. I had about 10 little shelves on the dozen bookcases we had. I had a desk in the loft to work at, he had the whole office.

But now that life has been cut down even more to this tiny room with way too much stuff. And I can’t find half the stuff I want because it’s either jammed into a corner somewhere or buried in a box where I haven’t found it yet.

I thought my new life would include room for me. But I’m still living in someone else’s space, with someone else’s rules. I have to shoehorn my life into the space I’m allowed because that’s all I get.

And for now, there’s not much I can do about that. But it makes me very sad to think about all the things I left behind and all the things I’ve given up over these two years and all the things I’ll never get back. I’m still trying to build my new life within the confines I am offered and it’s a struggle some days, like today.

Maybe that’s why my vision of the future is so appealing and I have to keep that in front of me. That beautiful house/condo/whatever it is with the 20 foot ceilings and the piano that I know is mine and the furniture that I know WE picked out together and knowing that there is a room somewhere in that building that is just mine, with my stuff in it, where I want my stuff to be. And the person singing in the other room doesn’t care if he has exactly as many photos out of his family as of mine. That comes naturally. The space is ours, with room for both of us to have our own space and room for us to have our space together. And there is room to breathe and to grow and to have the life that I had hoped to create when I left that other confining, suffocating life behind. I hope in five years I am there, because I’m not sure I can hold my breath that long.

My dear friend

I’ve missed you. And I think, in that brief moment before your guard came up, I could see that you missed me.

Cuz I haven't posted any artwork for a while.

I've been so busy, I haven't had time to draw or paint. But I had to get my butt back into the Academy this week to continue m training. So this is what I did today:



It's called "tone drawing" where you create still life objects using only a dark, light and middle tone. Very minimal shading. It got kind of splattered by the fixative to keep it from smearing. I'm actually quite proud of how this one came out.

Not terribly exciting but it means I am one step closer to oil painting. In fact, if I can keep myself together and go in once a week, I should be doing oil painting within a month or so.

So, there's your art fix. Thanks for tuning in.

Mirror, Mirror

So who do you see when you look in the mirror? Do you really see you or do you see what you think others see? Do you like what you see? Do you want to change it?

I guess I’ve been doing a lot of thinking for the past two years about who I am. I’ve been trying to find the Susan that is at the base of everything – not the Susan everyone sees but the Susan I see (or want to see) when I look in the mirror.

I was thinking about how I would describe myself should I decide to submit myself to the ridiculousness of online dating (sorry, not sure I can do that). Some people have great success. But I saw my personal profile as something like this:

SWF, 45, slightly emotionally damaged, twice divorced (hence the damage), carrying about 45 lbs too many and only occasionally bipolar, mostly around the full moon. “Weirdly driven,” obsessed with her creative life but moderately obsessive when it comes to her heart as well. Oh, and she lives with her parents.

I can see the line forming to the left of perspective dates.

I guess none of us can define ourselves that simply, which is the main reason internet dating doesn’t appeal to me. I’m much more complicated than that. Yes, I’ve been divorced twice. Yes, I’m prone to depression. But I can also experience and share joy of the like you have never seen. Yes, my heart is battered but I hope that I am not terribly bitter because of it. I’m still a romantic yet I’m still cautious. Yes, I am independent and a towering pillar of strength but I can also crumble with a word or a look and sometimes I want someone to tell me what to do, or at least help me figure out what to do.

Interestingly, I’m listening to Trace Adkins sing “I Wanna Feel Something.”

It may be as simple as that. I want to feel something. Something that feels uniquely me. Something that is not dismissed, that is not pandered to. I want to feel something and know that that feeling is valid because it’s mine, because I know who I am and I no longer require someone to validate that feeling and validate that person.

I have spent the last 45 years of my life trying to figure out who I am. I was never defined as a young child. My brother and my sister had very clear definitions – athletes, award winners, accolades galore. The expectations were there and they were defined. Now, I’m sure that comes with its own set of issues and problems that they can deal with by working with their own therapists. But for me, the damage was in not being defined. I didn’t know who to be. I couldn’t compete with them as athletes because the bar was set into the stratosphere. So I tried many things, trying to find Susan. The resounding lack of response made me think that nothing I could do would ever equal what my siblings had accomplished and that what I was doing was not valid.

Luckily, I fell in love with theater. Discovering my creativity began to help me see the blurry image in front of me, that maybe there was a Susan there that might be worth something.

But after two challenging relationships with two men who did not help the cause of defining Susan, I am now back to one, beginning again, trying put together the pieces I have gathered over 45 years. The toughest part is not allowing myself to be defined by those around me. I have to find my own definition, my own version of Susan.

Bit by bit, that person is coming into focus. I can see maybe 10% of the Susan that I want to be, that Susan in my vision five years from now, curled up in an armchair, clean, fresh breeze blowing in through my open window, sitting in peace and serenity, knowing I am exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing, the sound of the one I love singing from the next room, singing something silly and lovely and tender that means nothing to anyone but us. That Susan, that peaceful, content person is the one I strive for. I’m sure she has problems and issues and temper tantrums and deep, dark depressions. But I am hoping those are the rarities and the peace and comfort are the norm for this Susan.

Maybe in five years, the ad that Susan would write would read something like this:

CWF (committed white female), 50, emotionally healed, in a caring, committed relationship with (he who can’t be named), still probably carrying around a few pounds too many but doesn’t give a shit about that, still likes to howl at the moon but with pleasure, not with pain. Still “weirdly driven” with her creative life but learning to love without losing herself. Lives with her parents – who live in the guest house of her beautiful wooded estate.

That sounds pretty good to me.

Question of passion and other musings...

First of all, for no particular reason other than I just got stuck behind a bunch of these, God save me from the faux-shinistas. You know the ones I mean. The high maintenance girls (don’t care if they’re 23, 34, or 42, they’ll always be girls) with the annoying, nasal voices they think sound sophisticated and their faux designer knock-off everythings – big, huge plastic faux Chanel sunglasses that worked on Audrey Hepburn but not you, sweetie; the enormous, obviously vinyl D&G over-studded and over-ugly bag and, my favorite, the gi-normous raincoat yellow, uglier than sin purse that looks like you could fit a Volkswagen in it on the few days that it rains in LA. And god forbid you should get behind this bunch of chickies when you’re trying to order a simple Coke and a cookie while they each order some kind of stupid soy milk vegan low fat decaf espresso frothy drink with tons of whipped cream – and then they all pay individually while they dig through they’re obviously fake, horribly cheesy knock-off purses for their just as fugly knock-off wallets. And then tip the guy a quarter.

Okay, glad I got that off my chest.

I made an interesting observation while my brother was here on vacation. He and his wife have been married probably 17 years, I guess. Their son is 15 – and, boy, is he 15. But that’s for another blog. What I noticed with my brother and his wife is what I’ve noticed with a lot of long term relationships – they’re more like roommates than lovers. There was no passion between them, no affection, no comfortable hand-holding or sweet kisses exchanged. Just day-to-day, get through the day, what do you want to do now kind of conversation.

It got me wondering about a lot of things, mainly about when and why does the passion die in a relationship and does it need to. And it got me wondering about whether I ever really felt that passion for my ex. And if I did, when did that die?

I was trying to think of that moment when I feel in love with my ex. I can kind of remember when I fell for my first husband, although it’s more just a warm, fuzzy memory than anything exact. There was a moment when he smiled at me with his off-kilter, slightly dangerous smile and that was it. I was maybe 18 and I had lost a good piece of my heart in that moment. I don’t remember where we were or what we were doing, I just remember that look. Even the OOMA, I can remember when I thought, wow, I think I might actually be in love with him. It was a very late night, very innocuous situation, just sitting and talking and eating and laughing and I thought, I could do this for a very long time.

But I don’t remember falling in love with my current ex. It just seemed like I floated along, moving in with him, letting him propose to me, marrying him because it just seemed like the thing to do. My memories might be colored by the hurt and anger and pain surrounding the thought of him lately but it makes me very sad that I can’t point to a moment and say, that’s when I fell in love with him. I think I went with him because he seemed to love me, he felt familiar (now I know why, thanks to my therapist) and there didn’t seem to be anybody else breaking down my door. I hate to think I spent 18 years with someone I wasn’t passionate about.

I think I was more passionate about his talent and his drive than he himself. I saw us as this power couple who could take Hollywood by storm. He also had the capacity to be incredibly romantic but, for the most part, so much of it felt like he was being romantic because he decided he needed to be in order to keep our relationship going rather than to be romantic because his heart moved him to be. There were very few of those moments that felt really motivated from his heart, not his head.

The last few years we were together, I really didn’t even want to have sex with him. While I’m sure some of that was because of my depression, a lot of it was just that I was starting to fall out of love with him. There had been so much damage done to me that I certainly didn’t want to expose myself to him anymore than I had to. And it had become pretty textbook by then. I could map out the one of three options that he would probably take depending on how things started. I won’t bore you with details because I spent enough time being bored as it was. But it started me thinking about passion in a long term relationship, even then. Shouldn’t I want to make love to my husband, no matter whether we’ve been married five years or 15 years? Shouldn’t you always want to make love to your spouse or significant other? Aren’t they supposed to turn you on?

I had become a secretary and a roommate and a housekeeper (although not a very good one) and somewhere along the line, we had stopped being in love. He said the words but I think it was gone on his side as well. Neither of us understood it in the moment, neither of us knew what to do about it. Hard to say whether starting couples counseling earlier would have saved our marriage. I think it had been dead for a very long time by the time we recognized that it was a corpse.

What does all this have to do with anything right now? I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to be roommates with someone again. I want to be with someone who stirs my heart just as much in 15 years as it does when we first meet. I want to be with someone who’s going to stay passionate - truly, honestly passionate – and not become a rout participant in our relationship. I don’t know that I’ll ever have another relationship that lasts long enough to test this, maybe because I’m afraid no relationship can stand up to that bar. But does that mean I should lower that bar? I don’t think so. If I’m going to give up my heart again, it has to be something magical and special and the thing I have been searching for my whole life. I haven’t been able to find it yet obviously and I may never be able to find it. That may mean I’ll spend the rest of my life standing by the side, watching relationships come and go while I wait for my perfect passion. But after seeing relationship after relationship chug along in mediocrity just because both people are too afraid of being alone, I think I’d rather spend my time holding out for something that comes close to that perfect passion rather than waste my heart on something that is just settling for something at this moment in time.

In the meantime, I’ll wave as the rest of the world goes by.

My I Ching for today

(I bolded the stuff I like. Makes me think of the email Dave sent me after the 48 hour film project and his reference to the "dedicated bunch of psychopaths" I use.)


16 - Yu - Enthusiasm
-- --
-- --
------
-- --
-- --
-- --
The Judgment
Enthusiasm. It furthers one to install helpers
And to set armies marching.

The Image
Thunder comes resounding out of the earth:
The image of Enthusiasm.
Thus the ancient kings made music
In order to honor merit,
And offered it with splendor
To the Supreme Deity,
Inviting their ancestors to be present.

Six at the beginning means:
Enthusiasm that expresses itself
Brings misfortune.

Six in second place means:
Firm as a rock. Not a whole day.
Perseverance brings good fortune.

Six in third place means:
Enthusiasm that looks upward creates remorse.
Hesitation brings remorse.

Nine in fourth place means:
* The source of enthusiasm.
He achieves great things.
Doubt not.
You gather friends around you
As a hair clasp gathers the hair.

Six in fifth place means:
Persistently ill, and still does not die. (my favorite part!)

Six at the top means:
Deluded enthusiasm. (my other favorite part)
But if after completion one changes,
There is no blame.


____________________________________

Kinda cool. Both my I Ching and my horoscope are predicting great things to come right now. I can only hope.

Wondering, Wishing, Wanting

Wondering if it’s possible to find love again at 45. I know I can crush – have a wicked one on Cute Boy that is fun and silly and totally harmless. After all, he’s got a girlfriend and is moving in with her so nothing’s gonna happen there but it’s fun. Lost my heart to my dearest and I don’t think I’ll ever get all of it back. Talking to my friend, Anna, the other day who said she’s not sure if she wants to get into a relationship with someone because it’s just going to end. And I think she’s right. I’ve had two great loves in my life and they both ended. Is it possible to find it yet again, that love that makes you breathless and giddy and woozy all at the same time, that love that makes your heart pound and fills it with so much that you can’t possibly fit anything else in there? That love that we’re only supposed to have once in our lives. Can it happen a third time? My sister claims her third marriage is the best thing there is and her husband is truly the best man I have ever known her to be with. However, there have been many drunken phone calls – when we were still speaking – where she admitted that her life wasn’t what she wanted it to be and she wasn’t sure about even this incredible man who obviously loves her very much. Can I expect to find that love, that one, that person, who can fill me and reach me and touch me without me losing too much of myself? Or can I let myself be that vulnerable again to even try to find out?

Wishing for that love. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Aching with wishing while flirting via email with Cute Guy, realizing the futility of it. Wishing for that hand, those arms, those lips, something to make me feel 25 again, loved within an inch of my life again.

Wanting to start all over, to be able to let someone else in. Wanting to stop hurting and aching and wishing and wanting. Wanting (a little less every day) the one I can’t have – the ones I can’t have, maybe. Wanting to be wanted. Just wanting.

10 Reasons why I shouldn’t watch “The Gilmore Girls.”

1. No one talks like that.

2. No one lives like that.

3. No mother/daughter has a relationship like that.

4. I love my friends and their advice but it’s not the pithy, quippy, get to the point quickly kind of advice that Lorelei’s friends give her.

5. I will never live in a house like that making a wage like that.

6. No guy ever took me bungee jumping when I was 19.

7. LA doesn’t do clever, quirky town festivals where everyone gets together and does something cute and silly.

8. Norman Mailer has never just wandered into my life.

9. I wouldn’t be Lorelei if I lived in that world – I would be one of the funny, fat neighbors who seem to be slightly slow and not nearly as clever as our lead girls.

10. My “Luke” is never going to just some day realize he’s in love with me and grab me and kiss me that way, whether I wait eight years or 80 years. But, like Lorelei, I can't let him go.

Truth Be Told...

I don’t know who I am.

The first year after I escaped and found my freedom, I announced to the world, “Here I am! This is me! This is who I am without someone telling me who I have to be.” And I tried so hard to be that person I saw in my mind’s eye – that woman who was strong and independent and creative and amazing. Dorothy Parker but with better shoes. I thought I knew what I wanted and who I wanted to be. I thought it would be easy to embrace that Susan I always wanted to be but never felt that I was allowed to be.

But deep inside, I had no idea who that person was. I lived what I thought was expected of me, who I thought others saw me as. OOMA saw me as strong, creative, brilliant (maybe). My new friends saw me as strong, creative, powerful. I still saw myself as a little girl, hiding behind a door, peeking out on the life that I wanted but no idea how to get the door open. But I faked it pretty well. There were glimpses of who I thought I wanted to be but never a clear vision.

I became SUSAN, in all caps, because that’s what I thought I should be. Dynamic. Strong. Powerful. Didn’t need anyone. Didn’t need anything. But the many nights crying into my pillow and fighting panic attacks told me that maybe I was wrong. I tried to let myself (whoever that may be) come out and be expressed but, in the process, I think I drove some pretty amazing people away because, once I let myself out, I found I couldn’t pull myself back.

I spent the next year spinning the wheel, trying on different things, different selves. Be more open, be more emotional. Be stronger, be more creative. Be the director you are, don’t need anything else. You’re strong, you are SUSAN, hear you roar. But the little voice inside me kept saying, “But who are you?” I ignored that voice. I decided I didn’t want to be single anymore and to try to figure out who I had to be in order to make the OOMA want and adore me. Silly me. Maybe if I hadn’t tried so hard to be… something… maybe I wouldn’t have made him run for the hills. I’ll never know because he’ll never tell me. But I knew down inside that I wasn’t who I wanted to be yet because I still didn’t know who that was.

I had moments in that year where I wanted to go back to being with him, just so I wouldn’t have to find out who I was without him. Because that would mean that the person I was for 18 years with him was a fraud. I know, I wouldn’t be who I am without that time with him but it seemed that, by leaving him, I left myself behind, with no bread crumbs to lead me back to where I was. I kept thinking, “What the hell did I do? Who am I to think I deserve to find myself, find my bliss, find what makes me happy? Nobody’s happy, why should I be?” Luckily, that didn’t last long and usually went away quickly. But it was there.

A while ago, I was meditating on where I wanted to be in five years and I got a very clear vision of that. Beautiful oceanside home, filled with peace and contentment, warm, beautiful, the voice of the man I love in the other room, singing softly to something that was making me smile as I sat curled up, looking out the window at the gorgeous view, knowing we were going to be doing something perfect that night. Knowing that I was exactly where I wanted to be, with the person I wanted to be with, and being the person I wanted to be. There were no doubts, no worries, no fears. This was my life, and it was exactly what I wanted.

I now realize that the past six to eight months have been me, waiting. Waiting for some revelation of who I am and who I am to be. Director, yes, but good director? I thought so. But how could I know without that significant other to confirm it to me. I know I have spouted off on not needing that approval but, you know what? I am full of shit. I want someone there to discuss the screening last weekend and play the “what did you think” game with. But even that is dependent on who I am. How can I know who I am looking for if I don’t know who the person is that is doing the looking.

So I arrive at today, ironically Independence Day, when I realize that I haven’t a clue who I am. There is a blurry impression deep inside that makes me think I can see something hazy on the horizon that might take the shape of the person I want to be. I know I feel it occasionally, particularly when I am directing and there is no doubt in my mind that I know what I am doing. I see that vision of me in five years, happy, content, at peace, and I want to figure out how to get there. I know I am taking baby steps and sometimes I think I am making huge, gargantuan leaps. But then I look down and see I’m only a tiny step or two from where I was.

I do realize that, to get the life I see in five years, I need to spend the time figuring out who I am. How can I expect to be with someone in my life in a significant way if I don’t know who I am? How do I know even what to look for? Without a road map of my own self, I cannot expect anyone to follow me along and meet me at the rest stop. I’ve got my Thomas Guide, they’re working with Mapquest. We’re not going to end up at the same place because we’re seeing two different paths.

I hope that going to my therapist again will help me decipher my Thomas Guide and figure out which way is north. I hope to find that peaceful place in the distance, with the ocean and the peace and the sound of his voice singing softly in the next room. I hope to be able to say, “Hi, I’m Susan (no caps)” and know what that introduction means. In the meantime, bear with me as I seek and struggle and peek into the crannies. I hope in five years, we’ll toast to the me that was and put her to bed. And I hope to be complete all by myself.

More 48 Hour Pictures - from the screening

Check them out if you haven't already.

Nerves of...

... mush.

Didn't sleep much last night. Not that I'm worried about tonight. Maybe anxious and anticipatory. I know "The Change-Up" is great. It was nice to have an actual crew this year and not force the actors into holding the boom, etc. But still, it's always nerve-wracking to me to have something screened. Maybe I'll get jaded enough one day to not care. In a way, I hope not.

The screenings last night were... interesting. "Buddy System" by Genesis Films was by far the best. They are the best filmmakers there. My friend, Perry's, was the best I've seen him do. The rest, with a few exceptions, were kind of average. Nothing frightfully bad, very few stand-outs.

I hope we're a stand out tonight.

In case you haven't seen the info enough, here it is again:

Fine Arts Theatre
8556 Wilshire Blvd.
Beverly Hills, CA 90211
phone: (310) 360-0455
$10

Please come and join me if you can.

More 48 Hour Madness

So, a couple of days later, I'm still trying to recover from the 48 Hour Film Project. It was a tough year, with only a few hours sleep between Friday morning and 2 AM Sunday night. I’ll write a longer blog with details as soon as I can find the time. Here are pics from the weekend, including our ill-fated journey into the park.

In the meantime, the end of the race concluded with thinking we had technical problems with our DVD submission and almost not submitting it on time because of this. Peter Fox, the organizer, insisted I turn in whatever we had and turn in a “late” entry later that night just in case. Dave very kindly let me utilize all his technology at his office, helped me get a good DVD burned and I dropped that off at midnight as a “late” entry. Long story short, the first DVD appears to be fine so we made the deadline and qualify for awards.

I screened both the “48 Hour” cut (just about 7 minutes) and the director’s cut (around 9 minutes) last night for select folks at the Ark and the overall response was very good to both of them. I think this is probably the best of the three 48 Hour films I’ve shot, if not the best thing I’ve shot. The beauty of working with professionals, both as writers and as cast/crew, is that things just get done. No one bitches and moans, egos are checked at the door, the cast does their homework, and we can get everything done in a timely manner. We really shot only about 5 ½ hours after all the chaos of losing our location. The actors jumped right in to the rewrite and got the very delicate tone of the piece. Think Tarrantino meets Soderbergh. Could have easily slipped into over-done but they found the perfect balance of zany but grounded.

Beth, as always, was a shot or two ahead so I didn’t have to think about much. She has to sign a contract in blood with me to not move back to Alaska and to never work for anyone else when I need her. I cannot wait to do “The Wraith” with her.

And my writing team was exquisite. Dave and Monica are possibly two of the most clever people I have ever worked with. The dynamic and the respect amongst us allowed us to disagree on points of view and yet continue to work productively. I LOVE this script. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE IT. And, consequently, I LOVE this film. “The Change-Up” is what it’s called, by the way.

The official screening is this Saturday, June 30 at 6:30 PM. If you want to join us, please go to www.48hourfilm.com/la to buy tickets online. Buy ‘em quick, they will sell out.

What this weekend did do for me is make me once again realize that there is no Plan B. I will never be a program director for Mission: Renaissance, as much as I love the job and the work. I am not even going to begin the training for that because I don’t want to waste their time or mine. I am a director. I am “weirdly driven”, as Dave described me nearing midnight on Sunday as we tried to finish the DVD. This is what I want to do, this is what I’m destined to do, and that’s all there is. I am so grateful to be reminded of this often so I don’t get distracted.

Whew. So, I take a breath and tonight start rehearsal for a new play I’m directing. I should have taken a few days off but, oh, well.

Here we go!

A very long 48 hours...

...and it's not over.

Started out well. Peter went with me to the kick-off event, Dave and Monica and I had been brainstorming via internet for a few days and I even had a lunch with Perry, who got me addictd in the first place.

I drew "buddy film." Hmmmm. Actually, pretty good genre, we had a couple of things we could bend that way.

Had a delicious dinner late Friday night with Dave and Monica as we fleshed out the script, which was tentatively entitled "Double Depth". Very fun night filled with way too many movie reference, very good Italian food and a carafe of chianti. We worked until 1;30 in the morning, Monica crashing on my floor, Dave staggering home.

Got up at 7, checked out a series of locations in a nearby park. Guerilla filmmaking at its best. Until the park ranger caught us around 3:30, just as we were really getting started (another story but later) and threw us out. I was losing most of my cast around 6, so we didn't have time to find somewhere else, even though we tried. I finally made the very difficult decision to scrap the plan for the park and sent everyone on their way.

Dave, Monica and I met over near the Ark Theatre, figuring we could rewrite, everyone was willing to come back late night and film SOMETHING! So, several hours and a coffee drink or two later, we had rewritten a very good, very tight script and made it even better. Don't ask me how.

I went over to the Ark to see "Soda Pop" and waited for the cast/crew to arrive around 10:30. We got our first shot off at midnight. It's now 5:21 AM and I just got home. i have to now edit and put together a coherent film. Beth, Peter, and maybe Dave are coming by later to help finish things up. I have to turn this in by 7:30 tonight.

I hope to grab a nap in there somewhere as I am exhausted.

My crew rocked - Patty, Caroline, Erin X., Zachary, Erik, Meagan, Renae, Travis, and anyone else i missed.

I love my DP, Beth Wallan. Hire her - but only wen I don't need her.

My amazing cast - Peter Ross Stephens, one of my favorite collaborators, Tricia Pierce, wildly funny, Kerr Lordygan, who gave Tricia a run for her money in the funny department, and Erin Trainor, who jumped in at the last minute and was terrific.

Finally, possibly the best writing experience I have ever had with Monica Hafer and Dave Smith. Somehow, between movie quotes, comic book conversation and just plain silliness, we managed to find a very great script to write. I could have never written something like this on my own.

So, at this almost done point, I am once again humbled by the talent around me, grateful for the crew that surrounded me and overwhelmed by the respect and friendship shown to me.

Now, maybe I'll grab an hour's nap and try to get the edit started!

48 Hour Film - first part done

Just finished writing the script to shoot in five hours. Monica and Dave rock! Of course, it's 2 AM and we laughed until we cried almost.

I hope it's just as funny when we get up and read it in a few hours.

Here's to shooting today!

Fear of...

I’m actually scared.

I don’t know why. I know how to do this. I’ve been doing it long enough. I am confident in what I do and how I do it.

Maybe I’ve put too much pressure on myself with wanting to do something good enough to get us to San Francisco. Maybe I’m just putting too much pressure on myself to not only do the best short film I can do, but to outdo myself so I don’t let anybody down.

The first two years, I felt like there was just me, and maybe my dearest Chairman, who was my rock way back then, to be let down if this didn’t work. Sure, I’d disappoint the other actors and crew and it’s not that everybody wasn’t invested in it. But if I fell on my face, I felt like I would only be letting myself and maybe Chairman down. I wouldn’t be letting anyone else down because, after all, it’s only a 48 hour film.

But this year feels different. I have a writing team, Monica and Dave, whose talents I adore. I think they’re a good match for me. And Peter is going to the kick-off with me and I know he’ll be there for anything and everything I need and I’m really glad for that because I’m really missing my partner in crime right now since he has chosen to make himself scarce in my life.

Maybe it’s just that. I’ve done two of these with someone there who I felt like was a partner for these things. And he’s not there this year. And I feel his absence, as a collaborator and as a friend. He is a huge hole in my life right now and that is incredibly hard.

And this time around, there feels like there is so much at stake. I want to make the top 10. I want to take my team to San Francisco. And if we don’t make it, I will have failed. I realize, of course, I have no control over it and sometimes the people who judge these things make really inconceivable decisions. I know that, no matter what, my film will be better than probably 60% of them, of that I have confidence.

But I feel like I could let so many people down if I fail. Monica and Dave, Peter, Tricia and Erin and Patty and all the others who have thrown their hat into the ring with me this time. They’ll be supportive and encouraging, no matter what. But I want to make them proud because of everything they have done for me and how much they have absolute faith in me.

The first two years, I went in blindly. The first year especially, and I had two of the four pieces of my heart there, which made it so much easier. One of those pieces is forever gone from me and that makes this hard because, despite everything, I actually miss him. Yes, he can be difficult and he can be a little nuts, but he is so talented and so passionate and so… just so. CL, I hope you’re finding what you’re seeking in your life.

Last year, I had two other pieces of my heart there (one of whom is still hanging around this year) and that made it so much easier.

This year, I am acutely aware that I have lost a lot in the past two years. Maybe it’s because this film always marks the decision to end my marriage. Yes, there were many things leading up to it but this project is what made me choose. And looking back over these two years, I can see what I’ve accomplished and those who have been there for those accomplishments. I can see where I came from and, for now, I can see where I’m going.

But I also see a lot of regrets, things I’ve fucked up, relationships I have somehow managed to ruin, goals I’ve set that I haven’t achieved and so many things I wish I hadn’t done. I can’t fix the and I know that. But, added to other things, it makes this film hard this year.

I know I have the most incredible support and I’m excited to be working with this incredibly talented bunch of people. I am always humbled when they drop everything to leap off the cliff with me. While I know my vision and my talent are what shape this project, without their talents and their abilities and their simple trust in me, nothing I do would be as good as it is.

So I hope this has exorcised my fears for the night. I am pretty sure that I won’t get much sleep because that’s just the way it is as I go into anything like this. I hope I will find myself sitting up at 3 a.m., my brain full of ideas for the weekend, making lists of what has to be done and how to get it done, some loglines for what we could write, handling whatever prep I can do for this, and I hope that’s all I find at 3 a.m. I know I’ll feel better when I see Peter tomorrow at the kick-off and I know that Dave, Monica and I will write a killer script. And I am pretty confident we have a shot at San Francisco. But I am going to concentrate on the now and the top 10 can come next week.

Send us good vibes, good hopes and good prayers for a successful shoot.

Thanks to my very talented collaborators. You guys rock my world on a daily basis and you make me proud every time we work together. I’ll see you very soon!

Wow.

I get to make a film this weekend.


48 Hour Film Project/Los Angeles

Okay, if I can't have sex...

... and I can't have an Iphone...

...can I have this...?



Here's the article from the LA Times.

Do I qualify for my honorary penis now?

(Hm.... maybe that's why I'm not having sex....)