Thursday, February 28, 2008
I am the proud owner of my MCC tickets to both Grace and reasons to be pretty....a Christmas gift from C. Both plays have me shivering in anticipation of attending their performances, both won't disappoint, I'm sure.
There are a number of plays in the city I've yet to see, that I'm salivating to see... August: Osage County, Spamalot (yes, Spamalot), Spring Awakening, Billy Elliot, Come Back, Little Sheba. November...South Pacific, and, even Mary Poppins.
I never get around to it... time and that evil demon, money, keep me away. The above named shows are the main ones on the list, my secondary list is even longer...
Here I am, a TheaterJunkie.... who doesn't see theater. Something is so wrong with this picture! Films I can find... but, theater... beautiful, touching, feel the air resonate with the language and power and energy of the cast and audience theater...
I've put in for a few jobs I've found, in the hopes I can ease my way back into the business... I feel the urge to go back to the old company, to work another season... to get sawdust on my hands, and pull ropes and call cues... to be kept away from power tools.
I am a stickler for things being right... I'm the woman who wrote the producers of The Color Purple and chided them for using Reader's Digest Condensed Books as props for school books...I mean, come on, Oprah! I use the right props... this is New York, your prop master couldn't go to a book store to find the right look??
I look forward to sinking in my seat, seeing houselights go to half, then out... that first glimpse of movement...
It's where my heart lies, what makes me vibrate... framing a scene, not moving a camera over it... that static space, knowing you have to tell all in one place, one area... in words and gestures and expression; or lack of it.
I hadn't realised I miss it so much.... but, I do.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville wanted to go to Oxford. Sadly, his A level results were mixed up with Porter Bigsworthy's results, and Bigsworthy was asked down to interview and test. Neville went on to study in London, where he did receive his degree. He never forgave Mr. Harringstonford, whom he felt shuffled the grades deliberately, shunning him at every gathering of his school until Harringstonford's death when he was kicked by a horse he was attempting to mount (delicate cough) at the age of 70.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
From The Widow
- my children(the photo is only of three of them)
- cooking for people I love
- theater/film (from the beginning of production to end product)
- the people I love
- observing life
8 Things I Want to do Before I Die
- live in London
- learn to fly an airplane
- have holidays with my children
- go to New Zealand
- give a year to an organization to work with the poor
- not be in debt
- be beloved
- find peace in myself
- fuck me dead (and bugger me backwards)
- let's run around naked with our clothes off (or variations)
- jesus, mary and joseph (do you get the feeling I curse a lot?)
- Have you seen my glasses?
- I'm sorry, which train do I take?
- I love you/Love you forever...my baby you'll be
- London: A Biography (Peter Ackroyd)
- No Country for Old Men (Cormac McCarthy)
- John Adams (David McCullough)
- Collected Works of Shakespeare (still working on that one)
- In a Dark, Dark House (Neil LaBute)
- Labybrith (K. Mosse)
- various scripts (they count)
- Twlight (S. Meyer)
8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over
- Fields of Gold (Eva Cassidy)
- Wartime Prayers (Paul Simon)
- Falling Slowly (Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova)
- Over the Rainbow (Judy Garland, although I also like the Cassidy version)
- Make Someone Happy (Jimmy Durante... the guy can croon a love song...sorry about the video)
- He Moved Through the Fair or The Foggy Dew (Sinead O' Connor with the Chieftains...the words, not her singing on the first one)
- Hello in There or The Rose (sorry...it's a tie John Prine or Bette Midler)
- Blackbird (The Beatles)
8 Things That Attract Me to My Best Friends
- they are creative
- they are always very intelligent, so, I hope that will rub off on me
- they show their souls in their eyes
- they are kind
- they are as odd as I am
- they don't judge me
- they don't try to get in
- they always have the most amazing laughs and smiles, even those I first meet online, turn out that way.
No official tagging....
Still, I'd like to see Austere, Peter, WeatherGuy (sorry, I don't link his site...he'd better post them here), Amber, MisterH, Greg, TR and the Dramatic One.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Margaret was once a contestant for Miss United Kingdom. She was forced to drop out when her mother forbid her to shave above her knees, thus removing her from the swimsuit competition. The family genes gave her thick hair, and not just on her head.
Friday, February 22, 2008
I've never missed watching them since I can remember... I even used to get dressed up, and have champagne... what a hoot.
This year, I'm working.... gargh.
So, in preparation...here are my choices, which I've also posted on my blog over at CityChick, along with my review of There Will be Blood:
I had thought my fellow writers would hold out, and use the Academy Awards as their final stand, but, they gave in, and there will be the red carpet and gold statues on Sunday.
Therefore, allow me to give you my humble choices for the big awards….having seen all the films nominated (much to my budget’s dismay… although it did mean cutting into my food budget, which means smaller hips…hey! this isn’t such a bad idea after all!)
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood
And the winner is: No Country for Old Men
Julian Schnabel — The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Jason Reitman — Juno
Tony Gilroy — Michael Clayton
Joel and Ethan Coen — No Country for Old Men
Paul Thomas Anderson — There Will Be Blood
This was a hard one… people like Reitman, Schnabel should win for Diving Bell, but,
The winner is: The Coens!
George Clooney — Michael Clayton
Daniel Day Lewis — There Will Be Blood
Johnny Depp — Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
Tommy Lee Jones - In the Valley of Elah
Viggo Mortensen — Eastern Promises
No one but Day-Lewis should bother to show up that night, except to get drunk and buy him congratulations drinks.
Cate Blanchett — Elizabeth: The Golden Age
Julie Christie — Away from Her
Marion Cotillard — La vie en rose
Laura Linney — The Savages
Ellen Page — Juno
I want to give this to Ellen Page. Without her, Juno doesn’t work, even with Diablo Cody’s dialogue. In fact, it is because of her the dialogue works. It’s too sharp, too smart at times… Page makes it believable. However, Christy, Christy makes you weep. See Away from Her if you can (review in the blog this week). You will never forget it.
The winner is: Julie Christie. (although I’m still pulling for Page)
Christopher Hampton — Atonement
Sarah Polley — Away From Her
Ronald Harwood — The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Joel and Ethan Coen — No Country For Old Men
Paul Thomas Anderson — There Will Be Blood
The winner is: No Country for Old Men
Diablo Cody — Juno
Nancy Oliver — Lars and the Real Girl
Tony Gilroy — Michael Clayton
Brad Bird, Jim Capobianco, Jan Pinkava — Ratatouille
Tamara Jenkins — The Savages
The money is on Diablo Cody. I’m going to say the winner is: Tony Gilroy.
Casey Affleck — The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Javier Bardem — No Country for Old Men
Phillip Seymour Hoffman — Charlie Wilson’s War
Hal Holbrook — Into the Wild
Tom Wilkinson — Michael Clayton
The winner is: Javier Bardem. Sorry Casey.
Cate Blanchett — I’m Not There
Ruby Dee — American Gangster
Saoirse Ronan — Atonement
Amy Ryan — Gone Baby Gone
Tilda Swinton — Michael Clayton
I’m crossing my fingers, and going with Saoirse (seer-sha) Ronan. The kid made Atonement work, plus, she’s the star in “Lovely Bones“. Even though I adore Tilda Swinton, I’m saying, the winner is: Saoirse Ronan.
There you have it…. sadly, I won’t know how I’ve done myself until late Sunday, as I’m working on a film set that night. We’ll see, we’ll see. Drop off your own predictions, make sure you dress up nicely to watch, and by all means….have fun!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The men in my life made it so... not perhaps in the wild wonderful ways some have it, but, in good ways, that mean a great deal to me.
Long email conversations with the Oddship, the usual semi-understanding of text read in the voice of the receiver, still not fully settled, yet, always enjoyed, occurred. This is a relationship that remains, well, odd. Once a huge focus in my life, we've moved to be friends of sorts, not seeing each other very often, yet email is our best and worst tool in this oddship, both of us working in text, neither of us very good at understanding it's nuances on a personal level.
I left home to go have dinner with Zenmaster.... my child who isn't my child who taught me that children are a good thing.
On the way, I encountered an interesting family. They live in Norway, he is Castilian by birth...she is Norwegian, they have a son, Lars. On a visit to New York, Lars wanted to see all of the boroughs, so, they came to the Island. While here, they chose Old Town, because the name sounded, well, quaint. All they found, sadly, were a CVS store, some car dealerships, beautiful neighborhoods, and the Crown Royal Bakery, where they had lunch.
She told me in her perfect English, how she had been an exchange student in Boston in 1985. On the weekends, she and her friends would come to New York to visit, see the sights, catch a show at student rates. They loved to take the trains back when the trains were very scary, and go everywhere.... Brooklyn, Queens... and the Bronx, then the Bronx was burning.
She said some of the various idioms of English still escaped her then, as attested by the story she told me. While wandering around at a late hour, they came across a man who stopped them, and asked, "Do you want to buy some coke?"
"Oh, yes!", she cried, happy to see him on this hot night. "I'd love a diet one, please." There she was, blonde haired, blue eyed, Norwegian exchange student, offering up a dollar to buy a diet Coke.
Sometimes, naiveté saves your ass.
He shook his head at her and her two friends, took her by the arm and led her to a train station.
"Baby, get on this train and go downtown, and stay there."
She laughed telling me the story. "How silly I was! I actually thought he had a cooler with Coke in it!"
We parted company at the Ferry, me with the knowledge that the Castilian accent is from one of the Queens who lisped, and her happy to have told this to someone.
Zenmaster took me to a dive bar where we had fish and chips, and I taunted the Investment with my whereabouts. I received this text: "H8 you"
Ah, the love!
He then sent Zen a text saying he should have canceled the meal, as I wasn't worthy... ha!
We chatted and ate and he paid (he's a good son) and then left to go to his piano rehearsal hall, so I could listen as he spent his hour a night rehearsing.
He just started lessons last year.... I'm very proud of him. I read while he filled the big room with Chopin and Bach and Schubert and Beethoven and waltzes, my loved Paul Simon.... he played Bach's Toccata in D Minor.
I am very, very proud of what he's accomplished. Once he plays something, it's set in his mind, and he's very comfortable with his music, it settles him, he said.
In his backpack was a gift from Jarhead, brought back from that place... something I can add to my other things from my blue eyed boy. I kept touching it as I sat on the Ferry, sipping my coffee in the cold, loving the John F Kennedy, and it's benches outside, that let you ride there if you want, come hell, high water or February winds.
On the train, I had a text from WeatherGuy.... "Look at the moon," he said.
Impossible on the train... too many lights, once I stepped off, I looked back...in time to see the eclipse starting. Off and on for two hours, I watched.... to see the shadow curve over, with the mild clouds, it was a haze that was silver around it...
Every shade... scarlet and ruby and rose and garnet and brick and bloodorange and the colours that were on my roses that had a deep yellow heart with dark red on the tips.
It was so glorious, I cried.
The moon stayed shades of red, gradually washing out to it's silver by midnight.... a wonderful way to spend the time.
Emails. Bach. Eclipse of the moon.
Life is good indeed.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville once watched the eclipse of the sun. Irritated he couldn't see it with the special device he'd made up, he took a fast glance at the covered star that gives us life. He only had to have his eyes bandaged for a week, during that time, Margaret put his food at the hours of the clock, telling him his tea was at 1, his toad in the hole at 6, and his peas and carrots at 12. She did everything for him but hold his willy when he weed. He agreed to sit down as long as no one ever knew. Until now, they didn't.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Last night, I was all choked up.
The shoot is in a small Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, we use the place on Sundays and Mondays when it's closed, usually going 12-16 hour days. By Monday evening, we are tired, punchy, grumpy, amusing, dragging...the last hours are long.
I tend to keep a wedge of lemon in the kitchen to suck on... I like lemon, it keeps my mouth fresh and it wakes me up. We were working on our last scene, there was a short break while changing out the film in the camera, and D, the make-up artist was chatting with the producer and my director, J... everyone was in the main room. I stepped into the kitchen, and peeled my large, well drained lemon section off of the rind and popped it into my mouth. I started to chew when I thought I heard my name called to come back on set...so, I swallowed.
Standing there, I struggled to get the wedge of lemon down my throat, where it, well, wedged. I tried to take in air... with the realisation I couldn't came my first thought I was in trouble. No sounds could be made--something I'd heard about choking on food, but, a symptom that made no sense. Silently, I calmly made my way the few steps to the doorway... after all, I had two actors who were ex-firefighters.... they could do the Heimlich on me. I'd be okay.
Everyone faced the other way...D, had tripped and fallen over a camera case.
I stood there, pointing at my throat, frantic now...working still to try and move it. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears... spots were forming... everything moved very slowly. Saliva filled my mouth, I was acutely aware of this... turning away from the room, I struggled to reach the sink; I didn't want to embarrass myself by drooling in front of the cast and crew.
The whole time, I kept thinking and praying to God, "Please. Please." I couldn't form other words, just the one... "Please."
When I was 8, I was at a public pool with my cousin, MV, and a friend of hers. We were jumping off the edge of the pool into the deep end, traveling down to the bottom and pushing off to soar back to the top, grasping the rough stone edge again in safety. None of us could swim.
As I jumped high in the air, the friend pushed me outwards, beyond the safe zone. I flailed my arms, which propelled me further... landing me in the middle of the pool. My mother was absent, no one saw, and MV and the friend disappeared.
I went under, bobbing back to the top, splashing and trying to gain someone's eye. I remember still the feeling of this wasn't happening, seeing it actually from a third person view. I swallowed water, went under, came up, and went under again.
My struggles had moved me a bit... as I sank to the bottom, looking up through the blue, lungs filling, my arm floated over and brushed against the foot of a teenage girl who, herself, was hanging off the stone edge of the pool, giggling with her friends.
Thinking it was some boy, she kicked backward, encountering my limp body instead of a teen boy, she screamed, pulling the lifeguard into action.
He pulled me out, flipped me over (they say) and pumped my lungs as they used to do... I threw up water (and hot dogs) and finally my mother and aunt came over, I was dutifully spanked, and that was that.
I didn't appreciate my second chance. I was 8, for crying out loud.
There I stood, again, in some third person viewing... thinking, "Please."
I had waved, pointing at my throat, before I turned... worried about drooling. Extra, who is also helping with set dressing, thought I was signaling him that he could go smoke. He started to saunter over when D realised what was on, she could see my face was purple.
I heard her screaming, "FUCK... QUIN IS CHOKING!!!"
From some place, I heard chairs moving... I was at this place all was muffled... I suddenly felt a push on my chest... I thought, "Oh, good, they did that Heimlich thing, but, the lemon is going down."
I felt air. Oxygen tinged with garlic and sour wine from the kitchen and men's cologne and voices in the room and all these bodies and hands reaching out putting me on a chair.
I asked, "Who did that thing? I thought the food went out."
Extra said, "I got to you, but, before I could reach around, like, you were bent over, and you suddenly straightened up and gasped and was breathing."
They patted me and fussed like old ladies, then Moe grabbed me a bottle of water, leaning over to hand it to me, teasing he was only doing it in the hopes he could peer down my shirt... they went back to 'treat Quin like one of the guys' after I quietly cried for a few minutes.
When I came back in, they gave me a hard time, asked if my cell phone was off... but, they didn't give me the usual guff that they do.
My boys were sweet, and when we finished around 1.30A, J insisted I take a car home instead of my usual car (the 'R' train).
I told the Oddship once... I think sometimes, you send out a prayer, the heavens still, and it wings its way to Gods ear... and He listens. I was lucky, He listened.
I know I felt a hand on me... I can still feel a sore spot where I was pushed... say what you will. I know who I felt there with me, and I'm good with that.
Now is the time to think about the whys and whatfores... what am I to do with this second chance. I was given this for some reason...
I'm very grateful I was.
Monday, February 18, 2008
I stole the item below from my blogging bud, TR.
Have a gander, and decide for yourself where you stand....
This is a re-post from my other blog (September 4, 2007), though I thought it would fit in well here. So without further delay.....
So I got this from a friend, and it was far too funny not to post. I was looking at it, and for the most part....it makes total sense. Take a look at it for a second and think about previous relationships you've had, and where each person falls.....scary, huh? Let's look at each area:
(For reference....I put a quadrant image below, for the non-math people) (he must have known I'd show up one day and take it!)
1. Zone of Pain......that just makes me laugh. Who hasn't found themselves there a few times?
2. Friend...definitely makes sense, though I'd probably skew mine a bit to the right, since I have hot friends. :) As for the Relationship Temptation, I've never actually tried that area, though I'm sure it works for some people.
3. F-Buddy.....dangerous yet entertaining zone. I think it'd have to be a bit more skewed to Quadrant I for the relationship temptation, but beautiful women make men do stupid things, so who knows! This use to be my playground/sandbox, but I think I've finally learned my lesson....maybe. Okay, not really....but at least I'm getting closer to where I'm suppose to be.
4. Awkwardness......both of these are appropriately named, though I'd move each one farther out on their respective Axi. There should be a void in between the ZoP, F-Buddy, F, and DZ....a no man's land if you will...and it should be named "Extreme Awkwardness". This area is like the ZoP...but worse.
5. Dating Zone.....talk about hitting the nail on the head. It incorporates the possible awkwardness, the solid "dating, but not going anywhere", and the slight marriage possibility (which should be higher and farther away in Quadrant I.....though with the amount of divorces out there, you'd think it was much closer).
6. The Null Set.....Lest we forget this area. This is the area where unicorns, leprechauns, Jennifer Anniston, and Amanda Bynes play. I'd think it should be closer to Quadrant III, mainly because of the challenges of the ideal and whatnot.
So there you have it, but before you go....ask yourself, where do you tend to fall on the Relationship Chart?
No, I have no plans on saying where I am in this chart. Tsk for even asking.
Thanks, Therapeutic Ramblings!
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville once played Oberon in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". During the run of the play, he developed a huge crush on Bitty Abshire-Timesworth, who played Titania, leaving her little nosegays of flowers and small notes of his devotion, taken from the sonnets, never signed. Bitty thought they came from Harold Blakley who played Bottom, falling in love, seducing him at the cast party, and eloping afterwards. Occasionally, Neville and Margaret run into Bitty and Harold Blakley at the London Museum, always causing Neville to stammer and again feel that rush of first love, first heartbreak, and wonder...what if.
What are they like?
I am the only woman on the set of the film I am working on just now. There is a make up designer, and a wardrobe person, but, they are located away from us... so, during the shoot, unless called for, you don't see them. I am there, 12-16 hours a day, with up to 18 men, the only XX chromosome human there.
A discussion started among the boys the other day, about who they were going out with, who they want to go out with, blah blah blah, that started after one scene was shot that discusses a strip club. Now, this scene describes a very unattractive stripper, and how drunk one character was when he was with her. They all said how you'd have to be drunk to go out with an unattractive girl.
I raised the question of looks...
"It's true then, boys do care about how you look... it's not the "Oh, I really want someone I can love and laugh with" and all of that. If you were looking at personal ads, and one said, "I am of average looks, bright, witty, and fun to be around" and one said, "I am beautiful.", who would you contact?"
They all hemmed and hawed, and finally said, "The second one."
Not even the age so much as the looks. All of that stuff about being average is okay is a huge lie, perpetuated by mothers.
Boys want girls to be pretty, and girls kill themselves to do just that. At every age. They check out the other girls and wonder, "Do I look better than her? Is my skin as nice? Does my ass look good in these pants? (poor boys! How often do you get glared at for giving the wrong answer for that question?) Occasionally, they will flirt with the girl who was born 35, the Jo March (think Little Women) girls of the world, however, they are filler material.
Let the Amy March come along (sorry, I just re-read Little Women), the flighty, pretty, girly girl, and they are off with the hunting pack.
Boys are liars. And stupid sometimes. Not all of them, thank heavens.... still, enough to have made a difference in my life. Enough to make me wary.
I can't just blame boys, girls do it too, to their friends, to their daughters.... pretty rules the day.
And that, my friends, is how it goes.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
I was on this escalator, a floating horizontal one... actually, it was more like a floating carpet, come to think of it... anyway, I was on this thing, and the WeatherGuy was with me... I was holding a cat (I'm not fond of cats, that in and of itself made it a dream) that was purring in my arms, and he had a stuffed animal he later threw down into the valley.
While we were flying on the carpet escalator, we moved over a valley full of dogs, hundreds of dogs, pit bulls... all different shades of brown and gray and white and black and tan. They were barking and wagging their tails at me.
Now, I was telling the WeatherGuy about this dream, how odd it was... and, before I could delve into the various interpretations of said dream, cats representing female power, and flying is freedom... etc, I happened to mention all the dogs were grouped according to their fur colour in the valley below us, white to black. I took a breath to continue on in this very intense...well, in my mind...dream, when he did it, he finished off the conversation completely.
"Wait, the dogs were grouped by colours? You are the only person I know who would organise the colours in her dreams." He sipped his coffee and laughed.
I guess I don't see the problem. Of course, this is a man who has.....wire hangers.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Therefore, I felt I had no choice but to comply.
His post was as follows: (I've commented on some of his comments)
a. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself.
b. Tag seven people to do the same.
c. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it".
d. even if I tag you, you don't gotta do it, but I'll be curious to see your answers!
- I almost never wear a watch, despite owning 3 working wristwatches and a pocketwatch. The only exceptions to this are when I go onsite to a client and when I'm "dressing up"
- My default snack when I feel snackish is cheese, and my preferred cheese is comté (yum!)
- Guilty pleasures, guilty pleasures. Mine is the Seven-Layer Burrito from Taco Bell
- I buy most of my clothing (indeed, most of everything) at Costco. (ohhhh, the 'C' word!)
- The scents that I like best are bread baking and new-cut grass. But I also like the smell of gasoline and the rubber in a tire store. (okay, I'm with him there)
- One of my favourite things to listen to at work is the soundtrack to Riven. Yes, that's awfully geeky.
- I am absolutely horrible at guesstimating distances. If I tell you something is no more than a mile walk, you'd best pack a waterbottle and a lunch. (this is true...he is terrible at distance guessing)
Here are my seven...and I'm not sure I'll tag seven people. I'll just bore you with my bits, some I may not have mentioned before, and let you wonder how on earth that nice man puts up with me:
1. I have great spatial sense...I can usually center pictures on a wall without measuring or center anything on a shelf. I can look at leftovers, and know what size tupperwear to grab, etc.
2. I find great pleasure in lying out under a beautiful clear night sky and watching the stars,
especially Orion. This can make me cry.
3. My guilty food pleasure is either a burrito from Chipolte's or a banana and mayo sandwich or rice pudding.
4. I love to inhale that space between the neck and shoulder of someone I am with.
5. I never go anywhere without my watch on my wrist. I can't imagine doing that, ever.
6. There are entire villages of people I want to write about in my head.
7. There are times I am afraid I will never be kissed with passion again in my life.
There you go.
I'd like to know yours... save me the tagging, and tell.
The WeatherGuy respects that, so, I'm off the hook there, too.
Therefore, I hand it over to Our Neville, as written by the wonderful GolfWidow.
Our Neville Fact:
Neville really wants to buy a Saint Valentine's gift for Margaret from the Fantasie of England catalogues, but they have never received one in the post, so he will buy her the standard box of choccies from M&S, and never know that she looks at Fantasie of England when she waits at the doctor's, and secretly wishes she had the nerve to order something.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Without that change, we would have had a few feet of snow instead of a few beautiful inches that were pounded into the ground by a relentless rain today.
I rode the Ferry over into the city this morning, on my way to a shoot for the WE Network. It was a free gig, but, I'll be on national television (woot!) so, that was rather nice... even with the rain, I choose to stand outside, it was a far better atmosphere than the stifling heat that fills the interior of the boats in winter. Standing with me was a young man of around 15 or so; he was going across to catch the 'R' to his school in Brooklyn.
He and I watched the heavy mist on the water, the way the buildings really did seem to rise up out of it, like some cheesy Hollywood film. He told me he had taken the bus to school the day before, because he was frightened of being on the Ferry.
"Why? The water was calm, it was just cold."
"Oh, I worry about the water freezing." he said, looking around at the rain as it fell on the water below us, "Ever since I saw Titanic, I just worry about icebergs, and I didn't want to take a chance."
I am proud to say I didn't break into a smile, much less laughter. He was very serious in this statement... he honestly expected icebergs to float onto the river. I took the time to explain that ice wouldn't form on the river because it has a tide, and that icebergs are far, far to the north... falling off of the polar ice cap, etc. He looked relieved, and said in the future he'd take the Ferry, as the bus was two hours late because of the snow.
I slogged through the streets, minus my cheap ass umbrella which had died just before I got on the train on my way to the Ferry. I swore I'd not buy a dollar number again, and was willing to shell out money for something decent...the Chinatown deals weren't worth it in the long run. Arriving at the location, I was greeted with wonderful hot coffee, a nice crew, treated like talent (this means I was able to sit and do nothing but have makeup and hair work on me) did my bit, shook hands, passed out my card and left.
I'd sent the Zenmaster a text asking when he had lunch, with no answer.. and that left me a bit sad. Half way back to the Island, I have a phone call...."Mom, where are you? Thought you might want to have lunch with me." I did one of those land and dash things where you run to make the returning Ferry and thus, I had a wonderful time with my dear Zenmaster, who regaled me with stories of his time in Hawaii, his siblings and their visit together at Christmas, his job here in New York, and life in general. He looks more and more like his father, who is a very handsome man, and he is my wonderful, lovely Zenmaster... eldest of the brood, who taught me long ago children are a good thing, even if you don't give birth to them. To prove the group are all tight, I had sent out a fast text saying, "having lunch with Zen!" and each of them returned one to me immediately, "not fair! i want to be there, too!". The response was more to be with him than me, something I can live with.
After we parted...and I graciously let him pay....I did it, I made the decision to suck it up and buy a decent umbrella. There she was, at the Ferry entrance door.... a cart chock o'block with umbrellas..... I bypassed the cheap ones, and honed in on the good ones, the $5 ones.
Yes, I, Quin, was going to sink a full $5 into an umbrella.
I hefted them to check the weight, I shook them to feel the nylon, I twirled them to see how they'd hold up in the umbrella wars...
I choose my 'brolly, paid for it, and left.
Crossing back to the Island, I was rather chipper...after all, I had a fully tummy, the rain was letting up, my lad was around, and I had a good umbrella.
I found myself chatting to the man next to me, well dressed, my age, who had nodded when I came out for the last part of the ride, and I started to relate the tale of the young student who was worried about icebergs.
He shook his head in dismay, "Tsk.. He wasn't very smart, was he?"
Before I could say a word, he continued, "What was he thinking? You don't get icebergs in salt water!"
I moved away very slowly, so he wouldn't see my tears of disappointment.
This sadness was matched by the performance of my nifty $5 umbrella, which allowed itself to separate nylon from ribs when I opened it after I departed the train at my station. I cursed it, the seller and the underpaid workers who made it in some unknown country that illegally transferred the goods in the back of a truck where they fell out and were subsequently sold by the one armed woman outside of the Ferry Terminal.
I am now the proud owner of an expensive umbrella, that has a warranty. It will not turn inside out, and it's a nice shade of pearl gray. I've put said warranty along with the receipt in my paper stuff drawer. I hope to never buy another cheap one...although I did notice the Zenmaster was carrying a $3 special.
I think he may soon be able to proclaim, "Ich bein New Yorker!"
That's my boy!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
What is she like?
I've been reading Bee for almost a year, I think. I can't remember how it started, a link from someone, we started commenting on each other's blogs.. she was this in your face twentysomthing, brash, fresh, no holds barred in sharing her life....bright, in the know, willing to be who she was, and take the flack for just that.
Times, I'd think, "Oh, Bee, what are you doing?"
There were harsh times.... she's stumbled, curled up and licked her wounds, then picked herself back up, and was out there again, head high.
She doesn't retreat from anyone or anything, no matter who they were. She puts out there how she feels, be it love, like, hate, lust... some of her poetry makes me have to take a cold shower.
Some of her quotes, I've used.... I won't say here the results they've brought. *cough*
I've continued to read her, and comment on her blog, and she reads me...doing the same. We have each other's 'back'. Emails are exchanged on occasion, when things go beyond public knowledge, you can trust she'll keep it close. I like her, even if I still sometimes think, "Oh, Bee!" and sit in wonder at how she goes at life full throttle, so aware, so vulnerable, so....Bee.
"Float," I tell her, "Float." She isn't a floater, she is a marathon swimmer.
I'm not sure if it's shock, laughter, admiration.... or a combination of all three. I know I worry about her, am concerned when she shuts things down, was pleased when her parents came back so she had that base closer, laugh at some of her antics, am angry for her, thrilled over her newfound happiness, want to shake her sometimes, hug her at others, and smack some people for making her cry.
She does what a good writer should do... she engages you.
Her blog has opened a huge door for her... she's been made Editor in Chief of collegeOTR, which is very, very cool (yes, I'm not using the right slang for the times, but, hey, I'm not good at it, and the times, so, work with it)
So, my Blog of the Week is my sweet potata, Bee.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Rejection is high on my list of the things I fear most in the world.... almost as much as grasshoppers. It causes my chest to constrict, my hard won self confidence to plummet, my so seldom put forth need for others pulled back and tucked away, and a sharp knife is brought out to remove my nice, straight nose from my face before I'll do it again, I vow.
It is my worst enemy. It is my saviour. It is there at all times. I give over parts of me at times to those I trust, and I can assure you, if I finally break down, it is because you do have my trust... even then, it's the outer wall that has been opened. Not that it matters, I am not one to go forth with all, bits and pieces will seep forth, as I grow to believe you won't betray me.
If I bend enough to say, "I need".... and if I add on, "I fear" with that... rejection at that point will pretty much put me in a place I won't return from in our relationship... no matter how long we know each other. I will never open that door again.
It's my loss.
I'm not sure why we have that in us, we humans... that desire to seek out comfort, and such pain when it's denied. The sometimes equal sense to nurture, to console, to wrap ourselves around someone, guard their scary closet door, give them succor.
To not be alone when things go bump in the night, perhaps. Or when our hearts are sad. When we feel the need, not of mad wild passion, but, of someone's breathing in the night.
Still, you live through it, and carry on.
Our Neville Fact:
Neville fly fishes every year in the Highlands, with his good friend, Jonathon Maxwell Bennington-Homes. They camp, fish, and hike for a week, roughing it by taking baths in the cold Highland streams and cooking the fish they catch over an open fire. Wearing kilts, they live and breathe as Highland clansmen used to do, feeling all the more close to nature for it.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Do we know how they happen? Words said or written in one context, taken in another... you try to straighten it all out, and it muddles up further.
Text is a hard thing to deal with; written in the voice of one person, read in the voice of another, they can portray what we need to say perfectly, or what the sender feels is important can be overlooked while a minute issue is made large by the receiver... or vice versa.
Without the depth of voice, the ability to discuss, to soothe over rough spots. to volley back and forth to sort out what has caused problems...
Thus, letters or text messages fly out, perceptions happen, responses occur and feelings are hurt.
There isn't much you can do once this starts...until a voice steps in, until you can talk and say, "No, this is what I was saying, this is how I meant you to read it, I'm sorry."
Then, you can straighten it all out, figure out the important bits, discuss, dialogue, laugh, argue...
Words can make you swoon, laugh, cry, go to war, read non-stop into the middle of the night... a voice can add texture to those words.
For any one who misunderstood anything I've said, who has overlooked or underlooked.... I'm sorry.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville and Margaret never go to bed angry at one another. They are special that way.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
A Guest Post.
If Letterman can do it, I guess I can, too. The big difference is, my fill in host is much funnier than his are...and, no, I had no idea what she was going to write.
So, on Mardi Gras, I give you.... GOLF WIDOW!
When I first began reading the blog of the woman you know as Quin, I saw a funny woman with a way with words.
Quin and I are going to take my winnings from the Publisher's Clearing House and we're opening a linen shop.
Quin is going to become Mistress Quin. She is going to have killer hawt boots and a bullwhip, and she is going to flog the weavers when the thread count falls below 1,500.
Don't worry. The weavers are the sort that like to be punished by Mistress Quin.
But they will comply with her Linen Guidelines for the most part, because she also smokes.
You can whip them, beat them, take away their Wiis; but they are sufficiently prideful of their end product that they don't want it sullied with cigarette smoke before it comes off the looms.
If you don't want Mistress Quin stomping into the workshop with a cigarette dangling from her lip, you'd best snap to it, pal.
As for me, I will be in charge of teaching a linen-selection seminar, for women who are not sure what best fits their needs and lifestyles, and for men who are not sure why a king-sized sheet will never, ever, EVER, fit a full-sized bed.
No, not even after you wash it.
And no, the bed's not going to grow into it.
Our Neville Fact:
At night, Neville and Margaret sometimes playact Monty Python in bed. Neville's favorite game is the argument sketch, the one where, in the live version, Carol Cleveland says to Eric Idle, "Would you like a blowjob?"
Margaret's favorite game is the Spanish Inquisition, especially when she gets to be the cardinal. She feels the red costume is quite becoming, and she enjoys sentencing Neville to The Comfy Chair.
I loves me my GolfWidow.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Up at 5A to try and wake up after finally falling asleep at 2A, a brisk walk in the dark down to a bus stop I've never used only to realise after the bus passes I'm on the wrong side... cursing as I speed down towards the main road in the hopes of catching a second bus that will take me to Brooklyn, I manage to actually catch my original ride...he'd stopped for coffee. Hurrah for MTA bus drivers and their need for caffeine.
Reading the script again in the flickering light overhead, noting the continuity issues I found, we all had to wait for him to give out our transfers one by one... and I stepped off in time to hear the 'R' leave the station. Long, long wait.. the 'R' takes forever, it seems. Seven stops, up to Union, where in the middle of run down apartment houses and auto repair shops and one lone casket manufacturing company is a clean, modern hotel.
The restaurant is blocked off, ours ever Sunday and Monday for the shoot... the crew are all used to working with each other.. they've put out four or five small, independent films, two which have made some minor waves in the festival circuit. I'm brought in as a floater, script supervisor, set continuity, 1st AD. I like the change up, the variation, it will keep me busy, and it's far different than I'm used to... very loose, very laid back, everyone is edgy and we've all gone without sleep.. me because I'm stressed, the crew out of nervous energy.
We are a good fit.
Two scenes, slated and marked in a way I'm not used to, but, I figure out the directors way of doing things, set up the slates, and take care of business... "Quiet on set! Camera ready? Sound ready? Scene 13, Take 3.... "
We knock out 10 minutes of dialogue in five hours, with a minimum of takes. Close ups are done, and we are out of there.
Home to the party upstairs at my landlord's house, where I find my old friends J and MA, who found this place for me. We all have 'punch' and more food than I've seen since I left the UK. Giants fans, they yell and scream and moan and curse... I'm worried if the mighty Giants lose, my rent may go up.
Thankfully, they win, and I get a nice new glass with a Giant's helmet engraved on it, so, now I have a glass to go with my cup and my plate and my bowl.
Some writing down, some worrying about a good friend, long thoughts about what is going to be in my life, accepting I will soon have a hole there I honestly didn't think would bother me as much as it's going to bother me. I spent time speaking to a friend about men, and how so few of them over 40 have the same attitude of the Weather Guy, who said once (paraphrasing here) "I can have sex with a girl in her 20's, but, what would I find to talk to her about afterwards?"
The man is brilliant.
It's not that they aren't smart and funny and lord knows they are firm and beautiful... still, there is something to be said when you've got 20+ years difference....
Long day tomorrow, late afternoon shoot, which means a late night home on the R to the bus to home. I don't like those nights, but, it's my job.
Letters to friends who don't answer, and you wonder if it's because of work or something else... and that, too, adds to concerns.
There will be a guest blogger this week, my dear, good friend, Golfwidow. Go have a look at her blog, please... in fact, I'm asking everyone who reads here, go look at her blog.
I'd consider it a favour.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville and Margaret both secretly voted Labour Party in the last election.