The ZenMaster is working in New York for a month or two.
How much better can life get for me?
Not much.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Blog of the Week
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.
Booya.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Pride
There are very few times in my life I've actually asked for comfort.
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.
Pride.
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.
Right?
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.
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.
Pride.
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.
Right?
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
How We Misread
Misunderstandings.
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.
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
Monday, February 4, 2008
Waiting
Crews are on time.
You wait for talent....in our case today, we waited 3 hours past call time. Thus, the one scene 'easy' shoot of 3-6 ended up being finished at 9.45.
Odd people ride the 'R' at 10.30P....and I'm not counting myself among that group.
You wait for talent....in our case today, we waited 3 hours past call time. Thus, the one scene 'easy' shoot of 3-6 ended up being finished at 9.45.
Odd people ride the 'R' at 10.30P....and I'm not counting myself among that group.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
And So It Goes
Sunday.
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.
Go figure.
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.... "
Slate.
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.
Hurrah.
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.
Thanks.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville and Margaret both secretly voted Labour Party in the last election.
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.
Go figure.
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.... "
Slate.
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.
Hurrah.
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.
Thanks.
Our Neville Fact:
Our Neville and Margaret both secretly voted Labour Party in the last election.
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