Spinning

I’ve been percolating for a few days on this idea of change. Why are most humans so uncomfortable with change? One of my friends recently told me she did wash, not because she was out of clean clothes, but because she was out of her favorite clean clothes. See what I mean? We like to get cozy with certain things, places and patterns in our lives and just stay there. Like our favorite clothes, our patterns are our comfort. That is, until our patterns become a rut. That, how ever is a whole ‘nother matter and I’m just contemplating the why of change in the here and now. (Remember, I’m really practicing being rather than doing, and being means just being here and now).

So I watched a good movie a few nights ago, Martian Child. I got it because that handsome guy John Chusak is in it and I figured even if the movie was a bomb the scenery would be great , and the movie was actually good and John was looking great. He’s aging with style and I’m looking forward to the release of the movie he wrote and produced called War Inc., due out in October. Originally scheduled for release last spring, now it won’t be out ‘till after the elections- geeze, wonder why? Dan Ackroyd will be in it as well, it’s a follow up to the movie Grosse Pointe Blank that they did together way back when, so that right there makes it worth seeing.

Any-hoo, in Martian Child John’s character makes a long speech about how weird this whole life is, we are spinning on a planet ( 700 to 1000 miles an hour depending on if you are at the equator or the poles), around a spinning star ( the sun spins at a speed of 4,400 miles an hour) in the spinning arm of galaxy ( our galaxy spins at 140 miles a second) that’s spinning across the universe ( at 190 miles a second), meanwhile every atom in our body is spinning and I said Eureka! That is it!

Maybe we all cling to our favorite clothes because we are so tiny, little, small. We are to small to actually see and feel all this enormous movement that is going on all around us but maybe at some instinctual level we know, we can feel, our DNA twirl, our atoms spinning, our earth revolving around the sun which spins in a solar system, spinning in a galaxy that spins out across the never ending void of the universe.

Just look around you, every moment is change and every season is change. Just sit in the yard and watch the lawn grow, the flowers bloom and die. Or drive around your favorite town. Homes go up, buildings come down, business opens and another closes. Look at your photo album, you once looked like that, every day you changed a little, now you look like this. It can’t be stopped.

You are constantly changing, as your cells die and new ones are replacing them. You think you have the same body your whole life, but really, all your cells are replaced many times over your life so even your same body is an illusion. No wonder we are grasping for a little stability!

We are so little, tiny, small that we can’t feel the earth spinning, but maybe we know. Maybe somehow we do feel all this never ending motion that makes up our very being and our whole incredibly humongous environment. Maybe at some level all that large moving stuff makes us feel like an ant holding onto the branch of a tree in the fall wind. Holding on for dear life as everything swirls on around, holding on just trying to remain with feet planted .

Maybe we are just craving some small spot of stillness. A place of no movement. A place to hold on. Maybe our favorite clothes, the painting that has hung on that wall in that house for 30 years, the favorite recliner tattered and worn, the familiar grocery store with every item exactly where we expect it to be helps us to forget for a moment that we, just like everything else in existence are spinning. Maybe we can’t help this clinging, maybe we think if we let go of our familiar, our routine our same whatever- maybe we think we are going to spin right off into space.

And even though a favorite shirt lasts maybe 8 or 10 years, and that is an amazing infinitesimal amount of time when it comes to the span of time in space, maybe because we are so small, just having that same thing, place, person or routine for ten years makes us confident, gives us stillness and a thread of consistency to hang on to. Maybe it makes us feel like we are moving in the stillness rather than still in the movingness. Maybe it gives us a feeling of rest.

Maybe we are resistant to change because if we can just hold a few things still in our tiny lives, we can feel like we are bigger than we are. We can feel like we are in control. Then maybe our intuitive understanding of the vastness and the speed of it all won’t be quite so scary.

That Stephen King Feeling

I've adopted bike riding as my sport for this summer. I found a nice old fashioned, nothing fancy bike with shiny chrome fenders and I started peddling. I think I might be naturally nosy, because I am enjoying riding around the town I live in, snooping into other peoples lives. I mean, driving in a car you really don't notice a lot of what is happening in your neighborhood, but on a bike, well that is a whole 'nother story.

I live in a town that has a lot of homes, in fact, most of them, built in the 1800's, including my own, built in 1895. All the main neighborhoods are that old, occasionally I go off into a side road neighborhood and they may be late blooming developments from the 40' and 50's, nothing more recent. Among the older homes are scattered homes from the 20's, a large sprinkling of craftsman style cottages and other past years infill building.

I frequently also ride through the main cemetery. Many of the headstones are worn smooth they are so old, and I have found birth dates back to the early 1700's. Anyway, I lose track of time and distance when I'm riding around engrossed in the neighborhoods.

Oh, number 26 has a big cat on the porch! That old junker in the backyard of 365 is gone..., I see "miss circa 1808" is getting a new coat of paint, I can't believe how much junk is in the back yard of that blue house. I wonder why it looks like no one lives in that place, and why hasn't the car at # 1902 moved in two weeks? I start to make up stories to go with the houses. Old Aunt Mildred lives here and does not want to open her curtains ever because she is afraid of the aliens living next door. Sometimes I just get a feeling from the house, I mean, you can kind of tell if a home is happy or not just by looking at it, right?

Example- Picture the home in Leave It To Beaver, or My Three Sons- got it? OK, now picture the home in Alfred Hitchcock's ground breaking classic movie Psycho. See what I mean? Ya kinda get a feel for what's going on inside. Any hoo, I don't have a run away imagination or anything like that, but I have to tell you, almost all the homes in my town look like the one in Psycho, only nicer. Some of them even have paint to rival San Francisco's famous painted ladies, but still, they are those kind of psycho style houses.

So maybe that explains what happened the other day, maybe at the heart of the matter is my life long fear of that movie Psycho, honestly, I still can't take a shower with out getting nervous.

But, as I was saying I was riding around town, being nosy and looking at all the houses and gardens and all and I had the feeling that something was watching me back. I was in the neighborhood with the three huge homes built by the first doctor who lived in town. He built a huge home on the top of the only hill in town, then, he built two homes for his two daughters, one on each side of his own. Guess he wanted them to settle nearby.

I got the feeling that those eyebrow trimmed windows were raised at me, and those houses were whispering back and forth about me. I wondered at the fact that most of the homes in this town are older than anyone who lives here. Really, it's their town. We humans are just passing through. We are temporary maintenance persons for the lumbering hulk of these Victorian and Gothic revival beauties; we are not that important except in our role to make sure they survive another generation. Then I got that creepy Stephen King kind of feeling. What if they were watching? What if they didn't like me snooping around all the time? What if...

I admit it- I got Carried away over the weekend.

Yes, I made my small contribution to the 55.6 million opening weekend of Sex And The City. Sorry Indy, but you had a good week or two as top dog, now move it on over for the girls in Jimmy Choos.

Honestly, I couldn’t help myself any more than the salmons of Capistrano can help flocking together and heading south. (While we are talking movies, tell me which one I just referenced and I will put your name up in lights!) Now maybe I should explain, because if you happen to be a regular reader, by now you know that I don’t watch TV. Movies, yes. TV, no. Except when someone recommends a good series and I can find it on DVD’s. Which is exactly how I got the SATC fever.

A trusted friend told me I would find it funny, so I sought it out at the library. I didn’t start with season one, I couldn’t find it. I started, I think with season two. It was colorful, somewhat entertaining, and then I saw the scene where Miranda takes a seat at a bar next to a nice looking guy and they strike up a conversation. They have mutual interests, he has manners, he is single, they have a few laughs.

Miranda is just thinking that this guy is pretty nice and maybe there is a chance they could get to know each other better, maybe all the good guys are not gay or married, and he excuses himself to go to the loo. He stands up and he is the height of the bar stool. No I kid you not, the guy was about 4 foot 6. I laughed so hard I thought my brains were going to fall out. I was hooked. Obviously this was a show that any girl could relate to, and have a good time doing it. I watched every episode of every season.

Now, if you have plans to go see this little gem, and I hope you do, don’t read any farther! I’m not kidding. Just stop right now and get your butt back to work. Don’t continue! I’m about to spill the beans about Big, the girls, the guys, the shoes, the purses and the whole rest of this fashion laced fairy tale.

I don’t go to the movies much, so maybe my impression of it is a little askew, but I don’t remember the last time the theatre was so full. Just about every seat was taken. That makes the movie more fun in my opinion. With a full theatre you can feel the movie in magnified terms.

For example, when Steve admitted his infidelity to Miranda, there was a collective gasp the size of a mushroom cloud. You could feel it! I didn’t have to see everyone else to know that their mouths were hanging open too. This, to me, was the biggest shocker of the movie. I mean, my God, everybody likes Steve, we all trusted him, he had wormed his way into our hearts with his patience, understanding and stupid jokes. He was the least likely to break his vows! How could he!

I was not at all surprised when Big left Carrie standing at the alter with just her bridesmaids and designer gown, It did not surprise me to learn Charlotte was “preggies” even though we all knew a long time ago she couldn’t conceive and she and that cue ball headed Jewish hot house she’s married to already had adopted. I was not surprised when Sam called it quits with her arm candy- although I was a bit shocked that she would end up a dog owner. But my God, Steve’s confession came out of left field and the whole audience was shocked.

(by the way, what is with these tiny dogs? Is everyone in NYC enthralled with dogs the size of armadillos? Couldn’t Charlotte trade those three tiny fur balls in for one long legged champion and have a better daily run and less combing to boot? I mean, now that they have two kids, won’t she be to busy to groom three dust mops?)

Carries little Eiffel tower purse was the best supporting fashion and probably should have been the star. The wedding gown was given the spotlight but I really was not that impressed with it. Sam’s “going to Mexico with the girls” outfit was more noteworthy. As for the purse Carrie gave her assistant? I loved it. I usually prefer more geometric and simplistic purse designs, but hey, it was beautiful, wasn’t it?

And the blue shoes, who were cast as Cinderella’s slippers? Yes, I loved them, just my color, however I don’t think I would ever cram my big feet into something like that. Did you see the heals on those babies? Yikes!

Speaking of Cinderella, yes, we all know Sex and The City is a fairy tale, with a little day time soap thrown in. The glamour, the guys, the money, the fashion, the happy endings. Fairy tales are supposed to help us figure ourselves out. They teach us something about our psyche. They bring the big issues into focus.

Yes, we know it’s a fairy tale, a wonderful one. And, just like a fairy tale should, watching the movie caused a big truth lurking under my unconscious mind to surface. Something I would not have accessed with out help from this fairly tale movie. I finally realized the truth. Sometimes it’s hard to face the truth, and even harder to admit it to someone else. Right now I’m going to reveal the truth to you, and in doing so, I hope to unleash the healing.

The truth is: I don’t care what they say about Carrie’s fashion sense, to me, it’s immature. Yes, I said it. Carrie’s outfits are not good fashion, they are an attempt to look fashionable and they fall short. The one with the real fashion sense is Miranda.

OK, it’s out in the open now. I feel better. Now, maybe you could use a dose of unconscious stirring and revealing yourself, if so, hop on down to the matinee and see the movie. Even if you were not a regular fan, you are going to enjoy the images. I guarantee you will see something revealing.

Hollywood, an insiders view- or how I ended up standing next to and taking direction from Ron Howard.

If you did not read parts one and two, go back, or I should say down, to the previous posts and read them first.

So we all gathered around to find out what our work for the rest of the day would be. First off, the keepers began, you have 10 minutes to do anything you need, such as use a restroom, smoke a cigarette or make a phone call. You will not have another opportunity to do any of these things again until we are done shooting, and there is no way to tell when that will be. It could be as much as nine hours, when dark falls, so do what you need to do now, meet us back here in 10.

Holy mackerels, no chance to hit the loo for nine hours? Outta the way, I’m coming through! How do they expect us to…oh, wait, it’s a movie set, we are officially professionals now and if the cast and crew can do it, so can the extras. I was trying to toughen up for the experience but my eye wandered to the back part of the lot where the huge motor homes were. Apparently if one of the stars or the director needed a potty break, it would be managed in luxuriant fashion and I bet nobody tells Tommy Lee he can’t take a leak if he needs to.

Ten minutes later the keepers explained that we were to become the town’s folk on an afternoon when the carnival was expected to come through town. The shops are full; it’s a happy, exciting, holiday atmosphere day for the people of this sleepy little town. This I guessed was the background information we all needed to get “into character”. They were setting the mood for us, there would be no extras walking around with frowns, or looking sad, we were to be jovial.

The mood was set, now the parts were cast. The keepers split us up, you three are friends in the scene, always stay together talking and laughing. You four are a family in town to see the show; you will be patiently waiting the carnival and wondering at all the improvements in the town since your last visit. You sir, are going to be walking with the dog and his trainer, just visiting, stay with the dog all day. Now all of you are my “street people”, so follow me. And away went the three friends, the family of four and the dog trainer’s friend. Presumably the dog and his trainer were in another holding tank for the talented animal stars in the film. The trainer’s friend would hook up with them on the street.

The second keeper split off another group of us and proclaimed us the “window people”. I was paired with a dapper looking gentleman; we were both the height of urban fashion for the day. We were “husband and wife going for a stroll”. We were to walk arm in arm, chatting and laughing. Other members of our group included a pair of “sisters on the way to the market”, a “cowboy and his horse”, (which galloped up behind us take after take after take) and a “young mother and her son walking to the square”.

We were escorted to the set and handed over to our director, a young lady with headphones. She explained that an important scene was being filmed right inside that building there and we would be walking by the window in the scene. We would be visible on film behind the main characters when all was said and done. She then gave us our “marks”. This means she showed us where to start from and where to go to when they called “action!” We were to return to our start point as soon as she called “cut!”, and be ready to go again. This is exactly what we did for the next five hours. We walked up and down that street so many times I lost count. Between takes we had time to visit, tell stories, and generally get to know each other. “My husband” was a very nice writer from Santa Fe who had worked on other movies.

Now, I must say the director did try to mix it up a bit, she had us do a few takes where we walked up the street and then crossed it, we walked up the street, stopped and chatted with another extra, we walked up the street and up onto the sidewalk, we walked up the street and jumped back when a horse and wagon sped by. So we did have some variety you see. Meanwhile the special effects guys and the lighting guys were scurrying back and forth between each take, changing light screens, angles, bulbs and adding water ( big trucks watering the street) to keep the dust down.

Now, this of course was funny because in New Mexico in the spring you are going to have some dust, and sure enough about mid afternoon one of our famous dust storms rolled across the plain. The US southwest has dust storms that will sand the paint right off your car. Those are rare, but even the everyday dust storms are nothing you want to be outside for. So the dust clouds started rising and all us sensible New Mexican extras were wondering when they were going to call it quits and let us go inside for a while, but those crazy California film makers were just enthralled with our dust storm and even said “ It’s so authentic! What a look! We love it!”.

Yeesh! These guys are nuts is what I was thinking as I pulled my cute Victorian bonnet tight around my head and covered my face with my shawl. Honestly, the storm was so bad I had to remove my contact lenses; there was too much dust in the air to wear them. I had dust up my nose and for days after I was digging dust out of my ears and I was wearing a bonnet! The storm lasted about two hours and they did take the animals inside for breaks from it but we extras stayed in our scenes the whole time.

Soon after the dust storm we did have a little excitement on the set. The “extras directors” came around and told us Tommy Lee was expected and not to talk to him or look at him or swoon over him or pay him no mind a’tall. He was going to be crossing the street and we were not, I repeat, not to stare at him. He was “just another town’s person going about his business”. Ok, I can do this, I mean it’s not like it’s Hugh Grant or Russell Crow or John Chusak, it’s just Tommy Lee, who is just about the cutest Texan I ever saw except for Matthew McConaughey of course. I’m a acting professional now for heavens sake!

So walk he did, across the street and into the sheriff’s office, right in front of me. He was every bit as tall and handsome as he looks on film. He was in character of course, so some of that confidence he exuded may have been an act. I noted him, as you would someone who crosses the street in front of you. I’m an acting professional by now of course, so I had to note him. I did not stare, drool, or swoon. My “husband” hardly even noted him and I’m guessing noting Tommy Lee is a “girl thing”. I also noted that Tommy Lee is such a talented professional they only had to film him walking across the street one time. They did not have to do 367 takes for him to get it right.

The rest of the afternoon wore on, us walking up and down the street. The extra directors yelling “action!” and “cut!”. The lighting and special effects guys scurrying about. The extras walking up and down the streets. The whole set had settled into its pace and though we could not see it, we could feel that we were contributing to the real action which was painstakingly being committed to celluloid for eternity inside the sheriff’s office.

Anyway, we had taken 3726 strolls up and down the sidewalk and finally were given a break to sit a minute. We were instructed to stay on the board walks, don’t wander off, don’t take off your costume and yes, there is a porta potty behind the general store and big cooler of drinks behind that large wagon. Be ready to resume working in 10 minutes. My gosh I think we were all so glad to step out of character for a moment and drink, pee, smoke, do yoga postures and just relax. It takes an amazing amount of concentration to follow a director for seven hours and we were all feeling the strain.

During our break some “extra wranglers” (I made that up, I just figure if the people who keep track of the animals can be called wranglers, than so can the people who keep track of the extras) came round and took Polaroid photos of us extras, and got our names and phone numbers so they could identify and contact us “in case we have to do a scene again and you are part of the background”. By that time my feet hurt from those almost-but-not –quite-my-size Victorian boots, my ribs and lungs hurt from the corset, my eyes hurt from the dust storm, and I was praying they didn’t mess up a scene I was in and have to bring me back for another grueling 16 hours the next day.

I guess you could say I was becoming a bit disillusioned with the whole Hollywood thing. Yes, it was interesting, but it was a lot of repetition and a lot of hurry up and wait. It was a long day becoming longer as each hour past my dinner time went by. I knew they had a whole barn full of snacks right across the lot, but they might as well have been on mars, I couldn’t get to them!

During our break a whole new set of characters arrived on the set. A complete traveling circus/sideshow with Snake oil wagon, a dancing bear, jugglers, gypsies and a guy on stilts dressed up like Uncle Sam. The dancing bear wasn’t real, after all, this is just a movie set, and it was an actor in a costume. Darn, I would have liked to be on the set with a real bear.

The sun was getting lower when the directors came and gathered us around to prep for the last scene.The fair citizens of this small frontier town were about to be treated to a sight that was rare. They were to be entertained by a traveling circus. The circus would announce its arrival by a parade through town, and then it would start to set up at the field. We, the jovial, excited and happy towns folk were to gather on the streets to watch the parade go by, waving to the dancing bear and laughing and making exclamations of joy and wonder. OK, the scene is set, we have our motivation, and we have our marks. My “husband” and I stand with the sun to our backs right at the crossing of the two streets. We are joined by a crowd of other towns’ folk and the parade begins.

Now the set is in a frenzy. We’ve done 15 takes already, the sun is setting; we are loosing the light and each time we do a take the whole parade has to hustle back around the backside of the set, re-group and start down the road to town again. At dusk the word goes round that this is about it folks, one more time and we are going to have to “wrap”. On your mark everyone. And then, it was then, just then that the door to the sheriff’s office, the building right behind me, opened. I turned at the sound and out strode Ron.

Yes, Ron Howard. In jeans, a jacket and a baseball cap he looked just like an older version of Opie Taylor. He walked right up next to me and started talking with the mobile camera guy. I was looking at Ron, but trying not to stare because by now I was a professional and seeing stars up close was old hat and and and… It was surreal…I felt like I was in a movie…Oh, wait, I was in a movie and not just any movie, but one directed by Ron Howard! It seemed, well,… odd to be standing next to someone I had been watching on TV my whole life. From Opie Taylor to Richie Cunningham to director in the news, Ron had been a part of my life for years. He was so familiar I thought I knew him.

My feet quit hurting, my lungs and ribs quit hurting and my eyes, well I guess they started to tear up a bit and the sand was washed away and they quit hurting too. There I was, working with and standing next to Academy Award winning child star/actor/director Ron Howard.

Then the unbelievable happened, Ron took a speaker and stood on the steps to the general store and thanked all us extras for doing such a great job. He told us how important we were to his film and how much he appreciated our patience, as film making took a lot of time. He asked us to be patient for a few more minutes, and then we were doing our last take. Then he started directing us, the lowly extras.

Ron asked us all to gather in a little closer for this scene, “be neighbors” he said, “it’s your town”. He asked for just a little more waving and smiling as the snake oil wagon went round the corner. He asked a few children to run after the wagon and a few parents to run after the children. He asked us to turn to one another after the wagon went by, as if to say “did you see that?” He thanked us again, and climbed down from the steps. He spent a few more moments with the mobile camera guy, explaining the angle he wanted to get on Uncle Sam, and then he disappeared into the sheriff’s office.

The final take went smooth, some one yelled “cut and wrap”, the sun set and all us actors ( notice we aren’t extras any more, we’ve taken directon from Ron Howard, we are actors now) headed back to the big barn to collect long ago abandonded cell phones, books, backpacks and toys. We climb on the bus that takes us off the lot, back to the entrance, costume and make-up area, back to the big tent of food, which, at this point is depressingly empty of caterers and food.

We are instructed by our keepers to head right for costume, change to our street clothes then report to hair so they can brush our hair out. We have plenty of keepers at this point, to help us remove our costumes and make sure no one steals anything. We are told we are not to remove a thing from the area, not even a hair pin. (I have to admit I removed a few of those hair pins, I had to because you are not going to believe the huge industrial size bobby pins these Hollywood types own, they even worked in my hair).

I am feeling a little tired and a little meloncoly as well, and I think I’m not alone. I see it in others eyes as they take off those high collar Victorian dresses and slip back into jeans. I hear it in the voices of people who were family for the day and now say a fond farewell.I feel it in the cool New Mexico night as I wave goodbye to my “husband” and the “dog walker” and head for the parking lot. It’s a long drive home after dark and I have plenty of time to think about the day.

I make a note to self to call Joyce and thank her for giving me the opportunity to be in Ron’s movie. I wonder when it will come out (about a year later) and I wonder if I will end up on the cutting room floor. I wonder if someone kept messing up in the sheriff’s office because we shot that scene so many times. I wonder if it was Tommy Lee, and I immediately dismiss the idea. It must have been someone else. I wonder what it would be like to live out on the plain where the set is, with such a big beautiful open sky and no light pollution. I wonder when I will have a chance to make another movie.

A few weeks later I get a check in the mail from the movie company. I almost don’t cash it. I want to put it in my scrap book. I compromise, I make a copy before I cash it.

Part Two of Hollywood an Insiders View

OK folks, If you didn't read part one, just go back ( or should I say down) to the last entry. Read that first!

Those of you who know me well can imagine how I was feeling and looking when the big day arrived and I reported to the set at 6 am. I didn’t have to talk to anyone though, and that was good. They had a huge coffee urn, and that was good too. I just got in line, gave my name, and was ushered off to the wardrobe tent where two girls helped me get strapped back into my costume. Then I was herded over to “hair” and had my long hair tied into a knot, pinned, sprayed, and hid under a bonnet (which I thought was rather odd because I got the part so they could do western-y/victorian style-ish-y things to my long hair. However, when the sand storm started I was so happy I had a bonnet on, I can’t even tell you…)

Then I was shuffled to “makeup” where they said “no one gets makeup because this is a realistic period piece and only saloon girls wore makeup back then”. I was shocked! Here I was, about to have a real part in a real movie and I find I am to be forever immortalized on the silver screen with no make-up! How will my friends even recognize me? I try to talk them into “just shoring up my weak eyebrows and giving me a bit of concealer and some lip gloss” but it’s a no-go.

After that I was asked to hang out in the breakfast tent, eat, and listen for someone to call my name. I ate, but just a little because the corset was so tight, and promptly tried to fall asleep with my head on the table, but found it impossible because I couldn’t sit down all the way with the bustle and corset on. All I could do was perch on the very edge of a chair, and then I had to extend my legs down and back under the chair so my torso wasn’t bent because it wouldn’t bend! I was like Herman Munster- my body was ridged, there was no bend anywhere! Good God all Mighty, this was gonna be a long day.

After an hour or so, I was loaded onto a bus (I had to stand as sitting was almost impossible) with a bunch of other extras and we headed for the “lot”. If you ever saw the movie Wild Wild West, with Will Smith, you have seen the town we were filming in. I guess they torched part of it in that movie, and this movie was able to use the rest of the set for its short in-town scenes.

Any-hoo, we were deposited on the back side of the lot and told to stay in or behind this big old barn, and if we needed anything at all, talk to our keepers, a couple of young ladies whose job was to keep track of us amateurs. I walked inside the barn. There were tables and chairs and all kinds of snack foods and drinks and sandwich fixings, and I was thinking the caterers were the busiest people on the set.

So here I was, in the barn with about fiftey other extras, all dressed up in period costumes with no place to go. We sat, and we sat, and we sat, and …someone was calling my name! This is it! They want me on the set! They are asking for me by name! I went outside to find a woman yelling my name at the top of her lungs, and all the other extras looking from one to another baffled, trying to figure out who I was and why they were calling my name. But no, it wasn’t my call to greatness, it was just a friend of mine, part of the special effects team, wanting to have a word with me. He knew I was on the set and among the extras, so he had our keeper yelling for me. We had a nice chat, then I went back to the barn. It was noon by then, six hours on the set and I had done nothing but get dressed and eat, and I had seen not a single camera.

Pretty soon the keepers came and rounded us all up, put us back on the bus and took us off the lot, back to the entrance, costume and make-up area, back to the big tent of food because it was lunchtime. Now I mean it when I say I thought the caterers were the busiest people on the set. The breakfast had been full out eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, French toast, muffins, cereal, juice, milk- an all you could eat, all you could want breakfast extravaganza. The snacks in the barn were numerous and tasty and now- now the lunch was just as amazing!

It was like dining on a cruse ship, way to much food, to many choices (all of them good) and a full array of interesting characters to slide up to the buffet with. By that time we extras had bonded and were on a first name basis. We had our histories and had gravitated into little cliques like people do when they are in a big group. Of course we were all “in character”, being the professional novices we were, and it was hard to tell who was who or what was what. I sat with a “frontier family’ of dad, mom and daughter, a cattle rustler, the sheriff’s dog handler and a cowpoke. The “family” were repeats, they actually worked as extras on a regular basis. The rest of us were first timers. Most everyone I met said the same thing- they just wanted to see what it was like, to work on a movie.

When the lunch hour was up they herded us back into the bus and took us back to the barn, where an entire new array of snacks had been set up and – gasp- someone had set out decks of cards. This, I thought, does not look good. It looks like we are not going to get to the front of this barn anytime soon. OH-did I mention that from the front windows of the barn we could peek out and see the set just down the street? Did I mention that occasionally something on the set would cause a stir in the barn? Like- horses pulling at a wagon driven by Tommy Lee Jones tearing by the barn, or a horse galloping by with Kate Blanchett astride, or a whole group of outlaw-y looking guys riding by with dust clouds following. We knew there was action on the set, we just were not a part of it.

By mid afternoon I was so tired of sitting (actually, standing because, like Herman, I couldn’t bend) around, I was ready for a nap. The problem was, I couldn’t really sit down and I’m not good at sleeping standing up. There really was no place that I could lay down and not get up without dust all over that beautiful Victorian dress. I couldn’t sit and bend foreword with my head on a table, because, like Herman Munster, I couldn’t bend. And I couldn’t just sit back in a chair and just let my head drop to my chest, because I had on a bustle that I couldn’t sit back on.

My mind was playing through all these assorted western life scenarios I had seen on TV and I was wondering- how did women do that dressed like this?- and I came to the conclusion that women didn’t do much of anything back then, not dressed like I was anyway. They must have had looser “ at home” clothes to do the cooking, cleaning and baby raising in, there is no way they could have milked a cow or pulled weeds or plowed with a big draft horse dressed the way I was, I mean, I couldn’t even grab 40 winks or a deep breath.

I finally settled for backing a chair up near the wall and jamming chairs tight on each side of it so it wouldn’t move around. I perched on the edge of the chair, tilted it back so I could stretch my legs out and just touch the ground with my toes, and my head, well it was balanced on the top ridge of the back of the chair. I was a perfect straight line, no bends, just like Herman Munster. You can understand why I jammed those chairs tight on each side so the chair I was balanced on would not move. The only part of me touching the chair was the back of my skull and the bottom edge of my butt. I was a sleeping high wire act, and sleep I did for about an hour. I awoke to the sound of the keepers yelling everyone gather ‘round, it’s time to go to work.

Part three- on the set- coming soon.

Part One of Hollywood, An Insiders View- or- How I ended up standing next to and taking direction from Ron Howard.

I’m ruined for the movies. Much as I love a good movie, it’s impossible for me to sit through one now and just enjoy it. My mind is constantly critiquing the set or the special effects or the direction. For instance, did you notice in the scene in Marie Antoinette where Marie Antoinette was sitting in her closet loving her shoes, that there was a pair of white high top tennis shoes on the floor next to her? Yep, it’s true. What the heck! What were they doing there? They weren’t even invented yet! See what I mean? How can one possible get lost in a movie when one is noticing things like that? By the way, I loved the movie- it was like a punk rock version of the French queen and her court. (And we think kids today grow up to fast, imagine ruling a country when you are what? 15?)

My problem started years ago, back in Austin in the mid 70’s when the Armadillo had a world headquarters, the mayor carried a nickel bag, and outlaw country was king. The movie Out Law Blues, staring Peter Fonda and Susan St James was filmed in Austin.

http://www.awhq.com/

Honestly, I think I just had a flash back! I was looking up the Armadillo to find good links and I saw a photo of the painting of Doug Kershaw - the Ragin’ Cajin’- in the mouth of an alligator that was on the garden wall, and all of a sudden I was back in the beer garden, glass in hand.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armadillo_World_Headquarters

The movie was about outlaw country music and weed, so it fit right in with the Austin of the day.

http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/36883/Outlaw-Blues/overview

There was a casting call for extras and my boyfriend, a very enterprising young man, decided we should show up, maybe they would cast us, and maybe we would get rich and famous. I went along out of curiosity although I thought the 7am start time was a little nutty. What the heck were big stars like Peter Fonda and Susan St James doing up at 7 am?

Turned out they weren’t up at 7 am, because they weren’t in the scene, but we were. Yes, my boyfriend’s hunch that the director would want some “normal down home looking Austin freaks, hippies, and outlaw country fans” for the movie was right on, and we were cast as “ the couple you see walking down the street when the truck careening out of control, flies through the intersection just before it crashes and dumps a load of pumpkins in the road.”

Fortunately they didn’t want to crash that truck more than once so we had just one take.For those of you not in the Biz that means we just filmed the scene once. We did a couple of practice walks up the street, from mark A to mark B and then they let it roll. Get the movie and when you see the big truck come over the hill, pause. Yes, there on the side walk, all denim and long hair, that’s us. My -at the time- boyfriend and I are now, forever hand and hand, walking on the silver screen.

That was my movie debut and I thought it was pretty cool, I mean, we didn’t end up on the cutting room floor! I’ve been intrigued by movie making ever since. My saga continues many years later in New Mexico. The film industry and the land of enchantment are sleeping together and that’s fine with me. It offers lots of fun job opportunities for movie fans, as well as lots of economic aid to New Mexico. I just happen to know a few people in the “biz” and when a casting call goes out for a “crime drama shot on the streets of Albuquerque”, I call one of my casting director type friends and find out it’s not her show.

She does, however, fill me in on how to make a good impression when you show up with 16,000 other people at a casting call. Well, I’m a busy gal and the casting call hours are not very convenient for me, so I ignore them totally and show up several hours after the call (I figure I will really stand out from the pack that way). I’m dressed for the part that I want to be cast in (attorney) in a spiffy stylish suit and carrying a briefcase looking all “serious young attorney out to save the world and put the bad guys in the can”-ish.

Tip: if you are filming in a hot climate in the summer, go to the casting call as someone who would be inside a building, like a janitor or a attorney, do not go as a street person or a traffic cop. You might wonder why this is so important but ask thine self this- if you have to be on set filming for 16 hours straight and it’s 99 degrees, would you rather be ready on the set inside or out?

Anyhow, they were all nice even though I did show up after they were officially closed. They took my information, took my photo and never called. Rats! My second shot at a plump movie career and I’m disqualified for unknown reasons. My friend assures me they are looking for certain looks or features and not to take it personally. I just didn’t have what they wanted at the time.

A few months later I hear through the grapevine that a friend of a friend is casting a “period piece starring Tommy Lee Jones”. I literally beg my friend, who will be speaking with the casting director later in the week, to mention that I’m free what ever dates they are filming, I’m very good at taking direction and I would do just about anything for a chance to be in Tommy Lee’s movie.

I didn’t know if this was going to work because just a month before I begged to go along with a friend who was visiting her husband who was working on Zorro with Antonio Banderas. My request was denied, they were shooting in a foreign country with a small revolution going on, so security was tight and the set was closed. DANG!

To make a long story even longer-

The casting director happened to stop by the office one day and told me she thought I would be perfect for this “period piece with Tommy Lee Jones” because it was a western, and it was hard for her to find any women with really long hair, which was the style in that period, and they were going for authentic. I was in! Thank you Joyce! This was the real deal! My name was on the list, I was official.

A few weeks before filming I was on my way to the costume fitting. I almost didn’t make it because I had just had the heads done on my car and you know how straight the road is between Albuquerque and Santa Fe and this cop came outta no where and eventually he caught up to me and well, really, that’s a whole ‘nother story, and it would make this long story even longer so suffice to say I did make it to the fitting.

It was very interesting to be in a warehouse full of antique clothes. If you can imagine a bigger closet than the one I have,( I use an entire room for my closet) this was it! I was in heaven. I was not at all impressed with the costume person, she was a mean, nasty woman and I don’t care if she did get an academy award for Freda. She was the only person among Ron’s crew (see how I slid that casual familiar reference to super star director Ron Howard in there?) That was not just charming to work with. Really folks, she was the only bad egg in the bunch, and she really was a stinky one.

Anyway, she did let me pick my dress as long as I stayed with brown ( which she said is my color) and I did get myself fitted for a beautiful Victorian dress with bustle and 300 tiny buttons and high collar and…corset? Holy cow, I was going to have to wear a corset because this dress had a 5 inch waist. So I got fitted for the corset too, and let me tell you it was exactly like you see on TV. I had two ladies helping to lace and tie the damn thing and one of them was holding it tight while the other stuck her foot against my back and pulled the laces with all her might. They kept saying don’t breath and I was squeaking don’t worry, I can’t!

I picked out my accessories, a cute bonnet, gloves, shawl, purse and shoes. I filled out a bunch of papers, put my name tags on everything, and was given my directions for the day of the “shoot”. So that was fun and I went home driving slower and wondering what the big day would really be like.

Part two- The Big day, coming soon...

Aghast I Tell You, Aghast!

So I was real busy this past week, hardly had time to write a note to myself. In all the scuttling about I was having a bit of writers block. I mean, I was getting ideas alright, but I wasn’t able to sit right down, right then, and pay attention to them and they seemed to flutter away with indignation. When I did have time to sit down and pay attention, they were off on some exotic vacation. Yes, I jotted notes, but a note does not a blog article make.

Then, it seemed suddenly the ideas were gone. The well was dry. I was experiencing the proverbial writers block. Rather than fret I decided to take two hours off from the world and watch an old movie. Elizabeth Taylor, Paris, The 40’s, sounded just divine.

So I start watching and I realize right away this is a movie about regrets, as the star (Van Johnson) walks around Paris with a wistful look on his face. He’s remembering things lost. Well. OK, so it’s not a comedy or a light hearted romantic romp. Still, in the dark depth of someone else’s misery can’t one find redemption? (Wow- that sounded good didn’t it? I wasn’t really thinking that but hey, who would know, right? I was actually thinking dang, I picked a sad movie, it didn’t say sad on the cover). I decided to watch it anyway.

So I start getting into this movie and I am aghast (Aghast just popped in my head so I looked it up, the definition was “filled with consternation”- oh, that’s helpful. I looked up consternation, the definition was “surprise and anxiety or dismay” Perfect!), aghast I tell you, I was aghast to find that the central story line is about the failure of Van Johnson to become a successful writer!

OH you twisted fate! How could I have picked this movie? Could it be a joke of the Gods, are they sitting up there laughing?

I watched in aghast as the writer-guy typed ferociously, pencil in mouth for those frequent stops to cross out and note a change. (Can you imagine? No cut and paste? No spell check? ). Pile of crumpled papers at his feet growing.

Finally! He is finished. Celebration! Wine, song, dancing! But then, the rejections start coming in. No one wants his great novel. They all say Oh, very nice, but sorry, doesn’t fit our needs at this time.

Time passes in movie land, Liz and Van have a child, start getting older, he writes a few more novels. Rejections are raining down on him. They sprout up at every turn. They follow him relentlessly. No one wants his novel, nor his novel #2, nor novel #3. He’s loosing it. He turns to the booze.

At this point I pause the film and grab a bottle of wine and a glass- hey, at least I used a glass, he was swiggin’ right from the bottle!

In movie land the relationship is flowing down the drain; they both take up running around with party people. He can’t think of a sentence to put on paper, his well has been pumped dry from all the rejection.

OK, I’m fine I tell myself as I pour another glass, I mean, hey- I’ve only received about 168 rejections for my first book. And the second one? Well, that’s just a small handful- say 87. I’m sure my well is not dry dry; it’s just temporarily slightly evaporated. I heard that Margaret Mitchell had somewhere around 350 rejections for Gone With The Wind before it got picked up- do you think she was hitting the bottle? Wait, It’s only a movie for heaven’s sake!

So the grand finale is coming, the writer is careening around like a sports car that popped a tire on a tight turn. He gets drunk on a cold, dark, rainy, sleety, nasty weather night. The wife is out with a “friend” so he comes home, puts the chain lock in place and passes out on the stairs. She comes home, can’t get in, walks across Paris to her sisters, catches pneumonia and dies. Bummer.

Good Lord Almighty! Madre Di Dios! Is this the vocation I’ve chosen for myself? Is this what happens to rejected writers? Is this the result of the well going dry? Am I gonna end up on skid row, a rejected, alcoholic writer with an accidental murder conviction?

Calm, remain calm, it’s just a movie. A writer’s ghost, a vision from some (F. Scott Fitzgerald) twisted writers mind. I wonder how many times the MS (that’s Manuscript- for those of you who are not in the “biz”) was rejected? I wonder how many times the screenplay was rejected?

It’s just a movie. I’m sure my well is about to gush. At least I haven’t accidentally killed my loved one.

Carrie didn't appear to be working hard...

Whew, who would have thought blogging was such hard work! I Guess writing is like anything else, it takes practice and I am thinking that like anything else, the more you do it the faster you get.

So far, my average time for posting a article is 2 hours. Yes, two hours, not including the percolating time when the little goober is rolling around in my mind being formed.

Now, part of the challenge is , like I told ya before, taking 38 pages of notes and condensing it into something readers can read between the time your boss heads to the restroom or coffee bar to the time your boss trails back into the room and ya gotta get back to work.

Another part of the challenge is my typing. Yes, I type approximately one-half a word a minute. I'm not a two fingered typist, I'm more like a one thumb and four fingers typist. I envy people like my little sister who types about 6000 words a minute. She's so fast you don't even see her fingers when she types, they are just a blur. There is no way I can IM with her, she just ends up on the floor in fits of laughter wondering what I'm trying to say one syllable per screen.

I'm not that good at it because I haven't spent that much time typing, which leads us to the other part of this challenge - I'm spending a lot more time at the computer and I think I'm developing typist's elbow and mouser's shoulder and blogger's butt. Don't laugh! I'm not used to sitting at the computer this much- my butt is achy!

Then there is the whole editing thing, where I gotta go back and correct the spelling and insert jucier words and change the order of sentences and rewrite that whole paragraph and that takes some time. Besides the fact that I don't want to post a bunch of stuff that doesn't make you want to visit this blog again. I want to post stuff that makes you think, smile, re-read and comment. I want you to be glad you took a few minutes of your bosses time to take a peek.

So, I wish I was like the mythical Carrie Bradshaw. In one hours time she could shop for shoes, share revelations with her girlfriends over a meal, change clothes about 30 times, have time for coffee, hit some cool nightclub, drink 27 cosmopolitans, smoke a full pack of cigarettes, talk to Mr. Big on the phone, have a date with some new guy she just met, and write an incredible article for her paper and actually make the deadline! Now, we never really got to read any of her articles, but I'm assumimg they were incredible or why would they put her picture on the side of that bus?

I'm not there yet, but I've heard that practice makes perfect, so I'm gonna keep practicing. I've actually started making drafts ( that's an article in it's embryonic stage) and saving them so I'm ahead an article or two. Then I can take a second or third read, and make sure they are mighty fine before I post.

Thanks for reading, and check back in a couple days, I've got a story about my brush with death just about ready to post.

Why I love disaster films!

I love disaster films.

Give me a huge meteorite headed straight for earth, or any one word related to nature titled film-
Volcano!
Tsunami!
Earthquake!
Hurricane!
Tornados!
Comet!
Blizzard!
Artic Ice Storm!
(OK, yes, I made the last one up, just because of where I’m living right now…)

And giant mutant lizards and never before seen aberrations of nature sized monkeys and living dinosaurs either forgotten by time or created in the lab from DNA found in the blood of a mosquito stuck in amber a few eons ago.

I’ll take anything from some unknown planet, from some far reach of the galaxy, with some unknown intent and design for human kind from “To Serve Man” (It’s a cookbook!) to Alien (Does it always drool like that or just when it’s about to eat?) as long as there is not an overabundance of blood and gore.

You can keep the wild eyed slashers, the limb chewing, hazy eyed zombies and the demons that make the walls bleed. I’m not looking for a gross fest, just a nail biting, blanket tunneling, small jump with a little shriek good time.

Because honestly, nothing makes my life seem as quiet, easy and sane as watching a disaster film. I mean, hey, my life is perfectly fine, at least I’m not stuck in the back of an overturned truck with a T-rex trying to nuzzle it’s way through the window.

And yes, it may be snowing but the sun has not, I repeat, has not imploded and the entire world has not frozen solid in a matter of seconds, and we do not have to live in tunnels to avoid freezing.

I mean, how can I possibly be concerned about the infintesimal problems in my life when I’ve just survived the War of the Worlds or Armageddon?

Problems?
Yes.
Prozac?
No thanks, just give me a handful of disaster films and a few hours to watch them and I will be just fine.

Sisters,sisters, there were never more devoted sisters...

In the holiday classic "White Christmas" Bing and Danny dress up as sisters and sing the devoted sisters song. When we were kids, my sisters and I had to get up and perform the number right along with them and even today we sometimes break into a random verse of the chorus of that song.

Today is my sister Jena's birthday, so today I'm going to tell you how lucky I am to have sisters.

I don't know how I would get along with out them. There are four of "us girls" in my immediate family and I can guarantee you that "you don't want to mess with us girls". My sisters are strong, confident, independent and beautiful. They are "go to girls", if anybody needs a problem solved, a crisis diverted or a helping hand with something my sisters are there. They are like female versions of McGuyver. Remember him? Put him in a jungle with a roll of tape, a butter knife and a q-tip and he could build a resort.

Now over the years, yes indeed we have had our personality clashes, because although we all come from the same background we are all very different ( nature vs nurture playing out before our very eyes) and, as my brother-in-law would say " each one of us is always right".

But over the years it's also been proven over and over that I never have to wonder if my sisters are going to be there for me- it's a given. They've got my back no matter what, and I've got theirs. We can function very well as a pack, banding together as one, and we each fly solo equally well.

If I feel there is something missing in me at the moment, I know it's present in one of them and all I have to do is call and ask to borrow it. Be it knowledge, strength, warmth, understanding, joy, laughter or love, one of my sisters has what I need at the moment, and I'm confident that when she calls me searching for something she has temporarily misplaced in her heart and mind, I'm gonna have it right here at my fingertips, and be able to pay her back because that is just the way "us girls" are.