Thursday, November 18, 2004

"Old man" Wisnia turns 22 as of 12 midnight. Happy Birthday friend! I hope that you have a great time. Watch out for that hip though. I don't know if I am cunning enough to convince the nurse that I am married to one of your friends and your sister... again. Sorry I'm missing the fiesta. Sing a song and think of me.

Dirty Finger Nails

This morning I started the endless list of things “TO DO” with my usual cup 'o coffee. I had the puppy in tow (My roommates Chihuahua mix names Mr.Vegas). He was wearing his red hooded sweatshirt and getting far more attention than I ever could at this hour of the morning. But, I didn’t care. I overslept and was still hung over from the night before. After fueling up with a cup of jet-engine espresso dripped into a cardboard cup, I had to walk to 8 or so blocks to Fleet and pick up some traveler’s checks. Joe’s Pizza, which was this little pop shop pizza place that I went into from time to time, had been gutted out and the sign had been left as a reminder that this hole on the wall was the shell where the old man with few teeth used to be. I didn’t exactly cry about it, but on the way back I had also noticed Wowsville a specialty Cd/Movie store on second was gutted and closed also. I had never actually been there, but it seemed nice enough. Still ambivalent to the neighborhood change, I dropped off Vegas. I went to the computer lab and then needed to go get some femmy grooming done before my vacation. For the past three years, I have been going to the same nail salon. Manicure and pedicure for $22 and waxing was not a horribly painful experience there either. The same three women work day and night and their husbands worked down stairs in the deli. CLOSED!! I couldn’t believe it the south west corner of 13th and 3rd was empty! Now this was getting serious. I never did get to the femmy grooming. Damn the man! To make things worse, I went to stop in at Fresco Market on 14th for some coffee beans. Also, Gone for Good. Gutted and vacant. The pizza place not to far down from the former Fresco closed months ago. What the heck is going on here? These places were my history. I remember walking by them every day and now all at once they are dropping with no warning. I am a little P.O-ed about this.. I think some one has to stand up and save the East Village. If I knew more about the area, I’d do it myself.

Hungry?


Hungry?
Originally uploaded by feliciawill.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

ANG?? no it's RICCI...

I was sitting at the intern cube wrapping some DVD's for some actor, when I hear a voice. Thinking it was ang from one of the other offices, I wanted to say hi. I stand up and right in front of me, way to close to my personal space and clearly invading hers, is Christina Ricci. Umm.. what... and the... ricci... #%$%. I sit back down. I feel like such a jerk. Not that I normally care where she is or what she is doing. I just didn't expect for CR to be literally two feet away from me on the other side of my cube. A little shocked. Thats what it was post tramatic shock. Oh well. Not like I'm going to see her again.

New posts... New template

With a revival of sorts, my obsession with constant posts, I have decided to give my site a face lift. I wouldn't call it new and improved. Maybe just a little more colorful. I probually won't be posting till I return from vaca. But, there is plenty from the past couple of days to keep ya'll entertained.

To cold to pack

"Sorry. I dropped the phone. It was either my phone or my pants and I chose the phone. " I was talking to Nick, my friend in the Navy who a month ago I decided to go on a cruise with. His parents invited me to go with 31 other people in their family to chum around with Nick and keep him company. I have known Nick for almost 8 years, which makes him one of my oldest friends. Every time he is home on leave, we stay up till two in two morning playing poker with his parents or opt for a new and exciting adventure. Last Christmas, we skipped festivities and went skiing. Then, he joined me and the fam for dinner. He is the kind of friend that has history and no matter where we are in life, no matter how much we change, he will always be the same fun loving kid who stole parking meters and broke into the track shed to smoke cigars in high school.

"Ordinary I wouldn't care about the pants but it is sub zero in here. Apparently the windows were open from the top for like two weeks. I couldn't figure out why it was so cold in here. When my dad came in this weekend to pick up the cat, he almost ringed my neck for living like this ice box. Any way, the place hasn't quite warmed up yet."

Trying on all of my room mates dresses, figuring out which ones to pack and if they matched my shoes, I couldn’t believe that in two days I would be flying down to Florida (through Dallas, as if Dallas were the natural lay over for the three hour flight to Jacksonville). Isn't life rough? Though I will also be packing a bag full of homework. I leave two weeks before I graduate and I have a fifteen-page paper due the day I get back. But, I have always said that it is better to do homework while basking in the sun. Hopefully, I can stay sober enough to remember what I read.

Shane es Muy Pequeno

A lighting set up fell on my shoulder. I was sent home from work (as in my actually job at the coffee shop) because I looked tired and stressed out. That same shoulder pulled away from the socket as I carried boxes of Capri Sun to set the following day. But, I loved every moment of exhaustion and pain that tireless weekend.

The rest of the shot went rather smoothly. Exhaustion was a prevailing theme, though the environment was not stressful and the hours were not long. I think that the need for sleep was a disease that spread through the crew. With school about to wrap up and week long shoots, a yawn or a tired glance would breath out of one dedicated worker and into another. The NYC film season was about to wrap up, so for many of us, this was near the end. Soon we would sleep, but for some reason on set, I could not. I loved the people. "Felicia"... "Yeah Matt".. "Do you want to spoon? Why won't you spoon with me. " It was 2 am on any given night and I would be sprawled out on a full size mattress. "I'm an equal opportunity spooner Matt. It would not be fair if I spooned with you and not every one else. It is easier to not spoon at all. " I would chuckled back to him. This is a game we played for most the weekend. Never really getting any sleep, but always wishing we had.

After shooting in a bar, a school, a church, and an empty apartment that had been arted to look like two separate apartments, we wrapped late in Sunday (Day 4). As equipment was being loaded into the cube truck and cast and crew were saying their goodbyes, I stood on an apple box with my power drill. Breaking down the set was easier than saying goodbye. The dedicated few were going to stay and grab some beers. I kept myself busy till then.

"Jump on my back. Jamison yelled to Paul on the walk over to the bar." Late night in Brooklyn, a piggy back sprint ended with bodies on the pavement. I laughed so hard at the collapse of the tired drunk smokers, that I too fell to the cold damp ground. We stopped at the bank, where a PA and I danced to the cheesy elevator music. Box step. Left -forward- right- back. Followed by a twirl and a dip. We would all dance later at the bar. Even the bartender, Frank the tattoo covered Frenchman. Gathered on velvet couches, we said never said goodbye. Instead, we partied as if we were the best of friends. "Before we go let's S a C (smoke a cigerette)." And so goes the story Sean es Muy Pequeno, a short film about a washed out porn star and his battle to get back to the top.

The end

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Day 1- I hate hospitals

Matt called Rob’s work and found out that Rob had recently been taken off medication for seizures. This little bit of information helped me breath again. I didn’t know what had caused it. But from what I had seen and heard, there was no logical explanation or trigger for such a violent attack.

11:55 AM - As the ambulance pulled into the back entrance of Brooklyn Hospital, Rob was awake though barely coherent. On the ride over, the EMT and I were trying to cox Rob into taking the oxygen from his face mask. The EMT placed the clear mask over his mouth but as the blood puddled and dripped from his chin, Rob mindlessly blotted his chin with blood soaked gauze.

12:02 PM- I stood over Rob’s hospital bed. The doctor told us that he needed to put on a gown, but with his chin still bleeding, I didn’t want to take the risk of helping. The older man in the adjacent hospital bed was curled into a ball, tired, and quiet. The sound of his heart meter flat lining would haunt me as long as I was allowed to stay in the emergency room. Rob didn’t remember the seizure and was barely aware of his being in the hospital.

12:40 PM- I walked outside to update Matt on set. "Yeah everything is ok. He keeps saying how sorry he is and that he hopes that this doesn’t slow anything down. Yeah, I know. I told him not to worry and that the most important thing right now is that he is ok and feels better. "

I hate hospitals, the sight of blood and the overwhelming stench of death. Being there made me feel hungry for comfort, but I had to act as though nothing was bothering me. When I went back inside, I told rob about all of my tragic/embarrassing ER trips and comforted him by staying strong and being positive.

"No he seems ok. Just really spaced out. Yeah he is a worried that he freaked every one out. I told him that from what I know of you guys, you probably formed a circle to decide how to continue; made sure every one was ok, asked if about any issues or concerns, and decided to continue shooting in his honor."

When I returned to set almost and hour later, I was told that this is exactly what I had missed.

Day 1- Call 911

"Ok the next shot needs sound."

I was talking to the "bitches" about girly things. I’m sure it had something to do with make up or boys. I heard the clang of metal. It wasn’t loud. It sounded like the hollow clicking of a radiator when the heat kicks on. When I looked behind me, I saw a small crowd forming.

11: 40 am - Rob’s eyes were frozen on mine. With the dolly track resting on his neck, the thirty something year old sound guy was violently flapping under the metal fixture. I watched as his body grinded against the pavement. Blood was staining the cement around his chin and a small pool of vomit was mixing with its dark red pigments.

"Has any one called 911" I timidly asked. Rob’s yellowing eyes were still blankly staring into mine. The cast and crew was standing around him. Several of them had their cell phones in hand, but weren’t really sure what to do. I walked away toward the camera set up and past the truck where we had been shooting. Thankfully, Rob had fallen off set far from heavy electrical equipment and piles of cords and props.

"Hi I am working on a film right now and some one is having a seizure." My phone was breaking in and out of service. I yelled to the group standing around the now unconscious man. "Where are we? I know Brooklyn but what’s the address?"

The operator on the other end of the line was being patient but I could tell he was frustrated by my ignorance and the choppiness of my phone connection. I walked to the far opposite side of set. "I’m sorry I can’t hear you… What’s that again?…Yeah he is unconscious… I don’t know…Thank you."

11:45 am- I heard sirens turning off the main road. "Try to keep him awake. No don’t move him. Just talk and hold his attention. " As the fire truck parked on the opposite side of the narrow street, I greeted the middle-aged men dressed in dusty black fire suits.

"He fell. I was standing next to him. I think he had a seizure and now he’s blacked out."

The fireman walked over to Rob, poking and prodding him to get up.

When the ambulance arrived to the scene, I huddled with the rest of the crew, some silent others trying to keep Rob from losing his focus. "Can you go with him?" Libby the co-producer asked me if I would mind accompanying him in the ambulance. As UPM, it was my duty on set to do so. But, I didn’t know this guy. No one really did. He was an acquaintance of the director and he worked at the school. "Yeah. I’ll go. Not a problem."

Monday, November 15, 2004

Day 1- Start Shoot

7:00 am -Breakfast that day consisted of Entimen’s donut holes and mini muffins, juice and coffee. It was as ghetto fabulous as breakfast comes. Or at least it would have been, if we didn’t get a hold of Libby and ask her to pick up a box o’ Joe and some bagels. Libby arrived on set with the rest of breakfast and our talent (a.k.a. actors).

8:00 am and still no Jamison. He had called during breakfast to tell Matt that he over slept and wouldn’t be there with the truck and equipment till the time that we were supposed to start rolling. "Were and hour and a half behind guys:" Matt would say as we tried to rush one activity just so we could sit around and wait to start the next. This time it was make-up. I was helping the "bitches" put on tight Indian garbs for the first scene.

8:45 am "Kit is calling his brother to see if he has any…"
"Has any what" I asked. The truck came with Jamison in it about an hour after the call. When Jamison arrive I attacked him with a flying hug and went down stairs to help unload the truck. Excited to see some one that I knew for longer than a few hours, I helped Jamison and his roommate Kit with the equipment. "What" What’s wrong guys?" All three cameramen and I had just shared the ride over to location sitting in the two-person cab of a cube truck. I was smooshed between the driver and the two other guys, sitting on an apple box. As we passed the traffic cops, Jamison I remembered the license plate that had fallen from its mount and was dragging behind us. If we got pulled over we would never get ourselves out of that kind of traffic trouble. But that was half the fun.
"Come on guys," I nagged. "Tell me what’s up" As I’m trying to find out the problem I hear Matt on the phone. "We have the wrong size tapes. What time does the place open."
Tapes? I thought we were making a film. I’m not a film student and I never claimed to be, but I knew that this would not be good. Sunlight was something that we NEEDED to keep and with time wasting away, Matt drove into the city to buy the right size High def. Tapes.

Part IV- Comfort from a Garden Gnome

I was recommended for the job of production manager/coordinator by a "friend" Jamison. I met him a year prior on a shot that was the greatest disaster that I had ever seen, production wise and post. After I burnt my arm on a walk in oven, sent home the AD, lost my craft services girl, bitched out the director's mother, and filled in for the jobs of hair and makeup, art direction, continuity, and script at the same time, Jamison and I would pass out in the broken down generator truck out from pure sickness and exhaustion. I think I have talked to him maybe twice since that last shoot. But, I enjoy his company and have always thought that he’s a very talented and trustworthy guy.

Jamison wouldn’t arrive on set till morning. The two "Strappin Latins" who were keeping me company on set could smell my fear. Or maybe they could see it. Either way, I think that it was pretty obvious that I was having some doubts. As I was getting ready for bed, Libby, the pink and blue haired scripty/co-producer, crawled into bed with Matt. After brushing my teeth I walk back to see that the guys had ridged a night light over my mattress and placed a statue of a garden gnome over my head to make me feel more comfortable.

I woke up four hours later. As the UPM I had to have breakfast ready for the rest of the crew before they arrived on set. "Matt" I growled from my place on the floor. "No where in Brooklyn is going to be open for breakfast at five thirty in the morning." Upon this realization, I knew that I was screwed. I have spent very little time in Brooklyn but, I did know that I wouldn’t find a suburban style 7-11 or my corner NYC packie that sells beer and food all through the night and into the cold black morning. What did I get myself into?

"(song)Dun dun dun dun na na" Phil, the unobtrusive actor that was sprawled out in the chair the night before, slid across the floor wearing only socks and a pair of tight blue women’s shorts. "Baby blues" was what he called them. And for some reason, Phil was comfortable dancing around in them like he was auditioning for a part in Risky Business. I ignored what I was witnessing. Maybe I wasn’t actually awake. It was too early in the morning to acknowledge the insanity of the situation. It was too early to know that this behavior was normal and that by the end I too would be dancing to the music in my head.

Part III- It's a gas pump

Two Latin-looking men were lounging in the middle of the vacant space. One had flung himself over a blue velvet chair and the other was duct taping a prop that he had in his hands. "It’s a gas pump." In fact, the dark, tall man with long half dreaded hair and a warm accepting smile was making a "gas pump" out of a paper towel role, scraps of cardboard, a wire hanger, and duct tape. "What is that for?" I asked as I crept over to the kitchen where he was building this contraption. "The movie." I remembered that Matt had said something on the phone about needing a gas pump. The movie, I had no idea what it was about. I never received a copy of the script, but my production notes said something about "bitches," a bar, and a "porn set." Well, a set of a porn set. That was one detail that I made sure to investigate. No nudity, maybe some cursing, definitely drug use and an incredibly risky and possibly offensive plot.

part II to a continuing story...

As an artist in a sorority girls world, I have few friends who don’t "conform" to modern fashion. I myself don’t care if I look in as long as I look attractive or at least feel like I do. But, in my plain Jane jeans and black T-shirt I looked like any other bored "New Yorker." I looked so normal, so classically boring in plain, that I felt as though I didn’t belong.

(song)"One of these things is not like the other, one of these things is kind of the same. One of these things is not like the other…. Now its time to play our game. Its time to play our game….."

When we entered Brooklyn, I held my breath as if I knew that letting it out would make me fall dead from poison. I make habit to leave Manhattan as little as possible. Not that I don’t like to leave, but with so much going on, I can’t afford to spend time on adjusting to change. In the back seat of the Bronco, far from my comfort zone, I was slowly turning purple as fear and dread seems into my gut.

I dropped my bags at the door of the spacious Brooklyn apartment. Matt had a deal with his landlord that we could use the empty apartment for a few days as long as we didn’t destroy it. Two mattresses were plopped on the floor. The walls in one half of the apartment had been painted a vibrant purple and graffiti like art had been mounted on the wall. I am afraid. Not of the company, but of the space. I like to know that people can hear me scream and that I am not alone. I had no idea where I was, how to get to a subway, if there was a subway. Where in this overwhelming space was it ok to walk, talk, sleep without violating the temperaments of these strangers.

My second grade teacher always told me

...not to get into a car with strangers. As I darted across the three lane street avenue and hopped into the car, I wondered how and why I got myself into this. On the corner of second Ave and 11th street, I slammed the door of the white Chevy blazer with Texas plates. Matt, the director had a caring, enthusiastic voice. He turned around to see me, face pressed against the window, being swallowed by an assortment of bags, hats, and sweaters. I looked over to Matt who was driving and looking back at me. His face was hidden behind piercing and facial hair. Matt’s gaunt facial features were decorated with course reddish hair, a silver lip ring, and a facial stud piercing.
Seated next to him was a friend of his. Her blond dreads were tucked up inside a wool hat and she molded herself into the shadows of the front seat. The car pulls over and the Lower East Side traffic blew by us. The SUV slightly shakes as cars rumble past on the cobble stone street. "Have you been smoking Libby." Matt says to the pink and blue haired girl. She hops into the empty seat next to me. "Libby’s a virgin."

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Couldn't be a flapper w/o the legs