-Number 1: I was at a dance club, (assuredly against my will), and a song came on that encouraged it's listeners to "Shake [their] Moneymakers". Me, being a total dork, thought it appropriate to shake my hands.
Well...it's true!
-Number 2: I recieved an email from my mother, also sent to my brother and sister, that read as follows:
"(html tag)GROUP HUG(html tag)
DAD AND I ARE SO PROUD OF YOU GUYS!!!
XOXO
MOMMY"
A couple of hours later, I responded:
"(html tag)/GROUP HUG(html tag)
(My arms were getting tired)"
-Number 3: As a "joke", I like to press the following keys on people's MAC computers:
"CNRL, ALT, APPLE, 8"
Go ahead. Try it. This provides me with minutes of amusement.
-Number 4: When doing number one, I exclaimed: "WEAPONS OF POST-PRODUCTION!"
-Number 5: Obviously a rip-off of one of my favorite shows, Veronica Mars, my MySpace headline reads: "Your wish is my shift+command."
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The Five Senses
I feel like it's weird to like LA as much as I do. I'm sure it's because I disliked NY so much, but still. I'm sitting on my porch watching cars pass by every few minutes. I can see two palm trees and out of the corner of my eye, steam rises from my rapidly cooling coffee. I hear the parking gate across the street opening and my ears almost hurt when I try and focus them on one of the many rapid-firing chirps coming from all directions. I'm in a short-sleeved shirt and the weather is perfect, slightly breezy, but no chill bumps to be found. I smell air, instead of exhaust, and if it's possible, I smell the green that surrounds me. The wonderful after-taste of my too-sweet coffee is in my mouth, welcoming the mild inhales from my cigarette.
I don't have to go into work for several more hours, and the ability to sleep in this morning raised my spirits to an unsuspecting high. I was going to say week-long high, but that honor goes to Monday when I recieved a phone call for a dream job interview.
The interview was for an assistant editor, (later revealed as a Post-PA), position on a network television show. The position that will lead me into what I want to do. All too soon if you ask me. I was expecting this phone call weeks/months/years from now.
My career path has been a little too-easily laid, and I'm suspicious at why, in the grand scheme of things, my life, or job-path, has gone so well.
Of course, I don't know if I actually got the job, and probably wouldn't be completely surprised if I didn't, but wow, I interviewed for what I can only describe as "the job". The job that would set me on the right path, and out of the realm of reality.
So I guess it's a waiting game now. I'll find out soon enough if I got it. And when and if I do, I'll have to start making preparations of quitting yet another job. I hate quitting anything. And quitting a job is painful. Especially when I've already made such good friends with my crew.
In conclusion, I'm loving LA. It's bringing opportunities to me that I never expected this early in my "career" and the quality of life here, is great. Sure traffic is a pain and smoggy days are kinda gross, but I'm happy. Wooo! Land of opportunity!
I don't have to go into work for several more hours, and the ability to sleep in this morning raised my spirits to an unsuspecting high. I was going to say week-long high, but that honor goes to Monday when I recieved a phone call for a dream job interview.
The interview was for an assistant editor, (later revealed as a Post-PA), position on a network television show. The position that will lead me into what I want to do. All too soon if you ask me. I was expecting this phone call weeks/months/years from now.
My career path has been a little too-easily laid, and I'm suspicious at why, in the grand scheme of things, my life, or job-path, has gone so well.
Of course, I don't know if I actually got the job, and probably wouldn't be completely surprised if I didn't, but wow, I interviewed for what I can only describe as "the job". The job that would set me on the right path, and out of the realm of reality.
So I guess it's a waiting game now. I'll find out soon enough if I got it. And when and if I do, I'll have to start making preparations of quitting yet another job. I hate quitting anything. And quitting a job is painful. Especially when I've already made such good friends with my crew.
In conclusion, I'm loving LA. It's bringing opportunities to me that I never expected this early in my "career" and the quality of life here, is great. Sure traffic is a pain and smoggy days are kinda gross, but I'm happy. Wooo! Land of opportunity!
Monday, April 23, 2007
It's All In A Name
My Senior year of college, my roommate Tom was reading a book on bettering oneself. As we were all going through periods in our life of insecurity and self-doubt, we would routinely get into discussions about how we view ourselves, how we are percieved by others, and how we interact with people of the opposite sex.
Now, I guess it can be known that I have always struggled with relationships and insecurities. Tom, someone I was pretty close too, was well versed with my "ways" and would often be my sounding board for frustrations I had with myself. This was a very healthy relationship, and we both were, and are, very comfortable with each other and discussing our relationships with other people. But Tom knew me, and called me out often when I would act a little too in character.
It was a usual night at our house: people filled our couches, a stench of cigarette smoke clouded the air, and spirits were widespread. Music was low and conversation filled the room. Tom announced to the group that he had been reading about something known as a "Fisher King Wound". Now Fisher King was basically this guy who got wounded in the leg or groin area, and is unable to heal himself, letting the wound completely distroy his life and he ruins his livelihood because of it. Basically, its this psycological thing that took over his mind and changed the way he percieved himself, thereby ruining how other percieved him. That's a nutshell. Check out the whole Wiki article linked above for more info.
Tom discussed how this book spoke of everyone having a "Fisher King wound". It is basically a moment in your life where facets of your personality are changed and how you relate to the opposite sex is defined. It's often early on, and is something that changes the way you see things. It usually plagues your mind, even now, years later. It is a wound, and it is something that no one else can heal.
I found an interesting quote online speaking of a Fisher King Wound: "A Fisher King wound cannot be healed by somebody else. It's not a wound to the body. it's a wound to the memory. A wound to the mind, it's... a wound that only you can find, and a wound that only you can heal."
Well, that night we went around the room and all tried to pinpoint our own Fisher King wounds. It was an interesting experiment, not judging each other, but all relating to our past experiences. A party in which sympathy was not invited.
When it was my turn, I thought long and hard about a time in which a situation changed my perception. It came pretty easily, as this experience was something that I would think about on a weekly basis.
Characteristically, a Fisher King wound is something that doesn't seem to be a "big deal" to others. "Why didn't Fisher King just bandage his wound and move on?"
So I'm going to share my Fisher King wound with you now. The effects are so deeply engrained in me, often it is an afterthought, "That was just my reaction to this."
I was probably in sixth grade when it happened. A group of friends and I were at the skating rink, a common hangout for kids my age. We were all laced up in skates and one of the "leaders" of our pack had drawn the attention of some boys. We were lined up, as I recall clearly, in a ridiculous fashion, all side-by-side facing the boys, as if on display. As their eyes went down the line, we all giggled at the situation.
It was soon after that they started going down the line, asking each girl their name, and flirting shamelessly as they went. I was at the end of the line and giggled carefreely with the girl who stood next to me. It seemed to be a bizarre part of the mating ritual.
When they got to the girl next to me, no nervousness reached my brain, which seems to me now, completely uncharacteristic. But at this point, I was unwounded. They asked the girl next to me her name, and then, instead of asking mine, smiled at the girls warmly, and turned back, making their way back to the front of the line. They hadn't asked me my name, or as much as ackowledged my existence.
To say I was crushed would obviously be an understatement. It was like a scene from a cheesy eighties movie, if only there had been more crimping and poofier bangs.
Well anyways, to make a long story short, I have this thing with names now. When people, specifically guys, ask me my name, I form an unexplainable attraction to them. It's really strange. I can't stand talking to someone without knowing their name, so more often than not, I'll ask. And if someone is trying to start conversation with me and don't bother asking my name, I immediately am not interested in what they have to say.
Even now, being called by name makes me inexplicably happy. It seems so simple, and something so easy to overcome, but there it is. There's my Fisher King wound.
I was in a production meeting just a week ago, and when we started going around the room saying our names, I nearly had an anxiety attack. That's always fun.
It's interesting to me that such a tiny fragment of my life, such a moment in time, has been frozen inside of my brain and infested to such a large degree.
So as a friend of mine once said, "Stop saying wound!" (Edited to remove a few "wounds".) But in all seriousness, it's unsettling to think that right now, as I write this, some kid somewhere is experiencing a moment in which, for the better or worse, they will never forget. Something that will change the way they view the world, (even though that still happens to me everyday). There's nothing we can do to protect each other from such events, and I'd be surprised, if not completely astonished, if any of the guilty parties have as much as a fleeting memory from this momentous occasion in my life. Conversely, for all I know, that very same night, my own actions could have caused someone the same grief that I experienced.
Well this has been yet another addition of Human Inspired. This is my "coming-of-age" story and hopefully, by sharing mine, you can think of your own. I've heard lots of different FKW stories, all so interesting when compared with some of the person's idiosyncrasies. So anyways, if you do try and figure out your own, just remember, nothing is too insignificant. It's all about reaction, not action.
Now, I guess it can be known that I have always struggled with relationships and insecurities. Tom, someone I was pretty close too, was well versed with my "ways" and would often be my sounding board for frustrations I had with myself. This was a very healthy relationship, and we both were, and are, very comfortable with each other and discussing our relationships with other people. But Tom knew me, and called me out often when I would act a little too in character.
It was a usual night at our house: people filled our couches, a stench of cigarette smoke clouded the air, and spirits were widespread. Music was low and conversation filled the room. Tom announced to the group that he had been reading about something known as a "Fisher King Wound". Now Fisher King was basically this guy who got wounded in the leg or groin area, and is unable to heal himself, letting the wound completely distroy his life and he ruins his livelihood because of it. Basically, its this psycological thing that took over his mind and changed the way he percieved himself, thereby ruining how other percieved him. That's a nutshell. Check out the whole Wiki article linked above for more info.
Tom discussed how this book spoke of everyone having a "Fisher King wound". It is basically a moment in your life where facets of your personality are changed and how you relate to the opposite sex is defined. It's often early on, and is something that changes the way you see things. It usually plagues your mind, even now, years later. It is a wound, and it is something that no one else can heal.
I found an interesting quote online speaking of a Fisher King Wound: "A Fisher King wound cannot be healed by somebody else. It's not a wound to the body. it's a wound to the memory. A wound to the mind, it's... a wound that only you can find, and a wound that only you can heal."
Well, that night we went around the room and all tried to pinpoint our own Fisher King wounds. It was an interesting experiment, not judging each other, but all relating to our past experiences. A party in which sympathy was not invited.
When it was my turn, I thought long and hard about a time in which a situation changed my perception. It came pretty easily, as this experience was something that I would think about on a weekly basis.
Characteristically, a Fisher King wound is something that doesn't seem to be a "big deal" to others. "Why didn't Fisher King just bandage his wound and move on?"
So I'm going to share my Fisher King wound with you now. The effects are so deeply engrained in me, often it is an afterthought, "That was just my reaction to this."
I was probably in sixth grade when it happened. A group of friends and I were at the skating rink, a common hangout for kids my age. We were all laced up in skates and one of the "leaders" of our pack had drawn the attention of some boys. We were lined up, as I recall clearly, in a ridiculous fashion, all side-by-side facing the boys, as if on display. As their eyes went down the line, we all giggled at the situation.
It was soon after that they started going down the line, asking each girl their name, and flirting shamelessly as they went. I was at the end of the line and giggled carefreely with the girl who stood next to me. It seemed to be a bizarre part of the mating ritual.
When they got to the girl next to me, no nervousness reached my brain, which seems to me now, completely uncharacteristic. But at this point, I was unwounded. They asked the girl next to me her name, and then, instead of asking mine, smiled at the girls warmly, and turned back, making their way back to the front of the line. They hadn't asked me my name, or as much as ackowledged my existence.
To say I was crushed would obviously be an understatement. It was like a scene from a cheesy eighties movie, if only there had been more crimping and poofier bangs.
Well anyways, to make a long story short, I have this thing with names now. When people, specifically guys, ask me my name, I form an unexplainable attraction to them. It's really strange. I can't stand talking to someone without knowing their name, so more often than not, I'll ask. And if someone is trying to start conversation with me and don't bother asking my name, I immediately am not interested in what they have to say.
Even now, being called by name makes me inexplicably happy. It seems so simple, and something so easy to overcome, but there it is. There's my Fisher King wound.
I was in a production meeting just a week ago, and when we started going around the room saying our names, I nearly had an anxiety attack. That's always fun.
It's interesting to me that such a tiny fragment of my life, such a moment in time, has been frozen inside of my brain and infested to such a large degree.
So as a friend of mine once said, "Stop saying wound!" (Edited to remove a few "wounds".) But in all seriousness, it's unsettling to think that right now, as I write this, some kid somewhere is experiencing a moment in which, for the better or worse, they will never forget. Something that will change the way they view the world, (even though that still happens to me everyday). There's nothing we can do to protect each other from such events, and I'd be surprised, if not completely astonished, if any of the guilty parties have as much as a fleeting memory from this momentous occasion in my life. Conversely, for all I know, that very same night, my own actions could have caused someone the same grief that I experienced.
Well this has been yet another addition of Human Inspired. This is my "coming-of-age" story and hopefully, by sharing mine, you can think of your own. I've heard lots of different FKW stories, all so interesting when compared with some of the person's idiosyncrasies. So anyways, if you do try and figure out your own, just remember, nothing is too insignificant. It's all about reaction, not action.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Perspective
As we get older, our perspective changes. Old is always "older than us" and young, the same. It strikes you when you least expect it, that to many you are "old". To many, you are "young". To be seen as a peer is comfortable. When someone responsible sees you as a peer, it is comforting.
If you walk down the hallway with uniform doors and no focal points other than a door that is slightly ajar, your eyes will be directed in towards the woman working. The woman is a peer. A professional. She won't apologize too much because it is obvious that if you have a problem with her, it is you. She dresses casually, comfortably. Is focused and every so often pushes the glasses up on her nose. You see her as a co-worker.
It's hard adjusting to the professional world. Although I've been in it for a few years now, I've never been without a boss. Without someone who makes me feel like a young person trying to please a higher being. As a student does a teacher. As a worker does a boss. To be without such authority is liberating. It makes me feel like I'm important. That I'm part of something bigger.
I'm a professional, you see. I'm working at my computer in my room, and you see me as a peer. You see me as an equal, and I can feel the respect that comes with such a title. I'm honored and humbled. It's all part of a transition.
The feelings will be stronger with time, and then they'll most likely fade away. But it's your perspective that I use in my own head, you see, so that when I'm walking down that hallway, I can see myself.
If you walk down the hallway with uniform doors and no focal points other than a door that is slightly ajar, your eyes will be directed in towards the woman working. The woman is a peer. A professional. She won't apologize too much because it is obvious that if you have a problem with her, it is you. She dresses casually, comfortably. Is focused and every so often pushes the glasses up on her nose. You see her as a co-worker.
It's hard adjusting to the professional world. Although I've been in it for a few years now, I've never been without a boss. Without someone who makes me feel like a young person trying to please a higher being. As a student does a teacher. As a worker does a boss. To be without such authority is liberating. It makes me feel like I'm important. That I'm part of something bigger.
I'm a professional, you see. I'm working at my computer in my room, and you see me as a peer. You see me as an equal, and I can feel the respect that comes with such a title. I'm honored and humbled. It's all part of a transition.
The feelings will be stronger with time, and then they'll most likely fade away. But it's your perspective that I use in my own head, you see, so that when I'm walking down that hallway, I can see myself.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Dog Fight
If you can't tell I'm a blonde by my rapidly growing roots, going inside of my head would certainly do the trick. (Yes, a period. I'm copying and pasting, which I'm getting pretty good at.)
I just saw that I had 52 posts, and in my head I was like: "That's one for each day of the year!"
Yeah...maybe I shouldn't say those things outloud.
So I just got in from my morning walk with my pup, in which at one point I was forced to football tackle her in someone's front yard. Yes, football tackle. I was lying on the ground, (in who knows what). What happened was we walked by this car with a dog inside who started ferociously barking at me and my roommates' ('s?) dogs. The man inside the car, grabbed his pup and and pulled him down, and the barking ceased. We went on about our way, and the dogs stopped to sniff the ground. We started walking again when we heard, "Oh shit!". The guy was out of his car, and before I knew it, the mad dog from the car was unleashed and picking a fight with Hopper, who wasn't having it. I don't know exactly how, but at some point I ended up on top of my pup, in a move in which instincts just took over. As I looked over, shocked that I had thrown myself to the ground, I saw that the man had done the same, perhaps taking my lead? The dog was still a barking mess, and somehow we just walked away without me giving the guy a stern talking to about leashing his dog, because all dog owners know, that sometimes, it just happens.
In fairness, I saw a leash lying on the ground so knew that he has at least attempted to leash his dog, but obviously, that didn't so much work. Well, now I have grass stains on my jeans and am mentally gearing up for a tough day of work, by far the toughest I will see in the run of this show. So I must go and meditate with my coffee a little longer.
In a side note, I realized that I missed ellipsis' more than the periods themselves. Copying and pasting will have to do.
I just saw that I had 52 posts, and in my head I was like: "That's one for each day of the year!"
Yeah...maybe I shouldn't say those things outloud.
So I just got in from my morning walk with my pup, in which at one point I was forced to football tackle her in someone's front yard. Yes, football tackle. I was lying on the ground, (in who knows what). What happened was we walked by this car with a dog inside who started ferociously barking at me and my roommates' ('s?) dogs. The man inside the car, grabbed his pup and and pulled him down, and the barking ceased. We went on about our way, and the dogs stopped to sniff the ground. We started walking again when we heard, "Oh shit!". The guy was out of his car, and before I knew it, the mad dog from the car was unleashed and picking a fight with Hopper, who wasn't having it. I don't know exactly how, but at some point I ended up on top of my pup, in a move in which instincts just took over. As I looked over, shocked that I had thrown myself to the ground, I saw that the man had done the same, perhaps taking my lead? The dog was still a barking mess, and somehow we just walked away without me giving the guy a stern talking to about leashing his dog, because all dog owners know, that sometimes, it just happens.
In fairness, I saw a leash lying on the ground so knew that he has at least attempted to leash his dog, but obviously, that didn't so much work. Well, now I have grass stains on my jeans and am mentally gearing up for a tough day of work, by far the toughest I will see in the run of this show. So I must go and meditate with my coffee a little longer.
In a side note, I realized that I missed ellipsis' more than the periods themselves. Copying and pasting will have to do.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
A Secret Project
I'm in the middle of a secret project right now/ I'm trying to discover someone's true identity/ This someone is well-liked, but I'm convinced they have a side that most people are not allowed to see/ I will report back if I ever figure out the truth, no matter how long it takes/ Until then Ms Blank Blank, sit on the edge of your seat knowing someone is trying to blow the lid off of your facade/ Better be nice to those strangers/ I got a team working on it, and I will discover the truth/
I don't give up easily/
I don't give up easily/
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