general

To my co-pilot

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I am thirty-six years old. I’ve never been married, have zero kids and my career as a filmmaker has always been the primary focus of my entire life. I know, I should be farther along then, right? Nope, because I had to pick one of the most difficult careers to make a living at. But, whatever, I love the work and I’m digressing. With the exception of my family, my films have been my entire universe. That is, until I met someone.

My boyfriend.

He’s literally rocked my world and made me want to adjust my focus in a way no one ever has. Yes, he’s flawed just like everyone else (no one should enjoy leisure time that much!) but to paraphrase and butcher an amazing quote from the amazing film GOOD WILL HUNTING, ‘He isn’t perfect, I’m not perfect, no one is perfect, but what’s important is that we’re perfect for each other.’

I think we are. His birthday is tomorrow and I know he follows my blog so he’ll get this surprise in his email inbox as soon as I post it. Below is a poem I wrote, the first in probably twenty years, for my guy on his birthday:

Co-Pilot

First there was me daydreaming about the one,
then there was a funny one always with a beer in hand,
then a sweet best friend one,
one who opened my eyes and some who helped reintroduce LA,
handsome ones, crazy ones, hysterical ones, stupid ones,
angry ones, laid back ones, and one who actually tagged my dumpster,
one who I believe is in jail or was in the past,
ones who are forgettable,
one who should be in jail but probably never will be, sigh,
but all were fleeting, poof! where’d they go? who cares!
I kept searching…

And then there was THE ONE.

The one who I’ve said good night to practically every night
since we met,
the one who shares the love for a ten o-clock dinner time and a
nine-hour sleep schedule,
the one who tolerates my love for no outside clothes under
the covers,
the one whose love for closed blinds at noon is something I
tolerate,
the one whose been waiting for me to ask him my illogical question,
“baby, do you have a hair tie?”
the one who put hair ties in several of his pants pockets so he could
pull one out and say, “Here you go, sweetheart”
the one who continually surprises me,
the one who swells my heart, a heart I didn’t know could grow this big,
the one who steals my breath at random moments,
the one who has to force himself not to kiss me so as not to wake me up,
the one who thinks about life as a gift,
the one who is my gift,
the one who I’ve been patiently (did I mention I’m thirty-six) waiting for…

My love.

My Co-Pilot.

I forgot my phone one day.

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I left the house feeling like something was off. I couldn’t place it. I just knew all was not right. I shrugged it off since I had to get to work though and carried on.

As I was waiting on a 405 off ramp, I glanced at my phone. Or where I thought my phone should be. Uh oh. I sunk my hand in my purse and swished around, hoping to feel that familiar rectangular piece of glass.

It wasn’t there. Damn.

It hadn’t even hit noon yet and I had a long workday ahead of me. I wouldn’t be home, or more notably at that moment, I wouldn’t see my phone, until nearly ten in the evening.

I panicked. A little. Not in the “HOLY SH*%, my finger’s just been sliced off” type way but in the “Crap, I have a two-hour break and without a phone, it will suck” type way.

I turned to the backseat. Damn.

I had forgotten my weekly Hollywood Reporter too (last week’s issue actually, which I was still trying to finish.)

I arrived at work. Oh well, I thought. I did my thing. Served some tables. Poured some drinks. Made some money.

I left for my break. I had a little over two hours before I needed to get back. I started to do the math in my head. I theoretically could have gone home to get my phone and still have time to grab a bite to eat and get some emails or phone calls done. I rationalized it in my head and got in my car.

The 10 was a parking lot, which I habitually got on since I normally work a double and leave around ten in the evening. I spent twenty minutes barely moving and berating myself for caring so much about my phone. I had other work I could do. In fact, I had a meeting with my writing partner the very next day and hadn’t written the scene we were to go over yet.

I went to a quaint little Chinese restaurant, ordered the beef fried rice and settled in for an hour or so at one of their red faux-leather booths.

I wrote the scene on the backs of two printed coupons I had in my car and three index-card-sized pages of paper I ripped out of a notepad I always keep with me.

Flash forward to the meeting with my writing partner.

I told her the story I just told you. Then I read her the scene (which took effort by the way because my writing was hastily scribbled and half the size it should be.) But I read it to her, to which afterward she replied,

“Thank God you forgot your phone.”

I was thrilled she liked the scene, which I wrote based on our notes from a prior session, but I kept wondering if I would have written this same scene had I not forgotten my phone? And what else do I not do because I have my little time-sucking machine attached to fingers should I find myself with an extra minute? I do not want to be a slave to this thing. Yes, I love the convenience of checking my email and not missing important calls but really, Facebook statuses and words with friends and random searches on the web should not be on my to-do list nearly as often as I do them. So readily on my phone.

Think about it. I say, forget your phone sometimes! Okay, just turn it off for a bit? Oh hell, at least put it on silent then…

How much more do you think you’d get done?

Recommendations of proper restaurant etiquette as told by a restaurant server

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I have been in the restaurant business for almost twenty years. Started as a hostess but quickly became a server and I soon fell for the whole machine that is a working restaurant. As I go after my life’s pursuit of filmmaking, restaurants have been my home away from home, my light in a dark tunnel, my pain in the ass and one of my best friends.

I love food. I love wine. I love family and friends. I love dining out. And I LOVE all four, at the same time.

HOWEVER!!

There are rules to restaurant dining…

All those who’ve worked in a restaurant longer than say a year, but most notably servers, are really the most qualified to make such rules simply BECAUSE we are the link between the food and the customer. That is essential in any restaurant dining and therefore, I feel completely qualified to make this list of what I like to call recommendations rather than rules of how one should conduct oneself when dining in public.

RECOMMENDATIONS OF PROPER RESTAURANT ETIQUETTE

1. Do not, and I repeat, DO NOT enter a restaurant fifteen minutes before they close for anything other than picking up a takeout order or an employee there. (Respect the hours of service. Are you going to eat and leave in under fifteen minutes? Then, please come another time.)

2. Okay, no question is a stupid one, but things like, “Is there chicken in the chicken Caesar?” and “Why didn’t you tell me there was all this lettuce in the salad?” are just embarrassing for everyone involved. But if you insist on asking those gems, accept a smart-ass yet comical answer in reply. You deserve one.

3. If you don’t know wine, PLEASE don’t pretend you do. Allow us to help you. That’s why we are there.

4. Accept that your memory of a dish you think you had at a restaurant might be wrong. It will just save everyone a lot of time. Ask about it once, okay. Beyond that, the restaurant will and should win that conversation.

5. Birthday candles – YES. Singing – NO. There are others in the restaurant. Have some decency.

6. Hot water is not a beverage option. It’s an annoyance. Pay for some tea or drink the complimentary water that’s available.

7. Eat where you can afford.

8. If you lounge at a table well beyond your meal, fine, but adjust your tip accordingly in the server’s favor. Why? Because you aren’t renting the table. You are there for a meal. Beyond that, is it really fair for you to stay?

9. Asking for recommendations is like asking a parent who their favorite child is – no one should have to pick. Nor does anyone want to. And in this case, all taste buds are different. If the servers favorite dish is shrimp linguine and you’re allergic to shellfish, you just wasted everyone’s time. The bottom line is you know what you like. Look at the menu and choose. Otherwise, ask your server to order whatever he/she thinks is best and let them do their thing.

10. Don’t wait forever to pay your bill. You received a service. Pay for it when the bill is given to you.

11. Use those wonderful ideas you have on how to improve a menu by opening up your own restaurant and learning for yourself how annoying and disrespectful that actually is.

12. If you are really as close to the chef as you say you are, they’ll know you are in their restaurant and so will we, so there’s no need to name drop.

13. “Have it your way” is BURGER KING’S slogan. Remember that and go there if that’s what you’re looking for.

Salute!

Together, Not Against

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My boyfriend and I have been in our new place for a few months now but we have yet to accept that we have a third roommate, our neighbor’s television.

Our neighbor is LOUD. And she watches television incredibly often (does she work, I don’t know?) and it’s always on decibel 900. (I hope that’s loud, I’m actually not so sure about the whole decibel thing…) She also SLAMS her front door shut and talks at the TOP of her LUNGS as she yaps on the phone for hours. And did I mention she likes to do wall-shaking laundry at two o’clock in the morning?

But hey that’s life. I’m very fortunate and I know it and if this is the worst of my problems, I should shut the hell up. But there was one particular morning, my boyfriend and I learned an important lesson and I’d like to share it with my readers.

We had gone to bed the (Sunday) night before around one in the morning. The television in our neighbor’s apartment, which happens to share a very THIN wall with us, had droned on and on from eight until only God knows since we managed to fall asleep despite the noise.

Then, at around 7:30 in the morning, the television came back on. It sounded like Oprah on crack and a LOUD studio audience. My boyfriend and I were jolted awake and neither of us were happy about it. I grabbed my eye cover and yelled about the noise all the way to the bathroom while my boyfriend grunted and sighed. Under the covers, I tried to will the damn thing off. My boyfriend covered his head with the blanket. Nothing worked though. Cackling middle-aged women were practically in our bedroom at eight o’clock in the morning.

We got more pissed as the minutes passed. I started devising a plan and spoke it out loud despite my boyfriend’s snap, “No talking. It’s too early.” I continued talking about the letter I was going to write to my neighbor and how I would make my point as effectively as possible, using manipulation even if I had too (the things we say when we’re tired!), and I wasn’t done… But my boyfriend got upset and said that we could kiss our apartment goodbye (dramatic much?) and how I’d only be rocking the boat and causing trouble and that she’d probably start to do it even louder.

We laid opposite each other, having gone from practically hugging to no longer touching. I was upset. He was upset. And then, practically at the same time, we both breathed and looked at each other and realized what was happening. My boyfriend hugged me and said that it’s crazy for us to be taking it out on each other right now. I agreed and squeezed him back, thinking, this isn’t about me. Or about him. Or about our neighbor.

It’s about US.

We’re in this together.

We are not against each other.

It may sound simplistic but I’ll tell you this, my whole perspective at how I see the world changed in that moment of realization. Dramatic, much? Yeah. But moments that shape us qualify for such, no?

Not all technology is a Godsend?

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A few weeks ago, I walked into my kitchen and was greeted by an intense, plastic-burning, foul-like smell. My boyfriend was seated at the kitchen table, so I looked at him and said, “What’s that smell?” He replied, “I know, right? Is something burning?” “Yeah baby, something smells wrong,” I replied. We both started searching for the reason behind the pungent odor our kitchen had suddenly taken on. We unplugged and plugged things in until at last, we determined the culprit!

The microwave had died.

Now, I’ve had this microwave for a solid ten years or so. It’s done its job and done it well. I wasn’t sad to part with it or anything but when my boyfriend turned to me and said, “Let’s just not have a microwave,” I was thrown off. No microwave? Seriously? What is this? The Flintstones era? But then I thought about it and soon realized, yeah, it would be nice to not nuke things. It zaps away the nutrients anyway and practically begs for junk food. Last year, I learned stove-top popcorn was THE way to make popcorn and I haven’t gone with the “microwave” kind since. I should have seen this coming but I didn’t…

At first, I was apprehensive. When I reached for leftovers the very day we decided to be microwave-less, I nearly had a stroke. How in hell was I going to heat this up? But then, DUH! Stove top. Have you ever had fried spaghetti? If not, you need to try it. Right now. It’s amazing that I forget sometimes how much so when I just pop it in the microwave and take the easy (though much less tasty) way out.

This was followed by a night in which we made baked potatoes. In the oven. They took much longer, sure, but they were WAYYYYY tastier. Crispy skin, soft inside. YUM. And try reheating french fries in the oven. Delish. Not soggy mush like what happens when you put them in the microwave…

As the days passed, I hardly missed the microwave at all. In fact, the opposite happened. I was forced to use the oven and stove for all types of cooking. Even boiling water was now always in a kettle rather than on a spinning plastic disc but you know what? The food and drinks tasted better. MUCH BETTER, And it’s not wishful thinking, it’s a fact. As proof, try reheating a slice of pizza in the microwave versus the oven. It’s the epitome of what is wrong with the microwave. Rather than crisping the dough and melting the cheese like an oven does, the high-watt voltage machine burns the whole damn thing, bubbling the cheese while zapping and shrinking the dough. Seriously. Test this for yourself at home.

I could go on and on about how much I love not having a microwave, which I absolutely NEVER thought I would say, but instead, I’d rather pose two questions:

Is all technology a Godsend? And if not, why are we as humans not more selective?

Ways to know the Christmas Holiday Season is officially over

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It’s another new year! Whoo Hooo!! And it’s put me in the mood for another top eleven list (and again, for any new readers, eleven is my favorite number so my lists tend to be for that amount…) I have been noticing some signs that the Christmas Holiday Season is over and it got me thinking…

Eleven Ways to Know the Christmas Holiday Season is Officially Over

1. Most streets look like death row for trees.

2. You notice your romantic relationship either deepened or grew a bit apart. (And for those flying solo, you either embraced your singleness or cried about it.)

3. The phrase “You better be good or Santa will know!” no longer has the effect you’re going for when saying to young children.

4. You realize how much paper is actually wasted during the holiday season while you desperately attempt to stuff your recyclables into the tiny blue container.

5. Everyone suddenly has to go to the gym/do yoga/run a marathon.

6. Most of the gifts you bought are now selling for 75% off.

7. You now have the absolute right to ask for any Christmas music to be turned off.

8. You wonder what exactly you spent all your money on.

9. The stores are lining their shelves with Valentine’s Day gifts.

10. The guilt of what you put inside yourself is almost too much to bear.

11. Taxes replace good cheer.

East to West

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I was born on the east coast of America, in upstate New York. And I lived there until I was ten years old, which is arguably during intense growing years of influence and shaping. After I left, I’ve probably visited Buffalo every two or three years for one reason or another. So, the east coast is in my blood.

But…

I’ve lived in Southern California after that, since I was ten. Los Angeles has been home for the majority of my life, with the exception of five and half years spent in San Diego for college (yes, it took me a little longer to graduate…)

Point being, I was a bi-coastal child of sorts. Today, I can meet people from the east coast and relate to them right away. My accent will come out and before you know it we’re talking about pop, snow days off of school and the fact that there’s a brick church on every corner (and if you’re one of those NYC snobs, there is more to New York than you guys, sorry to break it to you… moving on) I can also relate to people from the west coast though, perhaps more so. I’ve gone to junior high and high school here. I was here for the big quake of ’93 and the LA riots. California is part of who I am.

But then, so is New York.

So, as I was thinking about all this, I decided to use my knowledge for good.

Ways to know someone is from California or New York… (albeit in a general manner)

1. 70 degrees will either make you put a jacket on or a pair of shorts.

2. Public transportation is a way of life or a heard-of novelty.

3. Real or make-believe?

4. You know seasons change by the actual weather or from how stores dress their front windows.

5. Walking will mean more than “to the car.”

6. People smile at you, fake or not, rather than ignore you.

7. Close is considered to be either around the block or thirty minutes away.

8. You want a coke and will either ask for a soda or a pop.

9. Your day will be affected by either carpool lanes or public transit breakdowns.

10. You hold a prescription for Atavan or marijuana.

11. Calling a cab will take either five or twenty-five minutes.

Any other ways out there??

Differences

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I will be moving in with my boyfriend next week. This will be my first time living with someone who isn’t family or a roommate. I’m very excited but also a bit nervous. I love change but it’s not the easiest thing for me to do.

As we make preparations for our new abode, I’ve noticed that moving in with someone really magnifies the differences between you both. Fortunately, my boyfriend and I agree on the big things, the deal breaker stuff, you know things like “you don’t smoke crack, right?” and “alone time is important!” But we are most certainly different and this whole moving-in process has had an interesting way of illuminating these differences…

I think moving in with someone can go one of two ways. Yes, I’m basing this on what I’ve seen from others who have moved in with each other and I’m generalizing, but I think it all boils down to two roads: either you allow your differences to conquer your relationship and you two become opposing sides rather than a partnership OR you allow your differences to compliment each other and provide each of you opportunities to demonstrate love, patience, understanding and compromise.

I believe in washing towels after every other use, my boyfriend does not.
He likes the sheets tucked in when making the bed, I leave them hanging out.
My boyfriend likes the sink counter to be dry while I don’t notice it either way and therefore, often leave it wet.
I need a fan on while I sleep, even in the cold. He hates it.
I like to snack. He likes full meals.

We are different. Compromise is needed.

I love to vacuum and sweep, he’s great at dusting.
He cooks healthy protein-based meals, I cook Sicilian-style.
I buy the first thing I see, he researches and asks questions.
He’d rather not deal with it, I face it head-on.
I’m obsessive about organizing, he’s obsessive about detail.

We are different. Sometimes it works to our advantage.

But allow me to get to the point. This whole moving-in-with-my-boyfriend process has been quite enlightening for me. I’m glad I waited to live with someone until I thought it was really right, especially because I don’t think I would have lasted longer than a month. Differences often have a negative connotation with them. And personally, I’ve been from the camp of liking things the way I like things. Sure, I thought I had great reasons for such but now, only after I found someone who was able to reach inside me in ways no one else ever has, I’ve come to realize differences aren’t so bad and in fact, are often great.

Perhaps it’s a good barometer for a relationship – the more the relationship is right for you, the more the differences are right for you too?

Acupuncture

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A month ago, I was at the Abbott Kinney Street fair with my boyfriend. We had come upon a booth for an acupuncture school. He had tried it before and as for myself, having read some Chinese philosophy, I had been intrigued in the past about this type of medicine but had yet to experience it. This school was offering free assessments and herb acupressure on the ears, which by the way, say a lot about you. As does your tongue. So we both decided to give it a try.

My boyfriend’s assessment went very quick. Extremely quick, actually. He was finished before my intern even got through asking me preliminary questions as she felt my ear lobes. After some time later, I had learned I had a slow pulse and needed more protein in my diet, big time. My intern acupuncturist had me captivated with information about our mind, our blood and our health. She knew and learned so much about me by simply touching my earlobes and looking at my tongue. I could have sat there for hours but I saw my boyfriend’s patience in the bright sun wearing a little thin so I tried to wrap things up. Before I left though, she gave me her card and an offer to try acupuncture for free at her school’s clinic.

I met back up with my boyfriend, who I had to find by calling his cell since he drifted away, which I don’t blame him, and together we talked about what happened to the other during all the earlobe touching. I then learned why things took so long for me. I need to be healthier. His intern told him, and I quote, “Your ears are very healthy. You are a very healthy person.” Needless to say, my intern did not tell me that.

Fast forward to last week when I brought the coupons my boyfriend and I received at the booth to his house and made an appointment for acupuncture for both of us. We were fortunate to get the same time and day and while he saw a randomly assigned intern, I requested the girl I had met at the fair.

And now for today. After quickly jogging her memory about who I was, the intern acupuncturist remembered meeting me and told me she was glad I came in to give this a try. She did a much more thorough analysis of my health this time. Her questions were those many doctors don’t ask, which I found intriguing because of my sudden awareness of how important they really are. Questions such as, “How’s your libido?” “Do you eat a lot of protein? “How thirsty are you throughout the day?” “Do your fingernails show good blood circulation? Let’s see… They do!” (You can press down on your nail beds and once you release the pressure, if they return to regular color quickly, your blood has good circulation.)

After a great and LONG conversation, the intern checked my vitals (all good!) and then had me put on a gown. I laid down on my chest, with my arms on my side, and she did a procedure called CUPPING. It was fascinating to experience. In certain places, after heating a cup with flame and moving it over my back with the help of oil, she would leave it there and it would create a suction of sorts. Once it was removed, it felt great. I have two red circles on my back right now, which she said will happen if I have toxin-stuff to be removed. So, yeah, I have toxin stuff. This was then followed by four acupuncture needles being placed in various parts of my body. It was a jolt when a couple of them went in but the other two I barely felt. An energy aromatherapy of sorts was used during some of this process as well.

Before I left, I was feeling better just thinking about the information I learned today and how I wanted to implement it into my daily life. I told my intern so and knowing I’m on a budget, she advised me to spend my time and resources on herbs and vitamins right now, to help clean my system and get my pulse and blood moving along better. She also advised some herb treatment that could help with my OCD, which makes me ecstatic because not one doctor I’ve seen for OCD has offered a natural medical solution to this problem. I thanked this intern several times as she slipped me her card and email address, advising me to see her whenever I wanted to discuss my process or do some more cupping or acupuncture.

I learned more in this hour-and-a-half long visit than I have in years at other doctor’s office visits. And I’ve never had a doctor’s office visit that lasted this long!

With the healthcare situation being what it is in the US right now, with primarily government, pharmaceutical companies and health care insurance firms deciding what’s best for us, I can’t think of any better time than now to begin to learn about alternative medicine.

But I have to walk the talk.

From now on, I’ll be writing one blog post a month detailing my experiences with Chinese medicine, alternative medicine and my adventures in the world of yoga, which is something I’ve added to my life recently but have yet to get serious about. It’s time now though. I want to do it.

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”
– Lao Tzu

Going the distance.

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I want something badly. Very very badly.

I want to be able to make my films.

I should disclose that I’ve been fortunate enough to have made five short films, most of which received at least some attention at festivals and screenings, but I have yet to make my first feature. It’s written though. And while it’s had the same title for the past ten years, the drafts it’s gone through… oh my! Tens upon tens. But now, it’s finally where I want it to be, or very close HAH, as my writing partner and I fine tune the last act.

And speaking of a writing partner, for the first time since I began my filmmaking career many years ago, I have chosen to write with someone. Never thought I could, or should I say would, but it’s working out and has elevated my feature script to a place I wanted to take it but didn’t on my own. It’s hard to admit that but it’s the truth and I have grown to absolutely love the writing partnership I’ve formed with a friend of mine I’ve known for over ten years. What one of us lacks, the other makes up for and together, we work as a team. We are brutally honest with each other. It’s wonderful. And in addition to this feature, we’ve written a short film that we are dying to make but alas, the funds have not revealed themselves yet. We’ve tried though. For over a year now, we’ve been submitting our short script to every grant app and short film contest we come across that can help us. We got a nice nod from Slamdance as a quarter-finalist in their 2013 Screenplay Competition but other than that, nada.

I refuse to sell my soul. I will not be a filmmaker-for-hire. I come with my project and vice versa. Case closed. I have no interest in making something I don’t whole-heartedly believe in. I work day jobs and make ends meet, so fortunately, I can continue with my plan. That said, I need money to actually make my films. It’s a tough one. I try hard not to shoot union because of all the extra crap that comes along with it but I firmly believe in paying my crew well and being allowed to shoot where I’m shooting. WHERE ARE YOU MONEY?? HOW DO I GET TO YOU??

Right now, my writing partner and I are waiting to hear if a short script we wrote as part of a contest is going to get made. We made it to this point but now, the top five will be selected out of the fifty of us who are waiting to hear…

This part sucks. I feel like I’m always waiting to hear if my film is going to be picked over other ones, whether it be our script or finished product. The waiting is the worst but I suppose if the job was easy, everyone would be doing it and there would be way too many films.

Speaking of which, why are all the movies these days either tent-pole comic book action movies or “small films” that stare Robert DeNiro and Ryan Gosling? Can’t some of us smaller storytellers get a share of the audience without spending a zillion dollars on casting and marketing? What if the only available books were paperback romance novels and comics? Wouldn’t readers demand more choices? Why are moviegoers accepting this or are they not but rather turning to television where the real genius is being used in terms of storytelling (though TV series and films are very different entities.)

Sigh.

Anyway, we should find out by Wednesday. It will either be a day for celebration or yet another “no, thank you” email to add to our overflowing file box.

One day that box is going to grow dust from lack of use. I just hope it’s sooner than later…