Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Why I am avoiding making my film.

I graduate in May. In May, a week before my 22nd birthday, I will be a grown up. I hope to leave Minneapolis, but who knows. New York sounds good. Italy sounds good too. But before that happens, I have to produce my thesis film. I have equipment, crew, and a grant. Everything is set. But like last semester, I get cold sweats upon thinking of my film set.

Last spring was the last time I worked on a film set. It was my best friend's final film. I was excited for weeks about working on it. I was prepared to be his right hand girl, first AD and creative consultant. Life was keen.

The night before the first shooting date, I was dumped over the phone. The dumper was playing the protagonist of the film. He refused to talk to me. It was sudden, without much to see that it was coming. That night I drove 45 minuets south, to climb a bluff that I had once climbed, to clear my head, seeing that I couldn't quite filter that whom at the time (in my feeble mind's eye) was the love of my life, had just left me for what I suspected to be another girl. I reached the halfway point of the bluff and realized that the hike was too much, especially while I was screaming and crying like a mad woman. I sat, tore off my jacket, and my sweater, my scarf and all of my jewelry. I lay back on the slope, only halfway where I wanted to be and stared at the stars through my breath wearing just a grey t-shirt and a white hat with a fuzzy ball on the top. I lay like that for almost an hour before I remembered the film, and went home determined to get some sleep for the next day.

Like a soldier, trudged on. I found some sleeping pills at home from when I had a bit of a sleeping problem a few years past, popped them, and slept through the next day. On set the next day I was surprised to see that the ex had made the same desision to be there and was horrified. I was hoping he would be a no show and we would replace him or rap set. Needless to say, I didn't last long. It was too much to take, the stress of the set, and sitting next to him on the couch getting only small talk. He put his hand on my leg to comfort me and I lost it. As I was running out in tears, an angel by the name of Ben, said to me "Look whatever has got you down kid, its not going to last forever."

I bailed. Walked to my car (quiet a distance) quivering with sobs. That was my last set experience. That is all I can think of when I think of film sets.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

And she smiled...

Our journey begins with a white room. In that white room lived a brown-eyed girl. In that brown-eyed girl lived and ocean. In that ocean lived a fish, named Edwin. Edwin was unbearably shy, to the point that he was living a quite lonely life. He had no friends to play with, no one to eat with, no help lifting all of those heavy things one has to lift from time to time, no he had nothing.

However, Edwin could sing, sing with the best of them. And he did, alone that is. One day Edwin noticed that he had become quite old, and still had not managed to make one single companion. Being that all Edwin could do very well was sing, he decided that he would sing quiet loudly, louder than he normally does, to attract a friend, because it was obvious that he was no good at talking. And sang he did. He sang and sang and sang. It was no use; Edwin did not get a response, yet he kept on singing. He sang so loud, that it rang through the whole ocean. He sang so loud that it filled the brown-eyed girl's ears, and then spilled out into her white room. It broke the walls and golden light shown everywhere. And the brown-eyed girl smiled. And she smiled. And she smiled...

Monday, January 23, 2006

stay your distance

Hot winds are blowing in my wake. Houses crumble, women hold screaming babies. Elderly die, and the young are wounded. This year I have become a walking tornado of heartbreak. Everything simmered to the surface at once and since it has been one careless unstoppable path after another.

I remember being a girl, and being told by many an old man that I was going to be a heartbreaker someday. I just never believed that it would be true. It used to be a compliment, with the sentiments of goodness, but now the word heartbreaker rings truer than is bearable on the hyperactive little heart. Not intentional no, but truly unstoppable. It’s so quiet, quiet, quiet in here. Four hearts in particular have deserved no such natural disaster. But those unfortunate soles to come into contact with me will have live in emotional state awarded trailer parks.

One of my favorite stories that my mother used to tell me was when she was a girl and she taking a shower when a tornado passed through her neighborhood. She couldn’t hear her family pounding on the door, desperate for her. She said the lights went out and she heard what sounded like a train derailing and landing on a lion's tail (that metaphor delivered strait from my mother's mouth). The noise stopped and she realized she was still naked in the shower with the water still running. Her father broke down the door and threw a towel around her and carried her into the basement with the rest of the family. After it passed they all went outside, my mother still only wearing a towel. Her neighbor's house was destroyed. My mother was small and frail like I was as a child. A tomboy with chicken legs and a beautiful waist. She is still terrified of tornados. But during heaving ominous storms, she sits like a cat on the windowsill in amazement beckoning a second chance to be assumed from the earth into the floating twirling paradise of a tornado.

I could always listen to that story over and over and over…