It's been weeks since the last new episode of Oprah, and the new ones won't be back until April 7. That's a Thursday, oddly enough. I would like to say that I've been using the downtime to continue (and complete) the remaining three discs of the 20th Anniversary Collection, but that would be a lie. Instead, I've been using the time to work, work, work, to recover from being ill, and to do a piss-poor job of taking care of Katie while she ails.
Oprah has been using the hiatus to decide on the end date for the show, which she has finally been announced. And though I know this whole project is supposed to be all about the journey, it's nice to have a destination, too. Now I do. May 25 will be the last day you'll see a new episode of Oprah on the air. It will truly be the end of an era, and I'm not just talking about this blog.
This gives me very little time to secure a book deal all about my year with Oprah, which is troubling. My prospects for getting rich quick are dwindling by the moment. Damn you, Oprah. Why can't I ride your coattails down the highway of success?
I know many of you are dreading the last days of Oprah, and wondering how you'll go on with that afternoon fix. But I guess this means you'll just have to settle for her 24-hour cable network and whatever numerous projects she'll be working on once the show is gone.
Oprah, how can we miss you if you won't go away?
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
And yet...
In high school, in her recommendation for my admission to National Honor Society, my debate coach wrote that I was "a tough nut to crack...but worth it." Later, she defined me further by saying that I have an "edge."
These are not untrue statements. I keep that "wall" between me and other people pretty much intact. I'm sure I meet people and give them the impression that I am "quiet" or "stuck-up," or even a "bitch." I have heard all of these things, actually. I have gotten better over the years, though I still recently included "normal human emotion" on my list of fears.
Katie is the only one who sees my true colors. I give you readers a hint of things, and I certainly could be accused of oversharing in that last post, but for the most part I keep my emotions to myself. And though you know my name and what I look like, there is still something slightly anonymous about this whole blog thing. There's a disconnect. I don't have to look you in the eye when you read what I've written, and I certainly don't have to witness your reaction. And if you leave a comment I don't like, I can simply delete it. Thankfully, I haven't had to do that so far on this blog.
The point is, I don't let things affect me. And if they do affect me on an emotional level, I act like they don't and might even go out of my way to convince you that I am completely unfazed. In other words, I will show you my "edge."
You know what was not supposed to ever happen with this Oprah project? The woman was not supposed to affect me. I was not supposed to fall for her "aha moments" (still not clear on how one writes that, but Oprah seems to spell it without a hyphen, so there you go), or find myself nodding along at her spiritual statements or weeping with her downtrodden guests. This was supposed to be a lark -- a funny, sarcastic thing I could write because no one would expect me to write about Oprah. People with edges do not buy into the Oprah system. They just don't.
These are not untrue statements. I keep that "wall" between me and other people pretty much intact. I'm sure I meet people and give them the impression that I am "quiet" or "stuck-up," or even a "bitch." I have heard all of these things, actually. I have gotten better over the years, though I still recently included "normal human emotion" on my list of fears.
Katie is the only one who sees my true colors. I give you readers a hint of things, and I certainly could be accused of oversharing in that last post, but for the most part I keep my emotions to myself. And though you know my name and what I look like, there is still something slightly anonymous about this whole blog thing. There's a disconnect. I don't have to look you in the eye when you read what I've written, and I certainly don't have to witness your reaction. And if you leave a comment I don't like, I can simply delete it. Thankfully, I haven't had to do that so far on this blog.
The point is, I don't let things affect me. And if they do affect me on an emotional level, I act like they don't and might even go out of my way to convince you that I am completely unfazed. In other words, I will show you my "edge."
You know what was not supposed to ever happen with this Oprah project? The woman was not supposed to affect me. I was not supposed to fall for her "aha moments" (still not clear on how one writes that, but Oprah seems to spell it without a hyphen, so there you go), or find myself nodding along at her spiritual statements or weeping with her downtrodden guests. This was supposed to be a lark -- a funny, sarcastic thing I could write because no one would expect me to write about Oprah. People with edges do not buy into the Oprah system. They just don't.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Loose Ties
Eight months and eleven days ago, I walked out on my life. I've alluded to it here in various posts, but I bet sometimes those of you who don't know me personally are a little confused. It's understandable. It's a confusing situation, and I've hesitated to write about it I guess because I just don't know how. No part of the story makes me look like a good person, and maybe I just wanted to keep up the illusion that I'm just a lighthearted, sarcastic soul who moved to Portland and fell in love with a chick with a kid. That's all true, mostly, but there's just more to the story.
Nine years and ten days ago, I moved to Los Angeles. I moved in with my friend Lise (pronounced "Leeza"), and started to make the efforts to put my NYU film school degree to good use. In the beginning, that meant a super fancy position at Blockbuster. Then a temp position doing customer surveys at Universal Studios (read: riding the rides all day, and getting paid for it). Then I finally broke into "the biz" with a job on a BMW film directed by Tony Scott, which shot in both Los Angeles and Las Vegas. I got this job because my uncle had met an assistant director. Every single job in Hollywood that I got after that one came as a result of this first job, which means that my degree was literally useless. I could have saved all that money and just waited for my uncle to meet that A.D.
I did that job, then spent a couple of months on the Tom Cruise film The Last Samurai, and then spent basically the next year unemployed, save for a two-week stint on Hollywood Homicide. But at the end of that year (2003), I got the job that would change my life forever. Sounds dramatic, but it's true.
At the end of November, a transportation guy I had worked with on The Last Samurai called and told me that the costume department on Lemony Snicket was looking for a new production assistant. I got the job, and started right after Thanksgiving.
The job was supposed to last until March. I stayed on until June. But before I finished up that job, I had myself my very first girlfriend.
Christine was the assistant costume designer on the film. She was incredibly talented and very funny. We fell into a relationship without meaning to; she hadn't been gay before me (or at least didn't know it), and I hadn't intended to woo her and get her to join my team. It just happened.
Nine years and ten days ago, I moved to Los Angeles. I moved in with my friend Lise (pronounced "Leeza"), and started to make the efforts to put my NYU film school degree to good use. In the beginning, that meant a super fancy position at Blockbuster. Then a temp position doing customer surveys at Universal Studios (read: riding the rides all day, and getting paid for it). Then I finally broke into "the biz" with a job on a BMW film directed by Tony Scott, which shot in both Los Angeles and Las Vegas. I got this job because my uncle had met an assistant director. Every single job in Hollywood that I got after that one came as a result of this first job, which means that my degree was literally useless. I could have saved all that money and just waited for my uncle to meet that A.D.
I did that job, then spent a couple of months on the Tom Cruise film The Last Samurai, and then spent basically the next year unemployed, save for a two-week stint on Hollywood Homicide. But at the end of that year (2003), I got the job that would change my life forever. Sounds dramatic, but it's true.
At the end of November, a transportation guy I had worked with on The Last Samurai called and told me that the costume department on Lemony Snicket was looking for a new production assistant. I got the job, and started right after Thanksgiving.
The job was supposed to last until March. I stayed on until June. But before I finished up that job, I had myself my very first girlfriend.
Christine was the assistant costume designer on the film. She was incredibly talented and very funny. We fell into a relationship without meaning to; she hadn't been gay before me (or at least didn't know it), and I hadn't intended to woo her and get her to join my team. It just happened.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
21st Century Girl
I thought maybe I could have been a child prodigy, or at least a talent, if only I had stuck with any one thing. I was a great speller; I won the second grade spelling bee, and would have won it in fourth grade if the crazy lady reading the words hadn't insisted on pronouncing it "conFene," thereby throwing me off the correct spelling. I believe there was a conspiracy afoot. I was pretty good at soccer. I was a good reader (is that a talent?). I was also a really good swimmer in high school. And I was a good debater. One time my partner Nicole and I made two girls cry in a debate round. It was our crowning achievement.
So what the hell happened? I went off to film school instead of journalism school, for reasons that I don't really remember. I have no doubt I would have succeeded in USC's journalism program, instead of just skating by at NYU. Sure, I had a high GPA, but that didn't make me a talented filmmaker. I just knew what I needed to do to get the grades. I didn't even particularly like making films. In fact, I would do whatever I could to get out of going on shoots, including faking illness. My apologies to my crew. Heather, Stacey and Nancy: ten years post-graduation, I think it's okay for me to admit that I was a slacker who was uninterested in early wake-ups and frigid temperatures. I didn't want to sacrifice for my art. I still don't understand my film school friends who spend their time writing and trying to produce scripts. I don't want to try to raise money to make a low budget short. The idea of slaving away like that is not in any way a part of my bucket list. So I don't think I'll ever understand why I chose to spend three years of my life (I graduated a year early) and more than $100,000 to obtain a useless degree that has literally done nothing other than look pretty in a nice frame on my wall.
The crew. On a rollercoaster.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
One Shining Moment
It's nearly two in the morning, and I was just sitting here in bed, writing a bunch of stuff in my head. So I thought I would just get online and do a little bloggin'. Yes, I haven't watched the last two episodes, but Oprah has been so kind as to give me a little break here. Thursday and Friday were repeats, and all next week we get repeats, too. Sweeps is over until May, so I guess Oprah is on a bit of a hiatus. That's fine with me, since I need the opportunity to catch up on what I've missed.
Did you guys see the Diana Ross episode? I thought I was going to hate it, but I actually rather enjoyed it. Oprah was at her realest here, because she really loves Diana Ross. I guess Ross was sort of a pioneer for black women, including Oprah, even though Oprah does not have backup singers. And yes, I'm call the Supremes "backup" singers, which I sort of know would be a point of contention for those other two women, since they don't love that Ross was the one to make it big. Go ahead -- name another Supreme. I dare you. That's why they're the backups.
Oprah was in awe of Diana Ross, and teared up more than once while talking about what Ross's success meant to her when she was growing up in Mississippi. And then Ross sang to Oprah, and it was pretty moving.
On my 20th birthday, I went to see Wynonna Judd at Irving Plaza in New York. My boss at my work study job at NYU had a side job at the venue, and he got me a VIP pass. I spent the concert standing between the New York Times reviewer and Ashley Judd. The NYT lady asked me a million questions because she basically didn't know a thing about Wynonna. Two days later she wrote a not-so-great review of the show. I was not pleased.
During the show, I was certain that Ashley Judd was watching me. We both had to look to the right to see the stage, and since she was on my left, I kept reminding myself that she had to be looking in my direction in order to watch the show. But I was still convinced she was looking at me. After the show, Ashley was sitting down, enjoying a beer, and I went up and introduced myself. She said it was nice to meet me, and then said ten words I'll never forget as long as I live, or until I get Alzheimer's: "I really enjoyed watching you rock out to the show."
Because she was watching me, folks. And I fucking knew it.
Did you guys see the Diana Ross episode? I thought I was going to hate it, but I actually rather enjoyed it. Oprah was at her realest here, because she really loves Diana Ross. I guess Ross was sort of a pioneer for black women, including Oprah, even though Oprah does not have backup singers. And yes, I'm call the Supremes "backup" singers, which I sort of know would be a point of contention for those other two women, since they don't love that Ross was the one to make it big. Go ahead -- name another Supreme. I dare you. That's why they're the backups.
Oprah was in awe of Diana Ross, and teared up more than once while talking about what Ross's success meant to her when she was growing up in Mississippi. And then Ross sang to Oprah, and it was pretty moving.
On my 20th birthday, I went to see Wynonna Judd at Irving Plaza in New York. My boss at my work study job at NYU had a side job at the venue, and he got me a VIP pass. I spent the concert standing between the New York Times reviewer and Ashley Judd. The NYT lady asked me a million questions because she basically didn't know a thing about Wynonna. Two days later she wrote a not-so-great review of the show. I was not pleased.
During the show, I was certain that Ashley Judd was watching me. We both had to look to the right to see the stage, and since she was on my left, I kept reminding myself that she had to be looking in my direction in order to watch the show. But I was still convinced she was looking at me. After the show, Ashley was sitting down, enjoying a beer, and I went up and introduced myself. She said it was nice to meet me, and then said ten words I'll never forget as long as I live, or until I get Alzheimer's: "I really enjoyed watching you rock out to the show."
Because she was watching me, folks. And I fucking knew it.
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