It's been two days and I'm still recovering from the Krew Konvention weekend here in L.A. -- two Stars on Ice shows, a fantastic program "Too Darn Hot", many meals, brunch with His Krewness and a lovely run-in with his mom and sis.
All after five years of not being in touch at all.
Yes, still need recovery. My head is spinning.
Oh gosh, I'm only 10% awake... good riddance on the typing.
Just woke up in my new desk chair having dreamed up a whole summer camp musical type thing... it was written, rehearsed and all performed while I've been sitting here asleep... probably isnpired by Dreamgirls last night...
The Big G.A. was in it (you know, the 4th grade crush boy)... and I was trying to get kids interested in being in it... Lots of dancers/singers... like "Grease" last night too... interviewing people in now... it's a "phenomenon"... wish I could remember...
Wow, it was beautiful.
I had had the Full Moon Meditation on my calendar, but following with my new "guiding principle" of the year, I didn't RSVP to go so as not to disappoint anyone if I decided I didn't want to go. What's the principle?
"Promise nothing -- deliver everything."
But after seeing the moon -- hell, I all of a sudden felt tons better and called and headed out there, I didn't want to be anywhere else. You see, I LOVE THE MOON. It has always been something beautiful for me, and this year, I knew as I was trying to grow up from "helpless maiden" to "grown woman" that this symbol and meditation would be right up my alley.
Well, little did I know that in Esoteric Astrology... um...
THE MOON IS DEAD. hahahahahaah
I'm sorry, I can't stop laughing at that! The reason the moon is so full is because we're getting the full reflection of the SUN'S power, and NOTHING from the moon. hehehe I've been "worshipping" a big ball of nothing! hahahaha Just goes to show me how fleeting beliefs and ideas can be... and everything is still a-okay.
I don't know why, but those are the three words that come to mind for this morning, the first day of 2007.
First of all though, I have to say I had a GREAT TIME this Christmas because my brother and his wife and daughter all came up from San Diego. And even though there's only me and my two brothers, when all three of us are "home" with our respective families... well, I couldn't be in a more joyous space. I love seeing my nieces and nephews together and my sister-in-laws sitting at the table and my parents hardly talking, just loving being around us! And it was great fun "camping out" with the San Diego gang... I haven't lived with my brother and my parents like that since... forever. I really enjoyed myself and even got the best present (that I put on hold HAHAHA during Thanksgiving) -- A SEWING MACHINE! I haven't had one in years and now I feel complete! LOL
Things were winding up in 2006 on a weird note though... I was supposed to leave from the Bay Area back to LA Saturday, after both my parents and my brother and his family left the house. But I couldn't get up. My body wouldn't let me do it... I was just feeling... sleepy. So I slept for hours on end, only waking to eat or start watching a show on TV. Fortunately half my car was packed, so when I finally got on the road I wasn't too tired. Remember, I'm the one who falls asleep while driving long hours in the sun... and I didn't fail myself hauling down Interstate 5. Three short naps though, is all I allowed myself (15-20 minutes) and a couple of rest stop breaks. I did good time, enough that I could still get to my appointment at 8pm in Corona (an hour away) for a New Year's party I was supposed to read hands at.
But coming down the last 50 miles through the Grapevine... I started feeling sick. Like my throat was acting up and I was starting to get a cold. I made a note: take some Airborne as soon as you get home.
I pull in, park all cockamamie because I need to unload my car -- and my key won't turn the lock in my front door. HUH? I try it again, both the dead bolt and the doorknob -- nothing. HMmmm. Has my ex been here over the break? Or worse, my landlord? Did I pay my rent? Yes. Was there an emergency, like plumbing or something? Shit, I hope not.
Tick-tick-tick... I go to the back bathroom window, which is fortunately still cracked open, and open it all the way. There's no frickin' way I can hop that window. So I get the box containing the new sewing machine out and try to step on it. Fortunately it's a strong box, but I'm STILL not going to get up into that window -- and last I recall I almost killed myself doing it last time. Hm. Terrible time to have a dead cell phone.
Hm... okay, Plan B. Go across the street where some kids are playing. Ask them to ask their dad/uncle if they can help me get into the window and I'll give them ten dollars. Uncle says in Spanish he doesn't want to get in trouble if I'm not the owner of the house. I just look panicked and say I am, and all three of them -- Jesus, Jose and Alberto -- come over. Jesus, the 10-year old, climbs up the bathroom but cannot open the front door. Oh dear. In goes 8 year old Jose, followed by Uncle/Dad Alberto. Geez, my apartment is a mess, but at this point I don't care. They got my tools out of the tool box and pound the doorknob out of the door, and squeeze the latch out with a screwdriver. Success! Or is it? Now I have a big gaping hole in my door and I can only get out with a screwdriver. UGH.
Anyway, rush rush... I AM LATE. Should I just cancel? Not show? Call the lady that booked me to run interference? I already know it's going to be a trying party... it's a "family" party of 65... that means kids. It's in Corona, so it's not hoity-toity... oh Jeez, just drive.
After I drop off $10 to the kids across the street, I'm on my way, and of course miss a big turn off and take myself at least 10 miles out of the way. When did the 210 become a long freeway to San Bernadino??!? Shit.
I show up, yes, I'm 45 minutes late. The host seems to be okay and sets me up right away in a quiet room, away from the screaming kinds and the adults with the hookah. There's apparently a list so I don't have chase anyone down for readings. I get water, swallow hard and start.
I know I'm booked for 2-3 hours, so I keep going until it's midnight, and for the first time even get translated into Arabic for a grandma. the youngest was an eight year old... so sweet, these kids, and refreshing too. But right after all the 12:00 yelling, I start looking for the host. I've done three hours and want to try to find out how to proceed. Should I continue and finish the list? Is this fine? What about payment?
I'm asking and asking for her, every one person that comes in. Everyone says they're getting her, but she never shows up because "she's holding a kid." Oh dear, this is trouble, I can feel it. The host then sends in her husband, a scary, double-thick eyebrowed man with a Napoleon complex who has had a few too many to drink. This is really going to bad.
He cuts in line from somebody else and sticks out his hand. I sit him down -- and earthy guy at that, not responsive. He says, "That's it?" Fuck, I'm defensive. I ask if he has any questions. You came at 10, right? he says. I say, no, 8:50. He says he'll ask his wife. Then he says, how much? I say your wife negotiated for $100/hour, and it's been three, almost four. "For that?" he says. OH FUCK, I think. I even count out the cards of how many people I've read [and helped!] that night -- he's not impressed.
He sticks his hand out again, and now I'm looking and shitting bricks, trying to find anything that he might relate to. Normally, I can find something for anyone, but this guy was falling asleep and drunk. Miserable... he's miserable and I'm miserable times 3.
So he stumbles out and I hear the big fuck say "It's bullshit" as some 10-year old walks in eager as anything at 12:45 am. I send her out afterwards to get the Mom. Then I send the NEXT one out to get the mom. And the NEXT.
Finally, it's 1:15 and I turn my light off and go to the bathroom -- and Mom and Dad come in. He won't look at me but says what do I owe you. I buck up: "I was here from 9 and it's 1:15 now. So that's $400. He says "$400?" The wife is says, yes, she's been here all that time. He says louder, "$400?" I say I was a little late, so I can give it to you to $350. He shoots the wife a shitty look and she caves: Okay, $300 is enough. You weren't able to read all of us."
Yes, that was true, so I say that will be fine, and smile as gloriously as I can, take the three $100 bills he practically throws at me, saying thank you and packing my shit up as fast as I can. She and I are able to say a polite thank you and good night as I take off into the night.
===
I'm home now, freezing because my space heater died before I left for vacation and although I was anxious to get into my electric blanket, I had to type this out so I wouldn't forget it. I felt so lousy all night, with that asshole saying "it's bullshit" but I have to remember I helped and entertained a lot of people tonight. I worked my throat off and I did good.
And tomorrow I'm going to have a lot of fun spending that hard-earned dough on a delicious new cell phone to get rid of the taste of the evening tonight. I'll think about that the whole time I'm cuddled up watching the Rose Parade, finally enjoying the new year.
When I was a little very little (2? 3?) my godmother, Tita Sol, told me I used to stand in front of the TV pretending to conduct music, right there along with Mitch Miller. She loved that... she even taught me my first song, "More" -- that standard by Frank Sinatra! No nursery rhymes for me, in any language, I had to have the "real stuff"... Little did I know I would be so involved in music growing up (high school), and so crappy as a conductor in college (the first time around), and then be back to it again later in life. I obviously lost the cojones I had when I was this little girl's age. Oh, where is she now?! (Me, not her.)
I just found out my other godfather, Tito Tony, died last Thursday, so I'm going to San Diego and meeting my family to attend all the... everythings. So, so sad... he will be missed. Christmas this year is already bittersweet.
Hello all,
I’ve met with my advisor and we’ve decided that there is a great deal that is promising in the music I've presented.
The program is an ambitious one and will need, in his professional opinion, a period of time for work and refinement.
We haven’t given that period of time an end date yet because he would like me to concentrate more on my creative process than on a calendar.
Any plans for this November are off and we will see how my creative process goes.
I am very happy with this outcome right now and know that I am on the right path with this music.
Thanks everybody for your continued support.
Madley (née Sheila)
(Yes, God, I'm grateful for where I live :)
Raindrops on roses...
I used to think rain was God having himself a good cry, for whatever reason God would need to have a good cry. It happens so rarely in my life that I would be happy for those rains... and it had to be for good because the next day, especially obvious in L.A., the sky would be beautiful. Clean, clear, crisp, fresh. Days like that are even more rare than the rain days, and I feel really "connected" to all that is greater than me.
Tonight I had a good, good, earth-shattering cry. Release and a cleansing... a knowing. And tomorrow... a clean sky.
My nerves are shot. I can't calm myself down.
So I call for down-to-earth support... and got exactly what I needed.
"Remember Ilia at Nagano. Mental discipline. Ten days of focussing on being focussed, to push the fear out, to get rid of the nerves. Be a machine. You can do it. Focus on being focussed."
So I have my notebook. I'm focussed, because the only other choice is fear, and complete breakdown. I put this picture of him the second he finished his winning long program right at my desk/piano. Thanks, Nancy -- thanks, Kulik.
Just because...
I saw this program being created in the summer of 1998 almost daily through the viewfinder of Ilia's video recorder. He didn't have a coach at that time and wanted to review his practices... how lucky was I?
Yes, THAT lucky.
Oh, and here's one nice piece from 1998:
Enjoy!
Okay, that's not really his entire last name, but it's part of it! LOL
===
Oh jeez, I'm SO FRIED and yes, Andrew, I almost COMPLETELY forgot to eat today because it was my first day back of class at the Academy. We were supposed to have met with our groups (check :) and as a composer I was supposed to have four sketches based on Oscar Wilde's "Lady Windermere's Fan" (um... no check).
I was so stressed out that I was only bringing in one of the four -- frickin' perfectionist that I am, had one done that was -- how do you say, DA BOMB -- but nada on the others. But because of my "honest outburst" at the beginning of class (I said if I were on Top Chef, I would've gotten me and my collaborators eliminated :( and my polite asking at break, we got a reprieve until tomorrow night. WHEW!
Pero ahorita mi cerebro esta CANSADO.
I'm fried... learned that from my new friend at Harry's (Diner). Handsome food server de Mexico who's fun to flirt with when I need some kind and gentle, yet male energy. :) Yo puedo practicar mi español y he gets to serve me food! :) He works two other jobs, one being mortgage loan stuff (yeah, I have stuff to learn there!) -- can I just say that AMBITION is nice on this soccer dad -- and he gave me his card. :)
A sight for aching eyes, and getting Oscar Wilde out of my head tonight... ¡hasta mañana!
I'm so bummed -- I missed the bank. I knew lack of sleep last night, added to exercising with Andrew means I would take an afternoon nap, but I didn't think I'd go for two hours. Ugh.
But what was weird was that I was having one of those "Pay attention, this is a LESSON dream" dreams... and I have to write it down now before I forget the dream AND the lesson.
===
I don't when this was, but I was still living in this apartment, and yessirreebob, it still was a wreck. And Yvette and Tyler were still alive! I don't know where they came from but they were really sweet and I was ecstatic to have them back... until ANOTHER sheltie and ANOTHER pug came out of the woodwork somewher and I had FOUR dogs in this teeny, tiny place. I was really upset because I couldn't love them all equally until I could figure out which were MY REAL DOGS. I walked them and looked for clues, but it was so subtle... I hated it.
So I'm in the house feeding this melange of animals, and all of a sudden I hear a knock at the locked but open security door. "It's me, Tillman -- can we come in?"
"No, damnit! I told you, no one comes into this mess ever, it's fucking embarrassing... DON'T."
But it was too late, and there was Tillman F. from freshman year at college walking in. Damn I wish I could remember his last name so I can google him... I just sent an email to my college roommate Betty, hopefully she'll remember :) Tall, (over 6') handsome, and very British -- I have one picture of him somewhere at a Halloween party at a dorm party where you're supposed to dress like your roommate... we're holding drinks and I'm sure we're both smashed... I can't remember the night as much as I remember that picture... I wonder where the hell that is... I also remember I saw Rocky Horror for the firs time that year on campus and he was dressed as the Tim Curry character in fishnets, etc... and I seriously didn't know what going on. That was quite a phenonemon for a kid from a middle class, mixed neighborhood.
Anyhoo, Tillman walked in, didn't care aobut the house and came up and hugged and kissed me quite warmly. Funny, I knew it was Tillman, but he sounded and acted like Hugh Jackman, with a kick-ass Aussie accent. That's okay... not so bad! Hugh Jackman as Rocky Horror... oh, I digress.
In followed his mother, his father, his sister, her boyfriend, a crazy brother and a girlfriend, all casually dressed because they were in traveling mode.
Wait. I thought I was the girlfriend. But no, she was a hometown girl in Australian -- and the feeling of around was pretty sad... and anticipatory, as they were all anxious to get in their shuttle van and catch the flight home.
We all went outside into the driveway and people kept themselves busy... someone took a tour of a cemetary, somebody was playing frisbee with the four dogs, and The Girlfriend let us have time together. That was weird. It felt like he was my boyfriend... everyone knew it, and didn't care, including The Girlfriend. But I guess she knew Tillman had decided to go home to his life with her and it was killing me. Fortunately, she wasn't one to gloat, and he was in his last throes of saying goodbye.
We finally gathered into the van... on the way to the beautiful International airport that always shows up in my dreams (it's NOT LAX for sure) and got out wandered around. More waiting, more hugging from him and sad, sad kisses. But I couldn't get him to stay, as much as he loved me... he needed to go home. It was like I was the affair or Other Woman, everyone knew it but were okay because they liked me and knew the inevitable outcome. So most were tippy-toeing around us.
It felt really good to be wanted like that, even though it was another airport scene (i.e. Parrish!) and I was devastated. Finally he snuck me into an elevator so we could be alone -- sorta. Some Filipino (younger) lady got in there too, just staring away and I remember the irony of that -- but he didn't care. More hugging and kissing and tears... and acceptance... so, so strange. I'm half-awake watching this dream and thinking Why the hell am I dreaming about TILLMAN?
Then we have to go back to the gate area. I begged him... please, please stay with me. I'll be anything you want... just stay. I can't bear missing you, I won't survive.
Finally, he said it. "I love you, you know that, and I always will. And I don't want you to change, I want you to be who you are. But I'm going to go home and be with her. She's different and I need that -- she's a grown-up."
GULP.
DOUBLE GULP.
But before I could react to him... he said, "All is not lost though. I have somebody I want you to meet and I think you two might get along."
It was Tillman's twin... only now he really looked like Hugh Jackman (or maybe I'm more awake and I'm crossing my fingers and toes). And he was dressed very -- grown-up -- not in a suit or tux, but in adult clothes. So much so that I knew HE could be an adult and I could be -- well, adult too, but not force myself to be "the structured one."
Oh my goodness.
I smiled a big smile as we shook hands... and I knew I was in a good, hopeful place. And in real, waking life, I knew I had to GROW UP if I was going to ATTRACT that too...
Ah, that was the lesson. Now, on to find that picture of Tillman...
SAVE THE DATE: My Final Recital
... and the beginning of a new chapter! :)
Dearest family and dear, dear friends,
It's all systems "GO" for the Sheila S./Madley K. Senior Composition Recital to receive my B.A. in Music.
Please save the date:
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
7:30 pm
Occidental College's Herrick Chapel
Los Angeles (Eagle Rock)
(Anyone know of a local grad student or semi-professional who might be willing to conduct an award-winning 7-9 minute chamber orchestra piece, please point them my way asap!)
Invite to follow -- YAHOOEY!
Sheila/Madley
===
Took forever to send that out to my nearest and dearest, BUT IT'S BEEN SENT! YAY!
More importantly, I have a RECITAL DATE, the huge campus chapel and a potential Jury date end of October.
Good old Norm, my therapist, really nailed me on "trying to look good by going to therapy but not doing the work -- especially when you are one of the most CAPABLE people I know."
Wow. For once, I really heard that, from someone strong and firm, objective, who's feelings I wouldn't be afraid of hurting if I had a visceral reaction to that statement (which I did) -- and had no agenda except for my best interests.
I was thrown -- I told him I couldn't agree 100% with that statement and that 85% was more true. "I wouldn't have been where I am now, looking at the hardest time of my life, if I hadn't been in therapy at all."
And yet he was right, I needed to seriously STEP IT UP, because my very firm agreement with him was that I would (1) either finish the recital by December 31, 2006 (a date I choose carefully), or (2) let it go forever and GET ON WITH MY LIFE.
I'm choosing to finish it, and today, two days after booking everything and having my first meeting with my composition prof -- it's REAL and THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL IT'S NOT HAPPENING.
For my jury there are going to be NO SURPRISES. I've been through this before! And getting my B.A. is only a step on the way through to the rest of my life.
WHEW. It feels good to say that.
Next -- catch up with all the events I've been to lately -- most recently (Sept 26) -- The Contender finale at the Staples Center -- GO GRADY!
She told me this weekend she had a dream that her daughter called to tell her she and her husband were pregnant -- before her older brother and HIS wife were.
I just told Diane I'd log it here so we could see if that prediction was going to come through... maybe D's psychic! :)
(... because I'm so behind with these posts...)
Born out of necessity (couldn't afford the gym fee) but now it's actual goal: today I started training with Andrew for my first 5K!
Can't believe it... but today wasn't too bad. Remember, I did run 12 miles a week at one time... well, 23 years ago with a trainer who held my hand down to get me not be embarassed and run (it worked!).
It's gonna be in Dec or January... right after I GRADUATE so I have another goal and I don't just fall into depression...
Looking forward to this!
After thirty -- count 'em 30! -- years of driving, I ran out of gas for the very first (AND LAST) time. Fortunately it was in my carport... the old girl just didn't want to start up.
So as I'm waiting for AAA to bail me out of this one, why not blog?
===
This week has been a week of healing, I must say. The high point -- or rather the low point, or TURNING point was Monday evening. My dear friend Nancy was in from New York and we planned a day of play -- swimmng at the Omni Hotel pool, getting our hair blown out at a swanky salon, then having the oysters at Sai Sai in the Biltmore Hotel -- my goodness, we've been craving these oysters for a year, but they got a new chef and they changed. Very good though, and we even had the Kobe beef short ribs (thank god for expense accounts ;) with potato gnocchi (all too rich for my taste -- what happened to my palate?!).
But everything that day was covered by my incredible feeling of dread and illness. I'd had a miserable cough for over a week, I wasn't sleeping at night, I hadn't worked out in awhile, I was still peri-menopausing and I was frickin' flat broke -- I WAS DEPRESSED. And I couldn't shake it.
Fortunately, dear Nance was the wise and strong one for me and broke it down to basics: I'm taking care of my emotional life (with my shrink, Norm), I'm doing well mentally, and even have gotten back to regular healthy habits (cleaning, etc.) Everything that's happening to me is ONLY PHYSICAL -- so take care of it. :)
What great words! I know that logically, but somehow the drama queen in me wants to make it very existential -- you know, WHY IS MY SOUL HERE and all that. The answer is: go to the doctor, figure out what's up, take your meds, get yourself straighted out and you're fine.
Got squeezed in to see Dr. Tilem, who I adore because she's so matter of fact and non-judgmental. I got prescriptions for bronchitis (who knew?!) and my anti-depressant. My BP was way too high and she insisted I get that under control so I got my Rx for that too. And on the way out, hey, let's get some lab work done. After the follow-up in three weeks, we'll deal with the damn hot flashes and sleep apnea...
Wow, that felt good to take care of myself -- I think I'll just read my book, The Time Traveler's Wife, here in the shade of the building for awhile -- and get a $36 parking ticket. ACK!
The next day my labs come back really sucky -- I'm anemic and my kidneys are overworked because of my high blood pressure. Now I have to fit in iron three times a day, spaced out from my antibiotic. Geez! This calls for a med chart because I'm never going to remember anything. So I make one from Excel.
Today is the first day I've taken everything, and of course the BP med gives me a headache, so I have to add Extra Strength Tylenol to my regimen today. Bleech. But at least my head doesn't hurt.
Now to get some food... after the gas man with his $7/gallon gas comes, of course.
Did not expect this at all... and almost disappointed! LOL
So much has happened but not ready to write about it... yet. Off to the library I go!
Madley
...and I'm having a hard time tonight coming down from it. We started early tonight at 6pm with other guests from the academy to learn the four different vocal ranges for each of the voices in musical theater (SATBaritone!) -- went over the repetoire and basically kicked some ass until 11pm. I of course didn't leave til 12:22 -- Bonnie and Ross and yakking because -- because we can!
So thrilled to be part of this org -- tomorrow I have to turn my formal application for the Introductory Year... can't wait!...
Now I have to try and relax... shouldn't have had that small chili and potato from Wendy's! LOL
Good night :)
It's a funny world I live in now -- right smack in the middle of "higher end" Hollywood, at the bottom of Runyon Canyon. Where lithe, young bodies go to exercise themselves and their dogs, on a street that's alive all hours of the night, and "Notices of Intended Filming" are posted on apartment gates like parking tickets. The 100+ degree weather has finally let up and I don't feel betrothed to the air conditioner.
Good puppy Nero seems to know everyone here, so I'm imagining Alan (especially) and Jeffrey are pretty social on their walks. Even really late (or really early :) there's always someone walking their dog... and I swear no one here looks like they're older than 40.
For the second night they're filming on Camino Palmero. The cast must be there because last night there were only security guards -- tonight I spoke with real LAPD.
After petting Nero and letting us cross the street, I asked one officer what they're doing. "Oh, it's 'Entourage.'" Funny, not even a preceding "the TV Show" or "a show on HBO" -- I guess Entourage is public domain now. :)
We took a different walk, and kept thinking I'd love to see the star, Adrian Grenier (the younger guy on the right), but then I thought, what the heck would I say to him? "I like your work," I suppose, so not to feel too stupid.
But the truth is, I like him because he reminds me of David Frankel (the older guy on the left).
It's funny, I tuned in to watch Entourage because much as I hate to admit it, I LOVE movies/shows about backstage show business shenanigans. Makes me still feel part of, I guess. How funny to find out that David Frankel, my ex-boss from The Ellen Burstyn Show directed the pilot to Entourage... and I bet he had a lot to do with the casting of Mr. Grenier. I have a picture of David at age 27 with the moppiest, curly mullet ever, and he was a dead-ringer for Adrian... and yes, you could say I was obsessed... David was my first "crush" on a "real" person in Hollywood. (Fan stuff -- Scott Baio and the like -- doesn't count!)
I was hired to work for David when we shot the pilot at Warner Bros. He was the Supervising Producer/Writer and I was to be his Assistant/Writer's Assistant. Whatever that meant because I'd never done that before! Previously I was typing a script on this new thing, a computer, with a producer named Norman Steinberg on the weekends on the Paramount lot (Yes! The same lot Scott Baio and Happy Days used tape at and I used to take the bus to see!). Norman's secretary, Juanita, didn't want to work on the weekends, so I got hired to type.
Boy did I learn a lot. At that point, I didn't know how to be an "assistant" to anybody, I was basically a production secretary on a magazine show before that and never had to "place calls" or "leave word" or "do a schedule." Juanita, the pro, taught me all of that. And when they shot they pilot, Norman asked me to work at the Warner Bros. lot for him and David since Juanita was already at his "real" office at Disney. Sure, why not.
So there I sit, all alone in a small office for this three-week shoot, and in comes David Frankel. I about croak... what a handsome guy! I was expecting an old person -- doesn't "Producer" mean "old"?
"Hi, I'm David."
I said hello back and he walked into the office to make calls. I'm sure I called Juanita, asking her why she didn't warn me -- he's so cute and only one year older than me! -- but she probably didn't think anything of it because David certainly wasn't HER type.
Anyhoo, I learned almost everything I know about scripts and assisting on that shoot. No one in the production office knew how to put out a script properly and I sure didn't either... someone finally brought one in from somewhere with all the colored pages for changes and headers at the top, etc. and I learned -- because I did I do everything! I put out pages, I xeroxed pages, I stayed at night to make the revisions, I drove to Disney to make the colored pages, collated and then distributed the scripts, and then I was back early in the morning for the scripts to be at the table read. OMG!
And in the meantime, David couldn't have been nicer. Quite uninterested in me, but really funny, super polite, even asking my opinion on jokes as we both learned about sitcoms. (Oh, and guess who played Ellen's daughter? Megan Mullaly, of Will and Grace fame.) Some other time I'll talk bout my six-month stint in New York when then show went into production... there are few good David Frankel memories there too and I don't want to forget them. :)
At the end final week of taping, I got a little crazy. (Probably from the sleep deprivation and all the responsibility!) I had befriended two of the actors, Billy Wirth and Maurice Davis, during the rehearsals and, yes even met David's dad. I got to speaking to him because I was on a "research project" to find out anything he might be able to say about David for the warm-up comedian -- only I don't know if I made that assignment up for myself or someone asked me to do that. In any case, someone in the office said David's dad was a really nice man, and wasn't it nice of him to take the time out of his busy schedule to fly to L.A. to see his son's show. (I thought this was normal as I'm sure MY parents would have come to see a show I had done!) I repeated that to Max, who said, "As long as I have a nice hotel room and the NY Times, I'm happy." Little did I know then that this was Max Frankel, Executive Editor of the New York Times -- what a humbling piece of information. I knew David was a Harvard man, but I didn't know from what beginnings he came... just that they were 100000% different than mine.
So the crazy part: at the final taping, I had bought congratulatory balloon bouquets to dear Norman, David, Billy and Maurice -- which, upon hindsight, sure seems like a HUGE faux pas! I mean, who the hell was I? An assistant on an assistant's wage paying over $120 for four corny arrangements! Well, it felt terrific at the time, and the look on Billy's face, just standing across backstage and waving at me with the balloons in his hand: PRICELESS.
In any case, I veered off in a weird direction, thinking about David Frankel in 1986 -- twenty years ago. Didn't expect that to do that, it was a nice trip down memory lane -- er, Fuller Avenue to be exact. Not much has changed for me but my name!... yet in saying that out loud, I know things are changing quickly... and I will always be a Hollywood girl.
Sending you good energy, David Frankel -- much happiness and thanks :)
The Los Angeles Fire Department's Public Service Officer, Brian Humphrey,
surprised me this morning in my comments box:
Ms. Katarungan,
First and foremost, please allow me to share how pleased we are that you safely survived your ordeal.
We've taken the liberty of sharing your well-crafted and (at the proper times) lighthearted missive with our LAFD News & Information blog visitors.
In doing so, we hope that members of the community and the Firefighters who serve them will gain better insight into what it may be like if they are (heaven forbid) ever trapped in an elevator.
We hope that you will be able to join us for the upcoming Firefighter Festival of Hollywood, when we hope that you'll be reunited with the crew from Fire Station 27's 'A' Platoon.
Again, thanks for sharing your experience.
Respectfully Yours in Safety and Service,
Brian Humphrey
Firefighter/Specialist
Public Service Officer
Los Angeles Fire Department
Brian Humphrey | Homepage | 07.19.06 - 11:02 am | #
So there I am on their blog and a great intro -- please feel free to read. I couldn't be more proud.
(BTW, the LAFD has a huge following (congrats!) -- my stats yesterday were incredible!)
If ever there was a time to be blogging, this was it -- yes, tonight after a late night visit with a friend, I was stuck in an elevator for the first time in my life!
Right now I'm pet/housesitting at Jeffrey and Alan's in Hollywood. As I'm driving up and clickin' the clicker to open the garage gate, I'm thinking about how cool it is to always have a parking space in a condo building with an elevator in Hollywood. Life's good.
I threw out some garbage from my car (okay, I dropped by Mickey D's and had a McChicken sandwich) into the garbage can next to the elevator. Hmmm, I think, it's empty, someone just cleaned the garbage out. I get into the elevator, put my access key in and press 3 and proceed to daydream as I always do in elevators.
Took me a while to realize that there was nothing happening. Nothing.
Press 2. Nothing again. How about 1? Why isn't this thing moving? Hm. Okay, open sesame... oh dear, it's not gonna open either. Did I put the key in right? Yes. Aw, hell. No need for anxiety attacks now, this is why you've had all this emergency training, right? Just breathe.
There's an alarm button there... what does that do? No, no alarm yet, let's use that call button. It says it will flash when the call is answered. It's not flashing. Nothing is happening.
I don't want to alarm anyone yet, so I call Jeffrey in Chicago on his cell phone. It's probably 5:45 his time... well, who knows how early he gets up, but maybe he has the number to the super? Er, manager? Oh wait, these are condos, there is no super/manager, or a super manager for that matter. Hm. Well, it's moot anyway, I get his voice mail... and hot damn if my cell phone isn't flashing "low battery." Hang up fast.
So it's time to press the alarm button. It's a bell like noise and a white light goes off in the elevator each time you press it. Like a Staples Easy Button or something but with sound and light. Oh, I get it. It's an alarm to physically alert someone that there's something wrong with the elevator. It doesn't go anywhere, it just sounds pretty and makes pretty light. Oh shit. Nobody here is awake.
Well, hm. I'm going to wait until 4:00 am then I'm going to use my precious battery juju on 911. Trying to remember the other number they say you should call -- one that starts with 3 because this doesn't feel too emergency like... but what is it? 311? 399? Oh hell. Practice your speech because you're on the clock.
California Highway Patrol picks up after I say "ONE" into the phone.
"Hi, I'm stuck in an elevator at _ _ _ _ N. Fuller Avenue and I'm running out of juice on my phone!" The lady dispatcher says she'll connect me to the fire department and I'm telling her to please hurry... (the nerve of me.)
She connects me right away with the fire guys: "What's the address?" "_ _ _ _ N. Fuller Avenue and my battery's going dead." "What's the number you're calling from?" "It's my cell, _ _ _ _ _ _ _ but I'm running out juice!" At least I got out the address.
"Don't panic, and don't try to get out because you might hurt yourself. We're sending someone out right away."
"Okay."
I finally allow myself to sit on the floor. I did that well, I think to myself. I didn't panic, I acted like a grown-up would. If I had had a baby or a child with me, I would have been the perfect picture of calmness, no claustrophobia in sight at all. As a matter of fact, hm... I start singing: "Raindrops on rose and whiskers on kittens..." No, no, things weren't so bad and I don't know all the lyrics, even though I just sang it with my babysitting charge, Kate, tonight. What was that other one? Oh, yes, from The King and I: "Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, And whistle a happy tune, so no one will suspect I'm afraid." :)
Nah, don't need it... and I'm now I'm giggling because I know I'm gonna blog about this right away.
About ten minutes later, I hear noise. "Ma'am, you all right? Do you have any medical problems?"
I say I'm okay. They yell back: "Ma'am? Are you all right?" So I yell back that I'M OKAY WITH NO MEDICAL PROBLEMS. I'm also thinking of something light to say to ease the tension but then think that maybe that would be an obstruction of justice or something like that -- I stay silent.
They tell me they're working on it, so I start braiding my hair. I know -- braiding my hair? Works better than whistling, I guess.
I hear more male voices. They ask me what floor I'm on -- I say the ground floor. Okay, they're close, better get up. Wish I had put a bra on before I left... oops.
A few minutes later a voice says, "Ma'am, can you push on the door, going from left to right? Push with all your might." I push and groan my Superwoman groan:
"Nothing. Sorry."
"That's okay ma'am." Suddenly the door magically opens: and there are at least five firefighters dressed to the hilt. I'm a bit wowed and must have been grinning a big ole Cheshire smile, but then I remember to be humble and grateful.
"Thank you, thank you!" I say.
There's one among them in jeans and a tank top: "Don't do that again."
"Are you the super?" I say, forgetting there aren't "supers" in LOS ANGELES. "No," he says, "I'm in 101. What happened?"
The head/lead/oldest firefighter tells me there are no stairs to the ground floor, I'll have to go to the first floor from the outside. I thank him because I'm housesitting and have no idea where the stairs are. Then I walk out onto the street with the gang -- there are two huge fire trucks and the at least four more firefighter guys out there. Wow.
"Thank you again," I say. And they all -- well, probably most of them anyway -- wave. Good old L.A.F.D.!
Now I'm thinking about the stairs, as I go in the front door with Michael. I tell him that the elevator call button GOES NO WHERE. He's not happy with that. I almost say some smart ass remark about homeowners fees, but wisely hold my tongue because I'm not wanting to cause stress for my dear Jeffrey and Alan. But I'm sure that will get fixed soon. I mean what if they got someone hysterical (crazy/sick not funny/hilarious) in there?
I say good night and walk up the two flights. Oh goodie, I'm not out of breath -- training with Andrew works! Nero is waiting for me and gets all petted down before I start typing this.
Tomorrow I'll worry about the metaphysical implications of BEING STUCK IN AN ELEVATOR ON THE GROUND FLOOR... oops, guess I just figured it out. Well, I'm going to have a good sleep now... thanks again, L.A.F.D.!
| You Are 60% Boyish and 40% Girlish |
You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be. |
It's 12:50 am and I just got back from my Academy music class that ended at 10:30... yes, yes, because I was talking to my teacher, Ross, at my car about an incredible project he's working on. (MMMs the word, but I will say my MOTHER will LOVE it!)
I haven't checked my emails or my messages yet because I'm too excited -- I keep thanking God for blessing me with my new life! It's not just musicals... it's that ALL of music makes sense to me now. It's that all the people make sense! It's that I, MYSELF make sense now... as in everything is all coming together. My love of music, my wanting to make it, the emotionality of it... yikes!
If I could write a joyous piece right now... this would one of the moments it would be centered around... YIPPEE!!!
