Extras Gig #4: The Office, Part 2

(Go to Part 1) Wow. I never noticed how nice his eyes are. Funny how the camera can miss so much. He has really pretty eyes. Really pretty eyes that are... waiting. Maybe I should say something.

"Hello." I replied. He smiled in return.

Steve Carell and I spent what felt like an hour locked in an awkward, courteous gaze. Both of us smiled and nodded.

"So..." He said, trailing off and looking around.

Oh! He's as embarrassed as I am. Heh. He's blushing. I probably am too. This is cool! We're both blushing and confused! Wait. Actually it's just incredibly awkward. I should say something nice to end this.

"I'm... waiting for the bathroom." Brilliant. That will leave a lasting impression.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry! I thought... They said..." Just then, the 2nd AD rounded the corner.

Second ADs hate extras. We are constantly over-complicating things. Many of us are either vying for that extra little bit of screen time, trying to get a celebrity autograph (or worse), desperate to "prove" how much we "know" about their job, or begging for a SAG voucher. I've had that job. I can seriously relate. I'm sure this didn't look good.

"Sorry, Mr. Carell," he said. "Hair and makeup is through here." He gently guided Steve into the next room. Steve gave me a shrug and a smile, the 2nd AD gave me the "I'll deal with you later" look. He never did. I didn't get a SAG voucher, either. Steve didn't even say goodbye. After all we shared.

A woman left the bathroom right as the commotion was winding down. She looked into the room and then back at me with the "was a celebrity just here?" look. It's a great look. For a moment, you are elevated to celebrity status by proximity. I call it proxi-lebrity status. Or maybe celemity status? Vote in the comments below.

A bit of Hollywood advice: if you achieve proxi-lebrity status, try to keep a level head about it. "I saw Johnny Depp in line at Starbucks" is interesting blog fodder (and awesome), but it's not an appropriate answer to "how's that entertainment career coming along?" Geek out about it, for sure. I'll geek out with you. Just remember you still have work to do. Occupying the same space as another person is not actually an accomplishment. Unless you are literally occupying the same space as another person. That might get you a Nobel Prize. Though even that could just be an accidental slip into another dimension or a transporter malfunction. I digress. A lot.

After that excitement, they finally called the pool experts to the set. As I walked down the winding staircase, I couldn't help but notice a noise that sounded like a large fan. I am presenting it like was a minor thing, but it was actually deafening. It sounded like a wind tunnel. It only came on between takes. Obviously, I had to ask what it was.

"It's an indoor skydiving thing." Some PA at the base of the stairs was responsible for communicating between the set and the noise. That answer raised more questions than it answered, so I asked if I could take a look.

What sounded like a wind tunnel was actually a wind tunnel. A giant fan blew people up, suspending them in midair while giving the illusion that they were falling. So yeah. Guess what I did for my birthday later that year?

Yeah, baby!

The PAs paraded us through the crowd of very tired half annoyed/half intrigued extras. We took our spots and were given the rundown. The first thing we were told was that the balls were fake. Since actual pool balls make noise, only the stars were allowed to hit them. We had to play with racquet balls lacquered with pool-ball-colored paint.

The actual pool experts were at a total loss and understandably disappointed. Rubber balls flew everywhere for the first several efforts. I just laughed. I went back to the message on the casting hotline. No one doing this job would need to sink shots, do tricks or even make contact with the balls. In fact, the fakers had a much easier time than the experts.

Once we were in place, they brought in the stars.

I have to confess something here: at this point in time, I didn't actually watch The Office. I had seen an episode or two and knew the general storyline and the major characters, but I just couldn't get into the show. I wasn't in love with my job when the show first came out and the last thing I wanted to do was to go home from my real-life awkward office world and watch a fake awkward office world.

I fixed that after this job. I had so much fun on this set! Actually, I probably had a little more fun than I should have...

Extras Gig #4: The Office, Part 1

Part 1? Yeah. I've done this before- broken a long narrative into multiple posts. People appreciate shorter blog posts, or so the blog gurus/content optimization experts say. I'm also really good at cliffhangers.  

That didn't count.

Moving on. I've chronicled my "career" as an extra in a few other posts spanning several years. Want to catch up? First, I explain the process of becoming an extra. Then, my first gig on 100 Questions. (The first of those questions being, "is that an actual show?") After that, I moved on to a chilly night on the set of Cold Case. From there, I had a sadly un-Fillion experience on Castle. I wasn't exactly excited about doing these things anymore. Especially after having been passed as an "Avatar fangirl."

courtney hoskins avatar freak

I was about to give up on it entirely. Until...

One day, I hit the extras jackpot. It wasn't all luck, mind you. Like all big breaks in Hollywood, it took skill, determination, persistence, and a fair amount of lying.

A random call to the casting hotline surprised me when I heard they needed people for The Office. I didn't hold my breath. Popular shows fill up fast. This was a four day shoot, to boot. That's about as long-term as one can get as a TV extra. I actually skipped past the general call, fairly certain all the spots would be filled. I paused, however, when I got to a message asking for extras with a specialized skill set.

Having an unusual skill can get you a featured extra role or a coveted SAG voucher. Alas, I have no facial tattoos, cannot ride a unicycle and my car at the time was the useless color of black (they don't use black cars for background because they distract the eye). I can, however, play pool.

"We need males and females who are pool experts. Please don't submit for this role unless you can sink shots and do tricks." I immediately submitted.

Before you send me a message challenging me to a game, you should know that technically I can do neither of those things. I CAN sink shots. Sometimes. And I can do really neat tricks where balls jump over other balls. Accidentally. This was my best chance at getting on the show, though, so I submitted anyway. I knew that they were not going to get a lot of female applicants. I also knew that they did not actually require pool experts. All I would really need to do was make my blurry shape look like it knew roughly what to do at a pool table.

baby-playing-pool

Of course, this didn't stop me from worrying about it. What if they DID need me to do trick shots? Do I actually hold a cue the right way? Do I lean over the table with the proper form? And then there was the guilt. What if I just took a job away from someone whose ONLY skill set was "pool expert" and here I am, a talentless hack, raking in the fame and money? Oh, right. This is Hollywood.

I was accepted on the spot.

The set was "on location" at Universal Citywalk. My Winter-in-Scranton sweater and the 90 degree "location" weren't the best match. Luckily, all of our scenes were indoors and they had the air conditioning cranked up to "Arctic Front."

Climate control wasn't the only luxury. I meandered over to crafty. Unlike my previous experiences, crafty was not a folding table with a box of assorted chips and a Costco-sized tub of pretzels. The set of The Office was fully catered. I had my choice of drip coffee, tea, espresso or freshly-squeezed orange juice. For food, I could choose from fresh Belgian waffles, made-to-order omelets, granola, yogurt, (gluten free, of course) toasts with jams or peanut butter, bagels with real cream cheese or a variety of fruits. The good ones. This wasn't just soggy melon balls and grapes! This was mango, papaya, kiwi, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and ALSO melon balls and grapes!

It didn't take me long to realize that the "pool experts" were the royalty of extras. (Yes, that's tough to envision when everyone is making minimum wage, but... work with me.) We got to laze around between pool shots because they couldn't risk reusing us in the background. It might destroy the continuity. It also didn't take me long to realize that almost all of us lied about being "pool experts."

All of this made my job a little boring. After several hours of reading and not a single moment on the set, I got a little restless. I wandered over to the restroom. Thwarted by a locked door, I leaned against the wall, stretched my back and started wondering what I would read once I finished my book.

That was when Steve Carell said hello.

A Perfect Sky

I've been a little low key on social media lately. I lost my brother rather suddenly and tragically at the beginning of March and things just haven't felt "right" since then. I wanted to put off Writing Wednesdays until I could write a beautiful and poetic blog post about my brother- how great he was, the circumstances of his death, and the lasting imprint he will have on the lives of the people he touched. I'm not there yet. I might not be there for a long time. I do want to write, though.

Tragedy throws our lives out of balance. I've done a lot of mind work in my life and have dealt with a fair amount of tragedy. It doesn't make sudden loss or struggle easy, but it does help. When a tragedy like this strikes, it's the difference between being thrown off balance while allowing yourself to break down, mourn, cry, etc. and being totally unable to function, submerging and sinking into a sea of depression and anger. Neither reaction will result in my brother coming back to me, but the second reaction is not where I want to be.

I allow myself to be sad, to lean into the emotion and let myself feel what I need to. Doing so actually keeps me from sinking. I try not to indulge in "what if" and "if only" thoughts or do too much superhero fantasizing about going back in time and changing it. I feel and then gently push myself to keep moving.

Whatever emotion we need to feel, we should allow ourselves to feel it. It is what it needs to be. There is no right way to be.

I had this insight when I was about 16: I was driving a friend in my car and she commented that the sky was "perfect." She meant that there were no clouds in it. It was blue from horizon to horizon. I thought on that for a while. Is a cloudless sky perfect? What about a sky with puffy little white clouds? Or one streaked with a rainbow? Or one blazing from the colors of a sunset? What about a sky full of thunderclouds or fog?

rainbow tree

The truth is, all of those are "perfect" skies. The sky is exactly as it needs to be. We are the ones who impose our definitions of "perfect" or even "acceptable" upon something we cannot control. The same can be said about us. If we wait until all of the things we believe make us "perfect" are in alignment, we will wait our entire lives. This is not to say that we shouldn't strive to improve upon ourselves or our situations, just that we should soften our definition of "perfection" and give ourselves a break when we need to feel sad or we don't get the job that we want. This is life. Sometimes it rains.

Baby On Board

(Easily one of my favorite episodes of The Simpsons...)

For the past nine months, I have had a baby on board. It's been a wild ride full of ups and downs (thankfully, more ups than downs) and many surprises. This journey is almost at an end. I am standing by for either that first contraction or word from my doctor that she needs to induce, so I decided to write about my experiences to keep from losing my mind...

I get many of the same questions wherever I go. There's the standard "so, what's your major" trio that tends to happen when I am standing in line or waiting in an elevator. They usually come in this order:

1. When are you due?

2. Is it a boy or a girl?

3. Is this your first?

The answers, in order, are April 9th, boy and yes. Usually, after these questions are answered, there is a polite "congratulations." Sometimes this is followed by a bit of advice or an anecdote if the person has their own children. Sometimes these tips are welcome: "being a parent is an amazing experience" or "here is the name of a friend of mine who is an experienced doula." Sometimes they aren't: "say goodbye to your life" or "that's a terrible name- you should pick names from the Bible" (a verbatim quote. Tip: never discuss names with people and never discuss babies with crazy people). Occasionally, the questions are just shocking. "How old are you?" was rude and confusing, particularly since it was asked because I looked "way too young to be having a baby" (only in Los Angeles). "You're not carrying twins? That's a HUGE baby!" almost got a little old lady kicked in the shin. I have had the urge to smack one or two people, but I've yet to do it. That leads me to some of my own little surprises about pregnancy. Maybe these are myths, maybe these aren't, but these are a few of the pregnancy stereotypes that didn't quite fit me:

Pregnant women are crazy. Are they? I've seen so much about the "crazy hormones" that us pregnant women get. I think a lot of it is to make people feel better about being insensitive assholes. Typically on an internet Q&A forum:

Q: HELP!! My wife/girlfriend got angry at me and says I never help around the house but I totally did the dishes once last week! She used to be so happy and carefree and let me do whatever I wanted and made me sandwiches all the time. What is going on?!

A: Relax, bro! It's just hormones. Women just go inexplicably crazy when they are pregnant. It's for sure nothing you are doing.

I only had four real emotional breakdowns and they all had VERY valid reasons, one of which included being in my third week of fighting a terrible virus while simultaneously being 9 months pregnant and unable to take most medications, lie in a comfortable position or sleep. At all. Between coughing fits, I was pummeled with tiny fists and feet begging "why are you shaking my house so much, mom?!" I felt terrible because I was horribly sick, but also filled with guilt whenever I would cough, sneeze or blow my nose. I was terrified of going into labor in such a state. I was... quite justifiably... a little emotional. Nah. I'm sure it was just hormones and I was probably just upset about getting fat or whatever...

I do admit that my BS tolerance levels are at an all-time low, but I don't attribute this to "crazy hormones." It's not comfortable being pregnant and it never lets up. You are building a new person 24/7 for nine months and you're already not getting your usual amount of sleep. You need help. You're nervous, excited, scared, responsible for every step of that little human's growth and in a great deal of physical discomfort. You can't have a glass of wine to unwind and I sure didn't get to do any of my usual "stress busting" activities (see photos, below).  Hormones were the least of my concerns. Sure, there was the occasional "silly" tear shed for pet food commercials and at movies that weren't tragically sad, but hey, if you don't cry during that Sarah McLaughlin Humane Society commercial, you probably don't have a soul.

Those tears fell LONG before I was pregnant! Which leads me to my next myth:

Pregnant women have wild food cravings. No again. This was another of those FAQs for which I never had a satisfying answer for anyone. Yeah, I love potato chips with a jalapeno pepper slice and dipped in ranch dressing, but I created that little concoction years ago. I had a woman approach me in the grocery store when I was buying ice cream: "Wow! Do pregnant women seriously crave ice cream?" Well, sure. But, uh... do you not? (By the way, being pregnant is apparently like wearing a giant sign that says "PLEASE APPROACH ME AND START A CONVERSATION!") I probably ate more peanut butter than usual, but otherwise, my diet was pretty much the same. The only exception was my miserable first trimester. That was the only time I had real food aversions. I could not abide chicken. I couldn't eat it, smell it, look at it or even think about it without feeling ill. Most of the foods I craved at that time were either starchy (bagels) or sugary (lots of fruit- especially mango and watermelon). I didn't ever wake my boyfriend up in the middle of the night and insist he go get me Pad Thai with a side of chocolate cupcakes and pickle juice. Most of these food preferences were less about a "craving" and more about wanting to eat something that wouldn't make me feel sick to my stomach. Which leads nicely to:

Morning sickness is bullshit. I don't mean that it doesn't happen, I mean that "morning sickness" is cruelly misnamed. My nausea usually came at night, right about as I was leaving work. It came off and on throughout most of the day, as well. It was paralyzing. The worst part is, I didn't actually get sick, I just felt like I was constantly on the verge of getting sick. Though I will admit, hearing about Kate Middleton's horrible affliction made me complain a little less. Because these symptoms lasted weeks and came rather randomly, I couldn't really take time off of work, but I had to cease most of the activities I normally would have been able to do in that first trimester. Most notably, this:

And this:

And this:

Sigh... I know I will get to do these things again, but I have really missed them over the past nine months.

We live in an advanced society and people aren't weird about pregnancy anymore.Um. No. I've had all sorts of obstacles to overcome with this. I've dealt with loads of outright discrimination and this strange mix of over and under-reaction to my physical activities. I have had to explain to people how my baby is not- even by scientific definition- a "parasite."  Yes, there were people (coworkers, even) referring to him that way. Even if you WANT to make that argument, don't make it to a pregnant woman whose feelings about her own pregnancy you do not know. It's not clever or cute. I had one guy at work get outright angry at me because after a meeting, some of my coworkers lingered to ask me questions about my (newly announced) pregnancy. As our meeting was clearing out, this guy barked, "come on! We have to do a conference call in here in ten minutes and you girls are over there talking about PREGNANCY!" I guess us "girls" don't get that you need a solid ten minutes of no lady talk before a room is fit for a conference call. Also, for the people who are "grossed out" by pregnancy: you were once a fetus too. Grow the eff up. Yeah, it's not always pleasant and it's sometimes gross, but I don't need you explaining why it's okay for you to be offensive and make me feel like I should be hidden under a tent. Oh, and while we are at it:

I don't have a clue what I am doing. Apparently. I've never read a book on pregnancy. Never looked it up online (what is Google?) I don't have a doctor I can talk to. I have no maternal instincts. I've never even known anyone else in my entire life who has been pregnant and can tell me things about pregnancy (e.g. my own mother). I am SO HAPPY you know everything about my "condition," person I hardly know! Please enlighten me. One woman tracked my every movement every day: Did I know I couldn't eat feta? I should probably sell my cat because of her litter box? I should probably leave my boyfriend because he will be just like her ex husband? My showers are too hot? No wait... too cold? I should see my doctor more often? I shouldn't get my hair dyed? I shouldn't drink coffee? I should eat more, even if it doesn't seem appetizing? I wish it ended there, but this woman had me wondering if I should just quarantine myself. As if it's not stressful enough that so much of the information out there is conflicting.

It's all by the books. Except the books say different hings. And why in the world are fetuses measured against the size of produce? I suppose it's because us ladies spend so much time doing the grocery shopping and wouldn't be able to envision "golf ball sized" versus "baseball sized" or some other consistent size comparison. But seriously, what the heck? Here is an example of how one baby app sizes up my growing kid:

Week 4: poppyseed. Okay. Yeah, I got that. He's tiny.

Week 5: appleseed. Yep. I can see that.

Week 6: pea. Again. Pretty consistent. He's pea sized. Got it.

Week 7: blueberry. Um... wait. I just grabbed a handful. Some are smaller than peas. I don't...

Week 8: raspberry. Okay? Is he not growing?

Let's jump ahead to week 11: lime. Okay. That's bigger than a raspberry. Got it.

Week 12: plum. Week 13: peach. Wait wait. Are we talking about organic fruit or...? Son of a bitch. I give up. Right now, I am at week 39: watermelon. Well, hell! THAT'S gonna hurt:

Next week, I will be at week 40: jackfruit. Whatever the f*&$ that is. Why do I even want to envision him as something edible anyway? Maybe that's why people dress their babies as food for Halloween.

I'll get by with a little help from my friends. This one is true. My friends have really been there for me. Sure, there were a couple who shunned me (pregnancy is not contagious, you know) and acted like my professional and social lives were over, but by and large, my real friends and family came through for me. Sometimes the love was almost overwhelming, but for those of you who have been checking in on me, inviting me to hang out, reminding me that I can ask you for help, driving me to my appointments when needed, cooking me food: you are all wonderful and I love each and every one of you. You kept me sane and happy. Which leads me to my final point:

Pregnant women are smug. Hmm. I was feeling a lot of things: tired, happy, sad, brooding, worried, alone, scared, overwhelmed, gassy, bloated, lazy... Sorry Garfunkel and Oates, but smug just wasn't one of them!

Science and Television

Ah, Futurama! One of the few things on television that actually fact checks their science references... and takes great pleasure in ripping apart things that don't.

The recent meteor event in Russia has made me wish that newscasters and blog writers had Morbo sitting next to them whenever they made some lame joke or speculation about some scientific phenomenon.

I suppose the news stopped being objective and checking their facts a long time ago, and about more than just science, but the confidence with which newscasters and writers present their scientific "facts" really irritates me.

I don't claim to be a science expert, but it is a passion of mine. I studied astronomy and physics for a while and almost made a career out of it. You don't have to get that far into science, though, to know how to do a quick cross-referenced Google search. And if you are about to explain some scientific phenomenon to a worried public, you should consult a scientist. Otherwise, you end up saying stupid things like this:

(Please ignore the fact that this video clip is coming from a UFO playlist- it is a very much identified falling object.) First of all "I tracked those meteors..." No you didn't. You simply did a Google search to see if there were any meteor showers that happened to be taking place when the footage was captured. Also, meteors don't actually come from constellations, they just appear to. Constellations are apparent arrangements of stars many light years away, not throwers of fireballs. And while the name "Quadrands Muralis" is obsolete, constellations do not "go extinct." We just decide we don't like them anymore. Then we have "they are often hard to see because the northern sky is usually cloudy." That's right. Clouds like to gather in the north... for... strategic... science purposes. Forget that "The Northern Sky" is relative to where you are standing and... you know what, I'm not even going to dignify that statement with further commenting.

Actually, the women who were joking around were absolutely right! This was, in fact, a Russian rocket body that entered the Earth's atmosphere, broke into pieces and fell to the ground. I suspected it was something like this the first time I saw this footage. First of all, it is moving pretty slowly. Meteors streak and burn up quite a bit faster than this. Secondly, if you compare the colors and the shapes of the fragments to actual man-made objects burning in the atmosphere (sadly, the Columbia footage comes to mind), this what it looks like.

Then the facepalm moment. "I mean you know it all, Tomer. YOU'RE OUR METEOROLOGIST?!" A. Meteorology is not astronomy. B. Please see my comment about "northern clouds." An actual weather scientist should know better.

The reason the recent Russia event reminded me of this was that I am getting sick of every streak of light being attributed to a "meteor shower." I wish the above footage is what a meteor shower looked like! It would make those chilly early morning trips to the mountains so much more exciting than the 10-15 quick streaks you actually end up seeing.

Early reports of the Russian meteor were that it was a meteor shower or even... meteor rain? I'm sure everyone has seen the footage a million times at this point, but here it is again:

Okay, some quick vocabulary (from NASA):

Asteroid: A relatively small, inactive, rocky body orbiting the Sun.

Comet: A relatively small, at times active, object whose ices can vaporize in sunlight forming an atmosphere (coma) of dust and gas and, sometimes, a tail of dust and/or gas.

Meteoroid: A small particle from a comet or asteroid orbiting the Sun.

Meteor: The light phenomena which results when a meteoroid enters the Earth's atmosphere and vaporizes; a shooting star.

Meteorite: A meteoroid that survives its passage through the Earth's atmosphere and lands upon the Earth's surface.

So, an asteroid or a meteoroid enters the Earth's atmosphere where it become a meteor. It either burns up or it makes it to the surface as a meteorite. OR in the case of the Russian event, it's a bolide, or fireball or in this particular case, a "detonating fireball."

Pretty cool, right? Contrast that with a meteor shower. Meteor showers occur when the Earth passes through clouds of debris from comets. Yes, you can have all of that excitement in a meteor shower, but usually what you have is tiny streaks across the sky over several hours. Still cool, but not quite as spectacular as either of the two videos above. They are also global events (you can't have a Russian meteor shower, for example) and come like clockwork every year- not just randomly.

And meteor rain? That... doesn't exist, actually. At least, not in scientific terms.

So the next time a newscaster attributes some weird thing in the sky to a meteor shower, I want Morbo there to tell them:

Extras Gig #3: Castle

A while back I thought it would be a good idea to chronicle some of my extras gigs in my blog. Then all the social networks, my day job as a web developer and my film making and screenwriting efforts made maintaining my website seem more like a chore than the fun thing I used to do. This is a return to that. I'm not going to make the promise that I will regularly update (a promise that I will inevitably break), but I would like to get back in the habit.

As for extras work, it was a super fun thing I did when I first moved out to Los Angeles and could afford to fart around before getting down to business. I don't mean to diminish the life of the full-time professional extra. It's actually a tough way to make money and if you can do it regularly, you are magic and I salute you. Yes, it's quite possible to make your living being a "blur" as people will so kindly refer to them (hey, ninjas are blurs too, and NO ONE messes with ninjas), but I had other aspirations and other obligations. Sadly, my blur days are becoming just that... So I want to write about them before they are gone.

My first gig was 100 Questions. A very short-lived sitcom on... some network. I don't think my scene ever made it onto the small screen, but I basically had to sit in a pants suit and fake sip a fake martini. I've already written that story. I've also already written the Cold Case story, so you can catch up on those if you so desire.

My third extras gig was Castle. NOW we're talking! Though I don't watch it regularly, I do enjoy the show- especially the Nathan Fillion part of the show- so I was excited when they told me I would be in it. They informed me that I would be a New York subway patron. Sweet! I can play that! I lived in New York for almost four years. I know from ridin' the subway, yo! I decided to go method for this one.

On that note, one thing you should know, should you desire to be an extra or find yourself on set one day: background work is NOT acting. No one appreciates your efforts to stand out. You are "background talent." Your goal is to blend in (see earlier ninja comment). Also, no one on the set really wants to hear about all of the acting you do, the workshops and schools you attended, the people you have met... Actually, scratch that. Some people do want to hear about that. And they are sitting at that table over there. Not at my table, where I am clearly trying to read American Gods by Neil Gaiman.

Yes, I was being crabby on the set that night. It took far too long for me to find parking and meander through the trailers to find the 2nd AD. Plus, this was a night shoot and I'd heard rumors that we might not get done until four in the morning. There was also limited food for my then-vegetarian self to eat and I was starving. Knowing every eatery nearby would be closing soon and I would be reduced to eating chips and fruit snacks for the next six hours filled me with dread. On top of that, I found out that the scene we were shooting would have NOTHING TO DO with Nathan Fillion. At all. I have this annoying curse of being where he is- sometimes EXACTLY where he is- and never getting to see or meet him. More on that later.

While I was sitting at one of the few tables that had adequate reading light and feeling sorry for my(let's face it, pretty spoiled)self, I got a call. When I answered it, the voice of my dad's partner answered back and I suddenly got very nervous. Don't get me wrong, we get along great and I love talking to her, but it was a bit odd to get a call from her late at night, knowing that it was three hours later where she was. As it turns out, I had reason to be nervous. My dad had suffered a heart attack. Now, I do love suspense, but not where my family is concerned, so let me just spoil this and spare you: he's fine. Everything turned out great. However, that information would not come to light for another few weeks and the rest of my time on set was spent worrying about him.

I felt trapped. He would need a surgery and I wanted to fly out for it, but I was unable to do anything about it. I alternated between distracting myself with my book and researching flights on my ten-percent-battery-life phone. I decided the best thing for me to do would be to just finish out the night and go home. Needless to say, much of the evening was a bit of a blur after that. I remember walking with my book, trying to look like a New Yorker. I was depressed and self-occupied, so I think I pulled it off quite nicely.

The one detail I do remember from the night is that I was selected to be one of the subway patrons who would go through the turnstile right as the bad guy jumped over to escape Beckett. Since my face would be in the shot, I had to pretend like I noticed, but not really care. Much like I would have reacted in New York had I seen someone jump over the turnstile. The turnstiles the actors were to jump over were very clearly marked with tape. We were told that we could go through any of the other turnstiles, but that we had to stay out of the way of the marked turnstiles.

When the first take came up, I found an unmarked turnstile and set my intention to walk through it. I headed toward it (without looking like I'm heading toward it) and BOOM, the bad guy jumps over the unmarked turnstile. Any look of shock I had as this actor came hurtling at me uncontrollably was completely genuine. They called a cut. No one blamed anyone (mostly because it wasn't my fault... they have no problem yelling at extras, but tend to hold back with the talent), but I was much more cautious about approaching the turnstiles on subsequent takes. I mean, I would love to be a stuntwoman, but that's a completely different pay grade with a totally different set of rules and insurance requirements.

I did manage to make it in the shot, at least- see above picture. This was season 2, episode 18. I'm that blur that looks kind of like... well a rather gothy New Yorker. And see that green blur? That's my copy of American Gods (that book really did help me get through that shoot).

I was later used in three other shots, but never made it onto the screen. It's pretty amazing. With the exception of two people veryone you see on the screen was an extra or a stunt person. Some of them got paid more than others. I got paid about $80 to be there that night, and I was on the lower end of that price range so... do the math. It's expensive to put bodies in scenes!

Scientific Mysteries - Rain in Los Angeles

Recently, "winter" started in Los Angeles. What this means is that for about four days, I had to break out my winter coat (read: hooded sweatshirt) and think about maybe carrying an umbrella around with me. I had to weather-proof my apartment, mostly by taking the fan out of the window and verifying that the heater I had never used actually works. My sunglasses were rendered nearly useless as I only needed them about 40% of the time I was outdoors. Despite all of that, me and my fellow Angelinos managed to make it through. I heard on the local news that this weather was responsible for countless traffic problems. Being from Colorado, where I had to drive my 1988 Honda Civic while dealing with weather phenomena such as hail storms, tornado warnings, blizzards that dump a foot or more of snow,  sub zero temperatures and black ice on a fairly regular basis, I found it hard to relate, initially. I assumed the problem was psychological. Upon further study (and my gradual SoCal acclimatization), however, I have come to the conclusion that the weather- and probably science- is clearly to blame. Here are some of my findings:

1. Turn signals no longer work. How else can we account for the complete lack of them? I hypothesize that either the precipitation seeps into most vehicles' electrical systems and attacks only the turn signal functionality, or that the rain droplets somehow refract the light from  turn signals so that they go unseen by the drivers behind or around them. Both of these explanations satisfactorily explain why visual signals are rendered useless, but horn-honking functionality remains unaffected.

2. Braking can only be applied forcefully and suddenly. Gradual braking is not an option, possibly due to the coefficient of friction approaching zero when there is moisture on the road. Sudden and forceful braking must be applied to overcome this. Another possibility is that the rain droplets refract light around objects and intersections, making them essentially invisible to drivers until they are literally right there and have to turn or stop.

2. Drivers can no longer see lines on the road, read road signs, or see traffic signals. I believe this is due to the refraction of light through the rain droplets.

3. The laws at intersections no longer apply. This isn't as much of a scientific problem as it is a legal one. I still haven't learned what the alt-weather laws are at four way stops, so this is probably just my fault. That or refracted light through rain droplets either cloaks vehicles completely, or alters our sense of time and space, making us unable to determine who arrived first and has the right-of-way.

4. Perspective changes and varies dramatically from person to person. An acquaintance claimed that he couldn't see ten feet in front of his vehicle while going seventy miles an hour down the highway on his way in to work. This cannot possibly be the case, as visibility was not limited and it is impossible for any vehicle to move at seventy miles an hour on an L.A. freeway during rush hour. Yet he believed it so fervently and dramatically, that altered perspective (possibly due to refraction of light waves by rain droplets) is the only explanation.

5. Wifi and cell phone signals no longer work. Okay, this one isn't related to traffic, but a guy in a hotel was explaining to me that this was the reason the internet service that I was paying $9/day to use wasn't working and he couldn't refund me. And also my calls like NEVER go through and sometimes my tweets get held up for ages. What the hell, science? The only thing I can think of is that the signals used in such devices are some how "refracted" through the rain droplets and re-routed to people who don't have AT&T or Time Warner Cable.

6. The world essentially ends. Seriously. I didn't feel like going to the beach, people had to cancel their flying trapeze and paddleboard classes and I totally didn't feel like eating at Pinkberry. This is most probably due to the refraction of joy out of life by rain droplets.

You might detect some sarcasm in this post (and a lot of refraction). It's not that I don't appreciate that relatively speaking, a couple of days of rain is a monsoon and forty degrees is freezing, it's just that, well come on, SoCal. You are where the weather forecaster stands when talking about weather happening in the rest of the country.

Extras Gig #2: Cold Case

Courtney Hoskins (sort of) in Cold Case

(Picking up on my extras stories...) The second extras assignment I got was for the show "Cold Case." Fittingly, the thing I remember most about this experience was that it was freezing. It was also wet and muddy- sometimes dangerously so (lights and their power generators and cables don't mix well with "wet"). How a Los Angeles set manages to seem freezing and wet to a native Colorado ski bunny is beyond me. I played a 1970's-ish circus goer who witnesses an "accident" on the aerial silks (the show aired months ago, so if this is a spoiler, I'm sorry, but you need to catch up). I was married with kids. The pressures of the set split our happy family up, though. My husband and I separated. I lost custody halfway through. So did he. Sigh. I miss little… kid.

Not only was it freezing, but the costumes were ridiculously uncomfortable. I still don't quite understand how women could wear polyester, pantyhose and high heels. Simultaneously.

Part of the props also included balloons. Anyone who has known me long enough or who regularly reads this blog understands that this is a pretty serious problem.

I am globophobic (afraid of balloons and yes, it is a real thing and yes, you can shut up). They make me tense up and act like an imbecile. I will leave a grocery store if I can hear them being blown up. When I see a balloon animal artist (or as I view them: terrorist) on my side of the street, I will make an effort to cross to the other side or feign sudden interest in whatever the storefront closest to me has to offer. The situation to the left, for example, in which my "daughter" is mercilessly beating me with a balloon flower, was torture. It's a strange phobia and does not solicit the same sympathy as, say, a fear of heights or a fear of spiders. I usually just keep my mouth shut about it and hope I don't reveal too much to the person walking with me. (note: I recently tried to overcome this fear by participating in/orchestrating a photo shoot. The results of this test are on my facebook page.)

Of course, "my kids" wanted balloons and balloon animals more than they wanted sugar (which on that set, was saying something). They also insisted on attacking both me and my camera with them. I wore a brave face throughout it all. Three balloons were detonated in front of me. People kept thrusting them into my hands. Honestly, I should get a freaking Oscar for the photo at the bottom of this post. Or an Emmy, this being television. Do they give out Emmy's for stills?

Anyway, it was two days of either standing in the mud or sitting on metallic bleachers and being told to "shush" every three seconds. The popcorn was fake- actually, it was real, but ancient. I am SO glad none of the children eating it plus copious amounts of cotton candy were mine. Seriously. Whose idea was that? "We have a bunch of kids that we need to keep still between shoots on a circus-like set filled with clowns, balloons, and live snakes (I don't think the snakes made the final cut). How do we keep them manageable? I know! Let's give them stale salty popcorn and colored clouds of sugar!"

Turned out they had to cut many of my scenes because the guy in front of me was wearing earrings and they didn't catch it until AFTER the last shot. The result? You can see approximately half of my head for less than a second. I vowed to never again do it, but then, I hit the jackpot of extras gigs...

Extras Experience #1: 100 Questions

After weeks of dialing and dialing, I got my first gig in November of 2009: Bar Patron on the NBC summer season sitcom "100 Questions" (note: this episode will air on Friday. I will try to update with a screencap if I can get one). Since this was going to be my first time on a big television set, I was really excited for the job. That is... until someone not only took the wind out of my sails, but shot a canon through the side of my enthusiasm ship by informing me that you haven't really arrived on the extras scene unless you're in a summer blockbuster and THEY call YOU. Dually noted. From my new perspective on the bottom of the "T'ain't-nothin'" Ocean, I prepared myself for my experience. I was told to come "hair-and-makeup-ready" (this industry is filled with terms spawned from bad English, more on that later), which required the purchase of makeup. I ended up spending about $50 to make my $8/hour. I took one stealthy picture of my costume in the bathroom because I was terrified of being sued or killed. I also respect the "No Spoilers" rule and the concept of "sensitive information," so it's not just a matter of self preservation. I've since learned that a picture of myself in a business suit does not count as "sensitive information." In fact, how do you know this is not just a picture of me from some office job in 2002?

As a girl who once made television sets in her desk at school, it was surreal to finally be on the set and stare at all of the toys. It was all I imagined it to be and more! Lights, camera, lots of inaction mixed with frenzied moments of action, baseball caps, gaffing tape! There were only three walls and bleachers (complete with "Applause" light). A particularly fun Hollywood moment came when we were told that in the event of an earthquake, we should run to the nearest wall. The nearest REAL wall. The director was loud and had a British accent. Only he and the first AD were either allowed to laugh at the jokes or thought they were funny (I'm leaning toward the latter- note the earlier description of "NBC summer season sitcom"). And I'm pretty sure James Cameron was the second AD. Why not? I don't think he had anything better to do at the time...

I met people who were happy to be there and revved up about the industry, and jaded, miserable folks who should probably seek out other careers. I found myself somewhere in between. "Content" would be the best way to put it. After all was said and done, though, I'd had enough fun that I decided to try to land another gig.

Extra! Extra!

Ah, yes. It's about time I got around to writing about this! It's been, without a doubt, the activity my friends and family are most interested in hearing about. I had a bit of cash saved up before I moved out here, so I was able to play a little bit before "buckling down" and finding a "real job." I decided to skip on down to Central Casting and sign on to be an extra- sorry, "background actor." That's right; I just basically implied that being an extra is not a "real job." Also, I used a semicolon. Read on THAT!

Granted, some people have managed to make it such, and I applaud their success (and wonder how much Top Ramen they must eat), but it is NOT for the faint of heart. Often times referred to as "dots" or "blurs," extras are treated with absolutely zero respect. Don't get me wrong, I don't expect respect (soon to be a new hit song), but here I am referring to such an extreme lack of respect that you don't even feel like a human being. The props are quite literally treated better than you are. As a non-union extra, you make $8 an hour to stand on your feet all day, often in uncomfortable attire, and to be shushed like a five year old every time you yawn, sneeze, or say "hi" to your fellow extras. But if it's worth it to you to have a little bit of yourself attached to a project or to see that star you always wanted to meet, read on:

Here's how it works: you go down to "Central" at the most inconvenient time on a weekday morning. You listen to their spiel. You stand in a long-ass line with dozens of other Hollywood hopefuls. You register with them (SSN, DLN, W-2, height, measurements, dress size, special talents, car type, "how far will you go," the works). You stand in another long-ass line. You stand in front of a camera (about as sophisticated as the DMV) and get a picture taken. One. You do not get to see said picture. They hand you a packet of papers and give you a phone number to call. You call said phone number. Again. And again. MANY times per day. You listen to pre-recorded job postings and hope to hear one that sounds like something you match and that is something you might actually like to do. You listen to the WHOLE THING because often they only want your car, or your specific breed of dog, or they want you to jump into a swimming pool with all of your clothes on (repeatedly) or shave your head or be a professional soccer coach or a biker or stripper or something (yes, I've heard all of these) and they seem to want to put this critical information last. You call another number to talk to the agent that posted this call. This number will be busy. Always. (I guess a lot of people fit "non-union woman between the ages of 21 to 71.") You call again and again and again (because you have nothing better to do) or you pay $75 a month to have someone else do it for you (keeping in mind that you will still only make $8/hour when they find you work). IF you get the gig, they will give you almost NO information about where it is or what you will be doing or how long it will take because again, you have nothing better to do and can put everything else on hold. If you don't get the gig (after all of that), you spend the next several hours worrying that you sneezed or a bug landed on your face in that headshot you never got to see. They give you yet another number to call the night before your job. You call that number (note: get a phone plan with unlimited minutes). They pre-scold you for being late and/or not having everything you need. They tell you to bring your own clothes and often something you would never own and will need to buy (i.e. pantyhose). You try to sleep the night before because your call time is often early in the morning (6:15AM) or late at night (10PM), running until early in the morning. You fight traffic to get to set on time. You fail. You park as far away as possible from the set. You arrive and check in with the 2nd AD or a PA who will either ignore you or call you sweetheart. You go sit in "holding" which is often a tent with a bunch of metal folding chairs in it. You talk to some cool people and a couple of crazy folks. They tell you to be quiet. They tell you to go to costume, hair and makeup, all three of which will tell you to go away because no one is really going to see you and they don't want to waste their time. You swallow sadness and immerse yourself in a good book. You get called to set. They tell you to be quiet. A lot. Even if the crew is making all of the noise, they will blame the "background talent" for the hammering. You do your thirty seconds of bad "casual conversation" pantomime. You feel good because you SWEAR the camera is, like, totally right on you the whole time! They feed you (usually). You finish your "day." You go home and tell all of your family and friends to tune into whatever show at whatever time. A week later, you get a paycheck for approximately $80 for ten+ hours of work. Your episode airs or your film is released. Two people report possibly seeing the back of your head for half a second. One of them is your mother. It turns out that it was not your head, but you don't tell anyone that. You swear you are never going to do it again. Two weeks later, you call the pre-recorded line and start the process all over again. This time you just know you're going to get that SAG voucher!*

However, like all experiences, crappy or otherwise, being an extra expands my library of fun stories to tell, and I shall share them here- with pictures (where possible)! You know, someone should make a television show based on their experiences as an extra. It might be really funny! They could get awesome actors to guest star. Ooh, ooh! I'd love to see Ian McKellan do something on a show like that...

(*You need to get three vouchers before you can join the Screen Actor's Guild, which is every non-union extra's dream. Once you have your vouchers, you pay SAG a large sum of money and then you can actually begin making a more livable wage from doing "background" work.)

Burbank

"One does not simply walk into Mordor.  It’s black gates are guarded by more than just orcs.  There is evil there that does not sleep.  The great eye is ever watchful.  It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust.  The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume.  Not with ten thousand men could you do this.  It is folly."

Well, clearly, Boromir would NOT win an Independent Spirit Award.

(What's that?  TWO Lord of the Rings references in a row?  Yep.)

Let’s just say Burbank is not a place I would like to live.  Ever.  I knew this before I moved to California (in fact, when people trashtalk Los Angeles, they have usually only been to either the Burbank/Studio City area or Downtown Hollywood), but it was confirmed for me on the first day of 110 degree weather and asthma attacks from pollution that it is not a place I should call home.

Burbank is located in the armpit of the San Fernando Valley.  While it is home to many television, film and animation studios, it also hosts some of the worst air in the country. The mountains surrounding the Valley make it impossible for the pollution to go anywhere.  These same mountains keep hot, stagnant air hot and stagnant.  It is also the home and workplace of many a wannabe producer or aspiring... something or other.  The result is a nice warm blanket of asphyxiating poison in which many people are behaving badly because they are obsessed with obtaining or keeping power.

Mordor.

To give you an idea: every day there was a new, thin layer of an unidentifiable "dust" on my car (or as we called it in New York: "schmutz").  I had a constant sore throat.  It got so hot the day after I arrived that the glue from my shoes in the trunk of my car melted.  The soles curled back and peeled themselves off à la the The Wizard of Oz.  And it was only 10AM.  It also didn't help that there was a hill on fire a few miles away from where I was staying.  According to my twitter feed, I wasn't the only one making Lord of the Rings connections...

Still, I was staying with the right people (who I thank ad vitam aeternam for their hospitality).  And since then, I have worked several jobs in that area.  Forty hours a week is doable.  I've gotten to know the area fairly well and have seen that it has its good sides, too.  For example, there are many highways that exit out of it.

Okay, it IS really cool that every street you turn down is film-related.  And it IS really cool that you can see famous people all over the place.  I never recognize them, but I hear they are there.  And that’s cool.  I geek out taking the studio tours and working on sets and visiting friends who work there.  It’s also really cool that there is… like… an Ikea there… or something.

Anyway, my point is...

...I don't know.  I didn't have a point, I guess.  This is a blog.

I quickly tuned my apartment hunting radar system (which is www.westsiderentals.com for those with an interest in finding housing out this way) to “West Side” and tried to get out of there as quickly as I could.  I may have to work there from time to time, but I like to be able to step outside and breathe some fresh air, too.

Nah, Burbank, you’re okay, doll.  You know what?  Have your people call my people and we’ll… have our people talk to each other.  I’m not committing to lunch at Barad-dûr...

Changes!

"Greetings from California. I've been very busy. Am having a great time trying to make it as a writer in LA. It's just as easy as everyone thinks it is. I've been working the room at a lot of Hollywood parties." –Brian Griffin, Family Guy Yep, so here I am: Los Angeles. City of Dreams. City of Angels. “Lala Land.”

To be more precise, I am in Santa Monica, a much saner neighbor that is closer to the beach and smells a bit nicer, but for all intents and purposes, it is Los Angeles. The film industry spreads its sinuous tentacles all the way to the edge of the west coast and even dips them out into the Pacific (at least as far out as the surfers can go)…

If you read my blog, you might be somewhat confused by this. The last time I posted anything, I was in Colorado. Sure, I had expressed a desire to move, but I kind of just dropped everything and… went. Also, if you read my blog, I’m sorry. It was part of the everything I dropped. I plan to rectify this, however.

If you’ve been here before, you may have noticed that things have changed. I have a simplified site that has integrated my blog so that they don’t live in two places. Per people who know, it’s a major paradigm shift that has optimized my workflow and synergized my… um…

It was a big job and I think it looks prettier and does fancy things that you can’t see on your side.

So… welcome! Or welcome back. I won’t leave this hanging- won’t leave comment-leavers out on the periphery of “approval” while I try to remember my password for the 85th time. More importantly, I’ve got a lot of great stories to share and have a burning desire to do so. Hollywood is an interesting place for a lover of astronomy when most here can’t seem to see the universe for the Stars...

"I Was a Film School Reject"

These may be words that come out of my mouth someday in an interview with Filmmaker magazine or Inside the Actor's Studio.  I'll say those words right after James Lipton asks me what my favorite swear word is... I have officially received the "best of luck in all of your endeavors" letter from the film and video program at CalArts.  I have to admit that I wasn't really expecting that.  I was expecting to panic about having to find a way to pay the extremely high tuition costs at that school after having been accepted.  Based on the advice of people I've known who have gone to that school or who currently work there, I thought I had a real shot.

Yeah, that might seem a little cocky, sure.  I am pretty confident in my abilities, though, and 100% sure of my ambitions and motivations.  I also think my work shows at least a little talent.  If not, I think the potential is there.  It's quite possible that I had just applied too late, applied to the wrong program, expressed too much love for Terry Gilliam or the color blue, or just didn't have the academic recommendations or variety of film work they wanted.  Whatever their reasons, I know what I'm not doing in September, now I just have to figure out what I am doing...

Why am I sharing this with the world? Because I learned something valuable in all of this:  if you really want to know more about yourself as an artist, apply for an MFA!  Even if you don't get in, it's worth the application fee to discover valuable things you may not have known about yourself.  I learned so much about myself, my influences, my goals, and my ambitions and desires through writing my "artist's statement," and my "thoughts and influences" and whatnot that I actually still feel more confident than defeated by the rejection.  In fact, my personality is such that it makes me more determined to do what I want to do.  In the end, all this means to me is that I'm saving $36,000 in tuition this year.  That money might be better served as an investment in my own film, anyway.

I share it too because perhaps this could apply to a lot of people in a lot of situations- not just artists seeking MFAs.  You might get rejected, but you have to try.  So many of us build up walls around ourselves and live in "some day" while the world goes on around us- we don't apply for that job or that scholarship, ask that cute boy out, tell someone we love them, move to that new place, etc. because we feel that a "better time" might come along...  So far, the only thing I have gained from that philosophy in my short lifetime has been a feeling of regret.  So I'm plowing forward full speed.  I'm proud of my rejection.

Just thought I would share that with the inter-sphere, the web-iverse, or what have you.  We tend to be critical of ourselves and one another fairly easily, but support and understanding is often a little harder to find.  Whoever you are in the world, let your freak flag fly!  I don't know why we have to make things so hard on ourselves and on each other, but often times, we do.

In response to one of Lipton's other "10 questions," when he asks "If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?"  My answer will be "yeah, so... sorry about all of that weird shit." :)

War of the Worlds 2.0

Hope everyone had a Happy Halloween! If you didn't notice, my last two blog posts were a little... unusual.  While stargazing is a favorite pastime of mine, a few of the things I wrote about were... shall we say... "slanted" for entertainment purposes.  Hey, at least I'm telling you.  Hollywood never extends you that courtesy when they stretch scientific truths.  I'm talking to you, "The Day After Tomorrow" (though I still loves ya in my geeky way).

Everything I wrote about in my "Planetary Stargazing" post is 100% true.  Every time I take my telescope out, I look for Saturn and Jupiter first (and then I head over to the Orion Nebula and the Andromeda Galaxy, if the time of year is right).  It was, however, a setup for an online mulitplayer reenactment of Orson Welles' famous radio broadcast of "War of the Worlds."  It was called "War of the Worlds 2.0" and it was set in motion by these folks at Twitter.  Twitter, as many of you know, is a sort of broadcast mini blogging system.  Those of us who took part in the broadcast offered updates throughout the day as we made our way through the carnage and terror.  The puppet masters at WotW 2.0 told us what was going on so that we were all on the same timeline.  Obviously, I made more of these updates via Twitter than I did via my blog because in the event of an alien invasion, I would be FAR more likely to have my iPhone with me for Twitter updates than I would be to carry a laptop around for making coherent, lengthy observations.  Whether or not said iPhone (or even Twitter) would be up and running in such an event is another matter.  Hey, it's still fiction.

Which brings me to my "Flee?  Not me!" post.  Yeah, this one was a crock.  I mean, it's all real, but it wasn't observed two nights ago and no one was fleeing (that I know of).  The first two videos I linked to were taken about two years ago by local Colorado news traffic copters.  It is actually footage of a Russian rocket body re-entering the Earth's atmosphere.  It is NOT, as the idiots at Fox "concluded" the Quadrantid meteor shower.  For my full, original rant on that subject, read my post on Chicken Little and the Notion of God.  I mention it about halfway down.  The third video is footage of a fireball (big freakin' meteor) that someone captured.  I offered them up here on my blog as the kind of post a quizzical astronomy enthusiast/healthy skeptic would write if alien cylinders were raining down on the planet.

I, for the record, am not that healthy skeptic.  I would simply assume they were UFOs and run around pointlessly through the streets, praying to whatever god would take me.  I mean, I've seen movies.  Duh.  Ahem.

If you are interested in reading about my "very bad day," I will be posting my tweet feed within a day or so (I have to move into my new house first).  I'll included a couple of other folks for clarity's sake (because I "reply" to them), but there were too many players who made this fun for me to really list everyone.  You can also see the archive of the entire War of the Worlds 2.0 event here.

Flee? Not Me!

Exciting stuff today! Turns out last night was the perfect night to look at the stars! Check out this atmospheric weirdness:

And:

What is all this stuff? It's NOT a meteor shower, I can tell you that. The quadrantids? I wish they were that cool! Not only that, but the first two burnt up like something unnatural- something man-made. I'm guessing it's a satellite or a rocket or something. I just can't figure out why there are so many of them all over the place. Some people are freaking out and skipping town. I'm going to investigate. Apparently there are some on the ground.

Planetary Stargazing

I have to say, it is always a pleasure to look at the planets when stargazing. They are sometimes shockingly bright. Venus is so striking that it is often called in as a UFO when it is at its brightest. Even if you don't have a telescope, the planets "stand out" in their way in the heavens- they don't twinkle as much as their neighboring stars, they are always in a different place in the sky, and their colors tend to stand out (particularly Mars, which is a bright red/orange). However, if you DO have a telescope, they can be a real treat. The first time I looked at Saturn through a telescope, I remember seeing the shadow cast by the rings on its globe. I suddenly felt very dizzy and became keenly aware of the fact that I was standing on a similar globe- a "planet" called Earth. I realized that the solid ground upon which I was standing was in fact a sphere hurtling faster than I could imagine through the vastness of space (a sphere many times smaller than the one I was looking at through the telescope).

Many people never experience this sense of smallness and wonderment. I might add that many of these people also tend to be the "skeptical" voices when it comes to life outside of this planet. Once you start reflecting upon the vastness of space and the variety within our own solar system, extraterrestrial life doesn't seem to be so far-fetched. In fact, we seem to be making new discoveries of extra-solar planets, and possibly even Earth-like planets, every day. Just one more variable becoming more of a certainty in the famous Drake equation supporting the likelihood of extraterrestrial life!

If you have clear skies and even a good pair of binoculars, I suggest trying to find Jupiter (and its four largest moons, which are easy to see with a small telescope), Saturn (and its rings), and of course, the red home of many a terrestrial science experiment: Mars (and its ice caps). I plan on doing so tonight, as we are having unseasonably warm weather and crystal-clear skies! In fact, it's odd how still it is right now...

The Toaster Incident

No, this is not a Battlestar Gallactica post. Once upon a time, I fell in love with a boy.  This was my freshman year in college and I was a bit naive.  He was an RA and the "contrary" type, so he decided to organize a group spring break trip to Canada, rather than follow the crowds to Mexico.  I eagerly signed up for this trip.  It turned out I was his only taker, which was fine by me.  My mind began making the situation terribly romantic.

I had never traveled to a foreign country at this point.  This boy advised me not to change any money (you get ripped off), not to worry about traveler's checks, and that it was probably just fine that I didn't have a credit card, that cashing a check at a bank would probably be good enough.  Like I said, I was a bit naive, so I just believed him.  After all, he told everyone he was Canadian, so he must know (he was not).  And with as much planning as that, we were on our way to Toronto.

We arrived on a Saturday- just late enough for the banks to have closed.  Canadian banks, like US banks, are closed on Sundays, and Monday was a holiday.  We were returning Tuesday morning.  In short, I was broke and totally dependent on the finances of this guy, who had only really planned to pay for himself.  This made me feel more like an obligation than a romantic traveling companion, and a complete idiot for not having done the research myself.

This wasn't the end of the world.  While the situation was not ideal, it was okay.  At least, it was okay until we got to the hotel.  The White House hotel: a two star hotel/restaurant (the latter had been boarded up) located in the heart of the... something... district.  It had that "check the sheets" feel to it.  There was a half-kitchen in the room and a television chained to the dresser.  I was reminded of Josh's (Tom Hanks) first hotel experience in "Big."  Suddenly, I wished that my love interest was maybe just a little bit of a conformist.  Cancun was sounding kind of nice.

Still, we can trudge through a lot for love (and we often put up with more than we should).  That first night, we saw a movie together:  "Fargo."  Romantic it weren't.  How can you hold someone's hand through a movie in which a guy kidnaps his own wife and someone gets put through a wood chipper?  The next day, we explored Toronto (great city, by the way- I've since been three times) and had dinner at a pizza place, where, being the legal drinking age in Canada, he had wine while I stood by my "I don't drink" philosophy.  The next morning, he became violently ill.  Having never really been drunk in my life at that point, I assumed it was a hangover and let him be.  It became evident, however, that this was more than a simple hangover.  I blame the sausage he had ordered on his side of the pizza.

I watched this boy become more and more ill and started growing concerned (he was also the "I will die before I go to the doctor/hospital" type, so I was getting worried).  I suddenly saw myself alone and penniless in Canada.  We spent most of Monday in the hotel, where I feared he would die.  I read "James and the Giant Peach," sketched, and watched curling on television (those wacky Canadians).  At about 7PM, "Batman Returns" came on and the sun started going down.  I decided that I needed to eat something and had to harass my ill hotel mate for some cash.  We needed money for the cab back to the airport the next day, so he could only afford to give me about $5.

I trotted to the sketchy convenience store down the street and got a can of soup and a couple of popsicles, both of which I thought my slowly-recovering crush could eat, as well.  I figured I could cook the soup on the stove in our room, which suddenly seemed a lot less pointless.  It wasn't much of a dinner and with an empty, angry stomach, I suddenly understood how people end up asking strangers for money.

I returned to the hotel and asked the "concierge" (who, when I left, was "chatting" with the police about an "incident") for a can opener and perhaps some spoons, a pot... anything with which to make/eat soup.  He led me to the dilapidated restaurant where he pulled his only utensil- a large fork- out of a fairly raw-looking piece of meat.  I kindly refused, smiled, thanked him and headed back to the room.

I looked around the kitchenette for a pot.  No luck.  It didn't matter, though.  I was a Girl Scout.  I could cook the soup in the can.  I figured we could also use the plastic courtesy cups in the room as "bowls."  I opened the can using a large knife that I had found.  I was feeling pretty clever until I tried to turn the stove on.  Of course, it didn't work.  My mind went into overdrive as I tried to imagine how I would heat the soup.  I didn't want to re-poison the boy.  Suddenly, I remembered having seen a toaster when I was looking for a pot.  Toasters get hot.  Could I cook soup in a toaster, though?  Before I got my hopes up, I pulled it out, plugged it in, crossed my fingers and turned it on.  Success!  Heat!  Heat can cook!  I placed the metal can of soup on top of one of the slots of the toaster and smiled it as it gradually got hotter.

The only problem with this plan was that the heating wires in toasters tend to turn themselves off at certain temperatures.  This is great if you are avoiding burnt toast, not so great when you are playing MacGyver.  My solution: cool the toaster coils on the side that was not cooking the soup so that it would never overheat.  My method for doing so was blowing on it (fanning it would have cooled both sides and the soup, which was not what I wanted).  While I nearly hyperventilated, my idea worked.  The soup became nice and hot and we had our "dinner." Still somewhat hungry, I curled myself up in a ball and went to sleep, eager to catch our plane the next morning (by which time, thankfully, the boy was on the mend).

Here's the funny thing about life: you have to open yourself to what the world is trying to tell you, even if it's not what you want to hear.  I had imagined myself dependent upon this boy and ended up taking care of him in the end.  Even though the romantic getaway that I had imagined did not transpire, I learned that I have the patience of a saint, that cleverness is more valuable than money and that the romantic mind is capable of placing the scent of roses over the stench of danger.  It took a long time for this lesson to sink in, but I go back to this moment in time every time I feel incapable of solving a problem.

I will never forget the day I successfully cooked soup with a toaster.

Comic-Con Wrapup: Sunday Success!

I was completely trashed by Sunday. I could feel the fever coming on and the muscle relaxers had created... undesirable... digestive problems, but still, I soldiered on. Today was the day I'd get my Dharma Initiative test. It was now or never. Besides, my flight didn't leave until 7pm. I got up early, scoped the place out, asked dozens of people the same questions about the fastest way to get in (there was a bit of a secret to it), and raced to the booth.

"Congratualtions," said the blonde-haired Australian woman I had harangued all weekend. "You're just in time!" I felt ill, yet thrilled. I didn't know a whole lot about the tests, but I did know (from having walked by the booth a million times) that you were videotaped during the interview. I had also heard that there was a live feed of said video on the internets somewhere. I wasn't exactly happy that I was going to be recorded and broadcast in a state of fever and bloatedness, but, eh. I put on a little lip gloss and got over it! I was just happy to get in (by my calculations, only 400-500 people out of over 100,000 got to take this test there... unless, of course, they were able to use their time travel mojo to fit more people into the time slots).

I had to sign a doozy of a disclaimer, signing away the rights to my likeness and whatnot. I even had to sign away the rights to my signing voice. I don't think I've ever signed anything with my voice before! ;) Still, all of this wording was kind of feeding my original suspicion: the winner of this "recruitment" program might get to be an extra on the show (or something like that, anyway- total speculation).

The test was... interesting. Despite my theories, I have NO idea what this is going to end up being about. I found it interesting, though, that the tests were given names and that you could choose which one you were going to take. Maybe that in and of itself is not interesting, but I thought it was very cool that they were all named after moons of Jupiter- most notably, the Galilean Satellites- my most ambitious experimental liquid crystal film project to date! How serendipitous! I chose "Callisto."

I was hoping that the name of the test meant that we'd be quizzed on our knowledge of said moon/mythological figure. I would have swept it! Alas, it was more of a psychological test. Needless to say, my psyche wasn't in the best condition, but I sucked it up and put on a happy Dharma face.

I was ushered into a booth by a hot guy (no pics, sorry). There was another cute guy in the booth. Forgive me for being shallow for a moment, but Comic-Con isn't exactly filled with smiling male hotness, so it kind of stands out. To be fair, the Dharma women were also very beautiful, as you can (kind of ) see in the pic. Fantastic. Two hot guys and a potential "audition" taping of sorts and I feel like crap!

They were very friendly, though. I tried not to be nervous. I sat down... in the wrong chair. D'oh! I sat down again. Okay. First objective met: sit! Before I even started answering questions, guy #2 observed and took notes (I shall call him "The Silent One" because he said almost nothing the whole time). Guy #1 explained how everything was going to go down.

I was given a set of headphones and told to watch a television screen. A female voice spoke to me. I was told to hold a number up to the camera and state my full name, looking into the camera. I noticed that the camera I was told to speak to was NOT the one doing the recording- there were two other cameras on either side. If this had been an actual interview, I'd have freaked out completely. Who was on the other side of those cameras?

A countdown commenced. I was asked to say the word "continuum" three times, louder with each iteration. I was asked how I felt. The test continued with other questions ("If anything is possible, is nothing also possible?") and a series of images for which I had to say the first word that came to mind. The test ended by asking me what peace sounded like. I think it was peace, anyway. Something tranquil. "Water" was my answer. Most of this test is available online at www.dharmawantsyou.com for anyone who wants to play along. The only real difference is the pressure. The online test is multiple choice and NOT videotaped. Also, I think there is only one test.

I passed! Okay, I haven't heard of anyone not passing, but I was told that they liked that I seemed confident in most of my answers. Yay me! I was given a card with a number and a bar code. I was told I was not to show anyone the card or the number, and that if I did, I would be disqualified. I have used the number so far to register on the site, but the bar code has not come in handy yet.

I had decided to head to the airport immediately after my test so that I could try to get on an earlier flight, or, failing that, at least sit still and watch some videos for a while. I ended up sitting at the terminal for several hours and finally arriving in Denver at midnight. By the time I got home, I felt awful. I basically slept for the next three days. Oh, and I made an origami crane out of the Dharma flyers from Comic-Con (instructions for doing so were printed on the back):

Dharma Initiative recruitment flyer origami crane

Namaste!

(For those who don't watch "Lost," the Dharma Initiative is a group that is associated with that show and this is part of an ARG/viral marketing campaign for the next season.)

Comic Con: Saturday Afternoon Panels

I love Battlestar Galactica. I had a few reservations about attending the panel, however. I don't watch the shows "live," I get them on DVD (no cable) and I don't like spoilers. None of that mattered, though. Despite the fact that I stood in line for an hour and a half, I wound up being about 20 people away from getting through the door. I just sat on the floor and watched the Lost panel on my iPhone (yes, it went online that fast) and playing Aurora Feint (obsessed) while I waited for the next panel: Chuck.

I keep getting stuck with Chuck! It's an interesting show and all, but I just haven't been sucked into it. And yet here I was watching the panel. It turned out to be entertaining, so I didn't mind sitting through it to secure a seat. I was really only hoping to be present for the final panel of the day: Fringe!

Fringe panel at Comic Con - J. J. Abrams, Roberto Orci, Alex Kurtzman, Bryan Burk, Jeff Pinkner, Anna Torv, Josh Jackson, and John Noble at the "Fringe" panel

I'm totally excited for this show, I can't help it! The viral marketing has totally sucked me in (as has the fact that the team that created "Alias" is behind it). Unfortunately, I missed out on a massive Fringe-themed scavenger hunt that took place after the panel. D'oh! By the time I realized that the swag they handed me was actually a clue, I was already on the trolley out of town. Of course, when I went to seek clue #2 the next day it was over. By that time, though, I was feeling pretty rotten, so it was probably better that I'd slept.

J.J. Abrams is one cool guy. I like almost everything he's ever been involved with (and of course, he gave me the coolest laptop ever). Most of the panel questions were directed at him (it's hard to come up with questions for a show you haven't seen yet and for which they will offer no spoilers). He talked about his love of fan involvement in the form of mystery solving (duh) and how much he enjoyed finding the "Nina's" in Al Hirschfeld cartoons. He certainly offers his fans plenty of Nina's! He also told the story of the "mystery box:" His uncle (? I think) used to take him to a magic shop. They sold something called a "mystery box." It was a box that cost $15 and they promised that there was about $75 worth of stuff in it (these are the numbers I remember- don't kill me if they aren't accurate). He saved up the $15 and bought the box, but found that the mystery was more compelling than the actual booty inside. He has yet to open the box. Yeah, he's kind of my hero!

Fringe at Comc-Con - J. J. Abrams, Roberto Orci, and Alex Kurtzman

I still don't know a whole lot about the show. I didn't see the premiere, but I got to see enough at this panel to know that it is not an "X-files" ripoff, as some have suggested. I also know that Anna Torv is one of the most compelling people to look at. She didn't say a lot, but she kept catching my attention. She's gorgeous and has a "deep in thought" sort of aire. Josh Jackson and John Noble also have that feel to them. You know that thing where you see someone in a store and you think "wow, that guy looks like he could be an interesting character in a movie. He seems shrouded in mystery. Maybe he leads a double life! Yeah, he's a spy or a brilliant scientist whose views are too far-out for the mainstream scientific community, but he's actually got information that could save us all..." (Or am I the only one who sizes people up in this way?) Whoever is in charge of casting for his shows is brilliant, IMO.

Fringe at Comic-Con - Anna Torv and Josh Jackson

Comic-Con: Saturday Morning Cartoons

Turns out that missing the "Lost" panel was a good thing. It was on youtube later (no surprises there). Of course, Matthew Fox was there (drool), but he probably would have been a mere speck on the stage, so faint that like a distant Messier object, one would only have been able to see him by not looking directly at the stage. I digress. This thing is about comics anyway, right? Sheesh. I decided to go see the "Tori Amos: Comic Book Tattoo" panel instead. I now had plenty of time to stand in line and Tori is one of my personal heroes. We share a birthday and a mutual long-term relationship with the piano.

I got there pretty early and there was no line, so I decided to sit in on the Ralph Bakshi panel. Sadly, it was pretty empty for being one of the more inspirational and interesting panels there. I probably enjoyed it much more than I would have enjoyed the "Heroes" panel, to be quite honest (and I haven't seen it on youtube yet). This guy is one of the big "oldschool" animators. He directed "Fritz the Cat" and the animation for "Cool World." He's a feisty New Yorker with a serious hatred for the current presidential regime administration. He seems optimistic about the medium of animation and offered advice on how to overcome financial limitations, even arguing that they essentially make you a better filmmaker! What a cool panel!

The Tori panel was even more inspirational! "Comic Book Tattoo" is an anthology of comics. Each comic is drawn by a different artist and makes up a story for songs that she has written. One needed to purchase said book in order to get an autograph from the artists and Tori later on, but it is about 490 pages and my back hurt. I've never been big on autographs and there was other stuff I wanted to see. Amazon.com it is (still waiting for it).

Several of the artists were there, Tori, of course, was there- and in an outrageous outfit, to boot (don't worry. I'm not going to offend your eyes with another blurry, bright and distant photo)! It was a very open panel, with each artist talking about their fears and struggles as an artist, even Tori. It made me want to tackle all of my projects and feel... not so insane (and not so guilty for the break I've taken from the heaviness lately). I can't wait to take a look at the book.