I know I should blog... But I'm so tired! But I will. I'm working on a feature -- unpaid, but I'm a grip. It's FUN. The material is slightly lacking, I must admit, but I still actually want to see the movie. Regardless, the crew (AND CAST, fer once) are the most fun I've worked with. Actually, I've worked with a lot of them before. But it's funner than ever! I drive home with a sore face from laughing so much. Oh, and we do some work and shit too. I've been on dolly because the DP thinks I'm good at it, which is pretty sweet. (Someone else was doing it first, then they had me try it, and now they only let me! If I'm working on something else, it's all like, hey, where's Kristina, someone else do that, she has to come dolly grip!) The tough one was no track (and the wheels are always slightly wobbly even when locked, so you have no choice but to steer), fast backward move into a space with only about a foot on each side of us without hitting something (a car and a pillar), with a retarded PA wrangling my cables (so I had to avoid tripping over them -- the cables AND the retarded PA). And it may not have been my BEST work, but it WORKED! The rest has been good. I love it.
As much as I'd love to do this forever... I really need some paying work. Stat.
But I'm having a fucking good time, and I'm not doubting my decision to quit the doorknob job for a second. That place sucked. PAST TENSE NOW, thank you very much.
Oh, I tried to get OSHA to investigate them, and they said they would certainly do an inspection based on what I told them -- IF I was a current employee. Fucking government, the fact that I was surprised by that just goes to show what a dumbass I am... I told them repeatedly that I could not report the place when I worked there as I WOULD have been fired, much like the girl who was fired after filing a sexual harrassment complaint. Fucking shit. I give up. They're going to Send A Letter, though. Super awesome! That'll teach those mofos to poison their employees!
Oh well. Bygones. I do miss some of my coworkers, but really, I mean, not that I don't miss THEM, but I don't miss working with them if it means doing that instead of this. And I'll see them. So I guess I don't miss actually working with them. At least not as much as I thought. I will stay in touch.
Damn, I'm fuckin' pooped.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Happy 7-7-7!
If 2007 is the year of Kristina, you'd think today would be THE DAY of Kristina. I haven't had anything particularly amazing happen to me. Yet. I can't imagine what that would be, anyway.
S & D are at the wedding, hopefully drunk at the reception by now! It was awesome to have D stay for a few days. I -- LOVED it. He's -- hilARious. Now S has to come for a visit too!
If all goes well (which I actually don't think it WILL, but there's still a part of me that hopes), I should be busy through August. But... I have a 3-week unpaid job coming up (I hope NOT to be there for 3 weeks, but will work whenever I don't have paying work), then in Aug. we do pickup shots for the feature I did last summer. Between there, the one I'm not holding out much hope for, is a 4 week STRAIGHT (as in, no days off) paying job. The day rate is good, too. But. That starts in a little over a week and I applied about 2 weeks ago. Haven't heard back. Not a good sign. Sigh.
Other than that... I need to find paying work! Not panicking yet by any means, just need to kick myself in the ass and do it. I like doing all this free grip stuff, and it's valuable, but it doesn't pay the bills quite yet. The good thing is that it will eventually pay them, and better than most things I'd be doing in the biz. Still, I can't devote all my time to free stuff. Much as I wish I could.
It's ungodly outside. Upper-90s and humid. YUCKY. It's supposed to "cool down" to mid-80s by mon., but I think it's going to be a rough shoot. It's all in a warehouse, so I'm assuming it's not AC'd. But I'm also assuming it's at night (it's a horror movie where scary things happen while some bad guys are hiding in a warehouse -- touted as "Reservoir Dogs with ghosts"), so that should help a wee.
The weather is making my crabby, though.
S & D are at the wedding, hopefully drunk at the reception by now! It was awesome to have D stay for a few days. I -- LOVED it. He's -- hilARious. Now S has to come for a visit too!
If all goes well (which I actually don't think it WILL, but there's still a part of me that hopes), I should be busy through August. But... I have a 3-week unpaid job coming up (I hope NOT to be there for 3 weeks, but will work whenever I don't have paying work), then in Aug. we do pickup shots for the feature I did last summer. Between there, the one I'm not holding out much hope for, is a 4 week STRAIGHT (as in, no days off) paying job. The day rate is good, too. But. That starts in a little over a week and I applied about 2 weeks ago. Haven't heard back. Not a good sign. Sigh.
Other than that... I need to find paying work! Not panicking yet by any means, just need to kick myself in the ass and do it. I like doing all this free grip stuff, and it's valuable, but it doesn't pay the bills quite yet. The good thing is that it will eventually pay them, and better than most things I'd be doing in the biz. Still, I can't devote all my time to free stuff. Much as I wish I could.
It's ungodly outside. Upper-90s and humid. YUCKY. It's supposed to "cool down" to mid-80s by mon., but I think it's going to be a rough shoot. It's all in a warehouse, so I'm assuming it's not AC'd. But I'm also assuming it's at night (it's a horror movie where scary things happen while some bad guys are hiding in a warehouse -- touted as "Reservoir Dogs with ghosts"), so that should help a wee.
The weather is making my crabby, though.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
I don't have to fuckin' get up tomorrow
'Cept I will.
Because Donnie is coming!
And I need to e-mail people.
But.
I can stay up late effing around on my 'puter if I want.
Because I don't have to go to work!
Because Donnie is coming!
And I need to e-mail people.
But.
I can stay up late effing around on my 'puter if I want.
Because I don't have to go to work!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
HOW old am I?
Seriously. Not to harp on this, because I think I've mentioned it before, but it's getting a little ridiculous, and I want to know what the hell, please.
Today I was talking to a film dude and he asked how old I was. I hesitated... I've actually decided not to volunteer that information, since I'm newer at this -- best to let people think I'm younger than think of me as an old lady starting out where the 22-year-olds are. But I did tell him I'm 30, and he was all, "shut up!" And I was all, "nuh-uh, serious!" (No, I don't talk like that. That was sarcasm. That's NOT why people think I'm 12.)
Earlier this week I was playing floorball and we were picking teams. The guy we all knew to be the oldest one there suggested we go by age -- oldest and youngest to start with. A few people looked at me, although some know my age. The other contender for youngest said that would probably be me (I mean, me, not him referring to himself -- I GOTTA start using quotation marks more fastidiously). I said, uh, no, I'm pretty sure it's you, and asked his age. TWENTY-THREE. A Twenty-three-year-old thought I was younger than TWENTY-THREE.
Fuchrissake.
One of the first times I went to floorball, people asked if I was going to the bar with them afterward. Another of the young 'uns asked if I was old enough to drink. I assumed that was a joke and said aww, he's my new best friend, etc. Now I gotta wonder if he was FREAKING SERIOUS.
I mean, we all want to stay youthful (HA, I acutally just mistyped "useful" there -- freudian?), it's been pounded into our psyches by the magazines and such. I'd like to be a youthful 30, sure. BUT I AM NOT 22. I haven't been for some time. I'd LIKE to think I've had some life experiences in that time that have given me at least SOME essence of wisdom, even the hardships. (Don't get me wrong, I'm lucky for the extent of the hardships I've had in my life -- still, I HAVE had my problems.) Does NOTHING I've done show on my face? Hell, even 5 years of fucking doorknobs oughta get me something.
Anyway. I'm starting to get a little pissed off about this. Looking young is one thing, but people thinking you're hardly more than a child is upsetting. I KNOW it's partly my voice. This is why (OK, it's not WHY, but it doesn't help me change the fact that) I smoke. Maybe some day I will sound like a real grownup. But in the meantime, PLEASE, can someone tell me how to ACT MORE LIKE THE ADULT THAT I AM?
(NOTE: I do not mean that in any sense of the phrase that my mother would presume. I'm not going to poop out a kid or buy a house or whatever "grownups" are supposed to do. How can I be myself, yet be seen as an adult version of that self?)
Today I was talking to a film dude and he asked how old I was. I hesitated... I've actually decided not to volunteer that information, since I'm newer at this -- best to let people think I'm younger than think of me as an old lady starting out where the 22-year-olds are. But I did tell him I'm 30, and he was all, "shut up!" And I was all, "nuh-uh, serious!" (No, I don't talk like that. That was sarcasm. That's NOT why people think I'm 12.)
Earlier this week I was playing floorball and we were picking teams. The guy we all knew to be the oldest one there suggested we go by age -- oldest and youngest to start with. A few people looked at me, although some know my age. The other contender for youngest said that would probably be me (I mean, me, not him referring to himself -- I GOTTA start using quotation marks more fastidiously). I said, uh, no, I'm pretty sure it's you, and asked his age. TWENTY-THREE. A Twenty-three-year-old thought I was younger than TWENTY-THREE.
Fuchrissake.
One of the first times I went to floorball, people asked if I was going to the bar with them afterward. Another of the young 'uns asked if I was old enough to drink. I assumed that was a joke and said aww, he's my new best friend, etc. Now I gotta wonder if he was FREAKING SERIOUS.
I mean, we all want to stay youthful (HA, I acutally just mistyped "useful" there -- freudian?), it's been pounded into our psyches by the magazines and such. I'd like to be a youthful 30, sure. BUT I AM NOT 22. I haven't been for some time. I'd LIKE to think I've had some life experiences in that time that have given me at least SOME essence of wisdom, even the hardships. (Don't get me wrong, I'm lucky for the extent of the hardships I've had in my life -- still, I HAVE had my problems.) Does NOTHING I've done show on my face? Hell, even 5 years of fucking doorknobs oughta get me something.
Anyway. I'm starting to get a little pissed off about this. Looking young is one thing, but people thinking you're hardly more than a child is upsetting. I KNOW it's partly my voice. This is why (OK, it's not WHY, but it doesn't help me change the fact that) I smoke. Maybe some day I will sound like a real grownup. But in the meantime, PLEASE, can someone tell me how to ACT MORE LIKE THE ADULT THAT I AM?
(NOTE: I do not mean that in any sense of the phrase that my mother would presume. I'm not going to poop out a kid or buy a house or whatever "grownups" are supposed to do. How can I be myself, yet be seen as an adult version of that self?)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Sweeeeet justice and the few sources of excitement in my daily existence
They caught the little bastards. It was the first two little guys who were still in the rink that I yelled at first! One of the ones I KNEW was lying! (Although the leader was the cute wide-eyed innocent looking one who did the talking -- there's a punk in the making.) So I feel good that a) they got in trouble, b) I WAS FUCKING RIGHT, and c) that those little fucks are banned from the park from now on (per the park lady). She said they'd try to get my money back, but I said it's not a big deal, I'm just glad the little shits got in trouble. MAYBE one or two less grownup thugs in the making? Doubt it, but I gotta have the hope that something good will come of this besides a bunch of kids getting a pizza party on me (which is what they did with it -- I guess that's good thing #d -- they didn't buy their first crack pipe or anything. Almost touchingly wholesome, really).
It's hot, so I put my window AC in. GodDAMN that thing is loud, and it's right behind my head when I sit on my couch, making it very difficult to watch movies. Last night I was watching a French one with subtitles (Cache), so that was OK, then had to turn the AC off for my partially English movie (Babel). Tonight I watch Trainspotters (yes, FINALLY -- I've been yelled at many times for not having seen it yet) -- subtitles, turn of the AC -- or both??
Yesterday I went to Goodwill and got some actually really cool stuff! I highly recommend it. Some of their clothes aren't a great deal (most clothes are $5 -- sorry, that's too much for most of it, especially the t-shirt/men's undershirt that I just bought at Target brand-new for $10 for a 2-pack -- WTF?). But their t-shirts (excpet cheap undershirts, apparently) are mostly $2 each. I also found the coolest Japanese schoolkid backpack in brand-new condition for $3.
Today I go to garage sales and Ragstock. I need t-shirts for work now that I'm not dressing up anymore. Actual t-shirts, as in high neckline, as in I can do my job without flashing the world every time I bend over.
I wish I didn't have boobs. Ack, I typed that word again! Bleah!
I also need a large cooler with wheels (so I can be the bestest PA ever -- comes with own action cooler!) and two pitchers (I just learned how to make cold press, the loveliest of the coffee beverages).
So wow, those are the kinds of exciting things I have to talk about when I actually have a whole weekend to myself. Now you wish I was still harping on my film career, don't you? Bwaahahahahahaaaa.
FOUR MORE DAYS OF FUCKING DOORKNOBS (because I'm taking Wednesday off to make an egg commercial). Fuckin' sweet. My replacement starts on Monday, so I get to start training him. :P I really don't feel like training a new person and pretending I DON'T hate this place with a blinding passion, but then, he's gonna figure the place out soon enough. I was gonna say, "unless he's stupid." But even stupid people figure it out within a couple weeks.
It's hot, so I put my window AC in. GodDAMN that thing is loud, and it's right behind my head when I sit on my couch, making it very difficult to watch movies. Last night I was watching a French one with subtitles (Cache), so that was OK, then had to turn the AC off for my partially English movie (Babel). Tonight I watch Trainspotters (yes, FINALLY -- I've been yelled at many times for not having seen it yet) -- subtitles, turn of the AC -- or both??
Yesterday I went to Goodwill and got some actually really cool stuff! I highly recommend it. Some of their clothes aren't a great deal (most clothes are $5 -- sorry, that's too much for most of it, especially the t-shirt/men's undershirt that I just bought at Target brand-new for $10 for a 2-pack -- WTF?). But their t-shirts (excpet cheap undershirts, apparently) are mostly $2 each. I also found the coolest Japanese schoolkid backpack in brand-new condition for $3.
Today I go to garage sales and Ragstock. I need t-shirts for work now that I'm not dressing up anymore. Actual t-shirts, as in high neckline, as in I can do my job without flashing the world every time I bend over.
I wish I didn't have boobs. Ack, I typed that word again! Bleah!
I also need a large cooler with wheels (so I can be the bestest PA ever -- comes with own action cooler!) and two pitchers (I just learned how to make cold press, the loveliest of the coffee beverages).
So wow, those are the kinds of exciting things I have to talk about when I actually have a whole weekend to myself. Now you wish I was still harping on my film career, don't you? Bwaahahahahahaaaa.
FOUR MORE DAYS OF FUCKING DOORKNOBS (because I'm taking Wednesday off to make an egg commercial). Fuckin' sweet. My replacement starts on Monday, so I get to start training him. :P I really don't feel like training a new person and pretending I DON'T hate this place with a blinding passion, but then, he's gonna figure the place out soon enough. I was gonna say, "unless he's stupid." But even stupid people figure it out within a couple weeks.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
A valuable lesson
Well, today I learned one. I went to the park to play floorball, and I left my purse right outside of the hockey rink where we play. Everyone else leaves backpacks, etc. there (no purses, I was the only girl), and you can see people standing UP behind the wall. And I was on the phone and running late and I just didn't think.
A bunch of little children were watching us for a few minutes, then helped themselves to the extra sticks and balls and started playing at the other end of the rink. After a few nervous looks amongst ourselves, we sort of non-verbally came to the consensus to be nice, I guess, and let them play, made sure they were safe and stayed out of the way where we might run them over.
We get done and I see my purse there. Just as a precaution, I check my wallet.
My cash is gone. I figure I had about $34 (I'm not 100% sure, unfortunately -- I think there was a 20, two 5's, and about four 1's). Not a huge sum, but in my current circumstances, that's groceries and "going out" money for a week.
Some of the kids were still there. I surprised myself with my bold demeanor and my ability to be stern, possibly harsh, but totally in control and not swearing (because based on past experiences with being burglarized, I wanted to freak out on their little asses). I marched up to the two still on the court and demanded to know which of their little friends stole money out of my purse. I don't remember the chain of events, but we ended up in a nearby corner of the park with the rest of them, asking them who took my money.
Those little shits just lied. Some other kids did it. Uh-huh. All but two looked innocent, but those two gave it away. One asked me if it was a $20 bill or something. If I'd had a little more presence of mind, I would have nailed her on that -- how did she know there was a 20? I pretty much gave up -- if I called the cops, the little shits would be home and in bed by the time the fuzz showed up. As I was walking away in disgust, a lady from the park walked up -- I just said it was my own goddamn fault and kept walking. I guess she told the other guys that those kids are a bunch of little thieves. The guys agreed later that the little fuckers were lying.
You know what pisses me off more than anything? That I left my fucking purse sitting out where a bunch of little fucking kids could get to it. And that there was nothing I could do about it, and they knew it. If I had taken one menacing step in their direction I'D be arrested, and the 8-10 or so of them could scatter if the cops actually did show up. And even if they caught them, what could the cops do?
And I'm disgusted that we were nice to these little shitheads. Next time, if there is a next time (some of the guys are talking about not going back, but honestly I say we just know better than to be trusting next time -- why give up our park?), one kid steps up to the side of the rink and I'm all over it like flies on shit, baby. Or whatever the phrase is. I'm not afraid of a bunch of little rat children.
THIS is why I'll never fucking breed. Although I'm sure this is a case of shitty parenting. But this is our future, guys. My friend was just telling me about the movie Idiocracy, the upshot of which is that the stupid people keep breeding like bunnies and the smart people, you know, focus on their careers instead of having children, and in 500 years our country is populated with a bunch of halfwits. Not so far from the truth.
I should address this too: part of the reason everyone went easy on them playing with our gear is that they were all black/latino. You know what? Fuck that, you steal my shit, I don't care if you're fucking Jon Benet Ramsey (pretty little white girl, aren't we supposed to love them bestest?). My early childhood was on the "wrong side of town," if my little town has one of those, and I know damn well I hung out with little white kids who would have done the same. In high school I hung out with a bunch of older white kids who I later found out were burglarizing businesses. So fuck that, don't mess with me and don't think I'm going to meekly walk away because you're a) 8, b) black, c) anything else that allegedly qualifies you for my pity. Or that, really, is supposed to make me feel guilty enough about who I am that I'm too afraid to speak out. Because you know what? Besides the odd Post-its from work and some signs in my rebellious days in high school, I've never stolen a goddamn thing in my life. Never even shoplifted a Tootsie Roll. You know why? I could say my parents told me not to, but the other kids' parents did too, I'm sure. They were mostly Catholic, the religion of guilt and prohibitions. I didn't steal stuff because I FUCKING KNEW IT WASN'T MINE AND IT WAS WRONG.
You know what else? It could have been way worse. They could have taken my whole purse, including my keys, my cell phone, my check card, my ID, my checkbook, my day planner (shit!) and oh, say in the case of the last motherfucker who stole my shit, things like keys to a coworker's house and directions to get there, my social security card, my bank info... Anything else? So I was fucking lucky it was only children who only know how to use cash and only took what they could hide on their persons. And, hey, they didn't take the keys and help themselves to my car.
But let this be a lesson to all: people suck. If there's anything they can take from you, you best assume they will. (Unless it's a case like my brother's mugging, where they in fact seemed only interested in beating the shit out of someone -- they took $8 from his wallet, but left his Discman on the ground next to his bloody body.) If you leave your shit unattended for any reason, it may not be your FAULT someone else's actions resulted in the loss of said shit, but you really have no one to blame but your own stupid naive-assed self.
A bunch of little children were watching us for a few minutes, then helped themselves to the extra sticks and balls and started playing at the other end of the rink. After a few nervous looks amongst ourselves, we sort of non-verbally came to the consensus to be nice, I guess, and let them play, made sure they were safe and stayed out of the way where we might run them over.
We get done and I see my purse there. Just as a precaution, I check my wallet.
My cash is gone. I figure I had about $34 (I'm not 100% sure, unfortunately -- I think there was a 20, two 5's, and about four 1's). Not a huge sum, but in my current circumstances, that's groceries and "going out" money for a week.
Some of the kids were still there. I surprised myself with my bold demeanor and my ability to be stern, possibly harsh, but totally in control and not swearing (because based on past experiences with being burglarized, I wanted to freak out on their little asses). I marched up to the two still on the court and demanded to know which of their little friends stole money out of my purse. I don't remember the chain of events, but we ended up in a nearby corner of the park with the rest of them, asking them who took my money.
Those little shits just lied. Some other kids did it. Uh-huh. All but two looked innocent, but those two gave it away. One asked me if it was a $20 bill or something. If I'd had a little more presence of mind, I would have nailed her on that -- how did she know there was a 20? I pretty much gave up -- if I called the cops, the little shits would be home and in bed by the time the fuzz showed up. As I was walking away in disgust, a lady from the park walked up -- I just said it was my own goddamn fault and kept walking. I guess she told the other guys that those kids are a bunch of little thieves. The guys agreed later that the little fuckers were lying.
You know what pisses me off more than anything? That I left my fucking purse sitting out where a bunch of little fucking kids could get to it. And that there was nothing I could do about it, and they knew it. If I had taken one menacing step in their direction I'D be arrested, and the 8-10 or so of them could scatter if the cops actually did show up. And even if they caught them, what could the cops do?
And I'm disgusted that we were nice to these little shitheads. Next time, if there is a next time (some of the guys are talking about not going back, but honestly I say we just know better than to be trusting next time -- why give up our park?), one kid steps up to the side of the rink and I'm all over it like flies on shit, baby. Or whatever the phrase is. I'm not afraid of a bunch of little rat children.
THIS is why I'll never fucking breed. Although I'm sure this is a case of shitty parenting. But this is our future, guys. My friend was just telling me about the movie Idiocracy, the upshot of which is that the stupid people keep breeding like bunnies and the smart people, you know, focus on their careers instead of having children, and in 500 years our country is populated with a bunch of halfwits. Not so far from the truth.
I should address this too: part of the reason everyone went easy on them playing with our gear is that they were all black/latino. You know what? Fuck that, you steal my shit, I don't care if you're fucking Jon Benet Ramsey (pretty little white girl, aren't we supposed to love them bestest?). My early childhood was on the "wrong side of town," if my little town has one of those, and I know damn well I hung out with little white kids who would have done the same. In high school I hung out with a bunch of older white kids who I later found out were burglarizing businesses. So fuck that, don't mess with me and don't think I'm going to meekly walk away because you're a) 8, b) black, c) anything else that allegedly qualifies you for my pity. Or that, really, is supposed to make me feel guilty enough about who I am that I'm too afraid to speak out. Because you know what? Besides the odd Post-its from work and some signs in my rebellious days in high school, I've never stolen a goddamn thing in my life. Never even shoplifted a Tootsie Roll. You know why? I could say my parents told me not to, but the other kids' parents did too, I'm sure. They were mostly Catholic, the religion of guilt and prohibitions. I didn't steal stuff because I FUCKING KNEW IT WASN'T MINE AND IT WAS WRONG.
You know what else? It could have been way worse. They could have taken my whole purse, including my keys, my cell phone, my check card, my ID, my checkbook, my day planner (shit!) and oh, say in the case of the last motherfucker who stole my shit, things like keys to a coworker's house and directions to get there, my social security card, my bank info... Anything else? So I was fucking lucky it was only children who only know how to use cash and only took what they could hide on their persons. And, hey, they didn't take the keys and help themselves to my car.
But let this be a lesson to all: people suck. If there's anything they can take from you, you best assume they will. (Unless it's a case like my brother's mugging, where they in fact seemed only interested in beating the shit out of someone -- they took $8 from his wallet, but left his Discman on the ground next to his bloody body.) If you leave your shit unattended for any reason, it may not be your FAULT someone else's actions resulted in the loss of said shit, but you really have no one to blame but your own stupid naive-assed self.
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