Cops Pulling You Over = BAD

I don't care if they ARE doing it to give me a $5 Starbucks card for being a good citizen-- I'm still going to FREAK OUT!

And I Don't Think a Double Shot Cappuchino Will Help at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Better Late Than Never

It's official: There is now room at the Inn*

*If it's a TravelLodge in London and your names are Joseph and Mary.

Favorite quote: "The 'gift' of a free night's stay is to make up for the hotel industry not having any rooms left on Christmas Eve over 2000 years ago when the original 'Mary and Joseph' had to settle for the night in a stable."

Why Not? It's PR at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

I'm Not Sure About This...

Queen's "We Will Rock You" + "Theme to Rocky" + Scottish Bagpipes = AWESOME!

Here's a shorter version.

I'm Scottish Which Explains Why I Like It at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

This Can't End Well...

You've got to see this adorable baby who can give an evil eye.

I can't wait to see what he'll do when he reaches the terrible twos.

Taking Bets at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Some Classic Rock

"Sweet Home Alabama" as performed by Leningrad Cowboys & Red Army Choir.

These cold-war bubba's can ROCK!

If Only They'd Do "Stairway to Heaven" at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

This Guy is Making a Living Blending

Things. Lots of things.

Like an iPhone.

No, really.

Check it out.

I Want to Be a Wacko for Dollars at marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

There is Something Hysterically Disturbing

About This.

I Particularly Gagged Over Ireland at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

JUST in Time for Christmas

Secure your place in Heaven by purchasing a spot.

It's Not Commercialism, it's Eternal Entrepreneurism at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

It's Not Just Radio--It's LIVE, CALL-IN Radio!

Let’s try something new. Since life is full of hills and valleys, highs and lows, ups and downs—the ying and yang as it were—(I never could figure out what a panda has to do with it all but I’m not a philosopher)—this report will be “panda-ized,” a word that here shall mean “looking at the stressful circumstances and the wonderful moments God has in each of them because I can’t think of any other why which doesn’t sound whiney.”

Stress: Tried to get Megh’s Science and Math in an “Independent-of-Me” do-able position before the interview. Lost track of time.

God’s Kindness (GK): I only had to go next door. Had computer and notes ready to go…so I zipped right over.

Stress: Tried to get in through the front door, which, I found out was dead-bolted. Set my stuff down to run to the back door.

GK: The cell phone rang and my hands were free to find and answer it. It was the radio station and the host wanted to tell me how excited she was about the interview (her program manager acted quite surprised about her wanting to chat).

Stress: The deadbolt was locked on the inside with a key, which meant I had to run downstairs and out of the back door and around to the front to gather my stuff then back around to the backdoor and up the steps into the kitchen.

GK: I laughed about it all. Even when I took a wrong turn trying to exit the house and ended up in the laundry room.

Stress: They didn’t call. And they didn’t call. And they didn’t call. The call finally comes in at 11:05 (I thought I would be “on hold” before 11 and then “on the air” at 11 o’clock sharp because I don’t know how live radio works).

GK: The extra time gave me moments to run through my notes (which I hadn’t done because of the aforementioned Science/Math quest) and even write some new thoughts that Nancy (we’re BFFs now, you know) suggested.

Stress: I don’t know how I missed this—The Nancy Turner show is a CALL-IN TALK SHOW, which is significant in that LISTENERS—WHO YOU CAN’T CONTROL—CALL IN.

GK: Looking back through the emails with Joni, the Fabbo Publicist, all of the hints were there (a.k.a. this direct quote: “It is a live, one-hour show and is often a call in show.” And this one: “…but if they get going with listener calls it might go to 50 minutes.”) But I missed them (or God covered them)…so I walked into that situation blind but less stressed out than I could have been.

The interview was challenging…sharing the mic with callers added a weird, almost-but-not-quite-threatening crap-shoot of a feel. But BFF Nancy handled them all REALLY well. I helped by yammering like my life depended on it.

Joni had given WMBI 4 copies of “Scared Silly” to GIVE AWAY so I felt like Santa—in that I had nothing to do with the actual products or event except be jolly and act like I did.

And here’s the largest God’s Kindess part: THEY’VE ASKED ME BACK! And they VOTED ON THE AIR!! Which made me feel like a contestant on “Survivor” or “Do You Have Talent?” or some other fake reality show.

And I must say I was honored by their response…until I hung up. And then it hit me. “Snap! She said, ‘We’ll have you back,’ didn’t she? That means…Oh…stink! Where did those Nacho Cheese Doritos and Oreos go?”

Next stop: Ten Minutes of TV on Friday!

Mainlining Diet Coke and Cheetos at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.con

Another Whinefest...But For Good Reason

In the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.”

~ Andy Warhol

I’ve lost my mind

I’m back on the couch, in my Ready! For! Anything! fetal position and for good reason: it’s December! I’m kidding, of course. The final month of the year isn’t stressful in any way with Christmas and all of its overt commercialization, expectations, and Martha Stewart trappings, final school projects and tests, Christmas cards that need writing, packages that need sending, and loans that need getting in order to afford all of the postage. Oh no, all of this is no stress for me! So I’ve decided to give this December some added Zip and Zest in the way of shameless pimpage for “Scared Silly.” Nothing else going on, right? I might as well…

Let me just SCCCCCRRRRREEEEEAAAAAMMMMMM!!!!! And suck my thumb! Because, in the next two weeks I’ll be doing 3 days of book signings, an hour-long radio interview, AND a TV interview—I’ve already done interviews/ “visits” with a newspaper and a magazine both of which should break around mid-month here in L’ville. AND an initial contact has been made with the local Louisville rag as well.

But here’s the thing about all but one of these stress-inducing moments.

I did them to myself.

No, really.

I actually called the Today’s Woman magazine (a local business/women’s interest mag), the Louisville Courier-Journal (the local paper), our favorite reporter for the Southeast Outlook (our church newspaper), the church bookstore --and here is the part the proves I’ve lost my mind— a local Barnes and Noble (to set up a book-signing), AND WHAS TV.

Why did I do such a thing, you may ask? Was I feverish from the recent flu that tore through our home? Insane from watching a “Spongebob Squarepants” marathon? Overcome with L-tryptophan courtesy of the Thanksgiving Turkey? Simply Pre-menstral? High on Elmer’s glue fumes from homeschooling?

I wish I knew.

But the schedule’s been set and I’m writing to yet again ask for your prayers.

The first is an hour-long interview with WMBI in Chicago, which, I understand is the radio station for Moody Bible Institute. You can see their website at: http://www.mbn.org/GenMoody/default.asp?SectionID=CD6A8113F7BA4EEC9DB4C2B609F01098

And I must say I’m impressed with them if for nothing else than their tagline: “Think Biblically, Live Christianly, Serve Effectively, and Evangelize Consistently.” As one who is known to make up words often, I think anyone directly connected to an institute of higher learning and who can say “Christianly” as part of their mission statement is OK in my book.

But, in case you missed the casualness with which the interview was previously reported, IT’S GOING TO BE AN HOUR LONG! WHAT AM I GOING TO TALK ABOUT FOR A WHOLE STINKIN’ HOUR? And, equally concerning, how will I keep my four brain cells working for sixty whole minutes (3600 seconds)…together…and make FULL sentences with (mostly) REAL words?

That will be this Tuesday, December 4, at noon, my time (I think). You can actually see me on the schedule at: http://www.mbn.org/GenMoody/default.asp?sectionID=030885ADA60845D29273610F87CE6D96 Gaaack.

On Friday, I’ll be on WHAS TV. I believe it’ll be the last 15 minutes of their noon show. Fortunately, 15 minutes really just allows a person to be introduced and answer 1 question, so I might be OK there. Unfortunately, being on TV means that the person being interview is also being seen and this is rather stressful because I won’t be able to participate in my typical nervous mannerisms like wearing sweats, going barefoot, wiggling my leg, twisting my hair, or picking my nose. (JUST KIDDING! I never twist my hair when I’m nervous, it’s gross.) Meghan said she’ll help me pick out my outfit (I think that’s a good thing) and she’ll even come with me to cheer me on. I’m betting they’ll take one look at her and I’ll be out on the street while she becomes the next Adorable Bratty Celeb—OK maybe that’s wishful thinking on me getting out of the interview…but still.

At least I was able to spend some time—and a small fortune (“fortune” here means anything over the $15 hair color kit I used to buy at Wal-mart on sale)—with my hair guy named Stephen so my tresses look like they were all dressed by the same person, instead of the lower half by Dillard’s and the upper half by K-Mart. Well, perhaps not Dillard’s…but for sure Target.

Now If only they would airbrush people on live TV…

The next day, on Saturday (December 8^th), my first real book signing happens at a real bookstore. For one torturous hour (from 2 to 3p) I’ll be at the Barnes and Noble in a shopping area called The Summit—an upscale outdoor mall-ish place. Why someplace with such style would let me do a reading and a signing in an upscale area like the Summit is beyond me. I’ve not yet met Denise, the Scheduler of the B&N Signings there, which might have something to do with it.

The following weekend (the 15^th and 16^th) my friends Ruth and Sara plan to have an article and a review in the church newspaper which will accompany book-signing times at the church’s bookstore. Sara is not only an excellent reviewer, she is manager of The Living Word bookstore at Southeast and she promises to have a stash of Diet Coke for me to chug during the three hours or so (broken up around the three services, thankfully) of trying to be interesting as I sit…not unlike a poorly cooked turkey…waiting to see if someone wants to talk to me.

Much of this activity is a direct result of my Uber Connected Friend Debra who knows who to call and what to say. It is to her awesomeness that I’m indebted. Wait! A! Minute! Now that I think about it, I guess you could say that all of this is her fault. Yeah! I’m a victim! That’s what I am! Where’s Oprah!?

Anyway I’m still on the couch, curled up in a ball and I’ve taken up enough of your precious time. Thank you for letting me freak a bit. And thanks for your prayers. I know everything will go fine—or maybe it won’t. But I’m trusting God a bit better and that means that whatever happens, it’ll be OK and Another Adventure in this Crazy Chapter of Life. At the very least it’ll be another reason to whine to you via this wonderful medium of postage-free virtualness called email.

Thank You and Good Night at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

I Probably Don't Have This Disorder

But it sounds useful.

Key Headline: "You're not ugly, it's just your brain."

Or Maybe It's Your Cheapo Mirror at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Deja Vu...All Over Again

Several weeks ago, I had my second interview. Here is the report. I thought I had posted it but apparently I posted it on someone else's blog instead. Hope they liked it.

It’s over, yet again.

This time I had 8 pages of notes. But no McDonald’s. And I was busy: Monday is Co-op Day where several families get together and annoy each other’s children in an organized and academic fashion. So I scrambled around with my co-op duties until just before time to be “on the air.”

But fear not—I may not have had artery-clogging comestibles in my Radio Interview Survivl kit, but I did have a Diet coke…several of them, in fact, because…um…I brought my own...ah...cooler full. I am not making this up.

This interview was radically different than Saturday’s in that I’m not sure how much this person had read “Scared Silly,” if at all. Although the 30 minutes passed in a bit of a fog, I do recall him asking things like, “have you ever been scared silly?” and “do you have to be short to be in short wave radio?” and "Where are you taking your fears? Oh wait! The title is 'Taking ON your fears, what-ifs'...well that changes things, doesn't it?"

But having 30 minutes allowed me (even foggily) the luxury of continually regrouping my four brain cells in the hopes of having them fire intellegently and together. Ted, (the interviewer’s name) who I called “Ed” at least once and then realized what I had done and then apologized--liked to “banter”—a word that here means “to make little clever quips derailing the interviewee if said interviewee doesn’t have the mind of a steel trap or Albert Schweitzer.”

I have neither…so I also had to admit on the air, after chasing one of his one-liners, that I had lost my train of thought. (I'm desperately hoping that forgetting names and discussion threads are a GOOD thing in Duluth, Minnesota. Or a sign of "very smartness.")

Sigh.

The good news: That's two interviews under my belt (if I would ever wear one). And I didn’t throw up, hang up, or shut up…and to me that was a victory.

If you want to hear this particular bit of insanity go to: http://www.wwjc.com/northlandnotebook.html#archives and look up NorthLand Notebook.

Or you can hear it here: http://www.wwjc.com/nn/071029.mp3

My interview is the second one so you’ll either want to listen all the way through (she sounded VERY RELAXED and cool! GAACK!) or wait until it downloads and then skip to about halfway point.

Thanks again, for your prayers. I couldn’t do it without you!

UGGGHHH! I listened to about 15 seconds just now...I can't believe that was me! GAAAAACCCCKKKK!!!! Now I'm REALLY glad for your prayers! How hideous might I have sounded without them!?!?

Must. Have. Diet. Coke...And. Chips at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Did You Miss This Vital Piece of History?

Where chocolate really came from.

I Should Have Known at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

We Always Knew It Was True!

Work causes Stress. But we're getting our revenge.

I'll take "Ulcers and Technology" for $30 at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

And You Thought YOU Were Scared!

Check out the Japanese!

She'll Feel Mighty Silly When Someone Tries To Feed Her Some Change at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

It's Over...What Happened?

It’s over.

And because I have the gift of verbosity, let me tell you about it.

The two days prior were spent “outlining” my own silly book—This was the first interview and I wanted to be ready! After 12 hours of work I had five pages of material made up of helpful overviews like the “two things that influenced me the most,” or “the 4 lies we believe,” and even “if I only had 5 minutes to talk to some who was struggling with the what-ifs, what would I say.” Sections of Scared Silly had been dutifully highlighted and dog-eared with added extra notes in the margins…wait a minute? Was this a radio show or the ACT?

I arrived at the office a half hour early each page of my notes coded and carefully laid out on the desk before me. Extra information was up on my computer ready for accessing. A large diet coke from McDonalds sat beside me—the $1 cheeseburger had been consumed on the way (I always try to hit the Four Food Groups of Stress—grease, salt, carbs, and caffeine—in a situation like this. Because. I. Do.). The office phone was on—check; my cell phone off—check.

The first words from Pam Duffy’s mouth was, “Do you know the score?” My mind raced—score of what? Oh, right! She’s a UK fan! They must be playing! “I’m at my husband’s office,” I replied lamely. “They’re a media company but they don’t have real media here.” A quick check of the score online (UK was behind) and Pam quips, “Duffy’ll be right with you.”

“Right with you” in my mind—being the mind of a simpleton, apparently—meant that he’d pop on during the break and introduce himself and then lead into the interview. I sat enjoying the pleasant ads and devo thoughts while on hold waiting for Mr. Duffy. A hum and a prayer nearly erupted from my lips.

Suddenly the music changed…it sounded like…well…it sort of sounded like the opening to a show. And then came a jovial, radio voice, which said, “Welcome back, friends, to ‘Duffy and Company.’ Our last hour was filled with possible nuclear annihilation from Iran…my next guest wrote a book, blah, blah, blah….” My mind hiccupped and reeled as it tried to switch gears. “You’re. Not. On. Hold.” It frantically screamed. You’re ON. THE. AIRRRRRRR!!!!!

Thus was the start of my first interview. I don’t remember much else. Except that he kept referencing page numbers. PAGE NUMBERS! I did the summarize-your-brilliant-tome-in-a-minute-or-less exercises and this guy was asking (in a very loving, uplifting, and joyful way) about what I wrote on page 42. I couldn’t even remember if there WAS a page 42!

So I did the only thing that anyone would do in such a situation. I yammered. I B.S.’d. I made noises that sounded like I totally agreed with what he was saying when in fact I was scrambling to get my brain to understand English again. “No hable Englese,” nearly leaked from my voicebox at least once.

The other problem was that I kept waiting for a commercial break so I could gather my thoughts and get a swig of Diet Coke. Or maybe I’d just breathe. Or run away. At any rate, I thought there would come some sort of regrouping-type break. Instead, as the music was coming up signaling the long awaited respite, Duffy says, “And that was Marcy Bryan…next we’ll talk to two guys who…”

*Gack.* That was it. I never even got to say goodbye.

I felt like a cross between a limp, wet blanket and Charlie Brown coming off the pitcher’s mound with his head hung down after Lucy did (or said) yet another stupid thing. Shell-shocked, I turned on my cell and called Kevin and Megh (they were in central Kentucky filming) and packed up wondering if people in California buy books written by fools.

Fortunately, several friends and family had signed on and heard the event live. Thankfully they all felt like it went well. They even raved, God Bless them.

And through the fog of self-inflicted gagginess, I vaguely remember Warren Duffy, a veteran communicator who personally worked with the Beach Boys, say that “Scared Silly” was funny, profound, and helpful. God Bless him.

Maybe, just maybe, it would all right after all…

Thank you for all of your prayers. I’m sure they are to blame for getting me onto this wild ride in the first place. And I know they are what made me sound as good as I’m told I did.

Tonight the thought of Balaam’s ass comforts me.

Thank you God, there’s hope for even me.

I think.

Watching where I'm talking at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

First "Officital" Radio Interview--EEEEEEKKKKK!

It’s Friday night, late. Tomorrow (Saturday) I go on the air for my first pimping radio interview. The show is out of Los Angeles and I’m sandwiched between Halloween, the Sword of Islam, and the state of our country. My three favorite topics! *GACK* (sound of me choking on that lie!)

The program is called Duffy and Company. I’ve talked to Mrs. Duffy; she’s originally from Kentucky and still follows “her team” (UK), which gives me 1 point for living in the right state. Mr. Duffy worked with the Beach Boys back in the day so that puts him on the “Uber Groovy” list in my book. The show is Christian and conservative. Mr. Duffy looks like a cross between my old neighbor (named Al Cook) and Rush Limbaugh. He’s got a very peppy and pleasant radio voice. You’ll enjoy listening to him.

What might be the most unnerving is that Mr. Duffy has actually read “Scared Silly!” ­(The question immediately erupts in my mind is this: Why would he go and do a thing like THAT for!?!?!? Now I feel pressured to actually remember what I wrote so I can explain it! Why would he do such a thing to me???? What is this world coming to?!?!)

OK: Below are the links. I don’t know how to work them…although I did just get on (only through Explorer…NOT Mozilla) and putz’d around a bit. Sadly I can’t think about it much more until after the show is done, which sort of defeats the purpose of telling you. But you’re getting the email anyway because you’re probably more media savvy than I (don’t feel superior…our brain-dead dog Libby would probably qualify as “more media savvy than I” and she doesn’t even have opposable thumbs!). Even if you’re not…I’m coveting the one thing that seems like it would OK to covet if God allowed coveting: Your prayers.

Please pray that all 4 of my brain cells will fire well, together, and quickly. Please pray that I can answer Mr. Duffy’s questions succinctly, with spiritual sensitivity, and humor. I’m asking to help me to find favor with him and his many listeners. And especially PLEASE pray that the folks who need what is offered in this goofy book of mine will tune in at just right time for God-sized hug and huge dose of hope.

True confession: I’m scared (Duh!). But am exceedingly grateful for this opportunity. And I don’t want to blow it but I don’t want to make it into a bigger (or lesser) deal than it really is—a conversation with someone who as READ what I WROTE (I think we can all safely say: Everyone panic!)

The plan is for me to work on various responses tomorrow…then I’ll “pop” by Sam’s and get a diet coke on my way into Kev’s office. I’m using the phone there, which will help make the connection more stable compared to my “We’re AT&T And We Think We’re god Which Means You’re Outta Luck, Chump” cell phone service.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

The time is 6:40 pm till 7 pm.

If you like, feel free to listen LIVE by going to www.kwve.com. Or go to www.duffyandcompany.com and click on the podcasts for my interview (I think this will be primarily after the show but you can check it out as well). Once the live show is ended, they make it into an archive podcast. The Duffy’s are going on a “someplace ancient” tour (check out their website, for more info—it’s cool but because it’s late) so my interview might be available on their archive podcast as early as next week (10/23) although it’s more likely that it will be available the second or third week in November. Mrs. Duffy will email me with more of those details as she gets them and I’ll pass them onto you.

Thanks so much for your love and support through this ever-stretching time. I’m really glad to have you around.

Stressed out (but not as bad as I used to be!) at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Marcy

If You Ever Saw The Shining

This will make you feel all better about it.

I wish "doctored" movie trailers = real life at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Betcha Didn't Know THIS About Kentucky!

Key Quote: "Kentucky produces more marijuana than any other state except California."

There are several "farms" rumored to exist not far from where we live. I haven't gone looking for them...basically because I like living with all of my limbs. And I haven't told Kevin about the rumors because he'll go all "man, let's go look for them! It'll be a GREAT date" on me.

When you add all of the potential pot farms, actual tobacco farms, and bourbon distilleries, us here in Kentucky should be riddled with lung cancer, but happy and unawares.

So then, what about this? (seen at Dairy Queen)

Or this? (found at the Kentucky Derby)

Probably Living In the Uptight End Of the State at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Finally!

Therapy the way I like it: without people.

And They Say The Internet Rots Your Brain at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Just When Things Were Getting Better...

Cnn.com reports this.

Stressing Out Over Being Stressed Out at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

David Bowie Needs "Scared Silly"

Here is some toe-tapping video evidence made with some Nine Inch Nails.

Davie Sure is Aging Well at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

And You Wonder Why We Are So Stressed Out

Maybe it's because of our past.

(I Really Watched This Show Which Explains A Lot About Me) at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

BTW: This complete our Youtube Trifecta...for today.

A Youtube.com Trifecta Is Now in Effect

A friend sent this music video by Nickelback to me the other day saying he thought of Kevin after viewing it.

It's oddly touching.

As is this.

OK So I Know These Are From MTV But I Don't Care at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

The World is Not Yet Lost

Scotland's Scrum sings "Amazing Grace." Really. And it's good!

That's a Wee Bit of Rad Piping, Laddie at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

In Case You Don't Have Enough Stress In Your Life

There's this.

Hand Me Some Chocolate And Nobody Gets Hurt at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

"THEY" have arrived!

Many thanks for your book; I shall lose no time reading it.

~Benjamin Disraeli

Today was a Red Letter Day, a Day of Anticipation and Celebration because we not only Got! Mail! We! Got! Package! as well. And, as if one wasn’t enough, three bundles graced my door stoop. The first was the obligatory replacement satellite receiver from Dish Network (Motto: “Happily working unless there is weather then we freeze up like [fill in your favorite “frigid” simile here]). Apparently, during the last storm, some rogue electrons escaped from a nearby lightening strike and tried to abnormally “energize” my receiver. This caused the receiver to become fickle and moody so it’ll only “power up” when it “feels like it” and won’t play recorded programs at all. “I’m tired,” it seems to say as it clicks and grinds through its startup mode. “I guess you can watch Spongebob now but I just don’t have the energy to pull up the new Feasting on Asphalt that you recorded last week. Sorry. …Whirr…Spin…Reboot.” Maybe I should pour some Rockstar Energy Drink into its circuits (Motto: Who needs drugs? We whack you out legally!). Our Adopted Movie Son Harrison (more about him later) turned us on to it, and although I’ve not had the nerve to actually try some, Meghan said it was quite good. Actually I think it went more like: “WOWITSKINDOFLEMONYBUTBOY!DOIFEELFULLOFENERGYANDEXCITEMENTANDMAYBEI’MSEEINGTHINGSORITCOULDBETHATI’VEJUSTSTAYEDUPALLNIGHTANDAMTOTALLYEXHAUSTEDSOEVERYTINGLOOKSFUNNYANDMAKESMELAUGHHAHAHAHAHAH!SOB!

The next box was badly beaten, and with probable good reason: it came from www.flylady.net. Intense whinage has occurred here about this woman in the past and although I continue to moan and groan over her assignments and sink cleaning, I do most of them and they’re making a difference. Finally, after much vacillation I pressed my “widow’s mite” into her altar box of commerce so I, too, could receive the blessings I’ve read about in her deluge of emails (more on that later, too).

But the third box took my breath away. It was large-ish and oddly shaped—as though someone used a container too big for its intended purpose—the address label was white and unassuming. But I knew from whence it came and of what it was full.

“Scared Silly” had arrived.

I was weirdly reticent about opening the box…I’m not sure why…like I didn’t want to know that my thoughts had been reproduced in the manner of cloned sheep or counterfit money to be scrutinized by friends, foes, and experts alike. I opened it last. And tentatively. With almost shaking hands. There they were, two-dozen of ‘em in there, their eyes looking up at me over the brown box edges, their title trailing jauntily, yet earnestly, across the page.

I shut the lid and called my mom.

She wasn’t home so I called Kevin.

“Hey,” I said, doubtfully. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” he replied. “What’s up?”

“Um…I got my books today.”

“How do they look?"

"There's a lot of stinkin' words in there, Kev."

"That's great! Can't wait to see them."

“Um…yeah. Now what do I do?”

That’s the thing. I should feel elation. Or at least a bit of triumph: It Is Finished. But it’s not, you see. I must now find ways to Get It Out There. I haven’t heard from my publicist so it feels like it’s up to me even though I gave the distribution of this thing to God weeks ago, today I take it back from Him because He isn’t moving any merchandise. Well, I guess He can’t officially because it’s not out until September 3, but that doesn’t matter. It feels like it’s All Up To Me and I Just Don’t Know What To Do.

How weird after trying to not be in the center of stuff for years, I now must try to strategically be in the center of stuff without looking like I’m trying to be at the center of stuff.

I guess I could wait on God, but what if…

Oh, never mind.

Needing Some Serious Natural Cheetos and Diet Coke Meds—Pronto! At: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Sitting On Set

“Shoot a few scenes out of focus. I want to win the foreign film award.”

~Billy Wilder

I’m sitting in a little trailer that a horse would refuse to enter. This is probably because it lacks at least two Important Horsey-Related Items: 1) a feedbag, and 2) windows. Although several days of my life have been spent in this spot I notice for the first time today (I’ll be a detective in my next life) a sticker that says “DragRaceResults.Com,” which is connected to a frame that looks suspiciously like some sort of drawbridge contraption. Hmmmm. I bet this isn’t a horse trailer at all.

It also lacks in the horse trailer department in that it’s got linoleum of the black and white checkerboard sort. And it’s been greatly modified so a horse would nix an invite on the grounds that it couldn’t fit in there if it wanted, what with all of the junk and all. By “junk” I mean thousands and thousands of dollars worth of video recording equipment, computers, a fancy tool roller thingy the size of a deep freeze, and boxes of HD tapes which cost--and this is just an estimate--about a trillion dollars each. This precious little tin box is called “Video Village,” The video part, I see. The Village? Not so much.

My official title while in “Video Village” is “Script Supervisor,” which means I sit in said metal container and punch two little buttons and then write about it. The two little buttons happened to be connected to a playback deck and the precious Sony HD recording deck making the place I presently occupy as the "nerve center" of the production and if I screw up by not hitting a button, or if I hit too many buttons, or hit buttons in the wrong order, thousands of dollars are lost in an instant. We often call this the “nervous center” for that very reason.

The one thing about the “nervous center” is that you have no sound from the outside world, nothing at all. This can be a bit of a drag, as it were, because although you are able view the world via the camera, it doesn't offer much in the way of informative visual communication and you don’t have any idea as to what they are saying. On top of that, this is film making so “they” (the crew) spend much of the day getting ready for a shot, which means that the “script supervisor” (a.k.a. “me”) spend hours sitting in this little tin crate, in utter silence, until someone loudly shouts over the walkie talkie, “Roll tape!” causing the “script supervisor” (“me”) to jump, give a little squeal, and try to press all of the right buttons in the right order. In turn the “script supervisor” (in this case me) yells, “Speed” back into the little walkie talkie. The screens come alive with pantomimed action. Then, “Cut!” comes screeching through my little battery powered communications device causing more jumping on the part of the “script supervisor” and more hitting of the correct (hopefully) buttons in the correct (hopefully) order and then shouting, “Tape has stopped!” into the little crackly black box.

All of this is reasonably satisfying, so far as an experience like sitting around waiting for something to happen goes—you at least have evidence on tape—except that you never know when they will yell one of those three critical words so you sit, in the stillness surrounded by the buzzing of costly teeny electronic hearts, for as long as it takes, even if you have to go to the bathroom really badly. The bathrooms are port-a-potties, but when your bladder is full they beat the Hilton hands down.

This quiet pattern is only occasionally broken when the 1^st A.D. (Assistant Director) asks for something to be “played back.” Now I have to hit three or four buttons (maybe 5) in a very specific manner in order to find the exact clip they want to see. This is extremely unsettling because everyone is waiting on ME to find what they want to look at on a machine that runs through tape faster than the government spends money.

Oh! And if it takes too long to set up a shot the decks will get tired and shut themselves off. There’s no sound to alert you to this little fact so when you are finally ready to record, Dern! One (or both) recorders are not cued so you frantically try to remember how to make the machines record something without going into the "cued " (otherwise known as the “ready to record only not quite yet”) position adding precious seconds to the already strained schedule.

That’s really what film making is: Hurry up! Don’t Screw Up! OK… Now wait. But don’t go anywhere because you never know when it’ll be time again to Hurry up! Don’t Screw Up! OK…

In case you’re wondering, being in here far surpasses, in my mind, being Out There. Out There is on set with all of the cameras and the extras and the sun. In here is a tired, little air-conditioner attached to the roof. This is to keep the ridiculously expensive equipment cool and the tapes from melting, and I’m grateful to be a second-hand recipient of the almost cool breeze. It’s undoubtably 150 degrees Kelvin (or something close), sunny, and windless outside of these walls. Two days ago a bag of gummies instantly become a oozing glob, Twizzlers turn to lava. It’s amazing to me that people are volunteering to put on burlap robes and try to act in this heat. I can’t even stand.

Don’t Get Me Started About the Bugs at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Heat Wave-itis?

Potential Quote of the Day: “Don’t think of it as getting hot flashes. Think of it as your inner child playing with matches.”

~anonymous

It’s been one of the hottest summers on record in Kentucky. I mean it’s so hot that I just break out into a sweat for no reason. Sometimes I’ll even start to sweat in the middle of the night! I’ve tried using an extra fan when I sleep…which has helped some…but this heat wave just seems to hang on. The other day I was in the middle of my kitchen, it had been raining so it was humid but cloudy and still only in the upper 80’s—which I mistakenly thought was a nice break from the heat. But! No! Here it comes! Bam! That humidity must have made the heat index soar, because there I was, standing in the middle of my air-conditioned kitchen, sweating like a pig. And I hadn’t done any exercises or watched “Ocean’s 13” or anything like that.

Being out in the sun makes it even worse! I had gone to the quarry where my husband and daughter have spent the entire summer, in record-breaking heat, filming. I was there, on set, in the sun for an hour or less, and then went to the office. Molly the Perpetually Perky One looked up from her desk and said in a concerned (and perky) voice, “Did you get a sunburn?” “No.” “Well your face is really red!” Sure ‘nuff it was.

I’ve also noticed that I’m a little more testy at times.

Dern this Kentucky Heat Wave, it’s making me incredibly indelicate!

I Wonder What It Could Be at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Great, Now Your Email Will Do It To Ya...

"E-stress: A chronic condition caused by checking one's email too often," courtesy of www.fark.com.

One Thing I DON'T Have To Worry About

my hair color becoming extinct.

God Only Knows What Color It REALLY Is at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

If Regular News Gets You Down

Try Happy News.

The little happy face in the web address line is worth it at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

It's a Finally! Trifecta!

I gots to get me some M&Ms.

Key Medical Expert Quote: "Sadeghpour said his research revealed that the cocoa extract was even more effective than fluoride in fighting cavities, according to a news release from the university."

Finally! Again!

Wine Therapy

Key Testimony: "I think that wine therapy is an excellent type of treatment. It relaxes you, gives you strength and fills you with vigour..."

Thank Goodness for Modern Medicine Is What I Say at marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

It's almost borned!

Possible Thought of the Day: "A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him."

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

My publisher just emailed me...because that is what you do now...you don't call or write, you email any and all correspondence of a certain level of worthiness, the “of reasonable importance” level. Communication at this altitude can be serious on the positive or negative, but rarely terminal. In other words, you won’t find out (hopefully) in an electronic letter that your dad has died (although you might find out he’s cheesed off at you!) nor would it be announced that you won the Nobel Peace Prize (but Fred McMahon could proclaim “you may already be a winner!”).

So my publisher emailed me that she has seen The Book (“Scared Silly”) and that It. Looks. Good. With only one inking issue—that means there will not be the shading difference in some of the headings—which I’m sure they’ll fix when “Scared Silly” goes into it’s next printing. (lol)

If you haven’t seen it: Have a look. You can even Look! Inside! And Read! A! Sample!

I guess this makes me a Literary Parent. My DNA is about to leave the protective walls of the publisher and enter into the Cold, Harsh World for all to see and criticize. This isn’t flesh of my flesh cooed over like my daughter was—this is the embodiment of my thoughts in concrete, it’s an invitation—a pathway into my thoughts and emotions and processes.

What will happen? Will “they” like me? Will “they” tolerate me? Will “they” put me on the bargain table out on the sidewalk for people to fondle and move on?

Someone once said that “having kids is having a piece of your heart walk around outside of your body.” Something similar could be said about birthing a book, I’m sure.

About to Be a Proud Parent at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Finally!

I've been waiting for this!

If Only They Would Test Housework This Way at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

I Can't Write Right Now.

I have to write my radio show.

Really.

Do I Really Have a Face for Radio at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

You Knew This Was Coming

Holidays Cause Cancer.

Doesn't surprise me one bit at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

She's a Star?

Possible Saying of the Day: “Movie making is the intense, frenetic activity of a highly (or not) trained group of people in an attempt to stay one step ahead of total chaos and anarchy for great lengths of time. When it’s good, it’s magic. When it’s bad, it’s a train wreck.”

~Me!

I became a movie star the other day. OK, it wasn’t actually day--my moment of “acting glory” came in the dead of the night. And by "movie star" and “acting glory” I mean “Doing Something That Is Almost Like Acting Only Without the Emotion, or Action, or Believability.”

Please know: I did not choose to stay up all night with gunk all over my face, a turban on my head, inhaling campfire smoke and trying to not goof up my two lines…I was snookered.

Here’s how it happened:

We make movies.

Lengthy Side Note Warning: In order to make movies you must first learn to say everything using Cool Movie Language. For example, Movie Husband Kevin is known “on set” as Director of Photography or the DP instead of the more understandable “camera guy.” “On set” is Cool Movie Language (CML) for the place where they are using the camera, and hopefully recording stuff onto a videotape or film reel. I say “hopefully” because the process of movie making is very slow and “iffy.” You never know how the shooting will go…especially if you have children in the shot, or animals, or, for that matter people, weather, or objects. It’s a miracle that anything gets “in the can.” “In the can” is CML for the recording of the acting onto the video or film.

There are a few other words that you should know: “Craft services” has nothing to do with sewing or scrapbooking but rather food, a “grip” isn’t necessarily something anyone “on set” can do with their hands, it’s a very special person who handles the lighting and electricity. “PA’s” are not related to Pennsylvania but are people (usually young, strong, and desperate to be in filmmaking) who do all of the grunt work like moving dirt or helping to carry things on or off the “set.”

Let’s see, there’s the “Focus Puller” who actually does focus the camera but twists a knob instead of pulling it. There’s the 1^st AD who does deal with time (get it, 1 AD? Yeah, movie humor…it’s intense.) but she watches to make sure the production stays on schedule (among many, many other things). In our production, we call our 1^st AD “Mudda” because she has to take care of us all. There’s also the Dolley Grip who doesn’t go around hugging toys, but has to move a wheeled platform (called a Dolley) smoothly so the camera will look like it’s floating. We are using several camera methods, the most space age is the SteadiCam in which a person straps on a large black device which actually makes the camera “float.” SteadiCam people are very proud of what they do and they’ve tried to tell me how it works, but I can’t remember. If you really need to understand, consider yourself a geek and go here. End of Lengthy Side Note.

Although City On a Hill Productions is a Movie Company, it is also a non-profit, and as such survives primarily because of a group of insane loving and generous people called “volunteers.” And once you are a volunteer with “City” you are put on a list that will provide all sorts of future abuse opportunities to serve and experience the intense pain joy of working in hideous challenging conditions for free eternal rewards.

As a result I was asked to be an “accuser” in a film series about Jesus’ crucifixion. The important thing you must understand—which I didn’t at the time—“accusers” had to “accuse,” translated I actually had to say something. Somehow I thought I was part of a large group of people yelling. That sounded like something I could do: disappear into a crowd of raggy-dressed extras and shout. But I got to the makeup tent and it was announced, “One of the accusers is here!” and I was scuttled off to get my face done. I overheard people (and there were a lot of people putting on costumes and makeup) talking about how filming tonight would be “live”—which is also another word for “hot” meaning that they were going to tape people’s voices as well as their actions. Hmmmm…I thought, I wonder who’s that poor sucker who’s got to speak and act.

But it wasn’t until I was down at the set itself that I realized that I was one of four poor suckers who had to speak and act.

But that wasn’t enough…I had to speak, act and do choreography, which in this case

consisted of walking and bumping into Tony (who played Peter) strategically, AND THEN say my lines. (“Say, I know you [turn to look at my friends] He’s a friend of Jesus!”) Then follow Peter up the street, turn and glare at him as he retreats.

Acting was difficult because myself and one of the extras are Smoke Magnets. No matter where we stood, the excessive smoke from our little fire lovingly enveloped and caressed our faces. We spent more time gasping for breath than anything.

In the end, the shot was “got” and, more importantly, I didn't mess up, and another story from My (Whatever!) Movie Life was ready to tell.

My husband didn't even recognize me in my makeup at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

One More Thing To Worry About

This .

Thankful I'm not a male ages 25-27 at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

The Cardiac Club

I just returned from attending Kevin’s First Cardiac Rehab visit. Cardiac Rehab is a very special “club” for people with heart disease, or as one of their helpful videos put it, heart “issues.” Kev looked odd being at a facility where most of the club members were approximately the same age as, or possibly older than, Methuselah.

In this "club" you are either "in" or you're "out." And once you're "in" you can't get "out." It is similar to the "well" written and "easily" understood title track by The Eagles called “Hotel California”… (“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leeeaaaave!” Insert the most incredible guitar riff ever here.) We caused a bit of confusion with one nurse because we were new initiants and she had to actually explain how the “rehab” thing worked.

We also committed our first Geriatric Sin Ever by forgetting to bring in his medicines. It wasn’t my fault mind you…I told Kev to do this but he--being the old one, as is typical with those who are thusly--forgot. So the nurse put on her Scoldy Face and told us to remember them the next time we came in, because the doctor can’t change what he doesn’t know. (More Scoldy Face.) When she flipped the page and read it she found each med neatly listed which caused her to put on her Happy Face until I told her I was also giving him herbs, making her find her Uncertain and Professionally Doubtful Face while she tried to spell “Echinacea.”

Remember, I am not a “member” of the Cardiac Rehab Club (motto: “Move Over Methuselah!”) but I have my own little title…I’m a “Thosewith.” As in: “Those with Mr. Bryan…” While the club members experienced fun things like EKG’s and wearing little numbered pouches around their necks (Kev was #6) the “Thosewith” crowd partied in the Patient Education Room. “Partied” here means, “sat silently watching stressful videos about heart disease and heart attacks in which famous people ‘guided’ the viewer from one expert to another who says helpful things like: ‘people with heart disease usually have more than one heart attack in their lifetime.’”

I must admit, many helpful things were gleaned during my wild times in the “Thosewith” crowd. For example: Mike Ditka can get really excited about things like heart clinics and dieticians. And exercise will increase your HDL, lower your LDL, strengthen your heart, clean your blood, prevent all sorts of nasty diseases, and make you rich and famous. OK I made that last part up but according to the video, exercise is the New! Miracle! Cure…it’s like aspirin was 50+ years ago, or Coke was at the turn of the last century when it still had Cocaine in it (motto: “helping you poison your bloodstream for over 100 years!”). Too bad I’m allergic (to exercise, not Coke)—I break out in a sweat just thinking about it! Gaaaack!

Nutritional Side Note: In case you’re wondering, potatoes are not a vegetable; they are Death. This is because they are White. And White is Bad, in this case meaning “given to us by Satan” not “righteously groovy” as exemplified in the song “Bad to the Bone” which was croaked by George Thorogood during the 70's. We, as Americans, have been wrong about potatoes for years. Perhaps it’s because, being a New World Food, spuds have a special place in our psyche. And really it’s an easy mistake to make: In the 50’s Hollywood put the Good Guys in white. Angels are depicted as wearing white. Bread, sugar, and milk—three staples from child hood—were white. Hmmmmm...maybe this “White is Good” business is all part of some Communistic Conspiracy to Overthrow the U.S. Think about it: First came white bread brought over by the British. Then came white sugar that was brought over from the tropics. And milk? Don’t get me started. Because it will lead to the next Evil Food: Animals. Do you know why animals are on the Nutritional White List Of Evilness? It’s not because we’re killing something living and breathing. It’s also not because it’s uncivilized. It’s because animals carry FAT and FAT is Satan Spawn according to this video in which they repeatedly held up “realistic” looking pounds of fat. It reminded me of …of…Oh let’s face it, that gunk was just gross. And I just can’t understand how something that nasty can look so good on me! (Insert hollow laughter here.)

Another video showed “re-enactments” of people who had heart attacks and how they felt and acted. One guy acted “out of breath” just like Kevin! He even said the same things! But unlike Video Heart Attack Man's concerned and loving wife who took him directly to ER, I told Kevin that he was just old, out of shape, and annoying! And then I made him walk again the next night! Just call me Nurse Death Marcy! I know there were at least 5 or 6 times when he acted just like Video Heart Attack Man and each time I fussed at him. You can tell that compassion is one of my more obvious gifts.

Yeah, I really did tell all him that at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

An Unnatural Love

Possible Quote of the Day: “I try to fill the emptiness deep inside me with Cheetos, but I am still depressed. Only now my fingers are stained orange. I am blue. And I am orange.”

~Karen Salmansohn

Let me confess: I LOVE Cheetos Brand Cheese Puffs. LOOOOOOVE them. And Let It Be Known That “Love,” in this particular context, like many contexts in which this word is used in America, means “a lusty hankering to an unhealthy degree.” It Should Also Be At Least Noted that the specific “Cheetos Brand Cheese Puffs” so craved are the freakish, glowing, puffy goodness of the Ordained Original, not the wimpy, shriveled, pathetic excuses for a Cheetos labeled “crunchy,” or any of the odd shaped versions. If they don’t look like overstuffed maggots, I don’t want ‘em.

My love for the construction-orange poofy nuggets originated during childhood: my mother, being a member of the Good Housekeeping Generation, was too offended by their in-your-face affront to nature and their exorbitant cost (which was significantly more than the 55 cents a bag of regular chips) to allow them in our house except on special occasions like birthdays and Thanksgiving. During those events I shamelessly stood over the Cheetos bowl like a drunken office worker, preventing others from nearing, nursing every stolen crumb until I my colon could process no more.

For me, nirvana during Seventh grade could best be achieved with a new “Mad” magazine, a sunny spot on the carpet, Elton John on the record player, and a bowl of Cheetos.

Alas, I am a Responsible Adult now. Ergo, these snacks are forbidden in our cupboard but for different reasons than my mother's. It is because they are addicting.

However, the other day I came home to find a bag of day-glo fluffy fingerlings glowing on the counter—the result of excess snackage from a Boys’ Day Out on the lake. In a Blink, I had found a pleasant read, (although in this century it was Dave Barry on the web), had a nice Adult Beverage and a large bowl of vibrant extruded corniness on a TV-tray by the couch. Life was SOOOOOO good! But I was soon to find it even better!

While at Wal-mart something caught my eye—What’s this? “All natural Cheetos puffs” served up as a neutral cream-colored puffette in the flavor of “Light Cheddar.” My mind reeled to make sense of what I saw, but to no avail: How can you have a Cheetos without the aberrant coloring that rubs off onto your fingers, clothes, and small furry pets? How can the words “Cheetos” and “Natural” be in the same sentence without causing a smirk or guffaw? Strangely…these snacks were fully Cheetos and fully serious. Even the bag looked healthy with its subdued palette of wholesome earth tones and a splash of respectable Navy. Chester, the racy, cool (and dare I say, “sexy”) icon of all Cheeto-ness since 1986 was present on the bag, only smaller looking somehow thinner—wimpy-er—in his typical wild-tongue stance; like a cross-country runner posing in a GQ pose for a “unposed” yearbook picture.

The Apocalypse just might be up on us.

The following is offered in order to appear knowledgeable and pedantic. According to Wikipedia, “Cheetos are often referred to in pop culture as the snack choice of lazy, overweight nerds and unemployed people.”

Don't tell my husband he could be lustfully replaced by a $3 bag of snacks at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

In Case You Don't Have Enough Stress In Your Life

Try this.

I'm stuck on 60 at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Stressed Out?

Potential Saying of the Day: "America is a place where Jewish merchants sell Zen love beads to agnostics for Christmas."

~John Burton Brimer

This is the website/product for you.


That was Zen, this is...um...not at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Favorite Phrase of the Day

"...making the weewee of startlement."

~Dave Barry
As seen on Dave Barry's Blog.
(See below for entire citation.)

July 28, 2007

IDAHO UPDATE

Our car almost hit a deer last night. We were driving along a rural road and suddenly YIKES this deer, who had apparently been waiting in the dark for a car to come along, leaped in front of us, forcing me to slam on the brakes and barely avoid making the weewee of startlement. Why do deer do this? Do they enjoy it? Do they give each other high hooves and go, "Good one, Bob! They will have to clean the seats for sure!"?

Maybe we need some kind of federal program to keep them occupied, such as midnight deer basketball.

Wishing I could write like him at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com

Say It With Me: STRESS HURTS!

I'm sitting on my couch wrapped in a sarong-like thing and a wonderful antique quilt given to me by a dear friend during the previously noted stresses. Oh! And I've got on a denim shirt (Don't want the Sagging Chest Parts to show). A lovely glass of Red is on a tray before me and the air is full of the smell of lilacs from the delightful candle another girlfriend gave me today.

Every part of my body hurts...OK maybe not my elbows, or my ears, or perhaps the skin that covers the end of my nose...but everything else aches from late nights, menses, standing on concrete for hours, and not the least of which, stress.

Last night was one of the most difficult spiritual battles I've had in a long time.

When Amazing Production Manager Cassie asked if I'd be an "accuser" for a production on the death of Jesus, I thought "one of the multitude of people yelling in the crowd at Jesus' trial and crucifixion." Let me just say by way of introduction: Ignorance is bliss...when you're dumb enough about enough things...

So...

Stress #1

When she told me to be there on Sunday night (July 22), it was no big deal. Well, it was a big deal in that I don't feel confident as an actor or, for that matter, any good at all. I don't like the itchy costuming, especially for period pieces, and there's a lot of "stand around time" which often causes me to stress out (In a Totally Scared Unsilly way). And considering what kind of week and a half I'd had, it was a big deal to do it...and it was all night which is difficult because I was already exhausted from the various crisii (crises, crisesessss), some of which would be categorized as "fairly large." But, like any good Christian, I planned to keep my promise as being one of the multitude yelling for My Lord's destruction. The only thing I asked the Amazing PC Cass was "There'll be diet coke, right?" (I gotta have at least one my comfort med!) "No problem," she replied "there'll be plenty of diet coke."

Stress #2

Sunday morning, I was getting up to go to church as Kev, Megh, and Harrison the Dolly Pusher (more on him later) arrived home. Kev limped to bed. "Please don't go to church today, I'm afraid my leg looks bad," he whispered before instantly falling asleep. So I stayed home; but couldn't rest even though I knew I'd be on set all night. I wondered what he meant by "bad" so I tossed and turned for several hours praying over Kevin, until I got a headache.

Stress #3

My headache...one of those that go all the way from my forehead back over my head, crossing at the shoulders and down to my butt. Tylenol and diet coke barely touched it. This is never a good sign.

Stress #4

On the way to set at 10:30 pm, the Good Ol' Honda's temperature gauge started moving--in the wrong direction. As you can guess, vehicle trouble causes me instant and intense stress. The car wasn't the only one wigging out, is all I'm saying.

Stress #5

There was no diet coke at Production Base Camp (PBC). Nor, I might add, any Shirah, but that was expected. I am assured there will be diet coke down below at the Actual Filming Site (AFS).

Stress #6

It quickly became apparent that I was not "just a face in the crowd"--I actually had a speaking and acting part! Didn't. Bargain. For. That. OK...well...I promised. First came makeup along with the worse panic attack in maybe a year. Even my heart hurt, which is a rarity for me. Annette The Makeup Artiste uses airbrush makeup (which I love and want my own personal thingy) but which exasterbated the attack. Poor Annette kept asking if I was OK and all I could do was nod. Then came wardrobe and since I was to be a Person Of Middle Eastern Descent instead of a Pitiful Caucasian, I had to color my Arms and Legs. At this point I was at near-zero functionability so one of the makeup ladies helped me paint myself. Then more tweaking of the Makeup Variety (arms, legs, and face) and other crap.

By the time I got down to the set I was trying to think of a way out of there. But I promised. Thank God, He gave me something to do (and an ice cold diet coke)...I became a Film Dummy which basically is someone who stands in for the principle actor or actress while the shot is being figured out or lighting is being set up. I guess you could call me a Stand In, except that sometimes I'm sitting...or walking...which might be a bit confusing considering all of the possible expectations. At any rate, being a dummy was a great help in preventing me from thinking, feeling, and thus retreating.

Stress #7

We break for lunch at 2 am. I'm told our segment will have live sound. How do you say "fecal matter" in Ancient Hebrew slang? Still no diet coke...maybe Annette The Makeup Artiste has one in the trailer.

Stress #8

Have to do something about my car during lunch, and Kevin obviously hurts. Even so, he sweetly tries to locate a diet coke while I try to breathe.

Stress #9

Movie making takes so freakin' long--just a few shots can take 3 or 4 hours...As we wait for the camera to roll, one of the extras and I discover that we are "Smoke Magnets" and struggle to breath while the smoke from our campfire lovingly follows us wherever we go. In case you were wondering, Oxygen Inhalation is important in preventing panic. Oh yeah, it's good in case you want to live, as well.

Stress #10

There is absolutely no diet coke anywhere on set. I have almost no comfort zone now...except that I've taken to carrying a liter of Lipton's White (Raspberry) Tea everywhere I go in the manner of Steve Martin.

Stress #11

Director Boy Shane blocks the scne: I actually have to walk, bump into the guy strategically, and remember my lines (and say them in an emotional [but not too] manner and privately [but loud enough to be heard by the boom mic two stories up]!)...do they know with whom they're dealing?

Stress #12

My period starts--early--as I stand there. My pads are up the hill in my car--Delightful Daughter Megh is too busy to go get them anyway. I'm afraid to sit down so I stand and ponder the likelihood of Feminine Grossness dripping down my leg.

Stress #13 and following...

I'm sure there are other plenty of sub-stresses beneath each numbered one, especially if you use your imagination, but it's silly to go any further. The point in the above "whinage" (and there is one) is that God, in his kindness (and probable humor), was present and willing to help me do what I did not want to do (and was not sure I was even capable of doing anyway) with grace, laughter, and joy. He was amazingly gracious and magnaminous to the production in general and to me in particular. Thankfully, I noticed.

Tonight I Thank God my still-living husband and my hard-working daughter, and for dear friends all of whom are Wonderful Gifts. And most of all, for Himself who takes delight in doing the impossible with goofy people like me.

I don't know why I'm surprised. Look what He does with smushed and rotten grapes.
MMMMMMMMMMM...Go God at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com