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