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
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
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.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
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
I'll take "Ulcers and Technology" for $30 at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com
Friday, October 26, 2007
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
She'll Feel Mighty Silly When Someone Tries To Feed Her Some Change at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
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
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
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
Thursday, October 11, 2007
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
I wish "doctored" movie trailers = real life at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com
Thursday, October 04, 2007
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
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
And They Say The Internet Rots Your Brain at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com
Monday, October 01, 2007
Saturday, September 08, 2007
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
Davie Sure is Aging Well at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com
Monday, September 03, 2007
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.
(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
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
That's a Wee Bit of Rad Piping, Laddie at: marcyjoybryan@gmail.com
Saturday, September 01, 2007
"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.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
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 1st 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
Friday, August 24, 2007
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
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
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.
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